George Alexander Stevens (1710-84), author of A Lecture upon Heads, dramatic sketches of contemporary follies, and of the famous song, 'Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer,' was bred a London tradesman, became an unsuccessful actor, and secured a precarious livelihood by writing poems, poor dramas, burlesques, skits, and 'humorous miscellanies,' and by giving singlehanded entertainments,' a department of song, speech, and extravaganza in which he pioneer. In a collection of songs by various hands published by him, 'Hearts of Oak' was first definitely ascribed to Garrick.

was

a

Charles Dibdin (1745-1814), writer and composer of many famous songs, was born at Southampton, early attracted notice by his singing, and, still a boy, composed an operetta, The Shepherd's Artifice, which was produced at Covent Garden in 1762. He subsequently lived an unsettled life as an actor and composer of stage-music, and on occasion sang and accompanied himself on his own instrument. He quarrelled frequently and violently with patrons like Garrick, made himself impossible under Sheridan's management at Drury Lane, neglected his first wife, and cherished irregular relations with various other women. In 1788 he commenced a series of musical entertainments (sometimes diversified with equestrian, feats), which acquired great celebrity; the first was entitled The Whim of the Moment. He retired in 1805 with a pension of £200 granted him two years before ; it was withdrawn in 1807, when he returned to public life with unfortunate financial results. Dibdin wrote nearly a hundred sea-songs, 'the solace of sailors in long voyages, in storms, and in battles' among the best 'Poor Jack' and 'Tom Bowling ;' one of the first, 'Blow high, blow low,' sung in Dibdin's piece called Seraglio in 1776, was brought to birth during a gale on the return voyage from Calais, whither he had fled to escape a debtor's prison. Seamen are wont to say it is only too obvious that his sea-songs are songs written about the sea and about seamen, not by one of themselves, but by a typical landsman. Another famous song of the inexhaustible versewriter is 'The Anchorsmiths.' He also wrote nearly seventy dramatic pieces.

Tom Bowling.

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew;

No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
For Death has broached him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft;
Faithful below he did his duty,
But now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word departed,

His virtues were so rare;

His friends were many and true-hearted, His Poll was kind and fair:

And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly;
Ah, many 's the time and oft!
But mirth is turned to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He, who all commands,

Shall give, to call life's crew together,

The word to pipe all hands.

Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,
In vain Tom's life has doffed;

For though his body's under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft.

Poor Jack.

Go, patter to lubbers and swabs, do you see,
'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;

A tight-water boat and good sea-room give me,
And it a'nt to a little I'll strike.

Though the tempest top-gallant mast smack -mooth should smite,

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the deck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight, And under reefed foresail we'll scud:

Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft,

To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !

I heard our good chaplain palaver one day
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay;
Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch;
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And a many fine things that proved clearly to me
That providence takes us in tow:

For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft
Take the top-sails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !

Two of his sons, Charles (1768-1833) and Thomas John (17711841), wrote songs and dramas. See Dibdin's Autobiography (4 vois. 1803) and The Dibdins, by E. R. Dibdin (1888).

John Collins, actor, entertainer, and songwriter, was humbly born at Bath; was bred a staymaker but became a fairly successful actor; and from 1775 till the end of the century gave in London and elsewhere popular entertainments which were a medley of anecdotes, theatrical reminiscences, jokes, mock-heroic speeches, sentiments, and caricature of Scotsmen, Irishmen, and Welshmen. He died in 1808, having for some years been part-proprietor of a Birmingham newspaper, in which his songs (some of them represented in anthologies like Palgrave's and Locker-Lampson's) were originally published. One 'truly noble poem,' To-morrow, was obviously suggested by Walter Pope's Old Man's Wish (see page 98).

To-morrow.

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
May my lot no less fortunate be
Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining,

And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea;

With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn,
While I carol away idle sorrow,

And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn,
Look forward with hope for to-morrow.

With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too,
As the sunshine or rain may prevail;

And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, With a barn for the use of the flail :

A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game,

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow;

I'll envy no nabob his riches or fame,

Nor what honours await him to-morrow.

From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely
Secured by a neighbouring hill;

And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly
By the sound of a murmuring rill:

And while peace and plenty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,
With my friends may I share what to-day may afford,
And let them spread the table to-morrow.

And when I at last must throw off this frail covering
Which I've worn for three-score years and ten,

On the brink of the grave I 'll not seek to keep hovering,
Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again :
But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey,

And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow;
As this old worn-out stuff which is threadbare to-day,
May become everlasting to-morrow.

Scripserapologia, or Collins's Doggerel Dish of all Sorts (1804), is a volume of his poems.

Thomas Morton (1764-1838), dramatist, was born in Durham, and quitted Lincoln's Inn for play-writing. For thirty-five years he lived at Pangbourn near Reading, and finally settled in London, where he died. Between his first drama, Columbus (1792), and Invincibles (1828), he twenty pieces, besides ration with his son.

his musical farce, The produced some five-andothers written in collaboMany of them were very successful, and had parts in them which became famous. Speed the Plough, acted at Covent Garden forty-one times in 1798 and repeatedly revived, is a five-act comedy with some of the worst faults of transpontine melodrama; it is illconstructed, and the incidents are not led up to; the personages behave in an incredibly irrational manner, and often snivel, drivel, and talk fustian. But it contains some happy strokes, and had the luck of introducing Mrs Grundy to the world. In the play she does not specifically appear in the character the world has insisted in associating with her name. She is by no means the incarnation of suspicion and censoriousness, of narrowmindedness and philistine prejudice. On the contrary, she is simply the neighbour farmer's worthy wife, of whom Dame Ashfield is just a little jealous.

Dame Ashfield is annoyed when

Mrs Grundy's butter is praised as the best in the market; she is pleased, if she receives a compliment, that Mrs Grundy should be there to hear it ; and feels that her happiness at the splendour of her own pretty daughter's marriage to a gentleman of

rank will not be complete unless Mrs Grundy is there to witness it, and be a little humbled in consequence. Mrs Grundy, so far from being a universal or spiteful censor morum, is from her various and undisputed excellences an inevitable standard of reference in Dame Ashfield's mind and conversation, to the great annoyance of Farmer Ashfield. The farmer has nothing to say against Mrs Grundy herself; it is in his wife he sees signs of an unamiable temper. Mrs Grundy never actually appears in the play, but is referred to in the following passages, and in them only. Mrs Grundy.

FARMER ASHFIELD on a stool, with his pipe and jug on the table. Enter DAME ASHFIELD, basket on arm. Ashfield. Well, dame, welcome whoam. What news does thee bring vrom market?

Dame. What news, husband? What I have always told thee; that Farmer Grundy's wheat brought five shillings a quarter more than ours did.

Ash. All the better vor he.

Dame. Ah! the sun seems to shine on purpose for him. Ash. Come, come, Missus, as thee has not the grace to thank God for prosperous times, dan't thee grumble when they be unkindly a bit.

Dame. And I assure thee, Dame Grundy's butter was quite the crack of the market.

Ash. Be quiet, woolye? always ding dinging Dame Grundy into my ears-what will Mrs Grundy zay? What will Mrs Grundy think? Canst thee be quiet, let her alone, and behave thyself pratty?

Dame. Certainly I can-I'll tell thee, Tummus, what she said at church last Sunday.

Ash. Canst thee tell what parson zaid? Noa! Then I'll tell thee. A' zaid that envy were as foul a weed as grows, and cankers all wholesome plants that be near it -that's what a zaid.

Dame. And do you think I envy Mrs Grundy, indeed? Ash. Why dan't thee letten her alone then? I do verily think when thee goest to t'other world, the vurst question thee'll ax 'ill be, if Mrs Grundy's there? Zoa be quiet, and behave pratty, doo 'e. Has thee brought whoam the Salisbury News?

Dame. No, Tummus; but I have brought a rare budget of news with me. First and foremost, I saw such a mort of coaches, servants, and wagons, all belonging to Sir Abel Handy, and all coming to the castle; and a handsome young man, dressed all in lace, pull'd off his hat to me, and said, 'Mrs Ashfield, do me the honour of presenting that letter to your husband.' So there he stood without his hat. Oh, Tummus, had you seen how Mrs Grundy looked.

Ash. Dom Mrs Grundy; be quiet, and let I read, woolye? [Reads.] 'My dear Farmer' [taking off his hat]. Thankye, zur; zame to you wi' all my heart and soul. My dear Farmer'

Dame. Farmer-why, thee're blind, Tummus-it is 'My dear Feyther '- 'Tis from our own dear Susan.

Ash. Odds! dickens and daizies! zoo it be, zure enow! 'My dear Feyther, you will be surprised '-Zoo I be, he, he! what pretty writing, beant it? all as straight as thof it were ploughed-'surprised to hear that in a few hours I shall embrace you. Nelly, who was formerly our servant, has fortunately married Sir Abel Handy Bart.'

Ash. Ees, but feyther first, though-as acceptable to my dear feyther and mother as to their affectionate daughter, Susan Ashfield.'

A facetious personage in the play, seeing Dame Ashfield making lace on a pillow, opens the conversation thus:

Bob. How do you do? How do you do? Making lace, I perceive. Is it a common employment here?

Dame. Oh, no, sir; nobody can make it in these parts but myself. Mrs Grundy, indeed, pretends; but, poor woman, she knows no more of it than you do.

Bob. Than I do? that's vastly well. My dear madam, I passed two months at Mechlin for the express purpose. Dame. Indeed!

Bob. You don't do it right; now I can do it much better than that. Give me leave, and I'll show you the true Mechlin method. [Turns the cushion round, kneels down, and begins working.] First you see, so-then so

Even at the next mention of her name, Mrs Grundy is simply a respected neighbour, not a prude or hypocrite :

Ash. I tell ye, I zee'd un gi' Susan a letter, an' I dan't like it a bit.

Dame. Nor I;-if shame should come to the poor child -I say, Tummus, what would Mrs Grundy say then? Ash. Dom Mrs Grundy; what would my poor wold heart say? but I be bound it be all innocence.

When the brave farmer and his wife refuse to turn out of their house, at the wicked baronet's command, the (unrevealed) son of the baronet's brother and victim, the wicked baronet proceeds to sell up the farmer, who is in his debt. The farmer and his wife talk over the unpleasant prospect.

Ash. Drabbit it! what can he do? he can't send us to gaol. Why, I have corn will sell for half the money I do owe 'un-and han't I cattle and sheep?-deadly lean, to be sure and han't I a thumping zilver watch, almost as big as thy head? and Dame here ha' got How many silk gowns have thee got, Dame?

Dame. Three, Tummus-and sell them all, and I'll go to church in a stuff one, and let Mrs Grundy turn up her nose as much as she pleases.

By a well-nigh miraculous intervention the tide turns, and a wealthy suitor asks the farmer's daughter in marriage.

Ash. Drabbit, I shall walk in the road all day to zee Sue ride by in her own coach.

Dame. I say, Tummus, what will Mrs Grundy say then?

And a little farther on :

Ash. Bless her, how nicely she do trip it away with the gentry!

Dame. And then, Tummus, think of the wedding.

Ash. [Reflecting.] I declare I shall be just the zame ever-maybe, I may buy a smartish bridle, or a zilver backy-stopper, or the like o' that.

Dame. [Apart.] And then, when we come out of church, Mrs Grundy will be standing about there. Ash. I shall shake hands agreeably wi' all my friends. [Apart.]

Dame. [Apart]. Then I just look at her in this

manner.

Ash. [Apart, and bowing towards centre.] How dost do, Peter? Ah, Dick! glad to zee thee, wi' all my zoul! Dame. [Apart.] Then, with a kind of half curtsey, I shall[They bump against each other. Ash. What an wold fool thee beest, dame ! Come along, and behave pratty, do'e. [Exeunt.

Frederic Reynolds (1764-1841), produced about a hundred plays, tragic or comic, of which some twenty were popular for a time at least. He was the son of a London merchant, and was educated at Westminster School; but he left law for dramatic work, Werter (1785), based on Goethe, being his first piece. But the bulk of his work was in comedy, and his most successful play was The Dramatist (1789). In The Caravan, produced by Sheridan at Drury Lane, a live dog was made to save a child from drowning in real water, and, as Sheridan said, saved the theatre too, when at a crisis, by its success. Reynolds published an Autobiography in 1826.

John Tobin (1770-1804) was an unlucky dramatist, who spent weary years in trying to get his plays accepted, and seeing them succes sively rejected till the very year of his death, when his Honey Moon, his fourteenth piece, was not merely accepted at Drury Lane, but secured a success it maintained for twenty years. Tobin, born in Salisbury, was articled to a solicitor in Lincoln's Inn, and practised law there while producing his plays. The Honey Moon, a comed mostly in verse, was translated into French by Charles Nodier; other comedies, in prose or verse, were The Curfew, The Connoisseur, and The Fare Table. A volume of his plays was published in 1820, with a Life by Miss Benger.

William Barnes Rhodes (1772-1826), born in Leeds, became a chief teller in the Bank of England, and is barely remembered in literature as the author of a once popular burlesque, Bombastes Furioso; for of the many who know the title of the piece and have some notion of the character of the mouthing braggart who is its hero, comparatively few know anything about the author. The title is obviously a play on Orlando Furiose, and the design is similar to that of Carey's Chrononhotonthologos, though the plot is, if possible, sillier

-of course designedly so. Artaxominous (sic) is king of Utopia, Fusbos his minister, and Bombastes his victorious general. The king makes love to the sweetheart of Bombastes, who after thinking on suicide resolves rather to make war with the whole world. The principal personages are all slain, but rise again to sing a song with the simple but not too melodious refrain

Tu ral, lu ral, la,

Tu ral, lu ral, laddi.

Thus Bombastes soliloquises in the crisis of his affairs:

[Exit Fifer.

Bombas. Gentle musician, let thy dulcet strain Proceed-play 'Michael Wiggins' once again. [He does so.] Music's the food of love; give o'er, give o'er, For I must batten on that food no more. My happiness is chang'd to doleful dumps, Whilst, merry Michael, all thy cards were trumps. So, should some youth by fortune's blest decrees, Possess at least a pound of Cheshire cheese,

And, bent some favour'd party to regale,

Lay in a kilderkin, or so, of ale;

Lo, angry fate! In one unlucky hour

Some hungry rats may all the cheese devour,

And the loud thunder turn the liquor sour. [Forms his sash Alas! alack! alack! and well-a-day, into a noose.]

That ever man should make himself away! That ever man for woman false should die, As many have, and so, and so [prepares to hang himself, tries the sensation, but disapproves of the result] won't I ! No, I'll go mad! 'gainst all I'll vent my rage, [wage! And with this wicked wanton world a woeful war I'll [Hangs his boots to the arm of a tree, and, taking a scrap of paper, with a pencil writes this couplet, which he attaches to them, repeating the words: 'Who dares this pair of boots displace, Must meet Bombastes face to face.' Thus do I challenge all the human race.

[Draws his sword, and retires up the stage, and off. The piece, at first anonymous, was produced in 1810. Rhodes published besides a verse translation of Juvenal and some epigrams.

William Henry Ireland (1777-1835) was the name of the forger of Shakespearean MSS., but he sometimes prefixed Samuel, or signed himself Samuel Ireland, Junr.' His father, Samuel Ireland, was originally a weaver, but became an etcher, then a dealer in scarce books and prints, and produced a long series of Picturesque Tours, illustrated by aquatints and lithographs. The son (by a housekeeper) was articled to a conveyancer in New Inn, was fond of the stage, and was profoundly impressed by the story of Chatterton. The curio-collecting bookseller was morbidly anxious to discover some scrap of Shakespeare's handwriting, and this set the youth to manufacture a number of documents, which he pretended to have got from a mysterious gentleman of fortune, who preferred not to be known save as M. H.' 'Amongst a mass of family papers,' says the elder Ireland of his son's portentous discoveries, 'the contracts between Shakespeare, Lowine, and Condelle,

and the lease granted by him and Hemynge to Michael Fraser, which was first found, were discovered; and soon afterwards the deed of gift to William Henry Ireland (described as the friend of Shakespeare, in consequence of his having saved his life on the river Thames), and also the deed of trust to John Hemynge, were discovered. In pursuing this search he was so fortunate as to meet with some deeds very material to the interests of this gentleman. At this house the principal part of the papers, together with a great variety of books, containing his manuscript notes, and three manuscript plays, with part of another, were discovered.' These forged documents included, besides the deeds, a Protestant Confession of Faith by Shakespeare; letters from him to Anne Hathaway, the Earl of Southampton, and others; a letter to Shakespeare from Queen Elizabeth (attested by him); an original version of King Lear; parts of Hamlet; and two professedly Shakespearean dramas, Vortigern and Rowena and Henry II. Such a treasure was pronounced invaluable, and the manuscripts were exhibited at the elder Ireland's house in Norfolk Street. A fierce and tangled controversy arose as to the genuineness of the documents, in which Malone took an energetic part in proving that they were forged; but the productions found many admirers and believers, including James Boswell, Joseph Warton, Dr Parr, and Pye the laureate; though to all who knew anything about the older English, it should have been plain that the writer of these documents knew less about sixteenth century spelling than Chatterton did about the English of the fifteenth-as plain as that whereas Chatterton was a genius and a poet, Ireland was but a smart attorney's clerk. The recipe for restoring Shakespeare was mainly the systematic doubling of final consonants and adding an e, the substitution of y for i, the omission of all punctuation, the derangement of capitals, &c., with a few arbitrary alterations here and there, as will be seen from a few lines of Ireland's Kynge Leare:

Enterre Kent Gloster and Edmunde
Kent I thoughte oure kinge had more affectedde the
Duke of Albanye than Cornewalle

Glo So didde itte everre feeme to ufse Butte nowe
inne the divyfyonne of the Kyngedomme itte

appeares notte

whiche of thefe Dukes he Values mofte forre Qualytyes arre so weyghd thatte curyofytye inne neytherre canne make choyce of thothers Moietye

All the MSS. but those of Vortigern and of Henry II. were published by subscription and in fac-simile in a large and splendid volume. Vortigern was brought out by Sheridan at Drury Lane Theatre in 1796, John Kemble acting the principal character. Kemble, however, was not duped by the young forger; Mrs Siddons threw up her part; and the representation completely broke up the imposture. The structure and language of the piece were at once so feeble and extravagant that no intelligent

audience could believe it to have been Shakespeare's. As the play proceeded, the torrent of ridiculous bombast overtaxed the endurance of the audience; and when Kemble gravely declaimed

And when this solemn mockery is o'er,

the pit rose and closed the scene with shrieks of laughter. So impudent a fabrication-made the subject of James Payn's The Talk of the Town in 1885 was perhaps never before thrust upon public notice. The young adventurer, foiled in this effort, attempted to earn distinction as a novelist and dramatist, but utterly failed. In 1796 he published a confession of the Shakespearean forgery, An Authentic Account of the Shaksperian MSS., expanded in 1805 into Confessions, in which he makes this declaration: 'I solemnly declare, first, that my father was perfectly unacquainted with the whole affair, believing the papers most firmly the productions of Shakespeare. Secondly, that I am myself both the author and writer, and had no aid from any soul living, and that I should never have gone so far, but that the world praised the papers so much, and thereby flattered my vanity. Thirdly, that any publication which may appear tending to prove the manuscripts genuine, or to contradict what is here stated, is false; this being the true account.' The old man, whose credit was seriously compromised by the impostures, plaintively professed till his death in 1800 to believe in the whole of the documents, and to deny that his son could have written the plays. Of the half-dozen novels (The Woman of Feeling, Gondez the Monk, Rizzio, &c.), ballads and narrative poems, satires and political squibs, and dramas such as Mutius Scævola, it may at least be said that they showed sufficient facility and faculty to prove that he had all the mental equipment necessary to produce the forgeries. He wrote a Life of Napoleon, translated Voltaire's Pucelle, and did a vast amount of precarious and miscellaneous hackwork; but his work brought him little credit and no success, and never attracted a tithe of the notice that attended his youthful exploits.

Vortigern. Time was, alas! I needed not this spur.
But here's a secret and a stinging thorn, [science!
That wounds my troubl'd nerves. O! conscience! con-
When thou didst cry, I strove to stop thy mouth,

By boldly thrusting on thee dire ambition:
Then did I think myself, indeed, a god!

But I was sore deceiv'd; for as I pass'd,
And travers'd in proud triumph the Basse-court,
There I saw death, clad in most hideous colours:
A sight it was, that did appal my soul;
Yea, curdled thick this mass of blood within me.
Full fifty breathless bodies struck my sight;

And some, with gaping mouths, did seem to mock me;
While others, smiling in cold death itself,

Scoffingly bade me look on that, which soon
Would wrench from off my brow this sacred crown,
And make me, too, a subject like themselves :
Subject to whom? To thee, O! sovereign death!
That hast for thy domain this world immense;
Churchyards and charnel-houses are thy haunts,
And hospitals thy sumptuous palaces;

And when thou wouldst be merry, thou dost choose
The gaudy chamber of a dying king.
Oh, then thou dost wide ope thy bony jaws,
And with rude laughter and fantastic tricks,
Thou clapp'st thy rattling fingers to thy sides;
With icy hand thou tak'st him by the feet,
And upward so till thou dost reach his heart,
And wrap'st him in the cloak of lasting night.

John Taylor (1750-1826), founder of the literary family of the Taylors of Norwich,' was in no wise connected with William Taylor, also 'of Norwich,' the promoter of German studies in England. John Taylor was a yarn-factor in Norwich, a writer of many hymns used in the Unitarian churches, and an advanced Liberal. who wrote one famous song, 'The Trumpet of Liberty.' His wife, Susanna Cook, was also a woman of strong character and many accomplishments, the friend of many eminent men and women. Among their seven children were several authors

one of them, Sarah, John Austin's wife. This John Taylor was descended from the famous John Taylor (1694-1761), a Dissenting clergyman who taught a modified form of Trinitarianism, and as an opponent of Calvinism and the orthodox doctrine of the atonement, exercised a wide and permanent influence in England, Scotland, and New England. From 1733 he was a pastor in Norwich; from 1757 a lecturer in the Warrington Academy. [Isaac Taylor and his family were of 'the Taylors of Ongar.']

William Taylor, 'of Norwich' (1765–1836), is credited with having given a great impulse to the study of German literature in England, before his time hardly known save in connection with some dramas such as Kotzebue's, and some little read translations from Klopstock and Gessner. Taylor did much to show his countrymen that German was a great literature, made the study of it incumbent on the learned, and so became the spiritual midwife of Scott and his contemporaries. He was the son of a Unitarian merchant, entered his father's counting-house in 1779, and, sent next year to the Continent, mastered French, Italian, and German (1780-88). The French Revolution indoctrinated him with democratic ideas and began the ruin of his father's business-completed by the American troubles and other disasters; and Taylor turned to literature. He introduced to English readers the poetry and drama of Germany, mainly through criticisms and translations in periodicals, collected in his Historic Survey of German Poetry (1828-30). The first-fruits were his verse translations of Bürger's Lenore, Lessing's Nathan, and Goethe's Iphigenia in Tauris, all written in 1790.