s of justice, to the
patronage which American law would more fully accord to his books than
to his person; but why should not you, my dear Godfrey, become as
original in your manner of life, as I am sure you will be in the
productions of your genius? Why should you not court a "boundless
contiguity of shade," and issue your immortal works from the depths of
a Pennsylvanian forest, as gracefully as Lord Byron sent forth his
from the more vulgarised retirement of Tuscany? Residing here, you
could hold the sons of rapine at bay, enjoying at once your American
harvests, and the golden remittances of your publishers in England.
But the crowning consideration is this, that should you undertake the
protection of your darling Maga, an arrangement with Mr Blackwood, and
the publication of "Napper Tandy" in his incomparable pages, would
seal the fate of the counterfeit, and forcibly recall to the mind of
Reprint & Co. the sigh of Othello over his lost occupation. You
stare--but it follows, by demonstration--

"For the intent and purpose of the law,
Hath full relation to the penalty."

You enter "Napper Tandy" in the "Clerk's Office of the Southern
District of New York." The next number of _Blackwood_ comes out with
your first chapter, which Reprint unguardedly produces in his _fac
simile_. Don't you see, my dear fellow, that if you ever hooked a
gudgeon, you have as certainly caught the republisher? You seize ten
thousand copies in his warehouse, just as they are about to be
distributed over the land. On each copy, he must pay, in addition to
his forfeiture, one dollar a sheet; that is to say, ten thousand
dollars for your first chapter; of which, after the government has
gone snacks, one thousand guineas are your guarantee for the interest
which the Republic takes in her invited guests; and (to the dismay of
piracy,)

"The law allows it, and the court awards."

Mr Blackwood will doubtless take care that your work shall not be
completed too fast: and as long as the interminable "Napper Tandy"
continues, the press of the fac-simile must stand still. Meanwhile,
you commence a legitimate reprint, under the genuine Ebony arms, and
reign as a kind of lord-lieutenant, under his ambrosial majesty,
Christopher the Great. The stereotype plates of Maga reach you every
month, and the American public discern the difference between a true
fac-simile and a cunning counterfeit. Instead of the sham
_tete-de-Buchanan_, they see