four hundred and eighty letters of the Old and New Testaments eight times over in the space of one inch square. When this wonderful microscopic writing was enlarged by photography, every letter and point was perfect, and it could be read with ease.

The British Museum, among its many curiosities, has probably the most unique collection of miniature books in the world.

Here is a rather dilapidated book of songs, bound in brown leather, little more than an inch square, called "The Maid's Delight," dated London, 1670. Next is a little brown Bible, known, from its diminutive size, as the Thumb Bible, dated London, 1693. Its gilt edges are excellently preserved. Here is a very small summary of the Bible, in perfect condition, made curious from the fact that it has the tiniest of illustrations. By its side rests a complete copy of Dante, with an engraving of the author. It is only one and a half inches wide, yet it contains four hundred and ninety-nine pages, on which are printed one hundred cantos.

Short-hand writers, too, have a miniature volume containing the New Testament and Psalms, bound in a green cover, once velvet or plush,-with silver clasps and bands. It is a wonderful little book, written in short-hand, by Jeremiah Rich, as far back as two hundred and thirty-one years ago. On the fly-leaf are these words: "The pen's dexterity by these incomparable contractions, by which a sentence is as soon written as a word, allowed by authority and passed the two Universities with great approbation and applause, invented and taught by Jeremiah Rich, 1659. John Lilburne offered to give the author a certificate, under his own hand, that he took down his trial at the Old Bailey with the greatest exactness. The Book of Psalms in Rich's characters is in print. His short-hand was taught in Dr. Doddinge's Academy, at Northampton."

The Chinese and Japanese excel in the art of manufacturing miniatures. Their fingers must indeed be deft if they could carve correct and striking portraits of William III. and George I. on the half of a walnut-shell,—a feat which has been accomplished. Some time ago a British needle-manufacturer sent out to China a number of exceedingly fine needles, saying that he thought nobody in the Celestial Empire could be found to drill a hole as small as that necessary for the eye. He received them back with holes drilled through the very points, truly a wonderful piece of workmanship.

But even this pales before the work now being done by a naturalist.

His hobby consists in collecting the fine dust with which the wings of moths and butterflies are covered, and forming them into the most artistic and picturesque designs. He mounts each single grain of dust separately, so as to make bouquets of flowers, fern-leaves, and butterflies hovering round. This he does in a space occupied by the eighth of an inch. In another design he has a vase of passion-flowers made of upward of five hundred grains of dust; and again he has represented a pot of fuchsias, with butterflies and birds, in three-sixteenths of a square inch. This marvellous mounting in miniature will be more readily understood when it is mentioned that there are so many single grains of dust on a butterfly's wing that no man has ever succeeded in counting them.

This same naturalist mounted a couple of hundred of the tiniest eggs of the smallest insects, so as to make a perfect geometrical design, yet the whole did not cover a space a quarter of an inch in diameter; while another ardent naturalist selected and arranged three thousand six hundred young oysters within a circle a little less than three-eighths of an inch in diameter.

Tiny shells arrive in this country from Barbadoes, a hundred of which could be placed on a space covering the eighth of a square inch. An ingenious individual has made a perfect shot-gun capable of firing a consider.

able distance, yet only measuring two inches in length, and now detectives have managed to find a photographic camera so small as to be contained within the limits of a breast-pin. An enterprising photographer succeeded in taking the portraits of one hundred and five eminent personages on a piece of glass no bigger than a pin's head.

Miniature portraits and pictures necessarily call for some comment. They are painted on ivory. First of all, you make your sketch in pencil, then it is transferred to the ivory. The tiniest take a number of days to work up. In the old days the subjects would give eight to a dozen sittings of from one to two hours, but now photography is often called in in order to obviate the number of sittings. Van Blarenberghe was so clever at painting miniature pictures in water-colors that he could represent a battle-scene, with battalions marching, horses galloping to and fro, colors flying, and fair follow-the-drums, -hundreds of figures, every uniform correct and every face a study,―all on the lid of a snuff-box. Watteau excelled as a painter of the sweetest of little Cupids upon lockets.

Ilk. Of that ilk, an expression of frequent occurrence in newspapers in the sense "of the same sort or stamp." The phrase is Scotch, and is, in Scotland, exclusively applied to a gentleman whose family name is the same as that of his estate. Menzies of Menzies is an example; as is Anstruther of Anstruther. The number of families to whom the title is applicable is extremely limited, and it is regarded as more honorable than those of the newmade nobles. Several of the oldest and highest of the Scotch nobility were earlier of that ilk, as the Dukes of Hamilton, Gordon, etc. The Chisholm, The O'Connor Don, is an analogous and not less distinguished title, indicating that its bearer is chief of the name.

Ill-gotten goods never prosper, a proverb common to all modern languages, and in classic literature found in the "Ill-gotten goods are productive of evil" of Sophocles and the "Ill gotten is ill spent" of Plautus. A common proverb tells us, "Happy is the rich man's son whose father went to hell," meaning that as the father has suffered the retribution which follows avarice and dishonesty, the son may be able to put the money he has hoarded to successful use.

Didst thou never hear

That things ill got had ever bad success?

And happy always was it for that son

Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?

Henry VI., Part III., Act ii., Sc. 2.

Ills we have, And makes us rather bear those. Hamlet's famous soliloquy beginning "To be or not to be" contains the following among many pregnant passages:

Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.

Act iii., Sc. 1.

Livy has a thought similar to the lines we have italicized in the story he tells of Pacuvius Calavius. He was a man of great influence in Capua.

His fellow-citizens rose in mutiny against their magistrates. Haranguing them in the market-place, he counselled them that they should mention the name of every senator they wished deposed and suggest in his stead a worthy and acceptable person. Then he began the roll-call. The first name mentioned was received with a cry of execration. Out it went. But when it came to the question of a successor a great turmoil arose. One name after another was hooted down. "In the end, growing weary of this bustle, they began, some one way and some another, to steal out of the assembly; every one carrying back this resolution in his mind, that the oldest and best-known evil was ever more supportable than one that was new and untried."

To the same effect was a saying of Socrates, thus recorded by Plutarch: Socrates thought that if all our misfortunes were laid in one common heap, whence every one must take an equal portion, most persons would be contented to take their own and depart.-Consolation to Apollonius.

Addison enlarges upon this thought in No. 558 of the "Spectator," in an apologue where the human race are invited by Jupiter to a large plain, there to cast off their miseries and exchange them for what they consider the lighter burdens of their neighbors. But when the change is made the man is far unhappier than ever, the new evils seem far greater to unaccustomed shoulders than the old, and there is general joy when Jupiter, having taught a salutary lesson, allows every one to resume his former condition. From this tale Addison draws the moral never to repine at one's own misfortunes, nor to envy the happiness of another, since it is impossible for any man to form a right judgment of his neighbor's sufferings.

As the motto of his paper Addison makes a long quotation from the opening lines of Horace's first satire, "which implies," says Addison, "that the hardships or misfortunes we lie under are more easy to us than those of any other person would be in case we could change conditions with him."

Illuminated Doctor, a title bestowed upon Raymond Lulle or Lully, a distinguished scholastic (1235-1315), and author of the system called "Ars Lulliana," which was taught throughout Europe during several centuries, and whose purpose was to prove that the mysteries of faith are not contrary to

reason.

The same appellation is sometimes given to John Tauler, a celebrated German mystic (1294-1361), who professed to have seen visions and heard spiritual voices.

Impending Crisis. "The Impending Crisis of the South" was the title of a book by H. R. Helper, of North Carolina, published in 1858. As events proved, the political forecasts of the volume were prophetic. It had a powerful influence in precipitating the conflict, and its title became a watchword with orators on both sides.

Imperium et Libertas. Lord Beaconsfield, in a speech at Guildhall, November 9, 1879, said, “One of the greatest of Romans, when asked what was his politics, replied, 'Imperium et libertas.' That would not make a bad programme for a British minister." Was the reference to Nerva, of whom Tacitus (Agricola, ch. iii.) said, "IIe joined two things hitherto incompatible, principatem ac libertatem"?

Impossible is not a French word, a famous phrase attributed to Napoleon I. by Colin d'Harlay. Other authorities quote it in the form "Impossible is a word I never use," or "Impossible, a word found only in the dictionary of fools." But before Napoleon something of the same sort had been said by

Mirabeau. "Monsieur le Comte,” said his secretary, "the thing you require is impossible." "Impossible!" cried Mirabeau, starting from his chair; "never mention that stupid word again!" ("Ne me dites jamais ce bête de mot!") And, before Mirabeau, Lord Chatham, in a fit of the gout, received one of the admirals in his sick-room, only to be told that to get the required expedition afloat was "impossible." "It must sail, sir, this day week," was the eagle-eyed man's fire-flashing reply. As he rose from his chair, the beaded perspiration burst from his forehead with the agony caused him as he firmly planted the gouty foot upon the floor, and, suiting the action to the word, added, "I trample on impossibilities!" He fell back fainting, but he conveyed his lesson, and the flee sailed. Wellington once exclaimed, “Impossible! Is anything impossible? Read the newspapers." And here are other analogous expressions:

To him that wills, nothing is impossible.-KOSSUTH.

Nothing is impossible; there are ways which lead to everything, and if we had sufficient will we should always have sufficient means.-LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. Maxim 255. Few things are impossible to diligence and skill.-JOHNSON: Rasselas, ch. xii.

It is our will

That thus enchains us to permitted ill.
We might be otherwise: we might be all
We dream of, happy, high, majestical.
Where is the beauty, love, and truth we seek,
But in our minds? and if we were not weak
Should we be less in deed than in desire?

SHELLEY: Juliar and Maddolo.

A most extraordinary illustration of Shelley's words might be found in the career of Benjamin Disraeli. Once when Premier of England he addressed the boys at Rugby in these words: "Boys, you can be anything you determine to be. Thirty years ago, when I was a boy, I determined to be Premier of England."

But to return. Napoleon's accredited phrase, "Impossible, a word found only in the dictionary of fools," is the obvious origin of Bulwer-Lytton's famous lines in "Richelieu" (Act ii., Sc. 2):

In the lexicon of youth which fate reserves
For a bright manhood, there is no such word
As fail.

The superior judgment of the multitude has once more been evidenced in the persistent misquotation, “In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail," which is good prose substituted for bad verse.

After all, what are all the above quotations but more or less splendid paraphrases of the old saw, "Nothing is impossible to a willing heart"? This may be found in Heywood.

Impromptus. Litera scripta manet, but bons mots are creatures of an hour, soon sinking into oblivion, to be born again, by a species of metempsychosis, under a different form and another parentage. Readiness, originality, are the rarest gifts of the gods. "The impromptu is precisely the touchstone of all wit," said Molière, truly enough. "There is nothing so unready as the readiness of wit," repeats that "Frenchman par excellence," as Voltaire called him, Comte de Rivarol. The man whose happy thoughts all come on the stairs is a proverbial figure. If ready wit is so exceedingly rare, the ability to improvise songs, to extemporize in verse, is as rare, if not still rarer. The very small number of genuine instances that have been preserved testify to this. A very few pages would suffice to print all the well authenticated examples in the language. It will not do to judge most of them by any very high literary

standard: such a proceeding would be as foolish, and as fatal, as to analyze a joke. It is their spontaneity which tells: thoroughly to appreciate one must approach them with a predisposition to be surprised or amused, and in a mood not too critical; the moment and the occasion that gave them life and point must, if possible, be recalled, and the scene and circumstance in which they originated re-enacted in the imagination. You must hear the hum of conversation at Miss Reynolds's (" Renny dear's") tea, when, suddenly, Dr. Johnson's sonorous "To be sure, sir," attracts all ears, or imagine you are at a jovial reunion of sparks in the early years of the century, and, midst the clinking of glasses and roars of laughter, Hook, at the piano, is pouring forth his delicious nonsense.

If many are here included of no very high merit, the answer is, that this is not a collection of elegant extracts, but of impromptus, and that a too rigor ous critique would have attenuated to vacuity an already sufficiently limited class of literary curiosities. There are, indeed, quite a number of very clever alleged impromptus floating among the drift-wood of literature, but they are mostly without sufficient voucher of genuineness. The remark of De Quincey applies with peculiar force to this genre, that "Universally it may be received as a rule, that when an anecdote involves a stinging repartee, a collision of ideas fancifully and brilliantly relating to each other by resemblance or contrast, then you may challenge it as false."

The fathers of these supposed sun-bursts of smartness are usually desig nated by some indefinite phrase, as, "a celebrated Irish wit," or "a clerical gentleman in Blankshire," et cæteris paribus. The first of these great unknowns is responsible for the following. During a discussion at a dinnerparty, Lord E, who, much better than he deserved, was blessed with a beautiful and accomplished wife, dropped the remark that "a wife was only a tin canister tied to one's tail." Here was the "Irish wit's" opportunity; he seized it, and, hastily scribbling something on a scrap of paper, presented it to the mortified wife of his foolish lordship. The truthful eye-witness that invented this story forgets to say that the wit was rewarded by the lady's most grateful smile when she read this:

Lord E, at woman presuming to rail,

Calls a wife a "tin canister" tied to one's tail;
And poor Lady Anne, while the subject he carries on,
Seems hurt at his lordship's degrading comparison.

But wherefore degrading? Considered aright,

A canister's polished, and useful, and bright;
And should any dirt its white purity hide,
That's the fault of the puppy to whom it is tied!

To the category of invented impromptus probably also belongs that of the two scholastics who had frequent disputes on the divinity of Christ. Chancing to meet in a convivial company, one of them wrote the following lines, and, with assumed severity, handed them to the other :

Tu Juda similis Dominumque Deumque negasti ;
Dissimilis Judas est tibi-poenituit.

("You, Judas-like, your Lord and God denied;
Judas, unlike to you, repentant sighed.")

Whereupon the "heretic" retorted,

Tu simul et similis Judæ, tu dissimilisque ;
Judæ iterum similis sis, laqueumque petas.

("You are like Judas, yet unlike that elf;

Once more like Judas be, and hang yourself.")

The same must in all likelihood be said of this next, which involves, however, a very good pun. A clergyman of Hartford, having opened the session of