d in 1508, published 1509, and went through several editions.

The following may serve as a specimen of Barclay's translation, and of his
original contributions to Brant's "Navis Stultifera:"--

"Here beginneth the 'Ship of Fooles,' and first of unprofitable books:--

"I am the first foole of all the whole navie,
To keep the Pompe, the Helme, and eke the Sayle:
For this is my minde, this one pleasure have I,
Of bookes to have great plentie and apparayle.
I take no wisdome by them, not yet avayle,
Nor them perceave not, and then I them despise:
Thus am I a foole, and all that sue that guise.

"That in this Ship the chiefe place I governe,
By this wide Sea with fooles wandring,
The cause is plaine and easy to discerne,
Still am I busy, bookes assembling,
For to have plentie it is a pleasant thing
In my conceyt, and to have them ay in hande:
But what they meane do I not understande.

"But yet I have them in great reverence
And honoure, saving them from filth and ordure,
By often brusshing and much diligence,
Full goodly bounde in pleasant coverture,
Of Damas, Sattin, or els of Velvet pure:
I keepe them sure, fearing least they should be lost,
For in them is the cunning wherein I me boast.

"But if it fortune that any learned men
Within my house fall to disputation,
I drawe the curtaynes to shewe my bokes then,
That they of my cunning should make probation:
I kepe not to fall in alterication,
And while they comment, my bookes I turne and winde,
For all is in them, and nothing in my minde."

In the fourth chapter, "Of newe fassions and disguised garmentes," there
is at the end what is called "The Lenvoy of Alexander Barclay," and in it
an allusion to Henry VIII.:--

"But ye proude galants that thus your selfe disguise,
Be ye ashamed, beholde unto your prince:
Consider his sadness, his honestie devise,
His clothing expresseth his inwarde prudence,
Ye see no example of such inconvenience
In his highness, but godly wit and gravitie,
Ensue him, and sorrowe for your enormitie."

IV. LIFE OF SCHILLER.(10)

The hundredth anniversary of the birthday of Schiller, which, according to
the accounts published in the German newspapers, seems to have been
celebrated in most parts of the civilized, nay, even the uncivilized
world, is an event in some respects unprecedented in the literary annals
of the human race. A nation honors herself by honoring her sons, and it is
but natural that in Germany every town an