Who has not heard the story of the hackney coachman, who, at the end of the day, was wont to divide his gains into 'half for master and half for me,' when the whole should have been given to the proprietor? Or of the American public functionary, who said that his annual gains were 'one thousand dollars salary, besides the cheatage and stealage?' Both seem to me to be foreshadowed in the following '_Sacerdotis jocus non illepidus_'; 'A certain priest named FYSILINUS who begged for a convent of Saint Sebastian, being asked what his annual salary was, replied: 'Twenty gold crowns!' 'Little enough!' answered the other. To which FYSILINUS replied: 'Various, however, are the emoluments of mortals; for I have also what is given to me, and what I steal. And very good is Saint Sebastian, who, whatever division I make with him, is always silent and contented.' It is worth noting that this story and thousands which bore much more severely on the priests, were current for centuries before the Reformation. There were many anecdotes of this priest, all to his discredit, many of which were attributed, at a later day, to other unworthy monks. Among these, a very dull one is interesting, as connecting him with Eberhard, 'our bearded prince,' already referred to. Having begged of this truly noble man a benefice, Eberhard, who was aware of his character, replied: 'If I had a thousand vacant, you should not have the least of them.'--'_Si mille, inquit, mihi beneficia, ego minimum tibi non conferrem._' To which Fysilinus impudently replied: 'And if I should hold divine service a thousand times, I would never bear you in mind, nor pray once for your salvation.' I have attempted in the foregoing remarks to set forth, or rather illustrate, the manner in which modern jests have flown directly or indirectly, from those of earlier generations; and have, in so doing, called attention to a rare and curious class of humorous books, which have been but little cited for more than two centuries. The principal point which I would most gladly make clear, is the fact that in literature and the history of culture, there are two classes of critics: the ultra-modern and the ultra-conservative, both of whom are in the wrong. The one cries that every flash of genius is new, and that an old jest is an old abomination--the other vows that there is nothing new under the sun, and that every good story is hidden away, in all its excellence, somewhere in the storehouse of the past. Examination is, however, like Pietro D'Abano, always a _Conciliator_. We find the original _thema_ in the past, often reduced to the careless illustration of some principle or characteristic common to all humanity; but when we follow it down to the present, it becomes varied, improved, and enlarged into whole groups and families of new anecdotes, poems, jests, or proverbs; any single member of which is, perhaps, better than the original.