three volumes, octavo, from the Latin of Martin He told me that Hartley Coleridge had begun the translation, the money he was to receive for it from Murray being needed for his college expenses. He soon tired of the work, however, and his sister, then twenty years of age, undertook it and brought it to completion-truly an extraordinary achievement. Her father said. of it: "My dear daughter's translation of this book is unsurpassed for pure mother English by anything I have read for a long time." And Charles Lamb spoke of her as "the unobtrusive, quiet soul, who digged her noiseless way so perseveringly through that rugged Paraguay mine. How she Dobrizhoffered it all out-puzzles my slender latinity to conjecture.”

The daughter was ever jealous of her father's fame:

Carlyle's "Life of Sterling" she comments on, "Very beautiful and interesting as a biography, but very painful in its avowal of Pantheism." She resents Carlyle's reference to her father, and says the chapter is a pure libel. She adds: "But my father's folly and sin in the eyes of the Pantheist is his firm adherence to Christianity, not ideal, but historical, factual and doctrinal."

again, for the language of prose is one of the few things in which the English have really degenerated. Our tongue has lost its holiness.

For twenty-three years Rev. Derwent Coleridge was principal of St. Mark's College, and at his retirement he accepted the living of Hanwell. His love of teaching was still strong, and at the suggestion of friends he consented to receive a few American pupils. He was assisted in his parish and school work by some efficient helpers. Among these was Miss Edith Coleridge, daughter of Sara Coleridge, who at the age of twentyseven had married her cousin, Henry Nelson Coleridge. The four or five young Americans were hardly pupils; Mr. Coleridge was to them as a father and a friend. All fully appreciated their privilege:

Dean Stanley said once at a garden-party at Fulham Palace: "You young Yankees may not realize that you are reading with the greatest master of language in England." The refining influence of the ladies of the household was no small part of the good which came to these youths. One of them, Augustus M. Swift, tells of his hav

The undergraduate life of Oxford of eighty years ago presented great temptations. His wonderful gifts of intellect, as well as his oddity of manner, made him a favorite guest at "wine par

He distinguished himself in his studies and won a fellowship at Oriel. At the close of his probationary year he was judged to have forfeited this on the ground mainly of intemperance.

Says Derwent Coleridge:

or

The stroke came upon his father with all the aggravations of surprise, as a peal of thunder out of a clear sky. I was with him at the time and have never seen any human being, before since, so deeply afflicted; not, as he said, by the temporal consequences of his son's misfortune, heavy as they were, but for the moral offense which it involved.

He lived for thirty years afterward--cared for by those who loved him--a blameless life, except for his one infirmity, but accomplished no great or connected literary work. Mr. Yarnall says:

Little need be said of the poetry of Hartley Coleridge; it came near to excellence, and but for the catastrophe of his life might have reached the highest level. His sonnets are probably nearest to those of Wordsworth of all the moderns. His prose is vigorous and of easy flow; the best of it is found in his "Biographia Borealis, or Lives of Distinguished Northerns."

The following quotation from his "Life of Dr. John Fothergill" is given from its interest as a condemnation of the "Revised Version" sixty years beforehand:

We doubt whether any new translation, however learned, exact or truly orthodox, will ever appear to English Christians to be the real Bible. The language of the 'Authorized Version' is the perfection of English, and it can never be written

more than one difficult passage in Plato. Mrs. Coleridge, in speaking of the pupils, said that their charge of them had brought them no anxiety. "We could hardly," she said, "have admitted to our family life English young men of the same age." This is, perhaps, more of the sense of companionship between young men and their elders in America than in England.

During Mr. Yarnall's second visit to England, in 1855, he met Sir John Taylor Coleridge and his son, John Duke Coleridge, afterward Lord Chief Justice of England. This is an incident of his first meeting with the elder man:

My first sight of Sir John Taylor Coleridge, better known as Mr. Justice Coleridge, was at dinner a few days after my first meeting with John Duke Coleridge. This was at Park Crescent, the joint home of father and son. The party was eighteen; but the guests of chief interest to me were a young Hindoo and his wife, who were announced as Mr. and Mrs. Tangar. Judge Coleridge introduced me immediately. I said: "You

are from the East and I from the West." The Hindoo's reply was: "Sir, England and America. and Australia will divide the globe."

In 1867 John Duke Coleridge had become a member of Parliament and was laying the foundation of his public career. Mr. Yarnall met him at Dartmoor and was interested by his chat of the leaders in the House of Commons:

My friend considered Gladstone wanting in worldly wisdom, deficient in skill as a political leader. Mrs. Gladstone, he said, gave him no help in keeping the party together. The two were not to be named with Lord and Lady Palmerston in tact and sagacity as to such management. John Coleridge said that Bright was incontestably the leading mind in the House, as to the reform legislation. John Stuart Mill my friend spoke of him with warmth and admiration.

"I can not tell you," he said, "the satisfaction it is to me to sit next him as I do in the House." Mill's shy, refined ways attracted him; his quiet humor he dwelt on. Once Mill had to take notice of the frequent quotations members of the opposite side made from his writings, in order, really, to badger him. Of course they were passages which these men had seen as extracts and had committed. Mill said: "I feel greatly the compliment paid me by these frequent quotations; it is, perhaps, not good for me to be thus referred to, yet my vanity is kept down by what becomes more and more obvious to me, that honorable gentlemen who thus quote me have really read no other portions of my writings." The House roared at this clever turn, so discomfiting to Mill's assailants.

Four years after this Sir John Duke Coleridge was counsel for the Tichborne family in the famous case:

His speech for the defense occupied some twenty days, covering two whole sides of the Times daily-perhaps the longest speech on record in a jury trial. His cross-examination of the claimant had lasted fourteen days; that it should have lasted so long was evidence of the cunning and audacity of the claimant. Strange that such a man should have had his upholders among people of education! Coleridge said to me: "Sir Roger Tichborne, who disappeared at the age of seventeen, was proficient in music; when I handed the claimant a music-book, and he held it upside down, I thought no further evidence was needed of his being an ignorant pretender."

One of the last acts of the Gladstone government in 1874 was to make Sir John Duke Coleridge Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas and raise him to the peerage, he becoming Baron Coleridge of Ottery St. Mary. On the death of Sir John Cockburn, in the following year, he became Lord Chief Justice of England. In 1883 Lord Coleridge came to America at the invitation of the Bar Association of New York:

The event was important, seeing that he was the highest English official that had ever crossed the Atlantic. His only superior was the Lord Chancellor, but his coming was not to be thought of, considering his solemn charge of the Great Seal. When Lord Brougham was Chancellor he was meditating a trip to the Rhine, but found he would be unable to leave England unless he placed the Great Seal in commission. The cost of this would have been about seven thousand dollars. I remember hearing Mr. Forster, then a Cabinet Minister, ask in a cheerful way at his own table whether the Lord Chancellor slept with the Great Seal.

In addition to his reminiscences of the Wordsworth and Coleridge families, says the Argonaut, from which journal we take this article, the book contains chapters devoted to Chas. Kingsley, John and Thomas Keble, the Oxford commemoration of 1860, William Edward Forster and the House of Commons during the closing days of the American Civil War. There are few pages in the volume that do not give some bit of description or personal reference of interest, and the unaffected

simplicity of the whole record adds to its charm. The index is complete.

Published by the Macmillan Company; price, $3.00.

THE GLOSSARY OF THE JABBERWOCK. Mr. STUART COLLINGWOOD, the accomplished biographer of the lamented "Lewis Carrol," has a very attractive article in a recent issue of the of "Alice in Wonderland." The paper is profusely Strand Magazine upon the boyhood of the author illustrated with certain artistic efforts of the young Dodgson, all of them showing that the quaint and whimsical humor which gave so great a charm to his books was a gift that early developed. In behalf of those who may be philologically interested in that immortal poem "The Jabberwock"-the first lines of which were:

'Twas brillig and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogroves

And the mome raths outgrabe

we venture to quote a short glossary found among the author's boyhood papers, as follows:

BRYLLYG (derived from the verb to BRYL or BROIL), "the time of broiling dinner, i. e., the close of the afternoon."

SLYTHY (compounded of SLIMY and LITHE), "smooth and active."

TOVE, a species of Badger. They had smooth, white hair, long hind legs, and short horns like a stag: lived chiefly on cheese.

GYRE, verb (derived from GYAOUR or GIAOUr, "a dog"), "to scratch like a dog."

GYMBLE (whence GIMBLET), "to screw out holes in anything."

WABE (derived from the verb to SWAB or SOAK), "the side of a hill" (from its being soaked by the rain).

MIMSY (whence MIMSERABLE and MISERABLE), "unhappy."

BOROGROVE, an extinct kind of parrot. They had no wings, beaks turned up, and made their nests under sundials: lived on veal.

MOME (hence SOLEMOME, SOLEMONE, and SOLEMN), “grave.”

RATH a species of land-turtle. Head erect; mouth like a shark; the fore legs curved out so that the animal walked on his knees; smooth green body: lived on swallows and oysters.

OUTGRABE, past tense of the verb to OUTGRIBE (it is connected with the old verb to GRIKE or SHRIKE, from which are derived "shriek" and "creak"), "squeaked."

"Hence," says Mr. Collingwood, "the literal English of the passage is, 'It was evening, and the smooth, active badgers were scratching and boring holes in the hill side; all unhappy were the parrots; and the green turtles squeaked out.'"

It should be added that even now that all is clear and we know precisely what the poem means it has lost none of its fascination--which is a sure test of its transcendent merit.

STORY OF THE SAINTS AND SINNERS'

CORNER.

The famous Saints and Sinners' Corner is no more. On 17th February, 1899, fire destroyed the extensive Chicago book-store of A. C. McClurg & Co. It was the late Eugene Field who gave the quaint name to the corner of the store reserved for the display and sale of the old books. Conspicuous among the book enthusiasts who rarely missed a daily visit to the corner were the Rev. Frank W. Gunsaulus, the Rev. Frank Bristol, the Rev. Melancthon Woolsey Stryker and the Rev. Father Hogan. This quadrilateral of the cloth, covering so many different creeds, was a new and engaging study to the satirist. As in previous years out West, when the characters of the stage and the acquaintances of the green room were made to furnish him with so much material for story, witticism and caricature, the literary divines that fell in his way now became Field's victims. He dubbed their rendezvous "Saints and Sinners' Corner," holding himself the exemplar of the "sinner." The corner he coddled and nursed as he had coddled and nursed the beautiful baby Emma Abbott never had, and he wrote reams of stories that were copied thronghout this country. Imaginary meetings of the bibliomaniac cult and versified satire localized in the corner of the old books came from Field's pen in a stream that trickled through all the literary channels of all the cities having any, until the "Saints and Sinners' Corner" came to be regarded as a sort of shrine, if not a curio among world-famed corners.

Some entertaining incidents pertaining to the famous nook are given by a writer in the Chicago Tribune. On a blood red sheet of paper inclosed in a blood red envelope the following was one day discovered in the "Saints and Sinners' Corner:" IN TRUST FOR THE PREACHERs.

When man forsakes the narrow path Which righteous Presbyterians tread, He dons the ribald garb of wrath

And flaunts the wicked color, red. His hat and socks of carmine hue

Offend his brother's startled gaze; His shoes are red, his kerchiefs, too, With vanity's vermilion blaze. And flaming thus from head to foot,

He boldly stalks from bad to worse, Pining to paint creation red

And all is read except his verse. Pastors, I know whereof I speak;

Oh! shun damnation's yawning brink, And orthodox salvation seek

In cream white note and violet pink.

The writer, it will be perceived, was Field, while "St. Francis" is none other than the Rev. Mr. Gunsaulus, who had a weakness for red neckties and other florid fashions. "And all is read except his verse," alludes to a volume which not even the personal popularity of the preacher could tempt any considerable number of persons to place on their book shelves.

The greatest event in the history of the corner was planned by Field himself, and in it he was the leading actor. Shortly before New Year's, 1890, the following invitation was sent out:

To see the old year out and the new year in! That was the merry purpose. At the time advertised, with Melville E. Stone as master of cere monies, informal entertainment was begun, and continued in storytelling and recitation until the hour and minute hands of the clock were as one on the figure XII. Then the lights went out, leaving every one to witness the succession of years in darkness. At the same moment there came from the distant gloom of the store, in sepulchral tones, these spoken lines, heard for the first time:

DIBDIN'S GHOST.

Dear wife, last midnight while I read
The tomes you so despise,

A spectre rose beside my bed And spoke in this true wise: "From Canaan's beatific coast

I've come to visit thee—
For I am Frognall Dibdin's ghost!"
Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

I bade him welcome, and we twain.
Discussed with buoyant hearts
The various things that appertain
To bibliomaniac arts.

"Since you are fresh from t'other side,
Pray tell me of that host

That treasured books before they died," Says I to Dibdin's ghost.

"They've entered into perfect rest,

For in the life they've won

There are no auctions to molest-
Nor creditors to dun.

Their heavenly rapture has no bounds
Beside that jasper sea,

It is a joy unknown to Lowndes,"
Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

Much I rejoiced to hear him speak
Of biblio bliss above,

For I am one of those who seek
What bibliomaniacs love.
"But tell me-for I long to hear
What interests me most,
Are wives admitted to that sphere?"
Says I to Dibdin's ghost.

"The womenfolks are few up there,

For 'twere not fair you know, That they our heavenly joy should share

Who vex us here below!

The few are those who have been kind

To husbands such as we--
They knew our fads and didn't mind,"
Says Dibden's ghost to me.

"But what of those who scolded us
When we would read in bed-
Or, wanting victuals, made a fuss.
When we bought books instead?
And what of those who dusted not
Our treasured pride and boast-
Stall they profane that sacred spot?"
Says I to Dibden's ghost.

"O, no! They tread that other path
Which leads where torments roll,

And worms-yes, bookworms, vent their wrath Upon the guilty soul!

Untouched by bibliomaniacs' grace,

That saveth such as we,
They wallow in that dreadful place!"
Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

"To my dear wife will I recite

What things I've heard you say; She'll let me read the books by night, She'll let me buy by day;

For we together, by and by,

Would join that heavenly hostShe's earned a rest as well as I!"

Says I to Dibdin's ghost.

The lights renewed and Field almost riotously congratulated; illuminated menus were passed among the assembled bibliomaniacs seated and disposed about in all conceivable positions among the books, and on the old book boxes brought up from the cellar to serve as seats. A pail of punch and something much more potent in quickening the blood were provided for the irreclaimable sinners. Oysters, deviled crabs, salad, cheese, coffee and cigars were served in plenty, and the session was prolonged far into the morning. Paul du Challiu, the distinguished French traveler, who was present, declared he never enjoyed so heartily the birth of a year.

Field had poked around the Wabash front of the store until he found a cheap autograph album, which he dedicated with impromptu verse as the future secret repository of a thought each member should inscribe. This album, full of literary bequests to the "corner," was burned with the other treasures lost in the fire.

Among the sinners who followed in the wicked ways of their self-assumed champion were Dr. W. F. Poole, then librarian at the Newberry. Dr. Poole was one of two elements, such as oil and water, that Field with all his jocular ingenuity could never mix. The other was William Henry Smith, then at the head of the Associated Press. Dr. Poole and Mr. Smith were given to historical criticism in the Dial, and one had gone so far in intellectual depravity some years previous as to remorselessly criticise the learned historical criticis a of the other, whereat a cataclysm befell the friendship of the two worthy gentlemen. For

years they passed each other by in scorn and loathing, and in the "Saints' Corner" the appearance of one meant the disappearance of the other.

Charles A. Barnes, the owner of the celebrated collection of Americana; Slason Thompson, the author, playwright and general all-round athlete. with the editorial pen; and Frank M. Morris were also members of the set.

Then there was Melville E. Stone, whom Field continually tried to plague by pointing him out as a bibliomaniac on the subject of crime and detective fiction, though in fact he was engaged in making a collection of Napoleon literature that is now said to be one of the most complete in the country.

Frank Larned was the only one of the saints and sinners who had the hardihood to cross swords with Field. It seems that some ill-disposed Chi cago woman had facetiously remarked that Field's face always reminded her of a convict, and, the quotation reaching Larned's ears, he ever afterwards pestered Field with it. Larned, talented. and unassuming, wrote that "I Love You, Field, for Dibdin's Ghost," with the refrain, "Many a hearty laugh beside," which has perished with the "Saints and Sinners" album, unless Francis Wilson copied it when gathering material for his little book on Field.

delightful bit of

Perhaps Ben T. Cable was the object of most envy in the corner, for, by a rare stroke of enterprise, made possible by the want of foresight and courage in rivals, he secured the greatest treasure ever bartered there. This was George Washington's copy of Robert Burns' poems, in the first American edition. Washington's library was sold to Henry Stevens of London, by him catalogued and sold for the most part in detail to Boston collectors. The Burns volume had drifted to Canada, where Mr. Millard secured it. When it made its appearance in the corner Frank Gunsaulus got the first option, Bristol the second, Stryker the third, and Cable the fourth. The price, $150, was a little high for the saints, who made no pretense as to bank accounts, and to Cable's great delight he was one day informed that he stood first in line of succession of those who had asked the privilege of buying the book. Many times since then Mr. Millard has offered him $300 for the volume. It is easily worth $500 and it is doubtful whether Mr. Cable would part with it for $600.

Field was essentially a bibliophrydasiac, or, in other words, an inspirer of bibliomania. His most notable proselytes to the noble craze were Francis Wilson, the comedian, and Harry B. Smith, the librettist. Although they had never collected any books until Field introduced them to the seductive corner of the most worshiped saints and most hopeless sinners, they took so kindly to the disease that they are now known in the book markets of Europe as well as at home for their enthusiasm, knowledge and lavishness.

Wilson relates in his book that he found it impossible to get a volume of the first edition of the "Denver Tribune Primer," because of the obstacles Field himself put in his way to bother and tease him. One day about two weeks before he died Field showed Millard a copy of what Wilson coveted, and said: "I intend that he shan't have it, just to worry him. I'm going over and will sell it to Cleveland," meaning Mr. C. B. Cleveland, who was one of the liberal plungers of the corner. Cleveland paid $50 for the book, and was glad to get it.

Some time ago a Denver bookseller walked into the corner, and, addressing Mr. Millard, said: 'I believe I have something here that will interest you." He then showed a letter from Field in the years agone, in which he had inclosed $10 as the sufficient price for the volume, given to him at that figure, because he "intended to present it to his dear friend, Francis Wilson." The two book experts had a good laugh over Field's Yankee trick, and the Denver man satisfied himself with the reflection, "Well, I did well after all, for I got the book for a dollar."

Field's bibliomania dialogues, in which the several characters of the corner are made to air their hobbies and entangle each other in satirical controversy, would fill volumes. They are gemmed with bibliomaniac verse and epigram. A fair sample of the latter has the bookworm for its subject.

Guy Magee was one of the saddest of the sinner cases. He had at first what seemed a rational attack, but in course of time it developed into a serious and not too happy case of obsession. Guy ran to dramatic novelties, and soon accumulated such a passion for them that he decided to go into the business of buying and selling, so that he might always have something new and alluring within reach, while he would be enabled to rid himself of the stale and tiresome. But, like Don Vincente, the friar of Poblat Convent, who turned bookseller at Barcelona that he might live happily in the midst of fresh old books, he conceived such a fondness for those treasures in demand by patrons that he could not bring himself to that calculating state of mind which would suffer him to part with them. So Guy closed shop and voted himself a clever collector, but a poor jobber in books.

E. G. Asay, the veteran collector, whose library had been dispersed by reverses of fortune, was the patriarch of the corner for a long time, and its most entertaining visitor, for he never tired of relating experiences in book collecting that presented in every imaginable phase of tragedy, romance and comedy the trials and tribulations of bibliomania.

W. Irving Way, who is now a catalogue au

thority and a dealer, was in the earlier days of the corner one of its most exalted members. The record shows that in the mail of a single day as many as six letters making frantic inquiry for books were received from him.

Mrs. F. S. Peabody, a distinguished extra illustrator, was the only woman of Chicago who was recognized as qualified for honorary membership, since woman manifestly could not be admitted as sermonizing saints, and who would dare to advocate their admission to the corner as sinners!

Booth and Barrett called invariably together, as honorary outside members; Booth uninterested and taciturn, Barrett inquisitive and full of the desire of investment. His purchases were always of books pertaining to the stage or its history.

Charles Dudley Warner invariably "dropped in" at the corner during his visits to Chicago. One morning about 10 o'clock he discovered to his surprise and delight a Villon. "I declare," he exclaimed, "I have never before seen an unabridged edition," and thereupon sat down to devour it. At 4 o'clock, just six hours later-not having removed his eyes from the book in the meantimehe arose, looked at his watch, and remarking, "Well, well, I haven't had lunch yet," glided out of the corner as though still in a literary trance. Henry Irving has bought in the corner at a single purchase as much as $1,000 worth of old English publications to take home, and he gave as his reason for doing so, strange to say, that the books were cheaper than in London.

Sol Smith Russell and Joe Jefferson took little out of the corner save dramatic lore, to the collection to which both are devoted.

The last notable purchase in the corner was $500 worth of Cruikshankiana, made by Banker George A. Laurens of Galesburg.

Among the latter-day recruits of the corner were President Finley of Knox College, Horace H. Martin, S. M. Crandall, George S. Payson, the book-bindings collector; Dr. Neeley of Memphis, whose passion is books on dueling; George Merriweather, the first edition chaser; Henry Selfridge of Marshall Field & Co., who promises to develop into the most lavish collector of the city; John A. Spoor, and John H. Wren of the Caxton Club.

In the history of the world only a few bibliotaphs have existed. One of them was a member of the corner coterie-DeWitt Miller. The bibliotaph, in contrast to the bibliophile, who loves books, and the bibliomaniac, who is possessed by an unrestrained passion for them, is one who delights in buying and storing them as squirrels, mice and ground animals store things against the imaginary needs of a future day.

Bishop Heber was the most distinguished of bibliotaphs. He was rich and he bought books by the tens of thousands. He would hold as foolish