handy, has been commonly adopted into
languages as a noun-substantive, quite free
from mythological suggestion. A book on the
blood was called The Macro-micro-cosmic
Ocean.

Alchemists wrote books called, The Art
of Arts, The Work of Works, The Art of being
Ignorant in Nothing, of Writing and of Knowing
about Everything. It would need the
lesson taught by such a book to understand
only the titles of some others: a tract on the
Eights of the King was headed, for example,
in those days, The Stomacation of the Public
Good. The author of a Harmony of the
Gospels called it, The Triumph of Truth, on a
car drawn by the four Evangelists, escorted by
the Army of the Holy Fathers: and a more
elaborate allegorist, a Spaniard, entitled a
work on philology, in fifty chapters,
—Pentacontarch; or, the Captain of Fifty Soldiers:
levied and maintained by Ramirez de
Prado, under whose auspices the different
monsters that ravaged the republic of letters
are pursued even to their utmost retreats,
and to the depths of their frightful caverns,
where they are attacked, fought with, and
destroyed.—Again, who would suppose that
a book with the 'attractive title of The Rights
of the Public, was a treatise upon Headache?

The desire for fame has induced others to
seek it by much writing, in the belief that to
be constantly before the world was to be
honoured by it or at least—and that is
something—to be known. There have been many
men whose works contained more leaves than
there were days in their lives; some being by
nature prolific and industrious, others only
because they were resolved to occupy the
public ears. In the first class was the
Spanish dramatist Lopez de Vega, whose
works covered ten times as many pages
as there were days in his life. In the
second class it will suffice to name
Joachim Fortins, who wrote of himself thus:
"Either I shall die very young, or I shall
give to the world a thousand works, honestly
counted, in as good Latin as I can produce
I intend to entitle them The Chiliad. It is a
settled thing: death only can prevent me from
accomplishing my purpose. Already
nineteen have seen the light, and I shall very
shortly publish eighty-one others; which will
just make up the tenth part of my Chiliad."

When such a seeker after fame can find no
printer rash enough to risk a penny on his
works, it often happens that he is insane
enough to print them at his own expense.
Ulysses Aldrovandus consumed all his
patrimony in the printing of his books; and, as
nobody bought them, he caused copies to be
distributed to all the libraries of Europe as
eternal monuments both of his learning and
his generosity.

There was an ancient sophist who made
much money by his oratory, and spent it in
the making of a golden statue, which he
placed, dedicated to himself, in the temple at
Delphi. In the same spirit, but after a more
economical fashion, one Psaphon, a poet, who
could get no fame by his verses, procured a
number of birds capable of being taught to
utter a few words, and having taught every
one to say, Psaphon is a great god, let
them all loose. They flew abroad, and
where-ever they settled, brought, as it appeared,
their tidings from the sky. In this way the
worship of Psaphon was established; and he
got, as a deity, the incense that men could not
offer to him as a bard. Anything for a name!
Hence came a Greek proverb about the birds
of Psaphon.

A wide subject opens, when we come to
discuss the foppery of dedications. " If you
seek glory, nothing will secure it to you so
effectually as the letter I am writing,"
Epicurus wrote to a great minister. He may
have been justified in saying so, but so have
many little birds magnificently chirruped to
the condors and the eagles of society. " By
George, sir!" one of these forgotten worthies
used to say, when he had dedicated a book to
anyone, "I have immortalised you; that
deserves a handsome fee." Dedication was
a trade, once upon a time, as we all know;
dedication writers were begging-letter writers,
neither more nor less. Leo the Tenth did a
sensible thing when a man dedicated to him
An Infallible Method of making Gold. He
paid him for his dedication with a great sack
to contain the gold he made. Erasmus
dedicated a book to the Queen of Hungary, and
complained sorely that his rascal of a printer
had lost him his gratuity by printing two
successive words as one, in a place where to
do so was to change the meaning of the
sentence, and convert a compliment into an
insult. Two authors, Ranzovius and Schott,
writing in feigned names, dedicated their
works to themselves; Dedications to Saints,
to My Country, and so forth, I pass
over. A work on sacred geography, printed
at Leipsic only a hundred and fifty years
ago, had a dedication meant to be curious
and pious, which again serves as an
illustration of the kind of intrusion
made by foppery on holy ground. It was
dedicated To the Three great Princes and
sole Heirs of Heaven and Earth: the Lord
Jesus; Frederic Augustus, Electoral Prince
of Saxe; and Maurice William, Hereditary
Prince of Saxe-Zeitz. To each name was
appended a long string of titles in the usual
form: the Saviour being styled, crowned
general of the celestial armies, king elect
of Zion, august and perpetual head of the
Christian church, sovereign pontiff and
archbishop of souls, elector of truth, archduke of
glory, duke of life , prince of peace, chevalier
—shall quote no more; but it was well
to quote so much, because the extravagance
of conceit has always travelled a great deal
upon forbidden ground. However, it shows
itself in this relation—and any one who looks
about may see conceit always mounting to