notorious plagiarist. I knew the prisoner well. He had, in fact, pillaged
from my own writings; but I was none the less sorry for his plight, to
which, I would assure the reader, I was no party. Yet he was, I admit, an
egregiously bad case, and my pity is doubtless misplaced sentiment. Like
many another, he had begun his career as a quotation and ended as a
plagiarism, daring even, in one instance, to imitate that shadow in the
fairy-tale which rose up on a sudden one day and declared himself to be
the substance and the substance his shadow. Indeed, he had so far
succeeded as to make many people question whether or not he was the
original and the other man the plagiarism. However, there was no longer to
be any doubt of it, for his captors had him fast this time; and,
presently, we saw him taken off in a hansom, well secured between strong
inverted commas.

This curious circumstance set me reflecting, and, as we trundled along
towards Charing Cross, my mind gave birth to sundry sententious
reflections.

After all, I thought, that unlucky plagiarist is no worse than most of us:
for is it not true that few of us live as conscientiously as we should
within our inverted commas? We are far more inclined to live in that
author, not ourselves, who makes for originality. It is, of course,
difficult, even with the best intentions, to make proper acknowledgment of
all our 'authorities'--to attach, so to say, the true _'del. et sculp.'_
to all our little bits of art. There is so much in our lives that we
honestly don't know how we came by.

As I reflected in this wise, I was drawn to notice my companions in the
omnibus, and lo! there was not an original person amongst us. Yet I looked
in vain to see if they wore their inverted commas. Not one of them,
believe me, had had the honesty to bring them. Each looked at me
unblushingly, as though he were really original, and not a cheap German
print of originals I had seen in books and pictures since I could read. I
really think that they must have been unaware of their imposture. They
could hardly have pretended so successfully.

There was the young dandy just let loose from his band-box, wearing
exactly the same face, the same smile, the same neck-tie, holding his
stick in exactly the same fashion, talking exactly the same words, with
precisely the same accent, as his neighbour, another dandy, and as all the
other dandies between the Bank and Hyde Park Corner. Yet he seemed
persuaded