himself who had just published his first work. But to his great surprise he found these to hold the most contrary opinions. While some spoke of the books as 'productions which the world would not willingly let die,' others deplored the sad waste of time-truth forbade them to add talents-on the part of the author. Our Minos was greatly puzzled by this diversity of opinion, nor was his perplexity relieved till he discovered that the writers of the first kind were either the authors themselves or persons on dining terms with them, while those of the second were generally would-be authors whose productions had been 'declined with thanks,' by the same publisher.

"He resolved for the future to decide for himself. Reflecting on the devastation caused by his cousin Time, and the numerous accidents books are exposed to, so that often the least worthy survive, he thought that those who wrote much had most chance of having some portion of their works preserved, and hence it would at all events be safe to admit them. Accordingly for a time authors were estimated by cubic measure, and things went on smoothly till one day our janitor, who had been for some time troubled with doubts as to the complete success of his new plan, stopped a learned divine who came staggering under the weight of a huge pile of folios, and asked him his name. I am the great Dr. *** Professor of Logic and Divinity, at the University ofreplied he, and then went on to recount the various offices he had held, and the literary distinctions he had won. Our porter stopped him ere he was half through the list, and turning to a crowd who were outside the gates, clamouring for admission, asked them whether they knew any thing of this learned Professor. The only one who seemed to be in the least acquainted with him or his works, was a worthy cheesemonger, who demanded immortality for having discovered a peculiarly good receipt for making Stilton cheese. He said that he had used the Doctor's works for many years, and preferred them to all others-indeed he wished that all authors were like him. The Professor looked triumphant, and was about to pass on, when unluckily the cheesemonger continued, why can't others publish their works in respectable sizes like he does-you can't get a leaf now-a-days that will decently hold a pound of butter.' Hurriedly pushing the Doctor back, the porter banged the door to and went off in a huff, and since then it is rumoured that voluminous authors have fared very ill.

"Another scheme which he adopted for a time was to

make the authors read portions of their books to him, and from these he decided on their fate. This answered much better than any method that he had previously tried, though prolix writers bothered him much by persisting in reading extract after extract, 'to illustrate' as they said the general plan of the book.' If he persisted in refusing them admittance they were positive nuisances, and even if he admitted them they could scarcely be prevented from finishing to him on the other side of the gate some favourite bit in which they thought he must feel interested. One day however a heavy-looking personage presented himself and commenced to read. So unutterably dull was the book that ere he had got over a couple of pages the door-keeper was fast asleep, and the lucky author slipped by him and passed thro' the gates. When the porter awoke he was mightily wroth, and would have attempted to turn him out again, but by some accident the tale got abroad on earth, and was embodied by some satirist in his poems, so that our dull friend has had his right to remain allowed. It does not however benefit him much, for in consideration of the means by which he effected his entrance, he has been put to read his works aloud at night near the bowers which serve as the dormitories of the immortals."

"What plan is now followed?" I asked.

"These repeated failures have so soured the porter's temper that he usually makes the candidates wait for many years outside the gates ere he admits them, as it is much easier to decide on their claims when some time has elapsed since they left your world."

"Has this last expedient freed him from all trouble?"

"Not altogether. Some years ago he was surprised to see a crowd of men in strange antique garb advancing to the gate. They claimed admittance in a language which with some difficulty he discovered to be Greek, though very archaic in style. He asked them their names and what they had done that they should enter there, wondering all the while how it was that such ancient specimens should present themselves then. They did not know their own names, but at the question what they had done, they one and all commenced reciting in a loud voice, with appropriate action, thousands of lines which sounded suspiciously like extracts from Homer. It was difficult to distinguish much in the midst of the tumult, but some of that bard's favourite lines came so frequently, that the porter could stand it no longer, and told them that what they were reciting Homer had written.

They protested that they themselves were Homer, and in answer to the ironical question, how they found that out, they said that one Mr. F. A. Wolf had found it out for them, and told them to come there, for that they were the true authors of the Iliad. The obdurate porter asked them who Mr. Wolf was, and when he heard that he was a German critic, he shut the doors in their faces, and went away saying that he would have nothing to do with them or their master-for that the last German critic he had seen there had got permission to read to him his introduction to a new edition of Thucydides, and kept him up all night to finish it."

"But," said I, "have the tempers of authors, proverbially bad upon earth, so changed for the better that there is nought but harmony here?"

"Far from it," replied my informant, "we have quarrels as in your world. In fact courts have been established to settle such disputes as come under the cognizance of the laws of our society. Plagiarism is a very common charge; in one case, not so very long ago, some of the oldest inhabitants, with a Greek named Eschylus at their head, brought such a charge against a German who had been lately admitted. They accused him of printing in his works whole passages from several of their plays-garbled and much altered it is true, but from the order and general signification they expected to be able to get sufficient proof to convict him. They would have gained their case had it not appeared in the course of the proceedings that the defendant had intended the works in question to be correct editions of the writing of the plaintiffs. Of course there was an end of the case,

Solvuntur risu tabulæ,

and the defendant was discharged as insane, and committed to the care of a keeper. A similar case was about to come on, in which the accused, one Godfrey Hermann, had intended to enter the same plea, but, terrified by the fate of his predecessor, he abandoned it. It was fortunate that he did so, as the court decided that the resemblance was not sufficiently close to support the charge. But we have not so many cases of this kind just at present, as the older writers are so accustomed to being pilfered from, that they do not notice it; while the more modern ones have so little that is their own, that they cannot bring such actions, the defendants always pleading that they borrowed it directly from the original sources. The chief annoyances from which the older writers

suffer are translations, and these affect them so much that they sometimes become seriously ill, and you not unfrequently hear in reply to an inquiry after the health of some one of them, 'He has scarcely recovered from his last translation.' Homer used to suffer dreadfully from such attacks, and has had several very recent ones, but they have not been as severe as usual. Still he is far from feeling pleased with the liberties taken with his works, which seem to be used as practising ground for any new metre that may be thought of."

"Are writers so averse to mortals meddling with their works?" I said.

"Extremely so," said he, "for even when they owe their immortality to a quoted extract, they are usually angry with their immortalizers for not having quoted more.

Surely it is not the same with those who claim to have made discoveries. They must feel honoured by the general acceptance of their views."

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Certainly. But in their case the disputes are as to who made the discoveries in question. We have several claimants for every great invention or discovery, and the cases are as hotly debated, as they are hard to decide. The great feud between Newton and Leibnitz as to the invention of fluxions has only just cooled down. The Newtonians urged that Leibnitz was a metaphysician, and therefore must have been mad, and the adherents of Leibnitz pleaded that as Newton was not a metaphysician, he must have been an idiot-each party thus claiming the sole honour of the invention for its own leader. Nor have recent disputes been less violent. Our porter is more troubled with cases of this kind than by all other doubtful claims. At present he admits rather freely, for we have lost so many Schoolmen and other Medieval celebrities, that we are not very full."

"Does not military greatness supply you with a large number of inhabitants?"

"Oh no? Very few gain immortality in that way, as only the very great names live in memory. Statesmen are more fortunate, and I think that fully half of us owe our admission to the part we have played in history."

"Are political feuds revived here?" I asked.

"Not generally. Many former political enemies are fast friends now, for they feel that their presence here is due to their mutual opposition, as they have sense enough to see that their talents were far better fitted to shine in party strife, than to achieve any great and noble under

taking. But they are far from being on equally good terms with their historians. As their tenure depends on their fame on your earth, they are jealously alive to any attempt to damage their character or lessen their reputation. Hence each historian, when he arrives here, finds many enemies and but few friends, and those are seldom very hearty ones; for those whom he has especially favoured seldom think that he has sufficiently displayed their merits. The march of time too necessarily seems to dim the lustre of names, bright enough in their day, and hence the shades grow more and more querulous and dissatisfied. There are of course exceptions; some names seem to improve by keeping, while many others have every now and then seasons of peculiar brilliancy. We have several passing through this stage just now-a result which is chiefly due to the ingenuity and skill of recent historians.

"Your Henry VIII. for instance, is in high feather and talks of a place in the Anglican Calendar, and of having the service for the Blessed Martyr transferred to him for the exemplary patience with which he bore his unparalleled domestic afflictions. Julius Cæsar has recently taken for his motto the well known proverb (slightly altered) to be great is to be good,' and has become so far reconciled to a great general of whom he had been previously very jealous as to congratulate him on the critical acumen of his nephew and namesake. He intends to apply for a professorship of Ethics, if he can find any one who has read through the second volume of his recently published life. Even your Richard III. feels offended if one hints that he has any personal defect, and often speaks of himself as an instance of the melancholy fact that no virtue is safe from calumny, while Oliver Cromwell holds up his assumption of the protectorate as a proof of his self-sacrificing love of his country.

"The Athenians have just undergone the white-washing process, and are now refulgent with all kinds of previously unperceived virtues. Those on the popular side have chiefly benefited-so much so that a day or two ago Cleon began to give his opinion on political moderation, with an air of great authority, but on turning round he saw Aristophanes looking at him. This so frightened him that, heedless of the roar of laughter from the bystanders, he fairly ran away and has scarcely shewn his face since. Some naval officers who, like your Charles I. had been admitted into the best society, on the ground of having been martyrs, are now scouted by all as