The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine (January Issue, cancel leaves) Bell and Daldy (publisher) PC Fleming 1 The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine Bell and Daldy Chiswick Press London January 1856 1 62-64 1 Transcribed from a facsimile edition at Alderman Library at the University of Virginia. 6 caslon 52 2 1.4 cm 2.1 cm 1.9 cm 1.7 cm 21.7x14cm Commentary
Introduction

The January issue of The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine exists in at least two states. In the corrected state, transcribed with the full issue, Wilfred Heeley's essay on Kingsley takes up the entire of page 62, and Morris's poem "Winter Weather" begins on page 63. In this earlier, misprinted state, several lines of Heeley's essay are omitted, and Morris's poem begins on page 62. The change affects the subsequent pages as well, although there is enough white space on page 64 to accomodate the extra text without changing the pagination.

The cover of the January issue, which contains the table of contents, also exists in two states, one showing "Winter Weather" beginning on page 62, the other showing the poem beginning on page 63. In all copies examined, the table of contents on the cover is consistent with the pagination. The global table of contents, printed in the December issue, shows "Winter Weather" beginning on page 63.

In the corrected state, Heeley's initials appear at the bottom of his essay, making it one of only two signed submissions to the Magazine. The other is Georgiana Macdonald's poem, "The Porch of Life", in the December issue.

Buxton Forman, who published the most complete bibliographic description of the Magazine, makes no notice of this variant, though he does mention one of the two cancel leaves in the August issue. His copy of the Magazine, at the Huntington Library, is the uncorrected state, with "Winter Weather" beginning on page 62.

Thanks to Mark Lasner at Delaware and Alan Jutzi at the Huntington for their help checking different copies of these pages.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Printing History

Pictorial

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

Forman, H. Buxton. <hi rend="i">The Books of William Morris.</hi>

puts in. We may see the wisdom of the Catechism, too, in the order of its teaching; in that it “tells him of the love, before it tells him of the wrath; of the order, before it tells him of the disorder; of the right, before the wrong; of the health, before the disease; of the freedom, before the bondage; of the truth, before the lies; of the light, before the darkness; in one word, it tells him first of the eternal and good God, who was, and is, and shall be to all eternity, before and above the evil devil.”—P. 44.

This is the chief lesson to be learnt from these ten sermons; but both in these, and in the other twelve, many equally important principles are dwelt upon, which every reader of Mr. Kingsley, and of his guide and friend, Mr. Maurice, is familiar with. That the relations between man and man, between father and child, between husband and wife, between Englishman and England, are sacred, not merely as typical of the highest truths, but as the actual embodiment and copy of those truths; that selfishness and self-wrought isolation are the very root and ground of sin, and of all violation of God’s order;* that heaven consists in doing God’s will, and hell in doing one’s own selfish will; that there is a Light which lighteth every man that is born into the world, and inspires every man with whatever thought of good he has thought, whatever deed of good he has done; that God is as surely present in the history of nations now, as he ever was in the history of the Jews; that the repeated defeats of Russia, and the sad story of our own Crimean mismanagement, are surely punishments for sins,—for those sins of which they are the natural and necessary results, according to the laws by which God governs His universe;—all these truths we may learn from this book, and may be very thankful that there are men who are never weary of teaching them.

*The great lesson of that much misunderstood Poem,“ <xref doc="a.Tennyson.maud" link="dead">Maud.</xref> ”

<hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">WINTER WEATHER.</hi> </hi> Initial W is ornamental. Though the rest of the periodical is printed in two columns, poems are printed in a single column, centered. We rode together In the winter weather To the broad mead under the hill; Though the skies did shiver With the cold, the river Ran, and was never still. No cloud did darken The night; we did hearken The hound’s bark far away. It was solemn midnight In that dread, dread night, In the years that have pass’d for aye. Two rode beside me, My banner did hide me, As it droop’d adown from my lance; With its deep blue trapping, The mail over-lapping, My gallant horse did prance. So ever together In the sparkling weather Moved my banner and lance; And its laurel trapping, The steel over-lapping, The stars saw quiver and dance. We met together In the winter weather By the town-walls under the hill; His mail-rings came clinking, They broke on my thinking, For the night was hush’d and still. Two rode beside him, His banner did hide him, As it droop’d down strait from his lance; With its blood-red trapping, The mail over-lapping, His mighty horse did prance. And ever together In the solemn weather Moved his banner and lance; And the holly trapping, The steel overlapping, Did shimmer and shiver, and dance. Back reined the squires Till they saw the spires Over the city wall; Ten fathoms between us, No dames could have seen us, Tilt from the city wall. There we sat upright Till the full midnight Should be told from the city chimes: Sharp from the towers Leapt forth the showers Of the many clanging rhymes. ’Twas the midnight hour, Deep from the tower Boom’d the following bell; Down go our lances, Shout for the lances! The last toll was his knell. There he lay, dying; He had, for his lying, A spear in his traitorous mouth; A false tale made he Of my true, true lady; But the spear went through his mouth. In the winter weather We rode back together From the broad mead under the hill; And the cock sung his warning As it grew toward morning, But the far-off hound was still. Black grew his tower As we rode down lower, Black from the barren hill; And our horses strode Up the winding road To the gateway dim and still. At the gate of his tower, In the quiet hour, We laid his body there; But his helmet broken, We took as a token; Shout for my lady fair! We rode back together In the winter weather From the broad mead under the hill; No cloud did darken The night; we did hearken How the hound bay’d from the hill.