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nation. As Wordsworth stood ou Westminster Bridge in the early dawn of a September day he found the place gave him a certain detachment, like that of a ship thrust out a little from land. When you are in the wood you cannot see it for the trees, and when you are in ;i city you cannot see it for the houses; and there may be no hill at hand to climb, and one cannot always ascend towers and spires. But if you may but walk to the middle of a bridge you will perchance get a sight hidden from street or square or court, and then you will, if you have the artist's or the poet's eye, see what moved him to write:—

Earth has not anything to show more fair:

Never did sun more beautifully steep in his first splendor valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw i, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Then besides what you see from the bridge when you look to the land, there is also (not forgotten by Wordsworth i what may meet your eye when you look below the bridge, and gaze up or down the stream, or perhaps watch its eddying circles close beneath your gaze. The movement of boats passing up stream slowly and painfully, or coming down in delightful pace and ease; the look of a pair or perhaps a small fiock of water-birds in the distance, or near at hand; all the romance of an old wharf stretching from the bank into the water, with its suggestion of leisurely merchandise, of lading and unlading—these are the sights to be seen better from a bridge than from anywhere else, and which have stayed the feet of many a passenger, and made him give a few minutes from care or commerce to feed the hunger for beauty that lives in the eyes.

And away from cities and towns, in the quiet of some retired village, or it may be in the very depth of fields or heath, where only some lonely road has to cross a stream, you will now and then come upon an old bridge which, to a few men or children of the countryside is a favorite haunt and restingplace, for what it has to show. The shepherd and laborer know it, or the boy whose work it is to tend a few cows turned out to graze by the roadside when the meadows are shut up for hay. Let us look with one of them as he leans over the low stone wall and see what it is that makes him so quietly intent. To-day it is not the water-rat that holds him, or the moorhen swimming in and out of the rushes lower down, or the lampreys clinging like Medusa's hair round a stone: he is in a moralizing mood, but keeps it. happily, till the very end:—

Sauntering at ease i often love to lean O'er old bridge walls, and mark the flood below, Whose ripples, through the weeds of oily green, ,

Like happy travellers chatter as they go; And view the sunshine dancing on the arch, Time keeping to the merry waves beneath. While on the banks some drooping blossoms parch, Thirsting for water in the day's hot breath, Right glad of mud-drops splash'd upon their leaves, By cattle plunging from the steepy brink; Each water-flow'r more than its share receives, And revels to its very cups in drink:— So in the world, some strive, and fare but ill, While others riot, and have plenty still.

That was John Clare's summer picture, but such a lover of old bridges is be that even in winter he cannot resist stopping and leaning in the same place, heedless of cold; and perhaps this other scene may be more fitting to the season :—

On Lolhum brigs, in wild and lonely mood, i've seen the winter fioods their gambols play Through each old arch, that trembled while i stood Bent o'er its wall to watch the dashing spray, As its old station would be wash'd away. Crash came the ice against the piers, and then A shudder jarred the arches; yet once more it breasted raving waves, and stood again To wait the shock, as stubborn as before. White foam, brown-crested with the russet soil, As washed from new ploughed lands, would dart beneath Then round and round in thousand eddies boil On t'other side;—then pause as if for breath, One minute—then engulfed—like life in death.

So far we have but touched the way in which a bridge appeals to man's The Outlook.

heart through his eyes, and noted some of the points by which that appeal is made. But through other senses also the appeal comes:—

i stood on the bridge at midnight As the clocks were striking the hour.

The lines bring us back to the city with its multitudinous voices of the daytime hushed into silence, with the sound from the clock-tower booming out clear and heavy on the empty air, and only that other soft rushing sound of the water below, pouring through the channel, under the bridge's long black rafters.

As sweeping and eddying through them Rose the belated tide.

Life and Time seem to make these voices their own and speak to us in a language only a little understood, and yet in tones not wholly sad, however deep; not leaving us quite to ourselves on an island of being, cut off from all beside, but bridging over the gulfs that we see on this side and on that, with the note of a friend's voice on the other shore.

THE LiTERARY COiNER.*

it may sound paradoxical to say, and yet, for all that, it is a melancholy truth, that fraud and imposture, variously modified, have played almost as important a part, both in history and literature, as anything which is genuine, and really is what it purports to be. On one series of barefaced fictions, the "False Decretals," concocted either in the eighth or ninth century.

• "Literary Forgeries." By J. A. Farrer. with an Introduction by Andrew Lang. Longmans, 1907.

was based the great fabric of Papal supremacy over the different national Churches; on another, concocted about the same time, the "Donation of Coustantine." was based the pretension of the Popes to the sovereignty of Rome, italy, and the provinces of the west. On the forgeries of Hardynge and others rested the chief justification of our own Kings to the suzerainty of Scotland. To an impudent forgery, almost certainly the work of Dr. Gauden, afterwards Bishop of Worcester, the "Klkon Basilike," is mainly to be attributed the popular estimate of Charles L, and the Royalist reaction. which led to the restoration of the Stuarts. Forgeries as unscrupulous were important factors in the destruction of Anne Boleyn, Mary Queen of Scots, and Marie Antoinette.

if we turn to literature, the work of the forger meets us at every step, from antiquity downwards. in Greek literature, that functionary has obliged us with the correspondence, or, at least, a portion of the correspondence of Phalarls, of Democrltus, Heraclitus, Diogenes, with several letters of Euripides, of Plato, and of Aristotle, and with a whole collection of lyrics —to do them justice, very charming ones — ascribed to Anacreon. The Greeks were never remarkable for their honesty, and the more they degenerated, the more dishonest they became, till, in the first and second century A.D., they and the uatlons who had got mingled with them settled down to forgery on so wholesale a scale that there is scarcely any Greek classic without spurious parasites. Roman literature is even more perplexed by these nefarious practices, extending, as they have done, through nearly nineteen hundred years. But it was not till the Renaissance that they became interesting, and singularly interesting, for they are occasionally miracles of ingenuity. Such would be the "Consolatio," first published in 1583 as a treatise of Cicero, and doing no discredit to its reputed author, but undoubtedly the work of Carlo Sigonio, a distinguished scholar of the sixteenth century; such would be the Trau fragment of the "Satyrlcon" of Petronins Arbiter, the famous description of Trimalchlou's Feast, discovered in a library in Dalmatla by Marinus SUttileus. a young lawyer, which occasioned one of the most interesting of the many interesting literary contro

versies of the sixteenth century, und around which still hangs mystery. The skill with which it is executed to enhanced by contrasting it with two other Petronlan forgeries, that by Nodot of a complete text of the "Satyrlcon" in 1690, and that by Lallemand of another fragment of it in 1800. But nowhere has forgery been more active than in theology. Such would be the writings attributed to Dlonyslus, "The Areopagite," as impudent a fraud as the fictions which go under the name of "Hermes Trlsmegistus," the "Sibylline Oracles," and the "Correspondence of St. Paul and Seneca."

But to turn to modern literature. From two bare-faced forgeries, probably of the fourth century, the "De Excidlo Trojee," ascribed to Dares Purygins, and the "De Bello Trojano,' usscribed to DIctys, the Cretan, descended the voluminous dynasty of Romances, which culminated in the "Filastrato'' of Boccaccio, the "Trollus and Cresslda" of Chaucer, and the tragicomedy, with the same title, by Shakespeare. From a forgery as impudent— the "Chronicle of the Psuedo Turpin,"' produced about the beginning of the twelfth century, by a Canon of Barcelona, emanated the still more famous cycle which flowered into the "Chanson de Roland." Equally fraudulent was the work "The History of the Britons," by Geoffrey, of Monmouth, which laid the foundations of the Arthurian romances, and gave us the noble legends consecrated by Spenser, by Shakespeare, by Milton, by Tennyson, which furnished our poetry, in fact, with material as rich and splendid as that out of which Virgil wove the ".Eneid." No one can doubt, anymore than Geoffrey's contemporaries did, that the "ancient Cymric manuscript," of which it purports to be a translation, was as fictitious as its alleged discoverer.

in the Middle Ages, no work was more influential than a forgery so palpable that the wonder is that it should have deceived any one who glanced at it, the "Secretum Secretorum,' ascribed to Aristotle, and yet Roger Bacon treated it as genuine, and Gower versified it. The delightful ''Travels of Sir John Mandeville," until lately regarded as the genuine records of a real person, were simply an ingenious concoction by two Frenchmen at Liége, and are, together with their hero, as purely fictitious as "Gulliver's Travels" or "The Adventures of Peter Wilkins,"

Turn where we will in our literature, frand and forgery meet us at every step. Of the two works which were most influential in furthering the Romantic Revival, namely, Percy's "Relics'' and Macpherson's "Ossian." to neither of which does Mr. Farrer so much as refer, one was full of faked and psendo matter, and the other was almost unalloyed forgery. About Macpherson's "Ossian" still hangs no little mystery. That three-fourths of it are admittedly pure fabrication is certain. How then did there get into it the undoubtedly genuine vein of poetry which is to be found in it?— "the residue." as Matthew Arnold calls it, "with the very soul of the Celtic genins in it," the real grandeur of such a passage as the Address to the Sun. Macpherson, as his acknowledged writings show, had not a grain of poetry in him, nor has his coadjutor, Lachlan Macpherson, left anything to indicate that he was equal to the production of such passages,

Common at all periods, the golden era of this nefarious activity was the eighteenth century. Of some of its exploits, such as George Psalmanazar's "History of Formosa," Bertram's "Description of Britain," and the creation of three British historians, as fictitious as the facts for which they were the authorities, a frand which

deceived and misled even Gibbon, and was not exposed until long after Bertram's death; Chatterton's "Rowley Forgeries," the infamous forgeries of Lander, and the ridiculous forgeries of lreland, of all these Air. Farrer gives us very interesting accounts, lt was, no doubt, only possible for him, in the space at his disposal, to skirt the subject; but it is surprising to find him silent about feats of this kind, of greater interest than those which he has recorded. Such would be the extraordinary forgeries, and the still more extraordinary career, of the Abbe Fourment, who, in 1728, traversed Greece and the Peloponnese for the purpose of copying ancient Greek inscriptions, and who so perplexed with palpable forgery the undoubtedly genuine inscriptions which he brought back, that, nearly a century afterwards, he nearly drove Augustus Boeckh frantic. Still more remarkable were the forgeries of the Abbe Vella. This indefatigable impostor, who was a Maltese chaplain, and well acquainted with Arabic, heard that a Sicilian gentleman, engaged in a history of Sicily, wanted documents throwing light on the history of Sicily during the Middle Ages, trading on the general ignorance of Arabic, produced a manuscript purporting to contain the "Diplomatic Code," or correspondence between the Arabian governor of Sicily and the sovereign of Africa, which was published in two volumes, the first appearing in 1789, and the second in 1792. This was followed in 1793 by "The Book of the Council of Egypt," printed at the expense of the King of Naples, in Bodoni's types, at enormous cost. He then announced that he had discovered an Arabic version of the last books of Livy. These works he had produced by the simple process of disfiguring and faking Arabic manuscripts dealing with entirely different subjects, and having no connection at all with what he described them as treating of. The history of these extraordinary forgeries well deserves to be written. Curiously parallel to the Cuatterton forgeries are the Poesies de Marguerite Eleonore, Clotllde de Valon-Chalys depuls Madame de Surville, poête Francais du XVe Steele," published in 1803, under the auspices of M. Charles Vanderbourgb, the real author of which was the Marquis Joseph Etienne de Surville, a graceless profligate, who afterwards took to robbing diligences, and was shot in the Yelay in 1798. Of the spuriousness of these poems there can be as little doubt as of their great merit .

One of the most impudent forgeries attempted in the last century was that of the "Memoirs of Cagliostro," concocted by the Comte de Courchamps, mainly out of two novels by John Potocki. a Polish Count, published respectively in 1813 and 1814. The fraud was exposed before the work, which was published in instalments, was completed, when De Courchamps had the face to assert that Potocki's publisher had surreptitiously got possession of his manuscripts. Unluckily, however, for De Courchamps, it was shown that one of Potocki's novels had been published at St. Petersburg, under another title, as far back as 1N04, and this mean double fraud was trinmphantly exposed. Perhaps the most mysterious forgery of modern times was that attributed by many to Payne Collier, the eminent Shakespearean scholar. in a Third Folio of Shakespeare, which belonged to him.

The Nattoa.

and had belonged to him for many years, he announced that he had discovered an enormous number of emendations—roughly, they amounted to about 20,000- in a handwriting of the seventeenth century. That a large proportion of these were forged, there can be no doubt, ink, pencil-marks, and other peculiarities, showing this conclusively. The labor involved in such a work is obvious, and what motive could have prompted the forger, if the forger was Collier, to assign to a phantom the credit of emendations, many of which place the corrector in the first rank of conjectural critics? As, however, there can be no doubt that on other occasions he forged and faked many documents, it is probable that he was the culprit.

Here i must break off; but one word let me add—for it is to the credit of a great scholar—to Mr. Farrer's interesting account of the Simonidee forgeries. That arch-impostor had brought some of his manuscripts— which 1 do not know, to "Bodley" Cox. "And what date." said the expectant huckster, who had just taken in Sir Frederick Madden, "should you assign to this?" placing a manuscript before him. Cox, after scrutinizing it for a few minutes, curtly replied, "About the middle of the nineteenth century. Pack up and begone, sir!"

it is to be hoped that Mr. Farrer's pleasantly written and scholarly volume will be followed by another of equal interest, for material is indeed ample.

J. Churton Collins.

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