A LEARNED rabbi, Ben Eli, had filled three thick MS. folios with the adventures of a certain ape, a sojourner at the court of the wisest of kings. Though the work has hitherto been withheld from the world, it seems not unlikely that it has long been the acknowledged model of many biographies. We conceive there is internal evidence in the history of thousands of courtiers, that the writers were aware how much the erudite Ben Eli could make of an ape. They who have gravely registered the slightest formality, the most evanescent word or gesture of certain heroes, must have had in their memory the first chronicler of monkey tricks. There was a time when it would have been the simplest and safest course to publish the entire folio: in former days, readers were like hogs, whose master had the right of pannage: they were turned into the literary forest to root, and grub up, and become as fat as they might. Now, it is not enough to show them the tree of knowledge; but it is compulsory on those who drive the “dreadful trade,” to clamber the branches, and gather the fruit. Nay, and when gathered, the apple serves not the epicure of our day, if it be not carefully pared and sliced; and, in some instances, presented on a fork of standard gold or silver. Moreover, cases have happened wherein the quality of the fork hath been cavilled for, more than that of the apple: thus, an embossed implement hath at times passed off a sorry crab. Once it was enough for wisdom to point out the wood where grew the nuts: now must she gather and crack them. Thus much by way of feeble apology for the licence we have taken with the folios of the venerable Ben Eli. We have wandered through their forest of leaves; we have picked all we could lay our hands upon; we have torn away the husk—have broken the shell—and for the few kernels—gentle feeder, some of them are before you. “And the ape became a favourite with the servants of Solomon. And the women smiled upon him, and the men laughed at his grimace; and the ape was puffed with pride, and became a proverb to the wise. And the ape forgot the mother that bore him, and the father that begat him, and the wood which, in the days of his youth, did give him shadow. And—brief be the words—the ape forgot he was an ape. “There was a strange woman in the court of King Solomon. She was beautiful as light; and many men did try for the love of the strange woman; for she was a princess in her own country. “And it fell, that the woman looked from her window, and beheld in the court below the ape stretched, sleeping in the sun: for it was high noon, and there was silence on all things. But in the heart of the strange woman there was no peace, for she thought of her father’s tents.