stair-foot-"Queshion ish! Am I fit to go into-drawing room? Letsh shee!-I can shay gloriush conshyshusn-have seen Brish Inshichusion-all that sortothing-thateldo -here gosh!" Immediately droll and delightful though these wonderful wood-cuts of Leech unquestionably are, it is only necessary to compare any one among them with the artist's own original drawing to see upon the instant that very much indeed of their rare merit was obliterated by even the most cunningly handled tool of the wood-engraver. Place side by side, for example, the deliciously humorous original pencilling of "A Suburban Delight," with the actual cut as it appeared in Punch, and as it may still be seen at page 89 of the Third Series. Dark Party- with a Ticket of Leave of course-" Ax your pardon, sir! But if you was a goin' down this dark lane p'raps you'd allow me and this here young man to go along with yer-cos yer see there ain't no perlice about-and we're so precious feared o' bein' garotted!" The engraving gives not the faintest notion in the world of the exquisite ridiculousness of the frightened look of the little gentleman with the umbrella and the carpet bag who is thus addressed, and hardly any idea at all of the murderous aspect of the two innocents who are asking his protection. The same may be remarked of Cabbie (p. 47, Fourth Series) who is offering to the old gentleman, "Now then, sir! jump in. Drive you out of your mind for eighteen pence!" It were idle, however, to go on particularizing. As well attempt to define in words the distinctive character of the grins and guffaws celebrated by Hogarth's pencil in his Laughing Audience, as hope to catalogue the fun and frolic squandered by the wonderfully humorous hand of Leech over his peerless "Pictures of Life and Character." They are things to be seen and roared over rather than to be cooly criticised and deliberately enumerated. For ourselves we have again and yet again given them the panegyric of our laughter. Gratitude to Leech's memory and good-will to those who may not as yet have sunned themselves under the influence of his radiant humor, impel us to add to that more appropriate and more genial eulogium, this sedater tribute of sincere and unaffected admiration.-[Abridged from the Illustrated Review.]

THE PICTURE-COPYING TRADE.

No form of swindling has been more frequently exposed than that involved in the sale of worthless copies of good pictures at auctions, for prices immeasurably above their value. Exposures have appeared a thousand times in all the journals, but the vagabonds still find fools in plenty. Never was there a time in the history of swindling in this good city of New York when copies were sold in such numbers and with such audacity. Here is a sample case, taken from experience of a well-known auction gallery. It is to be understood that the pictures are not the auctioneer's property, and that the catalogues are not prepared by him; and that he neither is nor can be held responsible for any discrepancies between the pictures and the descriptions of the catalogue. Morally, of course, he is responsible; but legally he cannot be held. The writer took the liberty of inspecting the wares recently exposed at this place, and found them for the most part copies of very well-known pictures. One of the most attractive was a copy of Becker's great picture of a scene in Goethe's Goetz von Bertichingen-the chess-playing of the Bishop of Bamberg. This was marked in the catalogue as by Henry Becher, of Berlin, after Carl Becher. Close to it was a landscape, marked Corot on the tablet, and with the name of Corot in the corner; yet it was a vile copy. In another part of the room was a copy of Van der Ouderaa's "Wedding Jewels," but called in the catalogue "The Family Jewels," and credited to Henry Heylingers, of Munich. There was a landscape attributed to George Inness, which, like the Corot, was a distinct forgery. There was also a forgery of a picture by Gustave de Jonghe. The names were only forged when the copies were particularly good; generally a famous name was altered so as to have the same pronunciation, thus striving to keep from the windy side of the law. Chiffart's name was altered to Sheffelart; Meyer von Bremen became simply Meyer. A copy of a charming picture of Levy was attributed to Perrettwhich seems like an imitation of Perrault; and Girardin became Giaradin. The only genuine pictures which the writer could see were some American landscapes-Kruseman Van Elten, Brevoort, Sonntagg, and Gignoux. The remainder of 300 pictures seemed like reminiscences, for they were all copies of pictures which have become known to the public through the auspices of Mr. Avery or Goupil.

Report says that the auctioneer in question is in the habit of vouching for these pictures to the extent of stating that they are by the famous artists whose names have been borrowed for the occasion. But the writer believes this to be untrue; for it appeared to him that the auctioneer was very studious not to vouch for them. He praised them extravagantly, it is true, and spoke of what sums the pictures by the

artist named in the catalogue would bring. But he seemed very chary of saying that the picture was actually by him, and accepted very small bids as a starting. It may not be unjust to say that he tried very hard not to make a positive misstatement, and yet at the same time to convey to a greenhorn the impression that the picture was an original. There is a rumor current that one wealthy purchaser has actually bought $30,000 worth of this rubbish. Consequently there must be occasions when purchasers present themselves who believe in the catalogue, and bid in proportion to their estimates of the great names which it contains. Still, they must be held as having deceived themselves, and it is very doubtful if the auctioneer could legally be charged with having deceived them. The auctioneer is not the man to whom the public should look. The real culprit is the owner of the paintings. There are two individuals, prominent in the copying business, who dispose of their wares through this agency. The name of one is not unknown in artistic circles, and he once occupied a high position as an honorable importer of first-class paintings. Suffice it to say that there is an establishment in this city where from twenty to thirty young girls are employed, at an average salary of $15 per week, in making copies of fine paintings. As many as a hundred copies are often made of a popular thing. The English watercolor sale, which transpired not long ago, was the fruit of their peculiar industry. Almost every watercolor sold on that occasion was a copy. Among the artists, mingled with the natural indignation at such practices, is a keen sense of the joke perpetrated at the expense of would-be connoisseurs; for the pictures which purported to be by great English artists were, in reality, copies of sketches sold long ago by Brevoort, Wm. Hart, Coleman, and other Americans, who are well known for the exceeding fidelity of their sketches. These young girls first copied them in water colors, and they were so well executed that they positively sold, in some instances, for more than the original sketches. It is indubitable that in this picture factory there are some young girls of great talent, who deserve to be brought forward and helped to do better and more honest work. But it is not easy to see them, for it is only among the trade that the locality is known. Though professional feeling keeps those who know from telling outsiders, yet they do not hesitate to give some of the facts to the world. It is only a few days since the proprietor boldly took a dealer from Boston into the factory and showed him the modus operandi.

The informant of the writer said that most of the foreign pictures were obtained through the colored photographs which are so general in Europe. The exclusive right of an artist to photograph his works being accepted there, many of the dealers make a special feature of purchasing this privilege. The

house of Goupil makes a point of it. They photograph every picture which they purchase, giving to the artist $20, $100, even $500 if the picture is likely to prove popular. By the copyright law no one can make a copy of a photograph without infringing the right of the man who has bought the exclusive privilege from the artist. Hence the making of copies is illegal in France, England, and Germany, and the vagabonds who do such things have to do them in secret and export them to other countries, having constantly the fear of pains and penalties of the law before their eyes. As there is no international copyright law it is needless to say that there is no restriction here in the matter. Photographs are purchased of Goupil & Co., and straightway copies are manufactured from them. The photograph is first measured, and then ruled into squares in this way: If it be a foot square, then it is ruled into inches, making 144 squares. If the painting has to be four times larger, then each square is made four times the size. The next thing is to trace off the figures, &c., which are enlarged according to the square. Then the figures are broken into parts by means of cards, one card taking the hair, another the face and bosom, another the arm, another the body of the figure, another the skirts or the legs. The tracing paper having marked the outline on the canvas, the cards mark the details of the figures. Then the painting commences. With a few hasty, broad strokes one girl does the hair, and the copy is taken to the next, who puts in the face; it goes then to a third, who gives the arms, and so it traverses the workshop until the whole has been obtained. Then comes the nice finishing-work, which is only entrusted to very competent hands. The intervals have to be filled up, and the differences in tone have to be reconciled, and the whole has to be harmonized and made a unit. The proprietor has, unfortunately for the public interests, had the luck to secure two very able men, who have preferred good pay and disgraceful work to honorable privation. One of them was a Philadelphian artist of great promise. The other is a young German painter, said to be from Munich, but who at once exhibited such talents for making dextrous copies that it is exceedingly probable he knew something of the business before he came here. In copying the sheep pieces of Robbe, he turns out such work as cannot be detected even by experts, and in a good light. It is no wonder then that purchasers accept them for genuine under the unfavorable conditions for scrutiny which exist in the auction rooms. For there is no sky-light, and the arrangement of the gas-lights is peculiar. The writer tried hard to discover if a small Bakalowicz was fraudulent or not, and could not, in consequence of the bad light. There was every reason to suppose it a forgery, but it was so cleverly executed that he could not make up his mind that it was one without a different light.

This was the case also with a small Accard, which, however, being near the door, could be better seen. The dexterity and artistic knowledge with which these copies had been rendered show clearly that they were made by artists of ability.

What can the public do about it, is the next question. It is clear that against the machine pictures there is no remedy by the law as it stands. The only thing that would stop the business would be an international copyright. Injustice is a double-edged, hiltless sword, that is sure to cut the hand of the wielder. Americans have fought off this thing, because they thought they saw a profit in injustice, and they tried to justify the swindle of piracy to their own consciences by grandiloquent twaddle about the spread of literature and mental education being free as air. And now their sophistry comes back to plague them. Here is this copying business, which used to be perpetrated down in cellars and back lofts, spreading into a manufacture, and engaging both ability and capital. And the evil consequences to art and artists are incalculable. Not only is the market for inferior pictures of genuine character destroyed, but there is a constant temptation to the painters of such works to sell their souls and join the copying crew. It is an injury to the owners of valuable pictures, and it is a fraud upon the ignorant men who have a glimmering love of art waking up in their souls. The copies in a very short time become utterly wrecked. The coating of harmony which the finishers supply vanishes, and the horrid daub confronts the amazed purchaser with all its imperfection plainly in sight. The remedy is clear. Adopt the international copyright policy, and the machine pictures must go back to the slums aga'n. As for unadulterated forgeries, there is a law against them, if the vanity of the sufferer will permit him to seek relief.-N. Y. Times.

BOOKS.

What are books? Books are the graneries wherein the mental harvests of past generations are safely garnered; the caskets where the golden treasures of knowledge and the sparkling gems of wit and poesy are held secure for the elevation and enrichment of all coming time. Over the front of an Egyptian library of the time of Rameses III were graven these expressive words:

"The nourishment of the soul." Books may be called ancient bottles, where in skins of the goat, the calf, and the she-p are stored the rarest wines, expressed and fermented, of the teeming human brain. Books hold, ever ready for our daily use, the wisdom of sages, the learning of scholars, the fancy of story-tellers, and the song of poets; the best thoughts of the best thinkers, the very essence of the highest mental powers in their happiest moments of inspiration.

Books are, moreover, the best of companions; they are the steadiest of friends; we know where to find them in our time of need.

Whether our mood be grave or buoyant, we can make our selection accordingly, and be certain to find the same unvarying expression of welcome. “In the dead," says Macaulay, "there is no change. Plato is never sullen. Cervantes is never petulant. Demosthenes never Dante comes unseasonably. never stays too long." Their association, therefore, has some advantages over the living companionship of the very men, however mighty, that produced them. For poor humanity, with all its weaknesses of soul and body, its testy humors, its sinkings of heart, enhanced as they must be by the irritability special to their kind, arising from a more highlyrefined nervous organization, must have furnished an association less free from alloy, and consequently less enjoyable than that of their finished works; where we find the pure grain of wisdom winnowed of the chaff of mortal infirmity, the flowers of song shorn of the thorns of human fretfulness, and the perfect thought, no longer shapeless "in its infant dew," but crystallized into forms of imperishable beauty. No longer held exclusively under lock or clasp by the learned few, these boundless resources are now in everybody's hands. There is not a nook nor hamlet in the land, however remote, in which some trace of books may not be found.

Thank God! the truest enjoyments of life are always the most widely diffused. The pure air, the running streams, the bountiful earth, the genial sky, at once our greatest needs and our greatest luxuries, are freely open to all. So likewise the treasures of hoarded thought are within easy reach of the humblest seeker in the land.

To the true lover of books it is surprising how little suffices beyond the bare requirements of life. How poor to him seem all the prizes of the world that are a passion to the average mind! He needs no long rent-roll; no heavy balance at his banker's; no foppery of dress or equipage; no bang-tailed steeds to bear him to the races; no pasteboard tokens of fashionable acknowledgment. He looks down upon the giddy crowd with wonder and complacency. He knows them not. They are not of his set. He cultivates only the very best society: That of the wisest, the purest, the lofiest, the sweetest of their kind not creatures of a day, the spawn of sudden sunshine, but the flower of ancient heraldry: The very blue blood of genius: The genuine aristocracy of the human race.

Happy he whose taste inclines him to intercourse so refining! He has resources that can never fail. He may be a solitary stranger in the land, and yet with his chair, his corner, and his book. he will never lack for pleasant companionship. He may be poor. neglected, and desponding, yet with a finger can he turn the glowing page, and cheer the darkness of his soul with "The light that never was on sea or land:" and in the supreme rapture of his noon-tide glory he can say to the intruding rulers of the world that proffer him their patronizing aid, "Only stand out of my sunshine! Leave me but the light of knowledge, and I ask no more!"-From Dr. Thomas Ward's N. Y. Society Library Centennial Address.

LITERARY (AND OTHER) GOSSIP.

The Cincinnati Commercial for May 14, has an elaborate notice of "Mr. Probasco and his Library," and among the books noticed is a copy of Purchas' Pilgrims, as follows:

"His copy of Purchas, his Pilgrimage,' 1625-26, in five volumes bound by Bedford, is one of the finest copies existing. The fourth volume relating to America and the early English settlements was printed on the thinnest and sleaziest paper, and in ordinary copies is full of holes that peas might drop through. The holes in this copy have been filled with paper pulp, the missing lettering supplied by hand, and the sheets stiffened with sizing."

We certainly cannot congratulate Mr. Probasco on this copy of Purchas-it is evidently a made-up set. In the regular edition the paper of the volume is of equal thickness in all the volumes, and a copy "full of holes, . . . which have been filled with paper pulp" is certainly far from being "one of the finest copies existing." We have seen not less than twenty copies, none of which have been in the lamentable condition above described. Probably Mr. Probasco bought this set as "a bargain"-concerning which he certainly knows something.

We have received from Mr. J. W. Bouton "Bibliotheca Piscatoria," Catalogue of the Library of Thomas Westwood, Esq., (author of the "Chronicle of the Compleat Angler.") For Sale by J. W. Bouton, 706 Broadway, New York, 1873. This Catalogue is a beautiful specimen of typography, with a fac-simile of "The Angler," from Juliana Berner's Treatise. The collection is one of the finest ever gathered together, and is now offered for sale in one lot, and offers a fine opportunity to a Piscatorian Bibliophile.

At the sale at Lisbon of the library belonging to the late Councillor Joaquim Pereira da Costa, a man of wealth and literary tastes, several rare editions of Camoens changed hands. Among others, the Luziadas, commonly known as the edition "do Morgado Matheus," was sold for £35, the purchaser being Mr. E. Vanzeller, an English gentleman. A beautiful copy of the edition, commonly called "dos Piscos," was sold for £21, the purchaser being a bookseller; a copy of the first edition, in tolerable condition, was sold for £23; and another copy of the

Nos. 53 & 54.

same, but without frontispiece, and having two pages in MS., fetched £9. In both cases a dealer was the purchaser. Although several foreign houses were represented at the sale, their limits were invariably passed, in the case of editions of Camoens, by Portuguese competitors.

The supplement of the Allgemeine Zeitung of the 16th of April has an article upon Swinburne's Byron, and detailed quotations from the preface of the new editor, in which the hope is expressed that "something at once new and true "may one day be brought to light concerning Byron's life. "However, this, like much else besides, lies in the lap of the gods, and especially in the lap of one goddess, who still treads the earth. Till she speaks we cannot guess what she may have to say." To this phrase the editor adds: "Countess Guiccioli has died meanwhile without divulging anything." Now (says Mr. Karl Hillebrand, writing to us from Florence,) I have had the privilege of looking through the whole of the extremely valuable manuscript collection left by the Countess, which is still in the possession of her family. It contains, besides the MS. of a work on "Byron's Stay in Italy," by the Countess, which is full of unpublished letters and contemporary notices, a quantity of Lord Byron's autograph manuscripts, (for instance of "Marino Faliero," several cantos of "Don Juan," ," "Dante's Prophecy," &c.,) and what is a good deal more important, an extensive correspondence, dating from 1820 to 1823, which, however, is hardly adapted for publication.

I am informed on good authority, says the Manchester Guardian's London correspondent, that Mr. Mill's autobiography, which is singularly brief, is almost exclusively occupied with the history of his opinions, religious, philosophical, and political. It indicates changes in his views and sentiments, and the causes that contributed toward those changes; and, as may be readily supposed, the book possesses an extraordinary and a very intimate kind of interest. Mr. Mill's autobiography will form an admirable companion picture to Newman's "Apologia pro Vita Sua." Mr. Mill's two other posthumous works have been completed for some time. They form the continuation of a scheme or trilogy, in which the "Essay on Liberty" may be considered the first part. Previous

to the publication of that work, Mr. Mill stated it would probably give the death-blow to any influence he possessed with the general public, but the book "On Liberty" added to his popularity instead of diminishing it. He had resolved to publish the book "On Nature" during his lifetime, judging from the reception given to "Liberty," that it might have a chance of a fair hearing. I believe, however, that he could not look forward to a period within the compass of his own life when it would be prudent to issue the last of the three works, entitled "The Utility of Religion," the contents of which will, if I am rightly informed regarding them, somewhat stagger the more or less orthodox members of the Mill Memorial Committee.

A book agent entered the open door of a snug Pittsfield cottage one day last week, and nodding to a trim, bright-looking little woman who sat sewing by the window, commenced volubly to descant on the merits of a great work which he was for the first time giving mankind an opportunity to purchase. It was a universal biography, cook-book, dictionary, family physician, short-hand instructor, and contained, besides, a detailed history of every important event that has transpired in the world, from the apple incident and Adam's fall to Credit Mobilier and the fall of Congress. The work contained five thousand chapters, all with running titles. The agent, after talking on the general excellences of the volume about five minutes, commenced on the headings of those chapters, and as the woman did not say a word to interrupt him, he felt that he was making a conquest, and he rattled away so that she shouldn't have a chance to say no. It took him nearly half an hour, and as he breathlessly went on, the sweat started on his forehead, and he made convulsive grasps at his collar, and when he finished he had hardly strength enough left to put on a bewitching smile and hand her his ready pen wherewith to subscribe her name to the order book. She took the pen, but instead of putting her autograph on his list, she lifted a scrap of paper from her work-box, and wrote in plain letters, "Ime defe and dum." He said not a word, but the unutterable things that he looked, as he turned to the door, would fill a library. -Commercial Advertiser.

We understand that Mr. Clements Markham is about to publish a work on the subject of Arctic Exploration, entitled "The Threshold of the Unknown Region," in which he will relate the events connected with all the principal voyages which have touched the boundary of the region as yet unexplored around the North Pole. He will also discuss the best route by which the unvisited area may be examined, and describe the important scientific results to be derived from Arctic Exploration.

A bust of Shakspeare has just been carved by Mr. William Perry, of London, wood-carver to the Queen, out of the wood of the tree which most antiquaries believe to be the veritable oak of Herne the Hunter, in Windsor Park. Mr. Perry has made but little use of other portraits of the great bard. delineation of Shakspeare's features avoids the theatrical mannerism and the extremely high forehead ascribed to the poet by Droeshout's print, the stiffness of the hair inseparable from the Stratford bust, and the excessively flowing locks of the Chandos 'picture,

His

In the June number of the Churchman's Skilling Magazine, the editor offers some explanation as to the origin of the title of the "Christian Year," on the authority of Mr. Parker, of Oxford, a son of the eminent publisher of the first edition of the work. According to this gentleman the late Mr. Keble, on entering the shop in Broad Street one morning, saw, at the top of a small staircase which led to a little gallery filled with book-shelves, a work entitled "L'Année Chrétienne," in twelve volumes, and at once asked Mr. Parker to allow him to examine it. A short time after, the "Christian Year" appeared, and there can be little doubt that the author took his title from the old French devotional work. At any rate, if this should not have been the case, the coincidence is remarkable.

The Savannah (Ga.) Advertiser & Republican rejoices that Jeff. Davis is writing a history of the rebellion, and expresses its regret that President Lincoln and Mr. Stanton did not also give us the benefit of their knowledge and experience.

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Mr. W. Christie-Miller, in his privately printed "Alphabetical List of Black-Letter Ballads and Broadsides, known as the Heber Collection," now in his father's possession, in the celebrated library at Britwell House, Bucks, notices that one ballad, called "A Mournefull Dittie, entituled Elizabeth's losse, together with a welcome for King James," contains the following stanza :

You Poets all, brave Shakspeare,
Johnson, Greene,

Bestow your time to write

For Englands Queene.
Lament, Lament, &c.

The street-ballad writer, at any rate, knew who was the foremost poet of his time. The "Heber Collection " ranges from 1553 to 1601, and contains some very early and rare pieces. We hope its owner may reprint it.

Duyckinck's "Cyclopædia of American Literature," having been revised to date, with 350 pages of new matter incorporated into the body of the book, is to be re-issued by Zell in fifty semi-monthly parts at half-a-dollar each.

The present Lord Lytton, better known by his name in literature, Owen Meredith, will, it is stated, shortly write his father's life.