with sufficient exactness to render them easily times, and said to have been written by an Alexrecognized. His object is not difficult to di- andrian named Uranios. The manuscript, fabvine. He announced one day that excavations ricated with much art, was designed to pass for must be made in the gardens of Ismael-Pacha, a palimpsest-the name given to a parchment Minister of Public Works. The place indi-on which an old inscription has been erased to cated was searched, and, indeed, a manuscript make room for another, the original text reon parchment was found inclosed in an old box. appearing only by means of chemical reagents. It is unnecessary to say that Simonides was This was Simonides's first essay in palimpsests, familiar with the garden, and had already and there is no denying that it gave evidence walked there. Another attempt of the same of an extreme skill. Is this skill sufficient to sort ended less favorably for Simonides. A explain the countenance at once afforded to certain Ibrahim was digging the foundation of our Greek by William Dindorf? May not a house, when some one took the opportunity other motives have served to blind the celeto ask Simonides if the spot where they were brated philologist? So much, at least, is cerworking did not happen to be one of those con- tain, that Dindorf immediately declared himtaining manuscripts. Simonides examined, self convinced, that he rejected all representaand declared that, in truth, there should be tions, combated all objections, that he himself found, somewhere near, an Arabic work, writ- bought the manuscript for the sum of 2000 thaten in Syrian characters. At once arose a curi-lers, and that he sought directly to sell it again osity easily understood; they dug and dug, but nothing came to light. Our savant was present; but he was forbidden to descend into the trench, which, to be sure, could have served him little, since he was under the eye of the assistants. After some hours of labor, every one went to breakfast. On their return the excavations recommenced. But the workmen had scarcely struck a few spade-blows when Simonides cried out: "There it is! there it is!" In fact, they had come upon a box. Ibrahim observed immediately that the earth clinging to it was of a different nature from that of the place where they were digging. But the workmen had laughed: why this merriment? On questioning them, it appeared that during breakfast Simonides had slipped away, had gone down into the trench and worked there. Whereupon Simonides thought proper to quit Constantinople. Here should come in the pretended travels of Simonides in Asia, and probably the fabrication of the works which we shall one day see appear. In 1853 we find our savant in England, where his business transactions were tolerably successful. A celebrated amateur, Sir Thomas Philipps, gave him, for one manuscript, as much as £500 sterling, that is to say, 12,500 francs. The British Museum bought seven, but refused several others as spurious. From London Simonides came to Paris, where he passed four months, and where, likewise, he boasted of having made some advantageous sales. Finally, in July, 1855, he reached Leipsic, where his career of learned frauds and dishonest gains was to terminate. Faithful to his system of screening his false manuscripts with pieces really ancient and valnable, Simonides commenced by exhibiting, at Leipsic, some leaves of the Greek text of Hermas, a Christian writer of the second century, whose works were known only through a Latin version. This was enough to surprise and delight the learned world. But Hermas was to serve only as introduction to an original work. Simonides had manufactured a history of the kings of Egypt, reaching back to most ancient to the Prussian government for 5000 thalers, which would have insured him a pretty little profit. Before buying, however, the King of Prussia charged some Berlinese savans, among them M. Lepsius, the first of modern Egyptologists, with the examination of the document. More than one warning had already been heard. M. Lycurgos, a Greek scholar, who had given lessons to our Simonides, conceived suspicions on finding, in Uranios, the solecisms that he had formerly corrected at Athens, in the themes of his pupil. Then there were strange idioms, modes of speech entirely modern. M. Tischendorf, a poor enough critic, but an experienced paleographer, declared, on his side, that the manuscript in question presented the writing of the eleventh century, but could not be a palimpsest of the fifth. M. Lepsius, who appears to have been deluded at first, had no sooner obtained permission to take away the manuscript, to study at leisure, than he found the contents completely at variance with the most recent and certain discoveries of science. The chemical and microscopic tests finished by demonstrating that the text of the pretended Uranios, instead of being more ancient than the effaced writing, was more modern-in other words, that it was a counterfeit, the work of a forger. Furnished with all these proofs, M. Lepsius went to Leipsic, in company with a police - agent, and on the first of February, 1856, Simonides was arrested, at the very moment when he was making his arrangements to go to London. At his dwelling was found the whole apparatus with which he had manufactured his Uranios: chemical inks, essays of old writing, manuscripts, some spurious, others authentic, works of Egyptologists such as Bunsen and Lepsius himself, and, to crown all, the text of Uranios. The money which Simonides had received from Dindorf was still in his possession. The offense was evident, yet it remained unpunished. The Prussian tribunal set Simonides at liberty, and restored to him his effects and his money. The criminal, in fact, had not committed his fraud in Prussia, and M. Dindorf, who had been its only real victim, was not a Prussian. As for the Saxon tribunals, they could interfere only on condition of making it a civil suit, which M. Dindorf, for some reason or other, did not care to do. The forger did not fail to cite his acquittal as a proof of his innocence, and betook himself to Vienna, where I know not what became of him. At thirty-five he had accomplished labors beside which the forgeries of which M. D'Hunolstein, Feuillet de Conches, and Chasles have been the dupes must always appear very tame and paltry. In closing this account of the more noted literary forgeries, perhaps it may not be amiss to devote a few words to the cheat of which M. Chasles has been the victim; and this by reason of its being the latest piece of knavery, rather than from any claim it possesses to rank with those already described. Some eight years since, a man named VrainLucas presented himself before M. Chasles, a member of the Institute, and proposed to sell him a large number of autographs and curious pieces belonging to a M. De Bois-Jourdain, who was desirous of parting with them. On this basis Vrain-Lucas constructed the whole fable: The collection in question had been made in the last century by a rich personage, who was obliged to emigrate in 1791. He went to America, carrying with him his collection: on his return he was shipwrecked; all his autographs, letters, and books fell into the water, but were afterward recovered. This explained the condition of some of the pieces offered to M. Chasles. and made many purchases of him. Twentyseven thousand forged pieces were sold for the sum of one hundred and forty thousand francs at different times, of course. Some of the pretended letters were as follows: Letters and poems of Abelard, one of the latter entitled "The Unfortunate Lover;" letters from Alexander the Great to Aristotle, from Argesilaus to Euripides, from Cleopatra to Casar, from Eschylus to Euripides. Letters of Attila; of Catherine Boren, Luther's widow; of Julius Cæsar, Cicero, Clovis, and Charlemagne. Three songs of Blanche of Castile, and sixty letters of Joan of Arc. A letter from Judas Iscariot to Mary Mag dalen. Two letters from Gremius Julius to Jesus Christ. Twenty-five letters to St. Peter from that Lazarus who was raised from the dead. Of course there were many others; these are but a few of the most striking ones. The wonder is, how M. Chasles could credit the authenticity of these pieces. Finally, the discovery of the truth was brought about by an experiment on some letters of Galileo. Vrain-Lucas was arrested on a charge of swindling, and, being convicted, was condemned to two months of imprisonment and a fine of five hundred francs. The examination, which lasted a long time, was only very recently concluded. And, in future, M. Chasles would do well to M. Chasles believed the word of this man, renounce autographs! Editor's Easy Chair. [T is difficult for an old traveler in Europe, of at every point of friction between opposing po to that the Prussian King William, who has become suddenly the hero of liberty and order, is the same prince who at that time stemmed the current of popular revolution in Prussia. The King, indeed, has probably not changed. He is, doubtless, the same tough old Tory, believing in his God-given crown, and despising a popular constitution as heartily as ever. But the ocean currents are stronger than the will of the sailor afloat upon them. In the inevitable battle between political progress and reaction, typified by Germany and by imperialized France, the old King has been lifted into a prominence which makes him more the hero of civilized order than ever Frederick the Great was of Protestantism. Few kings in history have had a deeper and nobler popular sentiment behind them than this grim old Prussian Tory; and his heart must be triply hard if it has not been touched both with admiration and awe by the spectacle of a great nation resistlessly united in an intelligent and lofty unity of purpose. The political education of Germany proceeds steadily with its general development. Its movements are not hysterical, and the German does not run into the street to throw up a barricade remains absolute and despotic the substantial intelligence of the people gradually makes absolutism impossible. The condition of 1815 is like a legend of the dark ages. It is not William nor his dynasty, it is threatened Germany and civilization, it is the genius of political reaction letting loose Turcos and Zouaves upon intelligent and liberal Europe, that summons the great steady German people into the field to fight the battle of modern liberty and order. And as the Easy Chairs upon this side of the sea contemplate the tremendous spectacle, and see the people waving hats and flags and handkerchiefs to the King and the princes, holding their stirrups and kissing their hands, one of the Easy Chairs, at least, reverts in memory to those other days of '48, when Europe was also shaken, and when William was not yet king, but was only Prince Royal of Prussia, the King's brother. The King in those days was his poor Majesty Clicquot, as he was called; a man not without literary cultivation, of a great deal of maudlin sentimentality, and a prodigious capacity for drinking Champagne. He was sensible enough to make Humboldt his familiar friend, having him constantly with him at his country palace; and his minister in England was Bunsen. But Champagne and political sentimentality were his bane and his ruin. It was a great pity both for him and for his country, but his Majesty was not respected. Even Punch, in London, made merciless fun of him. The poor King should have been kept from general view like a Grand Lama. If trouble were to come, his image in the national mind could not possibly prove to be a tonic, and trouble did come. The Reform banquets were proposed in Paris. Louis Philippe was king and Guizot was his minister. The assembly was apparently devoted to the dynasty. But Odilon Barrot, then liberal and eloquent; De Tocqueville, constitutionalist and sagacious; and the late Montalembert, a legitimist sans peur et sans reproche, were all in opposition. Odilon Barrot was the popular tribune of the moment, and his speeches excited the people and harassed the government. De Tocqueville, in a remarkable discourse, full of practical wisdom and political sagacity, distinctly foretold the revolution. Montalembert, in a passionate and electrical appeal, so moved the Chamber that it voted to adjourn, distrusting its action under the influence of his spell. Then came the catastrophe; the flight of the King; the proposition of the regency of his daughterin-law, the widow of the Duke of Orleans and mother of the Count De Paris; the significant cry of Lamartine, "Too late! too late!" and the proclamation of the republic with the provisional government. body keep quiet. But there were some irrepressible spirits who would not "move on" at the paternal request, and it became necessary to emphasize it with sabres. The cavalry charged upon groups of talkers that would not disperse; and, indeed, one evening the pleasant Unter den Linden was so full of people that the paternal cavalry made a clean sweep through it at a rapid trot with drawn swords, and one free-born son of Columbia pursuing the higher humanities at the university had his head laid open by the admonitions of the government. But the amazing and sudden success of the revolution in France put all the crowned heads of Europe into a panic, and they began to make concessions to the people. It was pitiful to see, because it implied a kind of conscious robberrelation between the rulers and the nations. The kings seemed like pirates who had been overtaken, and in mortal terror at the probable consequences of their crimes, proposed to disgorge their plunder. They professed willingness to restore large shares of the treasures of liberty that they had stolen, and were evidently much more conscious at that moment of the power of the people than of their "God-given" authority. King Clicquot went with the rest, and promised well. There should be a constitution and all the modern improvements added to the political edifice of Prussia. There were optimists in those startling days, who thought that Europe was to be republicanized by the mere force of reason, and that kings were about gracefully to own themselves in the wrong and to retire. But suddenly, one Saturday afternoon in Berlin, the mere force of reason gave way. The Easy Chair was dining with some student friends at the old Belvedere.-Is it standing still? Do the pudding and the soup still meet in the middle of the feast? Is the white beer of Bavaria still drunk there by the yard? Is the kind old man long since departed, who, overhearing the English tongue, and learning that the Easy Chair was American, exclaimed with satisfaction, "We love die Americans, and we know very much your General Vashington Irving?" Is the palace of the Prince of Prussia still standing close at hand? But who sees Humboldt walking by? Who hurries across into dear old Ritter's lecture-room? What a wonderful spectacle it was! and at this moment let us remember how well the nation behaved, how orderly even the mob of Paris was-that mob which is so constantly and wrongly called "the people," by those who speak of French events and how noble and memorable was the service of Lamartine, who, more than any other Frenchman, in that hour of incredible excitement and vague, terrible apprehension, kept the peace at home and abroad; and, by a stroke of rhetoric, which was also a sublime act of humanity and patriotism, made the flag of liberalism, and not that of terror, the accepted flag of France. Carlyle sneered at Lamartine as squirting rose-water upon the revolution. But no thoughtful Frenchman, and no man any where who reads or remembers that history faithfully, While we were yet dining anxious faces apwill deny to Lamartine the praise of the most peared, and we were told that trouble was brewsagacious inspirations and words. It is not clearing. A crowd of people had been to the royal that any other man in France could have tided palace to demand arms, and they had been rethe country over the perils of those early weeks fused. The revolution was coming! The tidal of the revolution. Lamartine was not wholly a wave was even now lifting us! We all arose hero, indeed; but it is not the blind begging and went out. A huge concourse of men was Belisarius of later days, it is the brave king of swiftly swarming from the palace into the broad the occasion, whom grateful France and civiliza-street. As it passed along, like a dark cloud, tion will remember. make all fast. Before the palace of the Prince of Prussia, his present Majesty King William, a carriage was standing, and the moment the crowd had passed the Princess of Prussia, the present Queen, and a beautiful woman, came out with children, and stepped quickly into the carriage, which drove off rapidly toward the King's palace. The crowd swept on, and the leaders of revolution knew that the hour had come. covering every thing with shadow, doors and winFor many days in Berlin there had been thun-dows were closed, and shop-keepers hurried to der in the air. It was evident that something impended. The reading-rooms along the pleasant street Unter den Linden, and all the bier lokals, were full of attentive students of the papers, who discussed the chances of events. At length the final news came. The first thing that we heard in Berlin was that the government was ready and had plenty of soldiers. Probably it knew the necessity, for the city had an air of suppressed excitement, and the feeling was such that troops of the cavalry of the paternal government paraded the streets at night to help every As the Easy Chair strolled curiously along, it saw men with clubs and iron bars hurrying by evidently to a rendezvous, and officers on horse back clattered through the streets, which all carriages had deserted. The leaders knew that no time could be safely lost, and by three o'clock barricades were rising in the chief streets that led into Unter den Linden. The Easy Chair turned into its room in the Friedrich Strasse, and at the same moment it saw from the window that a crowd had brought the materials to build a barricade just beneath it. Suddenly there was a low knock at its door, and opening it, the Easy Chair saw a young officer of the King's Guards. He was pale, and explained courteously that he had been making a visit at the rooms of the General upon the floor below-he was the General's daughter's lover--and that to attempt to pass the barricade in the uniform that he wore would be to invite destruction. Would the Easy Chair be so gracious as to lend a gentleman in that unhappy predicament a few garments of the civilian? While he spoke they could both hear the heavy rumble of artillery, and far away shots of musketry. The uniform was quickly concealed, and with the utmost courtesy the young officer thanked the Easy Chair, and hastened away, as he said, to reach his post. The barricade beneath the window was soon built, and the sound of firing grew heavier and nearer. The Easy Chair heard the approach of soldiers advancing upon the barricade. At the same moment the sloping roof of the house opposite to its window began to heave, and was finally burst through by the iron bars of the insurgents, who, completely protected by the eaves from the fire of the soldiers in the street, could throw down upon them every kind of deadly missile. But the clear voice of the commanding officer ordered, loud enough for all on the neighboring houses to hear, that the troops should fire upon every person who appeared at a window, and he sent a detachment into the opposite house. The barricade was then assaulted and carried, and the Easy Chair was at once within the military lines that were pushed outward from Unter den Linden. But for hours the alarmbells rang, and the sharp volleys of musketry rattled, and the dull heavy cannon thundered and shook the air. A great battle was going on in the city. The moon shone, the white clouds drifted through the sky, and there was no other sound than that of the bells, the muskets, and the cannon. The next day the city was like a city that had been carried by assault. The soldiers had taken the barricades and held the streets. But there was a universal feeling that the people were strong enough to bring King Clicquot to terms, and there was bitter hatred of the Prince of Prussia, who had counseled and directed the operations of the night. The King issued a sentimental proclamation to his liebe Berliner, his dear Berlinese. But the dead were carried to the royal palace and brought into the court, and his poor Majesty was compelled to come to the window and to look upon his subjects, whom he was plainly told that he had murdered. He wept and promised; and it was understood that his brother sharply reproached him for not maintaining his prerogative by the grace of God. But there was a kind of national guard organized and armed. There was a solemn and triumphal funeral of the dead, and Humboldt walked in the procession among the national VOL. XLI.-No. 246.-59 mourners. There was a little feeble talk of Clicquot as Emperor of Germany. But after the ludicrous and brief empire of the Archduke John, the last of poor Clicquot's wits ebbed away; Robert Blum, the popular leader, had been shot, and the Prince of Prussia, becoming king, stoutly held that he owed his crown to God, and was responsible to Him, and not to the people. But while his Majesty the King has held his views, their Majesties the People have held theirs. The political education of Germany has steadily proceeded, and the old doctrine of divine right has been surely undermined. The deepest political desire in Germany to-day is for a union of the German race. Germany heard with amazement, like the rest of the world, the declaration of Thiers three years ago, that the true policy of France was the continued dismemberment of Germany. It was the statesmanship of barbarism, and Germany does not forget it. When Louis Napoleon made his monstrous declaration of war, without even a pretense of just occasion, Germany rose with a single heart, not to protect a Prussian dynasty, but to defend its own integrity, and to assert the power of civilization against the incursions of anarchy. William became of necessity the head of the movement. the old man rode into the field, followed by the prayers and benedictions even of those who were his victims in '48, he was the representative not of a royal house, but of a royal people, whose triumph would be that of civilized order, intelligence, and progress. Yet still, as the sound of the German cannon echoes over the sea, the advancing guns of liberty, the Easy Chair must curiously remember those other guns long ago which the same King fired. But as MANY of the American bishops of the Roman Church returned during the summer, and Archbishop Purcell, of Cincinnati, one of its most conspicuous and beloved prelates, delivered a lecture upon the subject of the Council, which is of peculiar interest from the American point of view. The Archbishop described very simply and graphically the proceedings of the Council, and we have nowhere seen a more intelligible report. He mentioned the great inconvenience of the wing of the huge transept of St. Peter's, in which the Council assembled, and the clumsy canvas ceiling which was contrived to remedy the acoustic defects, and which did not remedy them. Then the atmosphere of St. Peter's made mischief. The great cathedral has a climate of its own. It is an air which the outer heat and cold does not affect, and which is odorous with the continual incense of centuries. In the burning summer you lift the huge leathern curtain that hangs over the door, and you are chilled by a wintry coolness. In winter you pass from the raw air of the great Place, or piazza before the church, into a mild, sweet temperature. In But this sudden check and change were fatal. Thirteen of the cardinals and bishops died within the first three months, and many more have since died. One day, the Archbishop says, they thought one of the brethren had died in the Council. the hall," he says, "there were three openings, and consequently many currents of air. So that many of the older bishops came in leaning on their staffs, tottering along to find their places, hardly knowing whether they would live or die. .....These openings made it very unpleasant. | approve them, what is to be done? Are the conAnd then the slamming of doors, the coughing and sneezing, made it extremely difficult to hear the orator. Nevertheless, under all these inconveniences, we did the best we could." It was, according to the Archbishop, a perfectly free Council, which Father Hyacinthe denies. "The Pope was never present," says the Archbishop. "He sought no control over us, leaving us under the direction of five cardinals. There was entire liberty of speech," he adds, "provided we first obtained permission, which was never refused;" and then he describes a regulation which is worthy the most serious attention of all conventions, ecclesiastical and political, of all legislatures and public meetings of every kind. Going up into the ambon, or pulpit, where we addressed the brethren, "we spoke as long as we thought necessary; and it was only when we were, in the estimation of the audience, too tedious or lengthy, that a little bell was rung, and we were requested to descend from the stand." This does not seem to be precisely speaking as long as we thought necessary, but as long as was thought agreeable by the hearers. Moreover, who decided that the audience considered us tedious the Archbishop does not mention. But, as he speaks of one bell only, it was probably in the hand of one of the five cardinals under whose direction we were always perfectly free. And when that Eminence thought that our remarkstending, possibly, toward some remote doubt of the wisdom of proclaiming infallibility-ought to be tedious to the audience, even if they were not, he tinkled the little bell, upon which we, whose minds and discourses were uncontrolled, and who spoke as long as we thought necessary, straightway descended from our ambon, or pulpit. The freedom of speech was apparently perfect. "The little joker is unquestionably under this thimble," quoth the positive gentleman at the fair. The Archbishop tells us further that the rights of science were never more amply vindicated. The Bishop of St. Augustine was their champion. He took the cardinals to task for the old judgment against Galileo, which, however, he said that the Pope never signed. And the Bishop called Galileo "that great, good man." Surely this is significant, that the great modern Council of the Church should hear one of its members praise Galileo, and without rebuke! Science has its rights, said the Bishop. Scientific men should pursue their investigations with the largest liberty. The Bishop of St. Augustine proceeds to illustrate his conception of the largest liberty of science, as the good Archbishop has already given us his of the perfect freedom of speech. We must say to scientific men-who are wholly free-says the Bishop, that they must not pretend to find in science any thing antagonistic to the revelations of the Bible. When they think that they have done so it is their duty to submit it to learned men in the Church, and the Church will never find fault with them if they do so. Archbishop Purcell states that another American bishop wished science to have the same liberty-the liberty, that is to say, of submitting its conclusions to the revision and approval of the doctors of the Church. But the modern St. Augustine deserts us at the very crucial point. When science, being perfectly free, submits to us the results of its investigation, and we of the ecclesiastical body do not clusions of science to be rejected as false because they do not agree with our opinions, who are not versed in science? Or is the opinion of the ecclesiastical body to be considered science? Suppose, for instance, that science, in the person of Galileo, teaches the revolution of the earth, and that we, the Church, in the persons of the cardinals, declare that such a doctrine is contrary to Scripture, what is to be done? Shall we denounce Galileo, as we did before, or confess our own incompetence? Is the truth decided by science or by our opinion? If by our opinion, then the earth does not revolve around the sun. If by science, why should wise men submit the results of their investigation to us who are proved to be dunces, and who confess it? There is something very artless in this conception of freedom. The liberty of science to submit the result of its investigations to the doctors of the Bishop's Church, and its equal liberty to have its conclusions approved or condemned by those doctors, is very much the kind of liberty that Galileo enjoyed. It is the liberty of doing and saying exactly what the ecclesiastical doctors choose. The excellent Bishop of St. Augustine must hold to one position or the other. If he said, as the report of Archbishop Purcell's address declares, "Science has its rights, which should never be interfered with; and scientific men should pursue their investigations with the largest liberty," why does he say, as also reported, that if they reach certain decisions, they must submit them to the decision of certain doctors of the Church? Does he not see that he also unavoidably suggests the remark of the gentleman at the fair, "The little joker is certainly under this thimble?" Presently, in a frank and manly way, Archbishop Purcell describes his speech in the Council upon civil government; and this merits the most careful attention, as the view of one of the most justly eminent and distinguished dignitaries of the Roman Catholic Church in America. He had obtained leave to speak-subject, of course, to the tinkling of the little bell-when the entire order of proceedings was changed, and "I was left out in the cold, as were other bishops." He therefore wrote out his speech, and sent it to the archives of the Council. But he must also have delivered it at last, because he says that when he came down from the ambon, or pulpit, the English Archbishop Manning, one of the most uncompromising advocates of the infallibility, rushed forward, took his hand, and said, "You are a true republican," which, however, was a very questionable compliment from Dr. Manning. But our American Bishop said plainly that it would have been better for the Church if kings had never assumed to protect her; that our American form of government is the best in the world, because it finds the rightful source of power where God placed it, in the people. He said that our civil constitution gives perfect liberty to every denomination of Christians, and looks with equal favor upon all. This, said the Archbishop, "I believe is better for the Catholic religion than if it were especially protected. All we want is a fair field and no favor. It is for the people to decide. If they approve our religion, they will embrace it; if they do not, they will reject it." These were remarkable words to hear in a |