"Young ladies, I would like your attention for a few moments. Yesterday, among the compositions I noticed one which sounded strangely familiar. I at once examined the private mark by which I identify the writings of each of my pupils, and immediately after the close of the session, I took a book from my library and compared the two. They were precisely alike. Not a comma or semicolon wanting in one which was not in the other. You may imagine my surprise and displeasure when I found that I had one scholar who could thus be guilty of a lie of plagiarism, in attempting a composition on the sin of lying.
"I will not at present expose the young lady, whose punishment I have not yet decided upon. As for the rest of you, the consciousness that you have been guilty of no wrong in this respect will uphold you under the common blame which the sin of one of your number has caused you to bear. This crime is as truly a sin as any other lie. The scholar here virtually says to her teachers and schoolmates, 'These are my thoughts and opinions,' when she has been guilty of the meanness of stealing them from others.
"I remember once," added the lady, "of travelling in a stage-coach, when one of the company produced a book to while away the tedious hours of travel. It was a work which had been published anonymously, and had by its merit caused quite an excitement in the reading public.
"'Ah,' exclaimed one lady present, 'you have the new work I see. May I ask you how you like it?'
"I noticed that another lady in the corner seemed greatly confused by this remark; and when the one addressed replied that she greatly admired it, remarked,—
"'You do me too much honor.'
"This of course was as much as saying to the company that she was the author of the book; and from that moment every one of them regarded her with great interest.
"In due time, I reached the end of my journey, and found my friend had invited a large party to do honor to the author of the new work. I entertained not a doubt but I should meet my acquaintance of the stage-coach. Imagine my surprise when I was led forward by my hostess to a seat in the corner, where sat a youthful matron, blushing at the attention paid her, and begging my friend to allow the fact of her being an author to remain, at least for the present, a profound secret.
"In great distress for the truthfulness of my stage companion, I withdrew my friend to another room, and asked her what ground she had for believing Mrs. Gordon, the lady present, to be the author.
"'The very best of reasons,' she said, smiling: 'I read the work in manuscript, and subscribed for a dozen copies of the first edition, before I could persuade my modest friend that the public would regard her work with favor.'