Let no one think the writer uncharitable in these suppositions.  The writer is only too well acquainted with the antecedents of the individual, to entertain much doubt that he would shrink from any such conduct, provided he thought that his temporal interest would be forwarded by it.  The writer is aware of more than one instance in which he has passed off the literature of friendless young men for his own, after making them a slight pecuniary compensation and deforming what was originally excellent by interpolations of his own.  This was his especial practice with regard to translation, of which he would fain be esteemed the king.  This Radical literato is slightly acquainted with four or five of the easier dialects of Europe, on the strength of which knowledge be would fain pass for a universal linguist, publishing translations of pieces originally written in various difficult languages; which translations, however, were either made by himself from literal renderings done for him into French or German, or had been made from the originals into English, by friendless young men, and then deformed by his alterations.

Well, the Radical got the appointment, and the writer certainly did not grudge it him.  He, of course, was aware that his friend had behaved in a very base manner towards him, but he bore him no ill-will, and invariably when he heard him spoken against, which was frequently the case, took his part when no other person would; indeed, he could well afford to bear him no ill-will.  He had never sought for the appointment, nor wished for it, nor, indeed, ever believed himself to be qualified for it.  He was conscious, it is true, that he was not altogether unacquainted with the language and literature of the country with which the appointment was connected.  He was likewise aware that he was not altogether deficient in courage and in propriety of behaviour.  He knew that his appearance was not particularly against him; his face not being like that of a convicted pickpocket, nor his gait resembling that of a fox who has lost his tail; yet he never believed himself adapted for the appointment, being aware that he had no aptitude for the doing of dirty work, if called to do it, nor pliancy which would enable him to submit to scurvy treatment, whether he did dirty work or not—­ requisites, at the time of which he is speaking, indispensable in every British official; requisites, by the bye, which his friend the Radical possessed in a high degree; but though he bore no ill-will towards his friend, his friend bore anything but good-will towards him; for from the moment that he had obtained the appointment for himself, his mind was filled with the most bitter malignity against the writer, and naturally enough; for no one ever yet behaved in a base manner towards another, without forthwith conceiving a mortal hatred against him.  You wrong another, know yourself to have acted basely, and are enraged, not against yourself—­for no one hates himself—­but against the innocent cause of your baseness; reasoning very plausibly, “But for that fellow, I should never have been base; for had he not existed I could not have been so, at any rate against him;” and this hatred is all the more bitter, when you reflect that you have been needlessly base.