and succeeded in effecting an agreement, it is true, with a translator, for just one-half the sum he was himself to receive; strange to add, however, the second translator was found to be in precisely the same situation as his employer. The consequence was, that a third was finally engaged to accomplish the work, and, to the disgrace of literature, at the meagre remuneration of 12 guineas; so that while the actual translator, the modest drudge, whose name never appeared to the world, broke, in patience, his daily bread, our pseudo-author was allowed to feast upon the spoils, luxuriously regaling himself as a reward for his imposture. Mark Akenside first published his "Pleasures of Imagination' anonymously; and very soon after, (mirabile dictu!) another scribe, of the name of Rolt, who published a "Dictionary of Commerce," actually had the impudence to go over to Dublin and publish an edition of that fine poem with his own name attached to it as the author; which the literary freebooter accomplished for some time with impunity, having derived considerable emolument from its sale, and being everywhere hailed as the ingenious Mr. Rolt.Poor Akenside at length heard of the caper, and came out with a genuine edition, exposing the fraud. Dr. Campbell, of St. Andrews, Scotland, wrote "An Inquiry into the Original of Moral Virtue," the MS. of which he consigned to his friend Mr. Innes, who not only exceeded his commission by publishing the work under his own name as the author, but before the imposition was detected, acquired considerable fame and even promotion for his (supposed) great merit! The celebrated Dr. Blair's early poem, entitled "The Resurrection," while in manuscript, having been copied at college for the use of his private friends, in a short time after appeared in a pompous folio, to the utter amazement of its despoiled author, with the name of Dr. Douglas appended to its title, and arrogantly dedicated to the Princess Dowager of Wales! The "Man of Feeling," by Mackenzie, was also originally published under the assumed name of Eccles, a clergyman, (we blush to write it,) who borrowed the MS. on pretence of perusing it. This rogue succeeded to such an extent in his imposture, that the real fabricator found at first great

trouble in establishing his just claim to its authorship before the world. The true authorship of "Gil Blas" has not only been made the matter of speculative inquiry, but a recent writer in Blackwood has even ventured to dispute the claim of Le Sage to its paternity, asserting strong grounds for the belief of its having been the production of a Spanish scribe, Don Antonio de Solis!

Dr. Johnson says, "it is not difficult to conceive of such kind of fraud to be practised with successful effrontery; the filiation of a literary performance being difficult of proof, there being seldom any witness at the birth.” The writer from whom we quote did not himself incur any great risk in this matter, however, as his progeny evince a strongly-marked identity; and

Shakspeare's magic could not copied be, Within that charmed circle none durst walk but he."

A somewhat similar theft, although on a grander scale, was perpetrated by the notorious Sir Everard Home, who, it will be remembered, under pretext of making a catalogue of them, procured from the Royal College of Surgeons the loan of the splendid life-labor manuscripts of John Hunter, forming ten large folio volumes. After much patient waiting and many bootless inquiries for said catalogue, it was at length confessed by this redoubtable literary corsair, that he had burnt a large portion of them, alledging that he did so in accordance with the expressed wish of Dr. Hunter. The grief and consternation that ensued upon such an unaccountable proceeding, was in no degree lessened by the discovery, and subsequent confession on the part of Sir Everard, that he previously stole the valuable materials of Hunter, from which he compiled his boasted Essays before the Royal Society, which being produced with such astonishing rapidity and frequency, very naturally excited suspicion, and ultimately led to the betrayal of the fraud. By the way, the name of John Hunter reminds us of another case of plagiarism: about four years ago there was a paper in the British and Foreign Medical Review purporting to be a review of the character and writings of John Hunter, ascribed to the pen of Dr. W. B. Carpenter, a distinguished member of the

English faculty, but which in reality was a transfer of "A Review of the Genius and Writings of Milton," by William Ellery Channing, each being substantially the same throughout-and for the most part verbatim et literatim -the principal change consisting in that of the proper name. Many such instances of abstraction might also be given, such as that of Lord Francis Gower's late novel, "an exposé" of which is to be found in the London Athenæum ; also the novel entitled "Separation," we believe ascribed to the pen of Lady Charlotte Bury. But what shall we say of the case of the eloquent German critic, Schlegel, and the poetical license of the metaphysician, Coleridge! the latter delivering in London, about 1813, a course of lectures on the Greek drama, resorted to the easy expedient of translating the published lectures of Schlegel on the same subject, which were delivered some four or five years preceding; so literal, indeed, were his renderings, that, could we afford the space, it might prove not uninteresting to place these erudite productions side by side ;-this is not the sole instance of "boning" with which this renowned writer is chargeable.

In 1823 a visit to England was made by a singular individual named Hunter, a "native American," who, though it appears certain he professed to be what he was not, was undoubtedly a man of considerable abilities. This he evinced in his remarkable production-a pure fabrication-entitled "Memoirs of a Captivity among the Indians of North America, from childhood to the age of nineteen, with anecdotes descriptive of their manners and customs," &c. The work contains a highly romantic and interesting narrative of his alleged wanderings among various tribes of the Red-men, which at first not only was regarded as a faithful picture of Indian life, but procured for him an introduction into the best literary society, and enlisted for him the sympathies of the philanthropic, who eagerly sought to aid him in his professed object of aiming to bring about their civilization.

As we approach later times, we find many bills of indictment pending against literary transgressors. We might begin with a well-known name, that of Dr. Beattie; we refer to his frequent

interpolations from other writers in his splendid work, "The Castles and Abbeys of England;" also Britton, an exceedingly popular, and little suspected, though a thorough-going pilferer, whose numerous works are on architecture, antiquities, &c. Mr. B. is a regular book-maker, in the most idiomatic sense of the term, and he affords a singular instance of how far the unsuspecting credulity even of London can be imposed upon by the fraudulent artifice of a literary pretender. We might also refer to the forgeries of Alberti, at Rome, who fabricated a number of pretended poems of Tasso, a year or two ago; whose ingenuity, however, became overtasked by the critical acumen of the Duke of Tuscany, to whom he offered them for sale.

Locke's Moon Hoax was another, though a somewhat different species of literary fraud, of the first magnitude, evincing, however, as it did, great adroitness and scientific skill; it deceived many of the most discerning, and even was translated into several of the tongues of the Eastern continent. Several curious instances of refaciamento might also be cited, but we must forbear, simply mentioning, by the way, the practice of certain prominent publishers not far distant, who sometimes adopt, with their re-publications, a process with their books a little akin to that fabled of the well-known Procustean bed, ia their benevolent desire of adapting English works to the American market.

One other case we might be excused referring to, not altogether out of point, is that of Eaton's Life of General Jackson, which appeared some few years ago in Philadelphia, and which having been re-published shortly after in Ireland, with the name of O'Connell substituted as the author, was actually again re-published in the city first nam ed, with that alteration as an original production.

The curiosity of the reader may possibly be well-nigh exhausted; but we must be allowed, in closing up our desultory gossip, the indulgence of a little further latitude. We doubt if the literary faux-pas of the once celebrated chemist, Accum, whose esteemed work on " Chemical Tests" is known to the scientific in both hemispheres, will be new to many, and so we give

his own name) in his preface to which, he has the mockery to write that, "in it he has been careful to inculcate the morality of the Bible!"

But should we not bring to a close this black catalogue of literary crimes? In conclusion, therefore, we would just hint one or two facts little known; and first-that of our own Franklin. Having had ocular and tangible evidence, we can speak confidently of the circumstance: an English edition of Cicero de Senectute, with annotations, appeared in London about the time of Franklin's mission to that capital, as translated by himself, with his portrait annexed, when it is well-known he was incompetent to such a task. The translation was really made by Logan, who founded the Philadelphia Library; and we regret also, that against one of the proudest names of which any country can boast, another literary peccadillo should be recorded: we refer to his undoubted plagiarism upon Jeremy Taylor's polemical discourses-his beautiful parable against "Intolerance," which Franklin has incorporated verbatim into his works without the slightest acknowledgment; while even Lord Kaimes, in quoting the extract, gives credit for it to Franklin. It is as follows:

"And it came to pass after these things, that Abraham sat in the door of his tent, about the going down of the sun. And behold a man bent with age, coming from the way of the wilderness leaning on a staff: and Abraham rose, and met him, and said unto him, turn in, I pray thee, and wash thy feet, and tarry all night: and thou shalt rise early in the morning and go on thy way.' And the man said, Nay, for I will abide under this tree.' But Abraham pressed him greatly; so he turned and went into the tent, and Abraham baked unleavened bread, and they did eat. And when Abraham saw that the man blessed not God, he said unto him, Wherefore dost thou not worship the most high God, creator of heaven and earth ?' And the man answered and said, I do not worship thy God, neither do I call upon his name; for I have made to myself a god, which abideth always in mine house, and provideth me with all things.' And Abraham's zeal was kindled against the man, and he arose and fell upon the man, and drove him forth with blows into the wilderness. And God called unto Abraham, saying, Abraham, where is the stranger?' And Abraham answered and said, Lord, he would not worship thee, neither would he call upon thy name,

therefore have I driven him out from before my face into the wilderness;' and God said, have I borne with him these hundred and ninety and eight years, and nourished him, lion against me; and couldst not thou, who and clothed him, notwithstanding his rebelart thyself a sinner, bear with him one night?'"

It seems, indeed, almost like high treason to speak against such a name as Franklin's; and but for a similar feeling of reverential regard, we should be tempted to canvass the claims of Hamilton to the authorship of the "Farewell Address of Washington," and the many foreign interpolations of the "Declaration of Independence;" notwithstanding even Jefferson is said to have held its authorship in such high esteem, as to desire it to be inscribed upon his tomb as the production of his pen.

seems,

Having thus taken a brief glance at some of the more flagrant cases of literary fraud, in closing our desultory chapter we are tempted to inquire whether there is such a thing in existence as absolute moral honesty. The earliest indications of childhood afford us no very conclusive evidence in its behalf, however guileless the incipient knavery, while among the unsophisticated rangers of the forest wilds, simisecretiveness are lar developements of a natural law of no less observable. The governing impulse of the robber indeed, but the exuberant outgrowth of the very principle, otherwise known by the less objectionable epithet covetousness; and we cannot but conclude that he must be an ingenious sophist who can adduce any substantial reasons against their positive identity. If, then, they are convertible terms, it is solely to our conventional usage we must ascribe the fact, that both are not alike visited by penal enactment, or rather the strange anomaly, that while the one case takes prominent rank in the category of crime, the other is regarded at worst but as a negative virtue. How far such a course may conflict with our notions of abstract justice, we leave the reader to decide, since to both we admit any eager, if not an equal, proclivity.

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WHEN he had ended she took his hand, which frightened him not a little, and leading him into the parlor, said, in a gentle voice: Come, Mr. Haydn, it is all very well, and I believe my father has good intentions towards you! He meddles with everybody's affairs, and has a fancy for taking any poor fellow in the house, whom he believes to have something good in his head. He has spoken to me a great deal of you, and be sure that he will help you on, for he has very high acquaintances. But you will have to yield a little to his caprices; for he is sometimes singular."

Joseph protested that he would willingly yield, and Nanny continued "And you must mind me, for after all I rule the house, and even my father must do what I wish. But now, be not ceremonious; it is a long time to dinner, and you must feel hungry after such a walk."

Joseph could not deny it, and asked for a slice of buttered bread and some water.

"Ah!" said Nanny, laughing, and tripped out of the room. She soon returned, followed by the apprentice boy, who carried cold meats and cakes, a bottle of wine and some glasses, a load almost too heavy for the poor fellow, who dared not to complain, for he was accustomed to Miss Nanny's strict gov.

ernment.

Nanny looked very pretty as she arranged the table, filled Joseph's glass, and invited him to help himself to the cakes and other nice things before him.

He did so, at first very shy; but by degrees he recovered courage; and as Nanny pressed on him several glasses of wine, he ate quite heartily, making the observation mentally, that if Miss Nanny Puderlein was not so learned, or of such high birth as his respected patroness, Mile. de Martinez, she might,

in respect of youth, beauty and graceful manners, rival the highest ladies in Vienna.

When, after some hours, Mr. Wenzel Puderlein came into the room, he found Joseph very cheerful. with beaming eyes, and cheeks glowing like roses already deeply in love with the pretty Nanny.

Joseph Haydn lived several months in the house of the celebrated hairdresser, in the Leopoldstadt of Vienna, and nobody in the glorious imperial city knew what had become of the poor, but gifted and amiable young composer and musician! It was in vain that his few friends-the young Baron Swieten, and even Metastasio, inquired after him; Joseph seemed to have disappeared altogether. Mr. Wenzel Puderlein kept his abode with him a secret, and wondered, like the rest, and lamented his loss, when his high patrons asked him if he knew where Joseph could be? He thought he had good reason and right to practice the virtue of silence, for the first time in his life, since his object was Joseph's happiness. But nobody should help him-he alone would do every thing; and even his protegé should know nothing till his happiness was firmly grounded.

Joseph was entirely satisfied, and happy that he could devote his time without interruption to the study of Sebastian Bach's works, and to the composition of quartettos; that he had enough to eat, and could see every day and chat with the pretty Nanny. He did not perceive that he lived almost as a prisoner in the house of Puderlein; that he was confined during the day to his nice little room, or the small garden behind the house, and that only in the dusk of the evening he had permission to walk out with Puderlein and Nanny. He did not wish to see other company than a few of the nearest neighbors,