seemed to be a natural recognition of copyright, and the moral sense of justice standing instead of law; but in the meantime a foreign composer-I forget his name, but it was set in G—, took a fancy to some of my verses, and without the semiquaver of a right, or the demisemiquaver of an apology, converted them to his own use. I remonstrated, of course; and the reply, based on the assurance of impunity, not only admitted the fact, but informed me that Monsieur, not finding my lines agree with his score, had taken the liberty of altering them at my risk. Now, I would confidently appeal to the highest poets. in the land, whether they do not feel it quite responsibility enough to be accountable for their own lays in the mother tongue; but to be answerable also for the attempts in English verse by a foreigner-and, above all, a Frenchman-is really too much of a bad thing!

Would it be too much to request of the learned Serjeant who has undertaken our cause, that he would lay these cases before Parliament ? Noble Lords and Honorable Gentlemen come down to their respective Houses, in a fever of nervous excitement, and shout of "Privilege! Breach of Privilege!" because their speeches have been erroneously reported, or their meaning garbled in perhaps a single sentence; but how would they relish. to see whole speeches,-nay, pamphlets,-they had never uttered or written, paraded, with their names, styles, and titles at full length, by those placarding walkers, who, like fathers of lies, or rather mothers of them, carry one staring falsehood pickaback, and another at the bosom? How would those gentlemen like to see extempore versions of their orations done into English by a native of Paris, and published, as the pig ran, down all sorts of streets? Yet to similar nuisances are authors exposed without adequate means of abating them. It is often better, I have been told, to abandon one's rights than to defend them at law,—a sentence that will bear a particular application to literary grievan ces. For instance, the law would have something to say to a man who claimed his neighbor's umbrella as his own parasol, because he had cut off a bit round the rim yet, by something of a similar process, the better part of a book may be appropriatedand this is so civil an offence, that any satisfaction at law is only

to be obtained by a very costly and doubtful course. There was even a piratical work, which,-to adopt Burke's paradoxical style, disingenuously ingenuous and dishonestly honest, assumed the plain title of "The Thief," professing, with the connivance of the law, to steal all its materials. How this Thief died I know not; but as it was a literary thief, I would lay long odds that the law was not its finisher.

These piracies are naturally most injurious to those authors whose works are of a fugitive nature, or on topics of temporary interest; but there are writers of a more solid stamp-of a higher order of mind, or nobler ambition, who devote themselves to the production of works of permanent value and utility. Such works often creep but slowly into circulation and repute, but then become classics for ever. And what encouragement or reward does the law hold forth to such contributors to our Standard National Literature? Why, that after a certain lapse of years, coinciding probably with the term requisite to establish the sterling character of the work, or, at least, to procure its general recognition-then, aye, just then, when the literary property is realized, when it becomes exchangeable against the precious metals which are considered by some political and more practical economists as the standard of value-the law decrees that then all right or interest in the book shall expire in the author, and by some strange process, akin to the Hindoo transmigrations, revive in the great body of the booksellers. And here arises a curious question. After the copyright has so lapsed, suppose that some speculative publisher, himself an amateur writer, should think fit to abridge or expand the author's matter-extenuate or aggravate his arguments-French polish his style-Johnsonize his phraseology-or even, like Winifred Jenkins, wrap his own "bit of nonsense under his Honor's kiver,"-is there any legal provision extant to which the injured party could appeal for redress of such an outrage on all that is left to him, his reputation? I suspect there is none whatever. There is yet another singular result from this state of the law, which I beg leave to illustrate by my own case. If I may modestly appropriate a merit, it is that, whatever my faults, I have at least been a decent writer. In a species of composition, where, like the ignis fatuus

that guides into a bog, a glimmer of the ludicrous is apt to lead the fancy into an indelicacy, I feel some honest pride in remembering that the reproach of impurity has never been cast upon me by my judges. It has not been my delight to exhibit the Muse, as it has tenderly been called, "high-kilted." I have had the gratification, therefore, of seeing my little volumes placed in the hands of boys and girls; and as I have children of my own, to, I hope, survive me, I have the inexpressible comfort of thinking that hereafter they will be able to cast their eyes over the pages inscribed with my name, without a burning blush on their young cheeks to reflect that the author was their father. So whispers Hope, with the dulcet voice and the golden hair; but what thunders Law, of the iron tone and the frizzled wig? "Decent as thy Muse may be now-a delicate Ariel-she shall be indecent and indelicate hereafter! She shall class with the bats and the fowls obscene! The slow reward of thy virtue shall be the same as the prompt punishment of vice. Thy copyright shall depart from thee-it shall be everybody's and anybody's,, and no man shall call it his own!" "

Verily, if such be the proper rule of copyright, for the sake of consistency two very old copywriters should be altered to match, and run thus :-" Virtue is its own punishment."-" Age commands disrespect!"

To return to the author, whose fame is slow and sure-to be its own reward, should he be dependent, as is often the case, on the black and white bread of literature—should it be the profession by which he lives, it is evident that under such a system he must beg, run into debt, or starve. And many have been beggars-many have got into debt; it is hardly possible to call up the ghost of a literary hero, without the apparition of a catchpole at his elbow, for, like Jack the Giant-killer, our elder worthies, who had the Cap of Knowledge, found it equally convenient to be occasionally invisible, as well as to possess the Shoes of Swiftness, and some have starved! Could the "Illustrious Dead" arise, after some Anniversary Dinner of the Literary Fund, and walk in procession round the table, like the resuscitated objects of the Royal Humane Society, what a melancholy exhibition they would make! I will not marshal them forth in order, but PART II.

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leave the show to the imagination of the reader. I doubt whether the Illustrious Living would make a much brighter muster. Supposing a general summons, how many day-rules-how many incognitos from abroad-how many visits to Monmouth Street would be necessary to enable the members to put in an appear! I fear, heaven forgive me! some of our nobles even would show only Three Golden Balls in their coronets! If we do not actually starve or die by poison in this century, it is, perhaps, owing partly to the foundation of the Literary Fund, and partly to the invention of the Stomach Pump; but the truly abject state of Literature may be gathered from the fact, that, with a more accurate sense of the destitution of the Professors, than of the dignity of the Profession, a proposal has lately been brought forward for the erection of alms-houses for paupers of " learning and genius," who have fallen into the sere and yellow leaf, under the specious name of Literary Retreats, or, as a military man would technically and justly read such a record of our failures, Literary Defeats. Nor is this the climax: the proposal names half a dozen of these humble abodes to "make a beginning with a mere brick of the building--as if the projector, in his mind's eye, saw a whole Mile End Road of one-storied tenements in the shell, stretching from Number Six-and "to be continued!” Visions of paupers, spare my aching sight,

Ye unbuilt houses, crowd not on my soul !

I do hope, before we are put into yellow-leather very smallclothes, muffin-caps, green-baize coats and badges,—and made St. Minerva's charity-boys at once,-for that must be the first step, that the Legislature will interfere, and endeavor to provide better for our sere and yellow leaves, by protecting our black and white ones. Let the law secure to us a fair chance of getting our own, and perhaps, with proper industry, we may be able-who knows?-to build little snuggeries for ourselves. Under the present system, the chances are decidedly against a literary man's even laying a good foundation of French bricks. To further illustrate the nature of a copyright, we will suppose that an author retains it, or publishes, as it is called, on his own account. He will then have to divide amongst the trade, in the

shape of commission, allowances, &c., from 40 to 45 per cent. of the gross proceeds, leaving the Stationer, Printer, Binder, Advertising, and all other expenses to be paid out of the remainder. And here arise two important contingencies. 1st. In order that the author may know the true number of the impression, and, consequently, the correct amount of the sale, it is necessary that his publisher should be honest. 2dly. For the author to duly receive his profits, his publisher must be solvent. I intend no disrespect to the trade in general by naming these conditions; but I am bound to mention them, as risks adding to the insecurity of the property: as two hurdles which the rider of Pegasus may have to clear in his course to be a winner. If I felt inclined to reflect on the trade, it would be to censure those dishonest mem. bers of it, who set aside a principle in which the interests of authors and booksellers are identical—the inviolability of copyright. I need not point out the notorious examples of direct piracy at home, which have made the foreign offences comparatively venial; nor yet those more oblique plagiarisms, and close parodies, which are alike hurtful in their degree. Of the evil of these latter practices I fear our bibliopoles are not sufficiently aware; but that man deserves to have his head published in foolscap, who does not see that whatever temporary advantages a system of piracy may hold out, the consequent swamping of Literature will be ruinous to the trade, till eventually it may dwindle down to Four-and-Twenty Booksellers all in a Row,—and all in “the old book line," pushing off back-stock and bartering remainders. But my letter is exceeding all reasonable length, and I will reserve what else I have to say till next post.

LETTER II.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE ATHENÆUM:

My Dear Sir, I have, perhaps, sufficiently illustrated the state of copyright, bad as it is, without the help of Foreign intervention: not, however, without misgivings that I shall be sus