That place that does contain My books, the best companions, is to me A glorious court, where hourly I converse With the old sages and philosophers; And sometimes for variety I confer With Kings and Emperors, and weigh their counsels, Calling their victories, if unjustly got, Unto a strict account, and in my fancy Deface their ill placed statues. BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. A certain Ludovicus Bosch, instead of having his coat of arms, or his cypher engraved to put in his books, had a little print of himself in his library. The room has a venerable collegiate character; there is a crucifix on the table, and a goodly proportion of folios on the shelves. Bosch in a clerical dress is seated in an easy chair, cogitabund, with a manuscript open before him, a long pen in his hand, and on his head a wig which with all proper respect for the dignity and vocation of the wearer, I cannot but honestly denominate a caxon. The caxon quizzifies the figure, and thereby mars the effect of what would otherwise have been a pleasing as well as appropriate design. Underneath in the scrolled framing is this verse _In tali nunquam lassat venatio sylvâ._ Dr. Charles Balguy of Peterborough had for the same purpose a design which though equally appropriate, was not so well conceived. His escutcheon, with the words _Jucunda oblivia vitæ_ above, and his name and place of abode below, is suspended against an architectural pile of books. It was printed in green. I found it in one of our own Doctor's out-of-the-way volumes, a thin foolscap quarto, printed at Turin, 1589, being a treatise _della natura de' cibi et del bere_, by Baldassare Pisanelli, a physician of Bologna.