rance, and his impudence surpassed both, his coalition. with Mr. Prim became, at last, so insupportable to the latter, that he voluntarily resigned his situation, and Caleb stepped into the vacant seat. This transition from horn-blower to the sub-editorship of a newspaper, did not occupy above six months, so rapid was the progress of Caleb in the career of fame; and when he reigned without a rival, he seemed to feel the highest ambition of his soul gratified. But man is never satisfied with the present, and an enterprising mind thinks nothing done while there remains any thing to do. Caleb had now more leisure for reading, and more means of procuring books. He began, therefore, to extend his knowledge, by reading two or three abridgments of the English history, some popular books of travels, and a few poetical works. These, together with his former course of study, which he still continued, and other accidental sources of information, soon made him an important person, and he became so conscious of his qualifications that he bethought himself of applying to the booksellers. Before he adopted this proceeding, however, he wrote a work of fiction, composed during the intervals of business, of which he thought highly, and when finished he offered it to a publisher, who declined indeed to accept it, but was much struck with the title-page, which was as follows: "The Sense of Sensibility: a sentimental Series of Sorrows: by Caleb Inkhorn, Esquire, professor of modern languages." This appendage to his name was what chiefly attracted the bookseller's notice, who, being about to publish a collection of voyages and travels, thought Caleb would be just the man to give a new translation of such foreign ones as had established their own reputation. An interview was accordingly solicited : Caleb attended: the proposition was made, and he accepted it without hesitation. But the reader may, perhaps, be curious to know how such a contract could be fulfilled by a man who knew no language but his own, and-that very imperfectly. It is a question, indeed, which might excite the curiosity of any rational man, and its solution will excite his wonder, though he will be tempted to admire the invention of Mr. Inkhorn. Caleb could form no conception of that delicacy which would prompt a man to decline an employment to the discharge of which he was incompetent. He thought it every man's business to detect a knave, but not a knave's business to detect himself. He saw thousands in the world who fattened upon the credulity of mankind, and thousands who lived by the practice of deception: they had formed no estimate of the value of character, and could have no terrors at the contemplation of its loss. To live by any means that laughed at the gallows, pillory, whipping, or transportation, was their aim, and it was Caleb's; and when, therefore, the bookseller proposed to him a task which he had no power of executing, it never once occurred to him to refuse it. The terms were stipulated, and his single determination was to get the money. When he dubbed himself a 66 professor" indeed, he did not exactly expect such an application, and the assumption of the title arose, rather from that vague and aimless vanity with which weak minds are apt to be affected, than from any deliberate intention of rendering it subservient to fraud. But he had not integrity enough to recede from roguery when the opportunity presented itself; so, in his way homewards, after having concluded the bargain, he pondered upon the means of escaping detection, and the plan which he adopted was this. Of the works which he was expected to translate there had already been translations by different hands, but in too costly a form: these Caleb procured, and, sitting down, he copied them off, taking care to invert each sentence, and otherwise so to alter the construction of the language as to prevent the possibility of discovery. Such was the ingenious method he employed, and he triumphed, for a while, in the success of his plan, received his hire, and advanced another step towards the title of a great literary character. During this period, however, he still continued his avocations as sub-editor, till he one day unluckily ventured to arraign the conduct of a distinguished nobleman, who had rendered most essential services to the state, and whose whole course of life had been one unbroken series of great and good actions. The libel reached his ears, and he threatened to commence a prosecution against the proprietor of the paper; but he was at length appeased by a public recantation of the foul and infamous aspersion, and the dismission of the offender. Caleb, therefore, who had vainly flattered himself that his assistance was indispensably necessary, found himself suddenly out of employment, with nothing to subsist upon but the scanty residue of his wages; for the bookseller who had engaged him in translating, soon discovered his fraudulent practices, and turned him off without any ceremony. If one door, however, was shut, all were not shut; and a man with impudence for his guide will enter where a better man stands doubting on the threshold. He bustled up and down the town, from bookseller to bookseller, and from newspaper-office to newspaper-office, till at last he engaged himself to a noted political demagogue who wanted just such a man, and he wanted just such a master. Here he had liberty to rail without control, and no one escaped the virulence of his pen. All that was great, and dignified, and virtuous, in the nation, became, alternately, the objects of his abusive malice; and while his employer reserved to himself the leading political discussions of the day, Caleb was at liberty to fill up the remaining space with any article he chose, so as they were neither liberal, rational, nor manly. The public, however, sickened at the repast which was prepared for them: the paper sunk into insignificance; was at length abolished, and Caleb once more thrown upon the world to elect his future means of subsistence. He now cultivated the notice of the booksellers more assiduously, and was at last engaged by one of them in a compilation, which he executed so much to his satisfaction, that he was entrusted with other things. All indeed were alike to him. In the course of a few years he wrote three histories of England, one history of India, travels through China, and a voyage to the Levant; a history of Christ, and a system of geography; a farrier's dictionary, and a family physician; a farmer's encyclopædia, and a universal gazetteer, together with a gardener's calendar, and a new system of chemistry. He had as many names as a felon at the bar of the Old Bailey, with half a dozen aliases. Sometimes he was the Rev. Thomas Thomson; then, Walter Topham, florist; sometimes he astonished the world with his learning as a plain mister, and sometimes as an esquire. In short, he assumed a different name with every work, and seldom used his own.Among other speculations he undertook to establish a weekly newspaper; but notwithstanding he employed every art of puffing which modern times have invented or improved, and though he never failed to promise every thing that could captivate the fancy, improve the morals, and enlarge the understandings of his readers, there were so few who were willing to be captivated, improved, or mentally enlarged, that his paper lived but to die, and he with difficulty extricated himself from the embarrassment which its failure occasioned. contrived, however, to earn a very sufficient income by his numerous and important avocations; and when the reader recollects their multiplicity and value, he will not, surely, deny him the appellation of a great literary character.-Mr. Mudford. He LOVE AND AGE. THE night was dark; the wind blew cold; Sat by his fire, and fed the cheerful flame: And, lo! before him Cupid stands, Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by his name. VOL. II. I "What! is it thou?" the startled sire In sullen tone exclaim'd, while ire With crimson flush'd his pale and wrinkled cheek: "Would'st thou again with amorous rage Inflame my bosom? Steel'd by age, Vain boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are too weak. "What seek you in this desert drear? Ne'er did these valleys witness dalliance sweet: Age in my house despotic reigns; My garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no heat. "Begone! and seek the blooming bower, Where some ripe virgin courts thy power, Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed: On Damon's amorous breast repose; Wanton on Chloe's lip of rose, Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head. "Be such thy haunts! These regions cold Avoid! Nor think, grown wise and old, This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear : Remembering that my fairest years By thee were mark'd with sighs and tears, I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare. "I have not yet forgot the pains I felt while bound in Julia's chains; The jealous pangs which rack'd my breast; "Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more! |