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know the crooked Richard and the crafty Louis XI. most familiarly, if not most accurately, through Shakspeare and Scott; and where in history do we get so haunting a picture of the great Napoleon and Waterloo as in Victor Hugo's wondrous chapter? Happy is the man who has for his associates David, Solomon, Job, Paul, and John, in spite of the assaults of modern criticism upon the Scriptures! No one can shake our faith in Don Quixote, although the accounts of the knight "without fear and without reproach " are so short and vague. There is no doubt about the travels of Christian, although those of Stanley may be questioned. The Vicar of Wakefield is a much more actual personage than Peter who preached the Crusades. Sir Roger de Coverley and his squire life are much more probable to us than Sir William Temple in his gardens. There is no char acter in romance who has not or might not have lived, but we are thrown into grave doubts of the saintly Washington and the devilish Napoleon depicted three quarters of a century ago. We cast history aside in scepticism and disgust; we cling to romance with faith and delight. " The things that are seen are temporal : the things that are not seen are eternal." So let the writer hereof for himself sing a song in praise of MY FRIENDS THE HOOKS. KRIFNDS of my youth and of my age Within my chamber wait Until t fondly turn the page And prove them wise and great. At me they do not rudely glare With eye that lustre lacks, But knowing how I hate a stare, Politely turn their backs. They never split my head with din, Xor snuffle through their noses, Xor admiration seek to win By inartistic poses. If I should chance to fnll asleep, They do not scowl nor snap, Bnt prudently their counsel keep Till I have had my nap. And if I choose to rout them out Unseasonably at night. They do not chafe nor curse nor pout, But rise all clothed and bright. They ne'er intrude with silly say. They never scold nor worry; They ne'er suspect and ne' er betray, They 're never in a hurry. Anacreon never gets quite full, Nor Horace too flirtatious, Swift makes due fun of Johnny Bull, And Addison is gracious.
Saint-Simon and Grammont rehearse Their tales of court with glee; For all their scandal I'm no worse, — They never peach on me. For what I owe Montaigne, no dread To meet him on the morrow; And better still, it must be said, He never wants to borrow. Paul never asks, though sure to preach, Why I don't come to church : Though Dr. Johnson strives to teach, I do not fear his birch. My Dickens never is away Whene'er I choose to call; 1 need not wait for Thackeray In chill palatial hall. I help to bring Amelia to, Who always is a-fainting; I love the Oxford Graduate who Explains great Turner's painting. My memory is full of graves Of friends in days gone by; But Time these sweet companions saves, These friends who never die!
LITERARY FORGERIES. — In Falconer Madan's "Books in Manuscript," published just now in Lon don, are given accounts of two remarkable trials for forgery. The first is of Constantine Simonides. л Greek, the most audacious and learned forger in his tory, who was born in 1824. He acquired many genuine MSS. at Mount Athos and mixed his forger ies with them, and thus imposed them on collectors, mainlv in England and Germany, for large sums of money. He came to wreck however in the incident narrated by Mr. Madan as follows : — "In 1855 he visited Berlin and Leipzig, and when in July he met Wilhelm Dindorf, he informed him that he owned a Greek palimpsest, containing three books of records of the Egyptian kings by Uranius of Alexandria, son of Anaximenes. Dindorf offered a large price for it, but Simonides loftily replied that he intended to publi>h it first himself, and then to give the original to the library at Athens. By persistence however Dindorf obtained temporary possession of the precious palimpsest and sent it to Berlin, where it deceived all the members of tho Academy except Humboldt: and the King of Prussia offered ^700 for the seventy-one leaves. Further, Dindorfs representations induced the Clarendon Press at Oxford to take up the treatise, — and indeed it could hardly have done otherwise, — and actual specimens were printed, with a preface by Dindorf, and early in 1856 pub lished. Only seven copies were sold, besides the eleven sent to the delegates of the Press, when the news came that Uranius was a most uncclestial forgery. It was found (i) that the ancient writing of Uranius was m: fi<
