CHAPTER X.

LITERARY IMPOSTORS AND DISGUISES.

Controversy respecting the Works of Homer; Arguments of the Disputants--Controversy on the supposed Epistles of Phalaris--Opinion of Sir William Temple on the Superiority of the Ancients--Dissertation of Dr. Bentley on the Epistles of Phalaris--He proves them to be a Forgery--Doubts as to the Anabasis being the Work of Xenophon--Arguments of Mr. Mitford in the Affirmative--Alcyonius accused of having plagiarised from, and destroyed, Cicero’s Treatise “De Gloria”--Curious Mistake as to Sir T. More’s Utopia--The Icon Basilike--Disputes to which it gave rise--Arguments, pro and con, as to the real Author of it--Lauder’s Attempt to prove Milton a Plagiarist--Refutation of him by Dr. Douglas--His interpolations--George Psalmanazar--His Account of Formosa--His Repentance and Piety--Publication of Ossian’s Poems by Mr. Macpherson--Their Authenticity is doubted--Report of the Highland Society on the Subject--Pseudonymous and anonymous Works--Letters of Junius--The Drapier’s Letters--Tale of a Tub--Gulliver’s Travels--The Waverley Novels--Chatterton and the Rowley Poems--W. H. Ireland and the Shakspearian Forgeries--Damberger’s pretended Travels--Poems of Clotilda de Surville--Walladmor--Hunter, the American--Donville’s Travels in Africa.

The history of literature, from the earliest times, has recorded singular instances of imposture and unacknowledged plagiarism; in many of which, the talent necessary to design, as well as the perseverance to develope, the proposed fraud, were worthy of a better direction.

In the opinion of the learned critic, Dr. Bentley, the practice of writing spurious books is almost as old as letters themselves; but that it chiefly prevailed when the kings of Pergamus and Alexandria, rivalling one another in the magnificence and copiousness of their libraries, gave great prices for treatises that had the names of celebrated authors attached to them.

Modern critics have, with much learned ingenuity, reasoned upon the possibilities and probabilities of the celebrated poems of the Iliad and Odyssey not being the performance of one man. Though, at this distance of time, the question must be settled rather by individual conviction, than received as a decided point in the history of literature; yet still it may not be uninteresting to state the arguments which have been brought forward against the authenticity of Homer’s poems, or rather against the existence of Homer himself.

Fabricius has collected a number of fragments and accounts of authors who have been supposed more ancient than Homer; most of these, however, have been regarded by the learned as forgeries, originating in the love of gain, and encouraged by the credulity of the Greeks.

It has been maintained that neither the Iliad nor the Odyssey is the work of a single mind, but a collection of the songs of the wandering rhapsodists, as they were called, and, for the first time, completely arranged at Athens under the inspection of Pisistratus, or his son. Pisistratus is mentioned by Ælian as the compiler of the Iliad and the Odyssey. This theory reduces Homer to a name merely; or, at best, as only one bard more celebrated than the rest, or, perhaps, as nothing more than a successful reciter. This idea respecting the authenticity of the above poems, was again started, about the close of the seventeenth century, by Perrault and others, but was received with derision by the learned world.

More recently, it has been again advocated, with great learning, by Heyne; and, with wonderful acuteness, by Professor Wolf, of Berlin.

It appears from the best accounts, that these poems, said to be the production of Homer, were first brought into Greece by Lycurgus; who had heard them in the course of his travels among the Chians, by means of the recitation of their rhapsodists; nor were they then in that perfect form in which they were afterwards presented by Pisistratus, to whom the credit of the arrangement appears to have been generally given by Cicero and others.

The arguments used by Wolf and Heyne are, firstly, the improbability that in such a dark age as that in which Homer is reputed to have lived, and of which so few traces are left, one man should have been capable of composing works of such extent, consistency, and poetical elevation, as the Iliad or Odyssey.

Secondly, that poems of such a length should have been composed, and preserved entire, without being committed to writing. Now there is not the least trace, even in tradition, of any complete copy of Homer’s works, till the existence of the Athenian edition, or at least of that of Lycurgus. No notice is taken in the poems of any epistolary correspondence, though in the Odyssey many opportunities occur where such might have been introduced.

Thirdly, the Greek alphabet was not received at Athens till the ninety-fourth Olympiad, that is, about four hundred and three years before Christ, whereas the works of Homer were dated from the nine hundred and seventh year before Christ. The writing materials also must have been scanty and inadequate to the preservation of a poem of fifteen thousand lines; stone and metal being the only materials on which, in early times, characters were imprinted.

Fourthly, in these ancient poems, no reference is ever made to written treaties; treaties being then only verbal, and ratified by superstitious rites.

Fifthly, the rhapsodists flourished in the earliest times, answering to the Celtic bards in our history; and all who followed this profession recited from memory; by the exercise of which faculty they derived honour and emolument. Without the modern aids to composition, how, it was asked, could any poet keep the plan, or previous part of his design, in his recollection? or, if that were possible, could he have ever expected to procure an audience, to whom such a work should be submitted?

It is more than probable, that the original poems, or series of poetical sketches, were exposed to perpetual variation, from passing through the heads of the rhapsodists; many of whom were, doubtless, also poets, and who, in the warmth of recitation, would make changes unconsciously, or, perhaps, purposely introduce them, to produce greater effect on their hearers. From Ælian we learn that anciently the books of the Iliad or Odyssey were never recited in the order in which they now stand.

The above form the chief grounds of argument used by those who are anxious to disturb our natural belief, as it were, of the integrity of Homer’s poems. On the contrary side, it is asserted, that other untaught poets have arisen, who, without the aid of external culture, have breathed the tenderest and most beautiful thoughts in poetry; and it is also urged, that, granting the sublimity of Homer’s poems as they stand, it is necessary, if we adopt the opponent system, to come to the belief that, in a barbarous age, instead of _one_ being marvellously gifted with poetical powers, there were _many_, a complete race of bards, such as has never been since seen.

The objection arising from the ignorance of letters, and want of writing materials, has been considered more formidable; but so much uncertainty attends the account of the introduction of letters into Greece, that it must undoubtedly have been of high antiquity.

That the memory of the reciter should be capable of retaining the whole poem does not appear so incredible in those times, when the minds of men were not distracted by the attempt to attain a variety of knowledge; for it is well known, that the constant and sole exercise of a single faculty gives it a great perfection.

The great uniformity of style in these poems has been considered as strong internal evidence that they were the production of an individual genius; the same epithets and similes prevail throughout. Interpolation may have occurred, but not sufficiently to affect the authority of the whole. Pindar, and other early poets, speak of Homer as one man, as do also the historians Herodotus and Thucydides.

It has, indeed, been maintained by some, that the Odyssey is the work of a different poet, because the images and descriptions evidently belong to a later period than those of the Iliad; and from allusions made to the arts, it appears that they must have made a greater progress than could reasonably have taken place during the life of one man, even granting the supposition that the Iliad was the work of Homer’s youth, and the Odyssey that of his maturer years. This is probably one of the most forcible objections which has been urged against the belief that the Iliad and the Odyssey are the work of one poet. As is often the case, however, in these doubtful questions, where direct evidence cannot possibly be obtained, much may be said on both sides; and the matter must probably ever remain a matter of curious literary speculation.

THE EPISTLES OF PHALARIS.

The following ancient literary fraud was investigated and exposed by the extraordinary learning and diligence of Dr. Bentley, who, in the year 1697, commenced the famous controversy about the Epistles of Phalaris, and the Fables of Æsop.

Sir William Temple, in comparing the intellectual pretensions of the ancients and moderns, declared for the ancients, and fortified his judgments by alleging, that the Epistles of Phalaris, and the Fables of Æsop, were proofs that the older parts of literature were the best; though, even at that time, these works had been challenged as forgeries. The Honourable Charles Boyle at this period having resolved to undertake an edition of the Epistles of Phalaris, as an academic exercise, Wotton, who was preparing a second edition of his work on “Ancient and Modern Learning,” requested Dr. Bentley to write a paper, to expose the spurious pretensions of Phalaris and Æsop. This paper met with violent opposition from Mr. Boyle, which determined Dr. Bentley to set about the refutation in good earnest. It will be impossible, within the narrow limits of this sketch, to follow the learned criticism, discussion, and wordy war, between Mr. Boyle and Dr. Bentley, in proof of, and against, the authenticity of the above epistles. It must be sufficient to state, that Dr. Bentley’s arguments rest upon many grammatical niceties and anachronisms, and on the use of certain Doric and Attic dialects, which came into use later than the supposed period of their composition. His arguments, all supported by innumerable quotations, which form an immense mass of evidence, have not failed to convince most persons of his profound erudition, as well as of the justness of his opinion.

THE ANABASIS OF XENOPHON.

It may be worth while, in this place, to mention a doubt, that has been promulgated by some modern critics, whether the Anabasis, or retreat of the ten thousand Greeks, is really the work of Xenophon, to whom it has most generally been attributed; or, whether it is the composition of one Themistogenes. In Xenophon’s Annals of Grecian History, instead of giving any account of the expedition of Cyrus, and the return of the army, he refers the reader to the account which he ascribes to Themistogenes of Syracuse. Such an account might then possibly be extant, though the mention by Xenophon is the sole evidence that it was so; but it by no means follows that the Anabasis itself was written by Themistogenes; and, from the age of Xenophon to that of Suidas, no mention of such an author occurs in any remaining work, nor was any doubt expressed as to Xenophon being the author of the Anabasis, till Suidas thought proper to controvert the generally received opinion.

The problem is well solved by Mr. Mitford. “Why then, it will of course occur to ask,” says he, “did Xenophon, in his Grecian Annals, refer to the work of Themistogenes? Plutarch, in his treatise on the Glory of the Athenians, has accounted for it thus: ‘Xenophon,’ he says, ‘was a subject of history for himself. But when he published his narrative of his own achievements in military command, he ascribed it to Themistogenes of Syracuse; giving away thus the literary reputation to arise from the work, that he might the better establish the credit of the facts related.’”

“This explanation, though I give it credit as far as it goes, is, however, not by itself completely satisfactory. Nevertheless, I think every reader of the Anabasis, attending, at the same time, to the general history of the age, may draw, from the two, what is wanting to complete it. He cannot fail to observe, that it has been a principal purpose of the author of the Anabasis to apologize for the conduct of Xenophon. In the latter part of the work, the narrative is constantly accompanied with a studied defence of his conduct; in which, both the circumstances that produced his banishment from Athens, and whatever might give umbrage or excite jealousy against him at Lacedæmon, have been carefully considered. But there are passages in the work, speeches of Xenophon himself on delicate occasions, particularly his communication with Cleander, the Lacedæmonian general, related in the sixth book, which could be known only from himself or from Cleander. That these have not been forgeries of Themistogenes, is evident from the testimony of Xenophon himself, who refers to the work, which he ascribes to Themistogenes, with entire satisfaction.

“One, then, of these three conclusions must follow: either, first, the narrative of Themistogenes, if such ever existed, had not in it that apology for Xenophon which we find interwoven in the Anabasis transmitted to us as Xenophon’s, and consequently was a different work; or, secondly, Themistogenes wrote under the direction of Xenophon; or, thirdly, Xenophon wrote the extant Anabasis, and, for reasons which those acquainted with the circumstances of his life, and the history of the times, will have no difficulty to conceive may have been powerful, chose that, on its first publication, it should pass by another’s name. The latter has been the belief of all antiquity; and indeed, if it had not been fully known that the ascription of the Anabasis to Themistogenes was a fiction, the concurrence of all antiquity, in stripping that author of his just fame, so completely that, from Xenophon himself to Suidas, he is never once named as an author of merit, in any work remaining to us, while, in so many, the Anabasis is mentioned as the work of Xenophon, would be, if at all credible, certainly the most extraordinary circumstance in the history of letters.”

A fraud, which perhaps occasioned the greatest regret that ever was felt in the literary world, has been attributed to Peter Alcyonius, one of the learned Italians who cultivated literature in the sixteenth century. He had considerable knowledge of the Greek and Latin tongues, and wrote rhetorical treatises. He was a long time corrector of the press at Venice, in the house of Aldus Manutius, and ought to participate in the praises given to that eminent printer and classical scholar. He translated some treatises of Aristotle into Latin; but the execution of them was so severely criticised by Sepulveda, that Alcyonius, at a great expense, bought up the criticisms of his Spanish enemy to burn them. Paul Jovius says of him, in his quaint language, that he was a man of downright plebeian and sordid manners, and such a slave to his appetite, that in one and the same day he would dine three or four times, but always at the expense of another; nor was he altogether so bad a physician in this beastly practice, since, before he went to bed, he discharged the intemperate load from his stomach.

Alcyonius published a treatise, “De Exilio,” containing many fine passages; so elegant in fact was it, that he was accused of having tacked several parts of Cicero “De Gloria” to his own composition, and then to prevent being convicted of the theft, thrown the manuscript of Cicero, which was the only one in the world, into the fire. Cicero, in his twenty-seventh epistle, fifteenth book, writing to Atticus, says, “I will speedily send you my book, ‘De Gloria.’” That the manuscript was extant till nearly the period in question would seem to be indubitable, as it was enumerated by Bernard Giustiniani, the learned governor of Padua, among the works which he possessed. Along with the rest of his library, it is said to have been bequeathed to a convent of nuns, but from that time it could never be found. It was believed by many, that Peter Alcyonius, who was physician to the monastery, and to whom the nuns entrusted the management of the library, having copied into his own treatise all that suited his purpose, from that of Cicero, had secretly made away with it. This charge was first brought against Alcyonius by Paul Manutius, and was repeated by Paul Jovius, and subsequently by other writers; but Tiraboschi seems to have demonstrated that it is a calumny. It is probable that it was provoked by the excessive vanity and propensity to sarcasm and satire which distinguished Alcyonius.

When the Utopia of Sir Thomas More was first published, it occasioned a pleasant mistake. This political romance represents a perfect but visionary republic, in an island supposed to have been recently discovered in America. “As this was the age of discovery (says Granger), the learned Budæus, and others, took it for a genuine history, and consider it highly expedient that missionaries should be sent thither, in order to convert so wise a nation to Christianity.”

No literary performance has ever been the occasion of more discussion or dispute, as to its authenticity, than one which was published by the royalist party to excite the public pity for Charles I. On the day after that monarch’s execution appeared a volume called Icon Basilike, or the Portraiture of his Sacred Majesty, in his Solitude and Sufferings. It professed to be from the pen of Charles himself, and a faithful exposition of his own thoughts on the principal events of his reign, accompanied with such pious effusions as the recollection suggested to his mind.

It was calculated to create a strong sensation in favour of the royal sufferer, and is said to have passed through fifty editions in the course of the first year.

During the Commonwealth, Milton made an attempt to disprove the king’s claim to the composition of the book, but his arguments were by no means conclusive, as the subsequent publications on the same subject proved. After the restoration, Dr. Gauden, a clergyman of Bocking in Essex, came forward, and declared himself the real author; but he advanced his pretensions with secresy, and received as the price of his silence, first, the bishopric of Exeter, and subsequently, when he complained of the poverty of that see, the richer one of Worcester.

After his death, these circumstances transpired, and became the subject of an interesting controversy between his friends and the admirers of Charles the First. The subsequent publication of the Clarendon papers, has, in the opinion of Dr. Lingard, firmly established Gauden’s claim; but Dr. Wordsworth, in the year 1824, adjudged it to the king, in his work called “Who wrote Eikon Basilike?” In this, he learnedly combats the opinions of all the late controversialists on that subject. This drew forth replies from the Reverend Henry Todd, and “additional reasons” from the Reverend Mr. Broughton, in favour of Gauden’s claim.

Dr. Wordsworth, in a “postscript,” again answered his antagonists, and summed up the evidence by saying, that not any convincing arguments in favour of Gauden’s claim had been brought forward against his--Dr. Wordsworth’s--but which, by negative evidence, rather strengthened his side of the question.

In a short abstract or analysis of so voluminous a subject it can only be stated, that it seems hardly credible, that Gauden _could_ have proposed to write, or could have completed, the Icon, labouring under the disadvantages he did. He was not a royal chaplain, nor appears to have been much connected with the court; nor ever to have had intercourse with the king, but once, when he preached before him; yet, in a sudden fit of zeal, he took upon himself the composition of a series of reflections in the name of the king, on the events of the last seven years of his reign; and that without even any communication being made to the royal party; or any suggestion received from them that it would be acceptable; whilst any discovery made by the opposite party would be followed by his certain ruin.

The evidence found in the book itself seems of a nature to disprove its being composed on the spur of the moment, or during the last act of the fatal drama, three-fourths of it being devoted to events having no near connexion with the emergency of the time; in fact, only the last six chapters treat of those subjects which were likely to have occupied the public attention at that period.

The tone of observation in general is such as, judging from his other works, it does not appear probable Gauden would have ventured to indulge in; habitual caution being visible in his other political writings. His fraudulent claim for remuneration after royalty was restored, being recompensed by a moderate promotion, does not, of necessity, prove its justice; as many reasons concurred, why the royal party should wish to hush up any reports that might tend to reflect upon the late king’s memory; nor at that time could the fact be susceptible of actual proof.

These several circumstances, in Dr. Wordsworth’s opinion, make it more than probable that Gauden’s claim was, in reality, what so many other learned persons have concurred in supposing, a literary imposture, which at the time met with undeserved success.

Literary imposture, in our own times, appears to have flourished most from the middle to the latter end of the eighteenth century; for, within forty years of that period, various very remarkable frauds in the commonwealth of letters were ushered into day, and the attention of the public was solicited to them, with all the boldness that a perfect conviction of their real worth and genuine authenticity, on the part of those who promulgated them, could possibly have inspired.

The first of these, in point of time, and intensity of malignant and selfish audacity, was the unpardonable attack made, about the year 1750, by a Mr. Lauder, on the poetical character and moral candour of Milton.

The first regular notice the public received of his intention was from the following circular, which developed his plan of attack:

“I have ventured to publish the following observations on Milton’s imitation of the moderns; having lately fallen on four or five modern authors in Latin verse, which I have reason to believe Milton had consulted in composing his Paradise Lost. The novelty of the subject will entitle me to the favour of the reader, since I in no way intend unjustly to derogate from the real merit of the writer. The first author alluded to was Jacobus Masenius. He was a professor of rhetoric, in the Jesuits’ College, at Cologne, about 1650, and he wrote Sarcotis, in five books; which, said he, in the preface, is not so much a complete model, as a rough draught of an epic poem. Milton follows this author tolerably closely through the first two books. In it Adam and Eve are described under the single name of Sarcothea, or human nature, whose antagonist, the infernal serpent, is called Lucifer. The infernal council, or Pandemonium, Lucifer’s habits, and the fight of the angels, are too obvious not to have been noticed; Milton’s exordium appears to have been almost directly taken from Masenius and Ramsay.” Lauder goes on to state that the Paradise Lost was taken from a farce, called Adamo Perso, and from an Italian tragedy, called Paradiso Perso; and that even Milton’s poem itself was said to have been written for a tragedy.

“Having procured,” continues he, “the Adamus Exul of Grotius, I found, or imagined myself to find the first draught, the _prima stamina_, of this wonderful poem; and I was then induced to search for the collateral relations it might be supposed to have contracted in its progress to maturity.” The Adamus Exul of Grotius was never printed with his other works, though it passed through four editions; and it was by very great labour that Mr. Lauder was at last able to get a copy from Gronovius, at Leyden. Milton is charged with having literally translated, rather than barely alluded to, this work.

The severe affliction which Milton endured, in the loss of sight, obliged him to have recourse to filial aid, in consulting such authors as he had occasion to refer to; and Lauder, wishing to prove that he feared detection and exposure, asserted that he taught his daughters only to _read_ the several languages, in which his authorities were written, confining them to the knowledge of words and pronunciation, but keeping the sense and meaning to himself.

Apparently feeling a momentary shame at his conduct, Lauder, in a kind of apology, added, “As I am sensible this will be deemed most outrageous usage of the divine, immortal Milton, the prince of English poets, and the incomparable author of Paradise Lost, I take this opportunity to declare, that a _strict regard to truth alone_,[12]--and to do justice to those authors from whom Milton has so liberally gleaned, without acknowledgment,--have induced me to make this attack upon the reputation and memory of a person hitherto so universally applauded and admired for his incomparable poetical abilities.”

Dr. Douglas, to whom the world is indebted for investigating and detecting Lauder’s baseness, vindicated Milton from the injustice of the charge, in an answer full of diligent research of those authors who were said to have furnished Milton with materials for his poem.

Dr. Douglas commences by saying, “Our Zoilus charges Milton with having borrowed both the plan of his poem, and also particular passages, from other authors. Should these charges even prove true, will it follow that his pretensions to genius are disproved? The same charge might be brought against Virgil; as there is scarcely a passage in his Æneid but is taken from the Iliad or Odyssey. There is no shadow of truth in the assertion made by Lauder, that infinite tribute of veneration had been paid to Milton, through men’s ignorance of his having been indebted to the assistance of other authors, when, on the contrary, those very persons who gave him the greatest praise were the principal discoverers of many of his imitations.

“It did not enter my head,” continues Dr. Douglas, “that our critic should have the assurance to urge false quotations in support of his charge; and therefore did I, and, as I imagine, did every other person, believe, that the authors he quoted really contained those lines which he attributed to them, and which bear so striking a resemblance to passages in Paradise Lost, that the reader cannot avoid concluding, with Lauder, that Milton had really seen and imitated them. Will it not, therefore, be thought extraordinarily strange, and excite the utmost indignation in every candid person’s breast, if the reverse of all this shall appear to be the case; if it can be clearly proved that our candid conscientious critic, whose notions of morality taught him to accuse Milton of the want of common probity or honour for having boasted that he sung things yet unattempted in prose or rhyme, has, in order to make good his charge against Milton, had recourse to forgeries, perhaps the grossest that ever were obtruded on the world?”

It first occurred to Dr. Douglas to search for those authors, from whom Lauder asserted that Milton had borrowed his ideas. Many were scarce, and not to be found; but he succeeded in getting one, Staphorstius, a Dutch poet and divine, who, says Lauder, “never dreamt the prince of English poets would condescend to plume himself with his--Staphorstius’--feathers;” and he quotes certain passages in proof of this assertion,--an entire quotation of thirty-two lines, besides shorter ones. “I was,” says Dr. Douglas, “at a loss where to turn for lines; for it is remarkable, that through his whole work, Lauder omits to tell his readers where the quotations are to be found: with great labour, however, I found some allusion to the subject, and also, with great surprise, discovered that eight lines quoted as from Staphorstius have no existence in that author; and which eight lines are in Lauder’s Essay printed in italics, as having the strongest resemblance to those in Paradise Lost, and it will be impossible for Lauder to clear himself from the charge of having corrupted the text of Staphorstius, by interpolating the eight lines not to be found there. A more curious circumstance still is, that this interpolated passage is taken from a Latin translation of Paradise Lost itself, made by one Hogæus, or Hog, printed in the year 1690, without the variation of a single word: it must be thought therefore extremely hard that Milton should be run down as a plagiarist for having stolen from himself, yet this is strictly the case. Hog translated the Paradise Lost into Latin: Lauder interpolates some of Hog’s lines in Staphorstius, and then urges these very lines as a demonstration that Milton copied him. There is equal testimony to prove that Lauder interpolated Phineas Fletcher, and others, in the same way; but the most extraordinary part of the forgery is yet to be mentioned: this interpolating critic has even forged Milton himself, and interpolates the Paradise Lost, however ridiculously improbable this may seem. In 1747, Lauder makes his first appearance as the Zoilus of Milton, in the Gentleman’s Magazine, where, to prove that Milton had copied from the Adamus Exul of Grotius, he quotes, professedly from the Paradise Lost, one line and a half, beginning

‘And lakes of living sulphur ever flow, And ample spaces.’

“After the most careful search, I can safely pronounce that the above line and a half have no existence in the Paradise Lost.”

From the difficulty of rebutting Lauder’s evidence against Milton, he had acquired some merit in the eyes of men of learning, which procured him the countenance of the great, and encouraged him to open a subscription for the publication of a new edition of those authors who, according to him, had held the torch to Milton.

Upon the publication of Dr. Douglas’s remarks on Lauder, the booksellers who had undertaken his work, thought proper to prefix the following notice to each copy of it:--

“After ten months’ insolent triumph, the Rev. Dr. Douglas has favoured the world with a detection of this scene of villany, and has so powerfully urged his proofs, that no hope was left of invalidating them; an immediate application to Lauder was necessary, and a demand, that the books from whence he had taken the principal controverted passages, should be put into our hands. He then with great confidence acknowledged the interpolation, and seemed to wonder at the folly of the world, for making such an extraordinary rout about eighteen or twenty lines. As this man has been guilty of such a wicked imposition on us and the public, and is capable of so daring an avowal of it, we declare that we will have no further intercourse with him, and we now sell his book, only as a curiosity of fraud and interpolation, which all the ages of literature cannot parallel.

“JOHN PAYNE, “JOSEPH BOUSUET.”

In a letter addressed to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Lauder says, “I own the charge of Dr. Douglas to be just, and I humbly profess my sorrow, but I cannot forbear to take notice, that my interpolating these authors proceeded rather from my being hurried away by violent passions, and rash imprudence, without duly weighing the case, and chiefly from a fatal anxiety not to fall short of my proof in that arduous undertaking; excusing myself on the score, that Pope’s criticisms had spoilt the sale of my edition of Dr. Anthony Johnston’s elegant paraphrase of the Psalms in Latin verse: and I bethought me of this only way left of enhancing his merit by lessening that of Milton, even as Pope had endeavoured to raise Milton by lessening Johnston’s; and I thought, if I could strip Milton of his chief merit, fertility and sublimity of thought, I should at once retrieve Johnston’s honour, and convict Pope of pronouncing so erroneous a judgment, in giving so vast a preference to Milton above Johnston: a task in every way arduous and unpopular, had not necessity in a manner compelled me, as the author whom I highly value, and on whose reputation my subsistence in life in a great measure depended, was lately discredited by Pope, both in North and South Britain, in his Dunciad; and in consequence of those remarks, the sale of my edition of Johnston fell considerably, and was thought nothing of.”

Lauder wrote also to Dr. Douglas in the following curious strain:--“I resolved to attack Milton’s fame, and found some passages which gave me hopes of stigmatizing him as a plagiarist; the further I carried my researches, the more eager I grew for the discovery; the more my hypothesis was opposed, the more was I heated with rage.”[13]

Lauder had been sanguine in his hopes that the unreserved confession would atone for his guilt, and that his subscription for a new edition of “Sarcotis,” and “Adamus Exul,” would meet with the same encouragement as at first; but the anxiety of the public to see them was at an end, and the design of reprinting them met with little or no success. Thus, grown desperate by disappointment, with equal inconsistency and imprudence he renewed his attack upon the author of Paradise Lost, and then gave the world, as a reason which excited him to continue his forgeries, that Milton had attacked the character of Charles the First; by saying, that that king had interpolated Pamela’s prayer from the Arcadia, in the Icon Basilike. He also scrupled not to abuse most unjustifiably Dr. Douglas, as the first exposer of his own forgery.

Lauder afterwards went to Barbadoes, and died there in great poverty in the year 1770.

Early in the eighteenth century (1704) there was published, in London, a history of the island of Formosa, off the coast of China, accompanied by an extraordinary narrative of the author, who went under the name of George Psalmanazar, and who, from the idolatries of his own country, represented himself to have become a convert to Christianity.

The description of Formosa was given with such apparent fidelity, the manners and customs were illustrated with so many engravings of the houses, modes of travelling, and shipping, and specimens of the language and written character so philologically explained, that, though some few persons of superior penetration looked upon the work as an imposture, the belief was almost general of the truth of the history, which was considered the more interesting, as the country described in the volume had hitherto been so imperfectly known. There appeared subsequently, by the same author, “A Dialogue between a Japanese and Formosan,” about some points of the religion of the times.

Psalmanazar was much noticed, and his ingenuity had several ordeals to undergo, from the severe examinations and investigations which the curiosity of his supporters, and the suspicion of his adversaries, prompted them to make. He had actually invented a Formosan language and grammar, into which he translated several prayers and short sentences; also a vocabulary for the benefit of those who should visit that island. With this, _his native language_, he was naturally supposed to be familiar, and he must have had an extraordinary and tenacious memory, not to have laid himself open to more suspicion, in the several repetitions of his examinations, which were taken down for the satisfaction of others: he at last, however, confessed that the whole was a forgery from beginning to end.

He was a man of very great general knowledge, together with natural talent, and appears by his will to have deeply regretted this imposture. His will thus commences: “The last will and testament of me, a poor simple and worthless creature, commonly known by the assumed name of George Psalmanazar.” After a devout prayer to the Supreme Being and directing that he may be buried in the humblest manner, he says, “The principal manuscript that I felt myself bound to leave behind was a faithful narrative of my education, and sallies of my wretched youthful years, and the various ways by which I was, in some measure unadvisedly, led into the base and shameful imposture of passing upon the world for a native of Formosa, and a convert to Christianity, and backing it with a fictitious account of that island, and of my own travels, conversion, &c., all or most part of it hatched in my own brain, without regard to truth or honesty. It is true I have long since disclaimed even publicly all but the shame and guilt of that vile imposition; yet as long as I knew there were still two editions of that scandalous romance remaining in England, besides the several versions it had abroad, I thought it incumbent upon me to undeceive the world, by unravelling that whole mystery of iniquity in a posthumous work.” He concludes by once more thus branding his work--“It was no other than a mere forgery of my own devising, a scandalous imposition on the public, and such as I think myself bound to beg God and the world pardon for writing, and have been long since, as I am to this day, and shall be as long as I live, heartily sorry for, and ashamed of.” This document bears date in 1752, when he was in the 73d year of his age.

In the posthumous memoirs above alluded to he studiously concealed who he really was. It appears, however, that he was born about 1679, in the south of France, either in Provence or Languedoc; and having been guilty of some great excesses in the university where he was receiving his education,--though he does not explain the nature of them,--he found it necessary to take to flight, and wandered clandestinely through a great part of Europe. Finding it both troublesome and hazardous to preserve his incognito as an European, he determined on the plan of imposture which ultimately led him to write his fictitious history of the island of Formosa. The latter part of his life was spent in the practice of the most unfeigned piety. He supported himself by his literary labours, and was the author of a considerable portion of the Ancient Universal History. His death took place in 1763.

About the year 1760, much speculation was excited in the literary world by the publication of a series of poems purporting to have been translated by a Mr. Macpherson, from the original Gaelic of the famous poet Ossian, whose compositions had been handed down from his own times by oral tradition. The occasion of Mr. Macpherson’s giving them to the world was as follows:--Mr. Home, author of “Douglas,” in company with other gentlemen, being at Moffat in the summer of 1759, met there Mr. Macpherson, then tutor to Mr. Graham; and from him they heard some specimens of Gaelic poetry, which so much pleased them, that they begged Mr. Macpherson to publish them in a small volume. He complied; and this specimen having attracted a good deal of attention, he proposed to make a tour, by subscription, through the Highlands, for the purpose of collecting more complete specimens of the ancient poetry. This journey he performed in 1760, and speedily published the poems in a more complete form They were received, however, by many with suspicion; it being thought, from the remoteness of the period at which they were said to have been produced, that they could not be genuine.

In 1763; Dr. Hugh Blair wrote a dissertation on the poems of Ossian. This he sent to his friend David Hume, and requested to have his opinion as to the authenticity of the poems. In reply, Hume said that he never heard the dissertation mentioned, where some one or other did not express his doubt with regard to the antiquity of the poems which were the subject of it; and that he often heard them totally rejected with disdain and indignation, as a palpable and impudent forgery.

The absurd pride and consequence of Macpherson, scorning, as he pretended, to satisfy any body that doubted his veracity, tended much to confirm the general scepticism: and, added Hume, “if the poems are of genuine origin, they are in all respects the greatest curiosities that were ever discovered in the history of literature.”

The first regular attack on the authenticity of Ossian’s poems was made in 1781, by Mr. Shaw, the author of a Gaelic Dictionary and Grammar; and it was a vigorous one. He contended, from internal evidence, that the poems were forgeries; he asserted that many of the Highland persons who had vouched for their genuineness had never seen a line of the supposed originals, and that Macpherson himself had constantly evaded showing them to him; and he maintained, that both the fable and the machinery of the principal poems were Irish; and that if, as a blind, any manuscripts had ever been shown, they must have been in the Irish language, the Earse dialect of the Gaelic never having been written or printed till, in 1754, Mr. Macfarlane printed a translation of Baxter’s “Call to the Unconverted.” An answer was attempted by Mr. Clarke, a member of the Scottish Antiquarian Society; but, though he succeeded in some points, he failed in his principal object.

After a lapse of nearly twenty years, a more powerful antagonist of Ossian took the field. This was Mr. Malcolm Laing, author of a History of Scotland. To that history he added an elaborate dissertation, in which he skilfully investigated the claim of the poems to antiquity. The principal grounds on which he decided against it were, the many false and inaccurate allusions to the history of Britain while the country was under the dominion of the Romans; the flagrant difference between Highland manners as described in the poems and by historians; the many palpable imitations from the classics and the Scriptures; the fact that all the Highland traditionary poems yet known referred to the ninth and tenth centuries, and that there existed no Gaelic manuscript older than the fifteenth century; the resemblance which the strains of the pretended Ossian bore to The Highlander, one of Macpherson’s acknowledged compositions; and, lastly, certain startling expressions used in print by Macpherson, which seemed almost to render it certain that he was not the translator, but the author, of the works which he had given to the world under the name of Ossian.

Anxious that the truth should be elicited on a subject so interesting to them as their national poetry, the Highland Society had already, as far back as 1797, appointed a committee to inquire into the nature and authenticity of Ossian’s poems. Mr. Laing’s Dissertation, of which a second edition was published in 1804, seems to have quickened the movements of the committee. To assist in elucidating the subject, a series of queries was circulated throughout the Highlands and the Scottish Islands. The series consists of six articles, of which the first is the most important. “Have you ever heard repeated or sung any of the poems ascribed to Ossian, translated and published by Mr. Macpherson? By whom have you heard them so repeated, and at what time or times? Did you ever commit any of them to writing, or can you remember them so well as to set them down?” The same answer was requested as to any other ancient poems of the same kind; and the committee likewise expressed a wish to obtain as much information as possible “with regard to the traditionary belief of the country concerning the history of Fingal, and his followers, and that of Ossian and his poems.”

It was not till 1810 that the society published the result of the inquiry which it had set on foot. The answers to the queries were certainly by no means satisfactory. The report, which was drawn up by Henry Mackenzie, stated that the committee had directed its inquiry to two points: firstly, what poetry, of what kind, and of what degree of excellence, existed anciently in the Highlands of Scotland, which was generally known by the denomination of Ossianic; and, secondly, how far that collection of such poetry published by Mr. James Macpherson, is genuine. On the first point the committee spoke decidedly. It declared its firm conviction that such poetry did exist; that it was common, general, and in great abundance; that it was of a most striking and impressive sort, in a high degree eloquent, tender, and sublime. On the second point, there was a woful falling off in confident assertion. “The committee,” says the reporter, “is possessed of no documents to show how much of his collection Mr. Macpherson obtained in the form in which he has given it to the world. The poems, and fragments of poems, which the committee has been able to procure, contain, as will appear from the article in the Appendix, No. 15, often the substance, and sometimes almost the literal expression (the _ipsissima verba_) of passages given by Mr. Macpherson in the poems of which he has published the translations. _But the committee has not been able to obtain one poem the same in title and tenor with the poems published by him. It is inclined to believe that he was in use to supply chasms, and to give connexion, by inserting passages which he did not find and to add what he conceived to be dignity and delicacy to the original composition, by striking out passages, by softening incidents, by refining the language; in short, by changing what he considered as too simple or rude for a modern ear, and elevating what in his opinion was below the standard of good poetry._ To what degree, however, he exercised these liberties, it is impossible for the committee to determine. The advantages he possessed, which the committee began its inquiries too late to enjoy, of collecting from the oral recitation of a number of persons, now no more, a very great number of the same poems, on the same subjects, and then collating those different copies, or editions, if they may be so called, rejecting what was spurious or corrupted in one copy, and adopting, from another, something more general and excellent in its place, afforded him an opportunity of putting together what might fairly enough be called an original whole, of much more beauty, and with much fewer blemishes, than the committee believe it now possible for any one person or combination of persons to obtain.”

This report, published, as it was by persons who were anxious to establish the authenticity of the poems, seems decisively to prove that Macpherson was, in fact, the fabricator of the works attributed to Ossian, or at the least, that he formed a cento from fragments of ballads and tales, blended with interpolations of his own. The controversy was, however, continued for some time longer, and much ink was shed by the believers and infidels; the presumed Gaelic originals were also at length published; but the believers, nevertheless, daily lost ground, the public ceased to take an interest in the dispute, and the question seems now to be finally set to rest.

The Letters of Junius, though not so strictly to be considered as a literary imposture, have yet excited so much attention and speculation, both by their matter and the impenetrable mystery in which they have hitherto been involved, that a brief notice of that which I consider to be the most successful attempt to discover the real author may not here be unacceptable.

Mr. G. Chalmers wrote a dissertation, to prove that the author of the Letters of Junius was a Mr. M’Aulay Boyd; and, certainly, as far as circumstantial evidence goes, short of direct proof, there appears much reason for supposing him not far from the truth in his conjectures.

M’Aulay Boyd was born in April, 1746, at his father’s house, Ship Street, Dublin, and in 1761 was received as a fellow-commoner in the university of that city. He came to London in 1766, to study the law; but his propensities carried him oftener to St. Stephen’s than to Westminster Hall, and he exhibited a wonderful retention of memory, by reciting perfectly the speeches of the night to his associates in his club. He became intimate with Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Garrick, and many other members of the Literary Club.

At the time of an election in Antrim, he addressed twelve letters to the independent electors, under the appellation of “The Freeholder,” to gain their votes for a constitutional candidate--Wilson; and these letters are known to have contributed to the raising of that wild clamour, which carried Wilson’s election by an enthusiastic blast of momentary madness. The style of The Freeholder is strongly impregnated with the essence of Junius. A great deal of evidence is adduced in continuation by Chalmers, which seems to bear him out in his conjectures; and it may be briefly recapitulated, that, firstly, the letters of Junius appear to have been written by an Irishman; secondly, that they are the work of an inexperienced or juvenile pen; and if Boyd wrote them, it must have been when he was between his twenty-third and twenty-fifth years; thirdly, they were published by one “who delighted to fish in troubled waters,” a propensity which Boyd frequently gratified; fourthly, the author was a constant attendant on both houses of parliament; fifthly, compared with The Freeholder, Boyd’s acknowledged work, there is a wonderful sameness in all the faults and excellences of the two.

Boyd took a particular interest in Junius, and talked as if he knew the author, but that he never would be generally known: his wife often suspected him to be the writer. He never disclaimed the imputation, or claimed the honour.

The public, says Mr. Chalmers, has an interest in exposing this mystery; and the relatives of those respectable persons who were said to be the writers have also an interest, if it is known where the application could be made, in placing the seditious pen of Junius in the proper hands.

Almon, a bookseller, imagined that he had clearly detected Boyd as the author. In 1769, at a meeting of the booksellers and printers, H. S. Woodfall read a letter from Junius, because it contained a passage relating to the business of the meeting. Almon saw the handwriting of the manuscript, without disclosing his thoughts to the meeting; but the next time he saw Boyd at his shop, in Piccadilly, Almon said, “I have seen a part of one of Junius’s Letters in manuscript, which I believe is your handwriting.” Boyd instantly changed colour, and, after a short pause, replied, “The similitude of handwriting is not a conclusive fact.” Now, Boyd was by nature confident, and by habit a man of the world, a sort of character not apt to blush. From this time Almon used to say that he suspected Junius was a broken-down gentleman without a penny in his pocket.

The anonymous publication of a series of letters was, before this time, had recourse to for a political purpose. About the year 1722, when Charles, Duke of Grafton, was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, William Wood, a hardwareman and bankrupt, alleging the great want of copper money in that kingdom, procured a patent for coining one hundred and eight thousand pounds, to pass there as current money. This measure was thought by some persons to be a vile job from beginning to end, and that the chief procurers of the patent were to be sharers in the profits. Some anonymous letters were, therefore, written in 1724, under the assumed name of the _Drapier_, or Draper, warning the people not to receive the coin which was then sent over.

The real author of these letters, as afterwards appeared, was the celebrated Dr. Swift, Dean of St Patrick’s, who, indignant at the scheme, boldly withstood the designs of the grasping projector.

Wood’s project was, by virtue of a patent fraudulently obtained, to coin halfpence for Ireland, at about eleven parts in twelve under their real value; but which, even if ever so good, no man could have been obliged to receive in any payment whatever.

The first letter convinced all parties in Ireland that the admission of Wood’s money would prove fatal to the nation; some passages in the fourth, being thought to reflect upon the people in power, were selected for prosecution, and three hundred pounds offered, as a reward for the discovery of the author; but no clue was ever given by which such discovery could be made. The copies were always sent to the press by some obscure messenger, who never knew the person from whom he received them. The amanuensis alone was trusted, to whom, two years afterwards, the author gave an employment that brought him in forty pounds a-year.

The purpose of the letters was completely answered, Wood was compelled to relinquish his patent, and his halfpence were totally suppressed.

That the letters of “Junius,” “The _Drapier_,” and other _political_ tracts, should have been published anonymously cannot be considered a very extraordinary caution on the part of the authors; though the public are always anxious to know the writers of such pamphlets as have been cleverly executed. But many authors of works purely literary, and which, after a perusal by the public, have been deservedly praised, have for a time kept themselves studiously concealed, as if unwilling to receive any public tribute of admiration; or, perhaps, amused by the variety of speculations afloat concerning them.

Dean Swift, at first, published his “Tale of a Tub,” anonymously; it speedily excited very considerable attention, some applauding, others reprobating its tendency and design. Fourteen years after this, “Gulliver’s Travels” appeared, which acquired a still more extended popularity. Even Swift’s most intimate friends were unacquainted with its origin; though many suspected who the author was. Gay wrote to him, saying, “About ten days ago, a book was published here of the travels of one Gulliver, which has been the conversation of the whole town ever since: the whole impression sold in a week, and nothing is more diverting than to hear the different opinions people give of it; though all agree in liking it extremely. It is usually said you are the author; but, I am told, the bookseller declares he knows not from what hand it came.”

In the summer of 1814, there appeared, anonymously, a novel, bearing the title of “Waverley.” It was written in a fascinating style, and was read with avidity by every one. It was speedily followed by other historical novels, as interesting, or more so, from the pen of “the Author of Waverley.” They succeeded each other with such prolific and astonishing rapidity, and were executed in such a masterly manner, that, at last, the curiosity of the public became extreme, to discover to whom they were indebted for them. Pamphlets on the subject, and speculations in periodicals, were abundant. Various persons were named; but the majority leaned to the opinion that Sir Walter Scott was the writer. It was not, however, till many years afterwards, that circumstances, arising out of the bankruptcy of his publishers, compelled him to throw aside the veil, and to stand forth the avowed author of productions which have spread his fame to the farthest limits of civilized society, and which can never cease to retain a strong hold upon the human mind.

From this brief notice of one extraordinary genius, who lived long to enjoy his fame, we must go back, nearly half a century, to make mention of another, who perished, unpraised and unfriended, before he reached the age of manhood. In the annals of literature there is no example recorded of precocious talent which can vie with that of Thomas Chatterton. He was born at Bristol, in St. Mary Redcliffe parish, on the 20th of November, 1752, and was the posthumous son of an individual who had been successively writing master to a classical school, singing man in Bristol Cathedral, and master of the Pyle Street Free-school. At the age of five years, he was apparently so stupid as to be deemed incapable of learning his letters. It was not till his latent powers were roused, by being shown the illuminated capitals of an old French manuscript, that he became anxious to acquire learning. Henceforth he needed no stimulant. Before he was eight years old, he was admitted into Colson’s school, the Christ’s Hospital of Bristol, where he read much in his intervals of leisure, and began to try his poetical skill. When he was somewhat under fifteen, he was apprenticed to Mr. Lambert, an attorney. It was while he was in this situation, and early in October, 1768, when the new bridge at Bristol was completed, that he gave to the world the first article of that series of literary forgeries which has immortalized him. It was sent to Farley’s Bristol Journal, and was called “a description of the Friars first passing over the old bridge: taken from an ancient manuscript.” He subsequently, from time to time, produced various poems of pre-eminent beauty, clothed in antique language. The language, however, was not that of any one period; nor was the style, nor in many instances the form of composition, that of the fifteenth century, the age to which he assigned them. He pretended that they were written by Thomas Rowley, a priest, and Thomas Canynge, and that they were copied from parchments, which his father had found in a large box, in a room over the chapel on the north side of Redcliffe church. While he was engaged in composing these poems, he was also a liberal contributor of prose and verse to the Magazines. Having, in his moody moments, avowed an intention of committing suicide, his master released him from his indentures, and Chatterton repaired to London, where he resolved to depend upon his pen for subsistence. At the outset, his hopes were raised to a high pitch; but they were soon blighted. In spite of his wonderful fertility, and his persevering exertions, he seems to have been unable to provide for the day that was passing over him. Privations and wounded pride drove him to despair, and, on the 25th of August, 1770, he put an end to his existence by poison. Editions of the pretended poems of Rowley were published by Mr. Tyrrwhit and Dean Milles; and a controversy was long and vehemently maintained on the question of their antiquity. There are now few persons who doubt that they are the work of Chatterton. That he was capable of producing them is sufficiently proved by his acknowledged poems.

We come now to a much more daring forgery, perpetrated by an individual whose talents were far inferior to those of Chatterton. Mr. Malone, in the preface to his edition of Shakspeare, had shown that Shakspeare died at the age of fifty-two in April 1616, leaving his daughter, and her husband Dr. J. Hall, executors. The will demonstrates, that he died possessed of “baubles, gewgaws, and toys to mock apes, &c.” Dr. Hall died in 1635, leaving a will, and bequeathing his library and manuscripts to J. Nash. “Here,” says Mr. Malone, “is a proof that the executor of Shakspeare’s will left a library and manuscripts behind him.” In a satisfactory manner did Mr. Malone trace down, from the public records, the legal transmission of the personal property of Shakspeare’s descendants to a recent period, from which he inferred, that, amongst the present generation of them, fragments might be found, if curiosity would prompt diligence to search the repositories of concealment. The search proved successful, and from the appearance of the manuscripts of Shakspeare in 1790, every moment was expectancy of more arrivals; in fact discovery succeeded discovery so fast, that Mr. Malone obtained documents enough to fill a folio. A painting of Shakspeare was also found, the very painting that enabled Droeshout to engrave the effigies of Shakspeare which was prefixed to the folio edition of his dramas, and of which Ben Jonson affirmed that

“The Graver had a strife With nature, to outdo the life;”

and every thing concurred to evince the genuineness of this ancient painting.

A new discovery of Shakspearian papers was announced for exhibition in Norfolk Street, in 1794, and curiosity was again roused.

Mr. Malone, from some private reasons, seemed indifferent about these papers in Norfolk Street; and he was urged by his scepticism to contradict that probability which he had taught the imaginative world to entertain in favour of the discovery of Shakspearian fragments. Many other learned persons being, however, convinced by examination of the authenticity of these miscellaneous papers, the publication of them was undertaken by subscription, and _four guineas_ a copy were freely paid by the subscribers.

When the book came out, and not till then, did Mr. Malone condescend to look at it, and examine its pretensions; and he quickly decided it to be a palpable and bold forgery. This he demonstrated by a learned and critical examination of each particular paper; his inquiry was drawn up in the form of a letter, and addressed to the Right Honourable James, Earl of Charlemont, in the year 1796.

The editor of them, Mr. Ireland, in his preface, had assured the public, that all men of taste who had viewed them previous to publication unanimously testified in favour of their authenticity, and declared that there was on their side a mass of irrefragable evidence, external and internal; that it was impossible, amid such various sources of detection, for the art of imitation to have hazarded itself without being betrayed; and, consequently, that these papers could be no other than the production of Shakspeare himself.

The editor, in continuation, said, that these papers came into his hands from his son, Samuel William Henry Ireland, a young man nineteen years of age, by whom the discovery was accidentally made, at the house of a gentleman of considerable property, amongst a heterogeneous collection of family papers.

The legal contracts between Shakspeare and others were, it was said, first found by the junior Ireland, and soon afterwards, the deed of gift to William Henry Ireland, described as the friend of Shakspeare, in consequence of his having saved the dramatist’s life. In pursuing this research, he was so fortunate as to meet with some deeds very material to the interests of the gentleman at whose house he was staying; and such as established, beyond all doubt, his title to considerable property, of which he was as ignorant as he was of possessing these interesting manuscripts of Shakspeare. In return for this service, the gentleman promised him every paper relative to Shakspeare.

Fully satisfied with the honour and liberality shown to him, the finder of these treasures did not feel justified in importuning or requesting a gentleman, to whom he was known by obligation alone, to subject himself to the impertinence and licentiousness of literary curiosity and cavil, unless he should voluntarily come forward. He had applied to the original possessor of them for his permission to print them, and only obtained it under the strongest injunctions of secrecy.

“It is to be observed,” says Mr. Malone, “that we are not told where the deed was first discovered; it is said in a mansion-house, but where situated is not stated. Another very remarkable incident is mentioned: the discoverer met the possessor, to whom he was unknown, at a coffee-house, or some public place, and the conversation turning on old autographs, of which the discoverer was a collector, the country gentleman said to him, ‘If you are for autographs, I am your man; come to my chambers, any morning, and rummage my old deeds, and you will find enough of them.’ Accordingly the discoverer goes, and taking down a parcel, in a few minutes lighted on the name of Shakspeare. The discovery of the title to a considerable estate was so fortunate and beneficial a circumstance to this unknown gentleman, that we cannot wonder at his liberality in giving up all his right to these valuable literary curiosities; but one naturally wishes to know in what county this estate lies, or whether any suit has been instituted within the last year or two, in consequence of such a discovery of title-deeds so little dreamt of.”

According to Mr. Malone, the great objections, critically speaking, to be brought against the manuscripts are, firstly, the orthography; this is not only not the orthography of Elizabeth or her time, but for the most part of no one age whatever. The spelling of the copulative _and_, and the preposition _for_, ande--forre, is unprecedented. “I have,” says Mr. Malone, “perused some thousands of deeds and manuscripts, and never once found such a spelling of them; the absurd way in which almost every word is overladen with both vowels and consonants, will strike every reader who has any knowledge on the subject.”

Quotations from manuscripts are made by Mr. Malone, from Chaucer downwards to the end of the sixteenth century, showing the progressive changes in the mode of orthography; and they certainly appear to prove, most satisfactorily, that the papers in which such laboured and capricious deformity of spelling is introduced, are an entire forgery. For example, the word _masterre_, at that period, was spelt maister. There is not a single authority for Londonne. So early as the time of Edward the First, Robert of Gloucester said,

‘And now me clepet it London, that is lighter in the mouth.’

Leycesterre for Leycester is as incorrect.

Secondly, the phraseology is equally faulty, particularly in the letter, supposed to be written and directed by Queen Elizabeth, to William Shakspeare. This letter, in particular, it is very easy to prove a forgery; as, by an anachronism, it is directed to William Shakspeare, at the Globe by the Thames. Now the Globe was a theatre which did not open till the year 1594; yet, in the same letter, mention is made of the expected presence of Leicester, who died in September 1588, when this theatre did not exist.

The deeds and miscellaneous papers were exhibited in Norfolk Street, long before their publication, and they were submitted to the critical examination of any one willing to question them; nor, from their appearance of venerable antiquity, was a doubt of their genuine authenticity allowed to be entertained. When the elder Mr. Ireland afterwards published his “Vindication,” he showed how readily the most discerning persons yielded their faith to this imposture. Mr. Boaden, he says, thus wrote to G. Steevens after having seen the manuscripts. “In some instances credulity is no disgrace, strong enthusiasm is always eager to believe; I confess that, for some time after I had seen them, I continued to think they might be genuine; they bore the character of the poet’s writing, the paper appeared of sufficient age, the water-marks were earnestly displayed, and the matter diligently applauded; I remember that I beheld the papers with the tremor of utmost delight, touched the invaluable relics with reverential respect, and deemed even existence dearer as it gave me so refined a satisfaction.”

Similar and even stronger impressions were made on James Boswell, one of those literary characters who, in company with Dr. Parr, signed a certificate expressing their belief of the authenticity of the papers. Previous to signing his name, Boswell fell on his knees, and in a tone of enthusiasm and exultation, thanked God that he had lived to witness their discovery, and that he could now die in peace. In proportion to this strong belief, therefore, was the public indignation excited against the inventors of that monstrous,--and to the subscribers expensive--forgery, which the critical acumen of Mr. Malone had so clearly exposed. The blame of the transaction was imputed as much to Mr. Ireland, the father, as to William Henry, the son, who was in reality sole contriver of this imposture. In an exculpatory pamphlet, he says, “In justice to the memory of my father, I think it necessary to give a true account of the publication of these manuscripts. After dinner my father would read different accounts of Shakspeare, and remark how wonderful it was that no vestige of his signature remains, except that at Doctors’ Commons. Curiosity led me to look at the signature, in Steevens’ edition of his plays, and it occurred to me, that if some old writing could be produced, and passed off for Shakspeare’s, it might occasion a little mirth, and show how far credulity would go in search of antiquities. I first tried an experiment by writing a letter, as from the author of an old book in my possession, in dedication of it to Queen Elizabeth: I showed it to my father, who thought it genuine. This encouraged me to proceed till the whole work was completed, and published with the following title page: “Miscellaneous papers and legal instruments under the hand and seal of William Shakspeare, including the tragedy of King Lear, and a fragment of Hamlet, folio, London, 1796.” And subsequently, “Free reflections on the miscellaneous papers, etc., in the possession of S. Ireland, to which are added extracts from the Virgin Queen, a play.”

The story of the country gentleman was told to silence the numerous inquiries as to where they came from. In conclusion, Mr. S. Ireland says, “I most sincerely regret any offence I may have given the world, or particular individuals, trusting at the same time, that they will deem the whole the work of a boy, without any evil or bad intent, but hurried on, thoughtless of any danger that awaited to ensnare him.”

The drama of Vortigern, which formed one portion of the forgery, was brought out at Drury Lane theatre, and was unanimously damned.

The art of counterfeiting old deeds and manuscripts has often been had recourse to for the purpose of fraud. Some curious evidence of such practices was given in the case of “Mossam v. Dame Theodosia Joy,” which may be found at large in the State Trials, vol. 7, p. 571. This lady was proved to have forged the title deeds of an estate to which she laid claim. Serjeant Stringer, in the course of the trial, inquired of Mrs. Duffet, one of the witnesses, “Pray what did they do to the deeds to make them look like ancient true deeds?” The witness replied, “For the making of the outsides look old and dirty, they used to rub them on the windows that were very dusty, and wear them in the pockets, to crease them, for weeks together. According as they intended to make use of them, when they had been rubbed and made to look dirty, and they were to pass for deeds of many years’ standing, it was used to lay them in a balcony, or any open place, for the rain to wet them, and the next clear day they were exposed to the sun, or placed before the fire, to dry them hastily, that they might be shrivelled.”

The introduction of the Inquisition into Portugal, has been stated to have resulted from the admirable skill in counterfeiting signatures, which was possessed by a monk named Saavedra. About the year 1540, this monk forged apostolic bulls, royal decrees, and bills of exchange, with so much accuracy that they passed for genuine. He also succeeded so well as to pass himself off for a knight, commander of the military order of St. Jago, the income of which amounted to three hundred ducats, which he received for a year and a half. In a short time he acquired, by means of the royal deeds which he counterfeited, three hundred and sixty thousand ducats. He might have remained undetected through life, had not his successes tempted him to undertake a still more hazardous fraud, which led to his detection; falling in with a Jesuit travelling to Portugal, with an apostolical brief for the foundation of a Jesuit’s College, he concerted a plan for introducing the Inquisition. Saavedra forged letters from Charles V. to the King of Portugal, and a papal bull for establishing the Inquisition there. This bull appointed Saavedra legate. Following up his deception, he assumed the character of a Roman cardinal, and made a visit to Portugal. The king despatched a distinguished nobleman to receive him. Saavedra spent three months at Lisbon, after which he travelled through the kingdom; but he was at last detected by the Inquisitor-General of Spain, and was sentenced to the galleys for ten years.

The eighteenth century was closed with a literary fraud, concocted in Germany, to which circumstances gave a temporary success. So little is known of the interior of Africa, that any thing which seems likely to add to our knowledge upon this subject can hardly fail to excite attention. Public curiosity was, therefore raised to the highest pitch, when a work was announced, with the captivating title of “Travels in the Interior of Africa, from the Cape of Good Hope to Morocco, from the years 1781 to 1797; by Christian Frederick Damberger.” Translations of a work which promised to remove the veil, that had so long covered central Africa, were immediately undertaken in England and in France; and each translator laboured indefatigably, in the fear of the market being forestalled by his rival. The delusion, however, was quickly dispelled; the work being discovered to be the manufacture of a printer of Wittemberg, by name Zachary Taurinius, who had before tried his skill in forging a Voyage to the East Indies, Egypt, &c., and a Voyage and Journey to Asia, Africa and America.

A literary imposition similar to that which was practised in England by Chatterton, was effected in France, in 1804. A small volume was published, at Paris, edited by M. Vanderbourg, and professing to be the “Poems of Margaret Eleanor Clotilda de Vallon-Chalys”, afterwards Madame de Surville, a French poetess of the fifteenth century. They were said to have been discovered, in 1782, among the dusty archives of his family, by a M. de Surville, a descendant of the fair authoress, who had a transcript of them made. The originals were unfortunately destroyed by fire, and M. de Surville lost his life during the French revolution, but the copy of the poems was saved, and, with much difficulty, was procured by the editor. Madame de Surville is represented as having displayed singularly precocious abilities; to have been married in 1421; and to have lived at least to the age of ninety, exercising her poetical talent to the last. Serious doubts as to the truth of this story are entertained by the literary men of France. But, though the authenticity of these compositions may be disputed, there can be no dispute respecting their merit. There is a grace, sweetness, and spirit, in them which are exceedingly delightful. From the following translation of the supposed Madame de Surville’s “Verses to My First Born,” which appeared in an early number of the New Monthly Magazine, some idea may be formed of her poetical talents:

My cherished infant! image of thy sire! Sleep on the bosom which thy small lip presses! Sleep little one, and close those eyes of fire, Those eyelets which the weight of sleep oppresses.

Sweet friend! dear little one! may slumbers lend thee Delights which I must never more enjoy! I watch o’er thee, to nourish and defend thee, And count these vigils sweet, for thee, my boy.

Sleep, infant, sleep! my solace and my treasure! Sleep on my breast, the breast which gladly bore thee! And though thy words can give this heart no pleasure, It loves to see thy thousand smiles come o’er thee.

Yes, thou wilt smile, young friend, when thou awakest, Yes, thou wilt smile, to see my joyful guise; Thy mother’s face thou never now mistakest, And thou hast learned to look into her eyes.

What! do thy little fingers leave the breast, The fountain which thy small lip pressed at pleasure? Could’st thou exhaust it, pledge of passion blest, E’en then thou couldst not know my fond love’s measure.

My gentle son! sweet friend, whom I adore! My infant love! my comfort! my delight! I gaze on thee, and gazing o’er and o’er, I blame the quick return of every night.

His little arms stretch forth--sleep o’er him steals-- His eye is closed--he sleeps--how still his breath! But for the tints his flowery cheek reveals, He seems to slumber in the arms of death.

Awake my child!--I tremble with affright!-- Awaken!--Fatal thought, thou art no more!-- My child!--one moment gaze upon the light, And e’en with thy repose my life restore.

Blest error! still he sleeps--I breathe again-- May gentle dreams delight his calm repose! But when will _he_, for whom I sigh--oh when Will he, beside me watch thine eyes unclose?

When shall I see _him_ who hath given thee life,-- My youthful husband, noblest of his race? Methinks I see, blest mother, and blest wife! Thy little hands thy father’s neck embrace.

How will he revel in thy first caress, Disputing with thee for thy gentle kiss! But think not to engross his tenderness, Clotilda too shall have her share of bliss.

How will he joy to see his image there; The sweetness of his large cerulean eye! His noble forehead, and his graceful air, Which Love himself might view with jealousy.

For me--I am not jealous of his love, And gladly I divide it, sweet, with thee; Thou shalt, like him, a faithful husband prove, But not, like him, give this anxiety.

I speak to thee--thou understand’st me not-- Thou could’st not understand though sleep were fled-- Poor little child! the tangles of his thought, His infant thought, are not unravelled.

We have been happy infants as _thou_ art; Sad reason will destroy the dream too soon; Sleep in the calm repose that lulls thy heart, Ere long its very memory will be gone.

In 1823, a visit to England was made by a singular individual, named Hunter, a native of America, who, though it appears certain that he professed to be what he was not, was undoubtedly a man of considerable abilities. During his stay in this country, he published his own adventures, under the title of “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.” The work contains a highly-interesting narrative of his alleged wanderings with various tribes of the Red Men, and was at first much prized as a faithful picture of Indian life. The society of Hunter was eagerly sought by many eminent literary and philanthropic characters, who were eager to assist him in that which he professed to be his grand object: namely, to devote himself to the civilization of the red race, in order to avert the destruction which seems to impend over it. After his departure from England, however, strong evidence was brought forward, to demonstrate that his story was, in great part, if not wholly, a fabrication. That Hunter had had some intercourse with the Indians, is not improbable; but the romantic tale which he tells of his peregrinations must henceforth be classed among works of fiction.

In the following year, 1824, the extraordinary popularity which Sir Walter Scott’s novels had acquired in Germany, gave occasion to an audacious fraud on the part of some German booksellers. A novel was got up by them, with the title of Walladmor, and was ushered into the world, at the Leipsic fair, as the translation of a new production by Sir Walter. This spurious Simon Pure subsequently made its appearance in an English dress. Though the author must undoubtedly be classed among knaves, it must in justice be owned, that he was not a fool; there being some parts of his work, which are by no means contemptible.

The last instance of literary imposture dates no further back than the year 1832. A. M. Douville was the perpetrator, and the title which he gave to it was, “A Journey in Congo and the Interior of Equinoctial Africa.” M. Douville had probably visited some of the Portuguese settlements on the coast, but his astonishing discoveries in the interior must, like the captivity of Hunter, be considered as deserving of equal credence with the travels of Gulliver.