From Chambers' Journal.
LITERARY IMPOSITIONS.

In Holland some forgeries were printed as the
"Private Letters" of Voltaire, which induced him
to parody an old epigram:-

Lo! then exposed to public sight,
My private letters see the light;
So private, that none ever read 'em,

Save they who printed, and who made 'em.

THE Count Mariano Alberti sold to a bookseller at Ancona several unedited manuscripts of Tasso, some of which he interpolated, and others forged. In 1827, he declared himself in possession of two till then unknown poems in Tasso's hand-writing; afterwards he produced four other autographs; and then a volume containing thirty-seven poems, which he offered for sale to the Duke of Tuscany, whose agents, however, declared them to be spurious and modern. He then produced a file of Tasso's letters, which were regarded as genuine; till, in 1841, when, on his property being seques-ten guineas from the booksellers for leave to prefix tered, the whole affair proved a tissue of almost unexampled forgery.

Steevens says, that "not the smallest part of the work called Cibber's Lives of the Poets' was the composition of Cibber, being entirely written by Mr. Shiells, amanuensis to Dr. Johnson, when his Dictionary was preparing for the press. T. Cibber was in the King's Bench, and accepted of

his name to the work; and it was purposely so prefixed, as to leave the reader in doubt whether himself or his father was the person designed."

The literary world is now very generally of the belief that that very beautiful poem, John Chalk- William Henry Ireland having exercised his hill's Thealma and Clearchus, first published by ingenuity with some success in the imitation of Isaac Walton, (1683,) was actually the production ancient writing, passed off some forged papers as of that honest angler. the genuine manuscripts of Shakspeare. Some The copies of the "English Mercurie" (regard- of the many persons who were deceived by the ed as the earliest English newspaper) in the Brit-imposition, subscribed sums of money to defray ish Museum, have been discovered to be forgeries, the publication of these spurious documents, which and Chatterton is supposed to have been concerned were accordingly issued in a handsome folio volin their fabrication.

ume. But when Ireland's play of "Vortigern" At least a hundred volumes or pamphlets, be- was performed at Drury Lane as the work of sides innumerable essays and letters in magazines Shakspeare, the audience quickly discerned the or newspapers, have been written with a view to cheat; and soon afterwards the clever imposter dispel the mystery in which for eighty years the published his "Confessions," acknowledging himauthorship of Junius' Letters has been involved. self to be the sole author and writer of these These political letters, so remarkable for the com-ancient-looking manuscripts. bination of keen severity with a polished and Poor young Chatterton's forgery of the poems brilliant style, were contributed to the "Public of Rowley, a priest of the fifteenth century, is Advertiser," during three years, under the signa- one of the most celebrated literary impositions on ture of Junius, the actual name of the writer being record. Horace Walpole, in a letter written in a secret even to the publisher of that paper. They 1777, says, "Change the old words for modern, have been fathered upon Earl Temple, Lord Sack-and the whole construction is of yesterday; but I ville, Sir Philip Francis, and fifty other distin- have no objection to anybody believing what he guished characters. At present, an attempt is pleases; I think poor Chatterton was an astonishagain being made to prove them the productions ing genius." of Mr. Lauchan Maclean; but we need scarcely wish for anything like a positive or convincing result.

In all probability the exact nature of Macpherson's connection with what are called "Ossian's Poems" will never be known. Although snatches of these poems, and of others like them, are proved to have existed from old times in the Highlands, there is no proof that the whole existed. Macpherson left what he called the original Gaelic poems to be published after his death; "but," says Mr. Carruthers," they proved to be an exact counterpart of those in English, although in one of the earlier Ossian publications, he had acknowledged taking liberties in the translations. Nothing more seems to be necessary to settle that the book must be regarded as to some unknown extent a modern production, founded upon, and imitative of, certain ancient poems; and this seems to be nearly the decision at which the judgment of the unprejudiced public has arrived.'

Some time before his death, Voltaire showed a perfect indifference for his own works; they were continually reprinting, without his being ever acquainted with it. If an edition of the "Henriade," or his tragedies, or his historical or fugitive pieces was nearly sold off, another was instantly produced. He requested them not to print so many. They persisted, and reprinted them in a hurry without consulting him; and, what is almost incredible, yet true, they printed a magnificent quarto edition at Geneva without his seeing a single page; in which they inserted a number of pieces not written by him, the real authors of which were well known. His remark upon this occasion is very striking-" I look upon myself as a dead man, whose effects are upon sale." The A species of literary imposition has become mayor of Lausanne having established a press, common latterly, namely, placing the name of published in that town an edition called complete, some distinguished man on the title-page as editor with the word London on the title-page, containing of a work the author of which is not mentioned, a great number of dull and contemptible little because obscure. This system, done with a view pieces in prose and verse, transplanted from the to allure buyers, is unjust towards the concealed works of Madame Oudot, the "Almanacs of the author, if the work really merit the support of an Muses," the " Portfolio Recovered," and other eminent editor, for it is denying a man the fair literary trash, of which the twenty-third volume fame that he ought to receive; and if the work contains the greatest abundance. Yet the editors be bad, the public is cheated by the distinguished had the effrontery to proclaim on the title-page that the book was wholly revised and corrected by the author, who had not seen a single page of it.

name put forth as editor and guarantee of its merits. Still, however, the tardiness of the people themselves in encouraging new and unknown

writers of merit, is the reason why publishers re- | on either side, with the crowd of examiners besort to this trick to insure a sale and profit.

tween.

est, curious, perhaps somewhat vain air of the Americans-not enough, however, to make a class; the broad faces, soft skins, laughter-loving eyes of the Germans, and the indescribable high contour of the Russian faces. Among the men, the peaked collars and trimmed whiskers and neat cravat, and stiff hair, pointed out unmistakably English blood; there were besides, German beards and cropped heads, and Italian sleekness covering dirtiness, and greasy hair, and black moustaches-and the easy, familiar air of the French in his broad-bottomed

Several ingenious deceptions have been played Every nation has its representatives in both the off upon geologists and antiquaries. Some youths, sexes not easily distinguished in the women for desirous of amusing themselves at the expense of their common dress; still, there is no mistaking Father Kircher, engraved several fantastic figures the red faces and long necks, albeit sometimes upon a stone, which they afterwards buried in a pretty blue eyes, of the English women; the easy, place where a house was about to be built. The inviting, at home manner of the French; the dark, workmen having picked up the stone while dig-passionate glances of the Italian women; the modging the foundation, handed it over to the learned Kircher, who was quite delighted with it, and bestowed much labor and research in explaining the meaning of the extraordinary figures upon it. The success of this trick induced a young man at Wurzburg, of the name of Rodrick, to practise a more serious deception upon Professor Berenger, at the commencement of the last century. Rodrick cut a great number of stones into the shape of different kinds of animals and monstrous forms, such as bats with the heads and wings of butterflies, flying frogs and crabs, with Hebrew charac-pantaloons, and waistcoat reaching to his thighs; ters here and there discernible about the surface. and the stiff, heavy moustache of the Russian, and These fabrications were gladly purchased by the the court coat of Austria, and the uniform of Sarprofessor, who encouraged the search for more. dinia, and the red coat of Indian captaincy, and A new supply was accordingly prepared, and boys the grey hood of Carmelites, and the red frocks were employed to take them to the professor, pre-of neophytes, and the shaved pates of scores of tending that they had just found them near the village of Eibelstadt, and charging him dearly for the time which they alleged they had employed in collecting them. Having expressed a desire to visit the place where these wonders had been found, the boys conducted him to a locality where they had previously buried a number of specimens. At last, when he had formed an ample collection, he published a folio volume, containing twentyeight plates, with a Latin text explanatory of them, dedicating the volume to the Prince-Bishop of Wurzburg. The opinions expressed in this book, and the strange manner in which they are defended, render it a curious evidence of the extravagant credulity and folly of its author, who meant to follow it up with other publications; but being apprized by M. Deckard, a brother professor, of the hoax that had been practised, the deluded author became most anxious to recall his work. It is therefore very rare, being only met with in the libraries of the curious; and the copies which the publisher sold after the author's death, have a new title-page in lieu of the absurd allegorical one which originally belonged to them.

From the Commercial Advertiser.
THE MISERERE.

ROME, May, 1846. THURSDAY, April 9th, was a great day for ceremonies at Rome. The pope attends mass in the morning, in the chapel of St. Peter's; thence he passes to the balcony above the middle door of the church, and gives his benediction to the kneeling thousands in the piazza. Afterwards he returns to the church to perform the ceremony of washing the feet of the thirteen pilgrims of every nation. Meantime the whole church has been filling. The guards in double file have kept out of the north transept all not habited in black. The seats on either side are filled with ladies, with black veils over their heads, not enough obscured, however, to forbid being seen, and if they had been arranged like the Greek slaves, for inspection, no order would have been fitter-ranged rank above rank

men in orders, and the crosses of men of honor, and the ribbons of princes, and the republican air of Americans, and the rich dresses of diplomatists, and the splendid uniform of the Guard Nobile, and the quaint Swiss men with their halberds and striped doublets, and over the railing, as the cortege entered, came in more robes of cardinals and prelates and senators than could be remembered.

In the boxes royal appeared presently the Russian phalanx, escort of the sister of the empress, with her family-their uniforms rich as possible; the son a lout of a boy in martial dress, the mother a weak-looking old woman, the daughter fair enough for a pretty girl, if she had not been a princess. They acted very much like other people, which is somewhat strange considering they formed the focus for the direction of more than five thousand pairs of eyes.

At length the pilgrims to be washed came marching in, in pasteboard caps and white frocks, of all colors, and speaking all languages; and all seeming curious in their strange position of being served by one whose toe they kissed on other days, and who rode on occasions in a carriage of gold, while they walked over Europe staff in hand, in an oil-skin cap cape, and with shells pinned to the corners. After them came the pope, with five or six to bear up his robe, and sat himself on a throne; and afterward, with his attendants still about him, marched toward the pilgrims and stooping with a towel he wiped their feet, that had been dipped in the water of a silver basin, carried by an attendant. Meantime the choir are chanting-the pope's choir-and in a way no other choir can chant.

The crowd drift out and up to secure places for seeing the ceremony of the "tavola" above. In it I go, nolens volens, through church and corridor, and up the stairs regal, and into the ante-chamber of the Chapel Paolina, where a line of soldiers three deep keep off the multitude, admitting the papal costume and the billeted only, through the narrow pass-way formed by soldiers of the guard. The hall of the table gained, all is a jam. Ladies that have sat for three hours alone have a chance of seeing the ceremony, and the push from church to tavola is an exercise of muscular strength which

none but an English woman should hazard. The commemorates the death of Christ. Long time table is adorned as one should be which is served prolonged, the wail died not wholly, but just as it by popes, and the pilgrims eat as hungry men seemed expiring was caught up by another stronger should eat, who pay nothing for their dinner voice, which carried it on and on, plaintive as ever but the price of being looked at. The ladies look nor stopped with him, for, just as you looked as ladies should look at what has cost them three long hours of waiting, and what will serve for chat in Italian, in French, in German, and in broad English, perhaps beside some New England

fireside.

The whole world throng into the Vatican after, for all the galleries are open. To-day they are the more curious idlers, and the Laocoon and Apollo are passed by for the lion in breccia and the crab in basalt. Even Raphael suffers under the indiscrimination, and the fire of his burning city blazes unheeded.

Tired with the hurried views that the crowd imposes, and after giving my final looks at the masterpieces of sculpture, and lounging my leave taking in the room of the priceless pictures, I went into one of the little, dirty cafés adjoining the piazza of St. Peter's, for a dish of coffee to sustain the energies which even pompous processions of papal magnificence and pictures of worldwide reputation failed to keep up.

Afterward came the gathering for the miserere of the Sistine Chapel. The soldiers were at the foot of the Scala Regia, and forbade admission. Even stars and garters, and livried footmen, were jammed among us in the bustle of the throng. At length, when patience was well nigh expired, the line opened, and there was a push up. Already many seats were filled by those who had had the hardihood to wait five hours. The rest were filled in half an hour, and after came another long hour of expectation.

for silence, three voices more began the lament, sweet, touching, mournful, and bore it up to a full cry, when the whole choir caught it and changed it into the wailings of a multitude-wild, shrill, hoarse-by turns a swift chant intervening, as if despair had given force to anguish--again, sweetly, slowly, step by step, voice by voice, note by note, falling into the moan of one low strain, tremulous, faltering, as if tears checked the utterance-increasing, as if grief that would not be comforted sustained it.

I shut my eyes, to enter more fully into the spirit of the scene and of the ceremony. I thought of the hours of agony, of the darkness, of the laments of the beloved of Christ. I know not how long I had indulged thus in the reveries of thought, but as I opened my eyes, the last sad wail was finished-the candles were all gone out-the twilight had passed, and the grey dimness of night stole in at the windows, making the figures of Angelo's fresco seem the gaunt phantoms of a dream; the cardinals were rising, the crowd was bustling to the door, and another day of the ceremonies of the Holy Week was ended. DON.

THE WEST AND THE EAST.

AMONG the items of news brought by the last British steamship, was an announcement that Mr. Rawlings of New York, had arrived in London, for the purpose of establishing there an agency for the sale of nine hundred thousand acres of land, a great portion of which was located in Western Virginia. This led us to think upon a very interesting statement, of the progress of population in certain regions of the United States, prepared by William Darby, Esq., in the early part of the present year. It would be natural to suppose that where a high state of civilization existed, and all the comforts of life were to be had in perfection, there would at least be an indication of a steady increase in population in a degree commensurate with the growth of other and less favored portions of the country. That where great cities were planted, the thriving villages and towns, with the

Some study the fresco of the Judgment, or the figures of the ceiling, and others the living beauties around, gathered from every nation. The twelve candles, in the twelve branched candlesticks, are lighted; the choir appear, in their white robes, through the grating of their little balcony. The cardinals, in their red caps and ermine, come in and take their places on the low cushioned seats within the rail. The ambassadors appear in the reserved places, and the service commences with slow and solemn reading; the choir chant a response in full tones for ten minutes. Another reading, and the kneeling of the cardinals—a silence for a moment—and then steal out from the necessary farming country around it for the growth obscure balcony the first sweet notes of the mise- of the necessary supplies, would attract and keep rere. There is a hush in the crowd-whispering together a population whose numbers should inceases, and the melodious accents flow thicker and crease, and not diminish. But this is in many faster, and are renewed, and die away into a long instances not so, and the fact that in so old a State sweet wail, as if the angels had turned mourners. as Virginia, an immense body of land remains unThen came other chantings, not without rich settled-that in Pennsylvania and New York beauty, if they had not been contrasted with the there are thousands of acres of land upon which richer beauties gone before. As the chant went the foot of a white man, it is said, has never trod on, the chapel became gradually obscure, the-that all along the Atlantic coast, from Virginia twelve lights upon the candlesticks before the altar to South Carolina, huge plains measuring by were one by one diminishing, as the service pro- miles in extent remain undevoted to any profitable ceeded; only three or four remained. The sun purpose-will suggest the quere: Why is it? had gone down, and the red glow of twilight came through the dusky windows.

The answer may be found not in any aversion of our people to a crowded population, for they are A pause in the chant, and a brief reading from not Daniel Boones, and can bear the sight of a felan officiating cardinal, and then all knelt, and the low creature, the sound of his voice, and be gratesweet deep flow of the miserere commenced again-ful for the interchange of the courtesies of lifegrowing in force and depth till the whole chapel but from the desire of owning more land, and it is rang, and the balcony of the choir trembled; then the idea of possession, that is the solace for the dissubsiding again into a low strain of a single voice, comforts of Western settlements, and for the so prolonged, so tremulous, and so real, that it dangers which in the beginning frequently cluster made the heart ache, and feel the ceremony that around them.