any composer of equal rank in the profession;" but he afterwards admits that he "was respected by his cotemporaries, and held an exalted rank in his art."

The work (before mentioned) containing the Shakespearian lyrics is of such interest that I subjoin its description. It is entitled, "Cheerfull Ayres or Ballads. First composed for one single voice, and since set for three voices. By John Wilson, Dr. in Musick, Professor of the same in the University of Oxford. Oxford, Printed by W. Hall, for Ric. Davis, Anno Ďom. 1660." Eight copies of verses with the following initials of the writers at the end, E. D., A. C., N. M., R. R., and J. H. O. C. latter speaks of some of the ayres having been performed at Court before the King, and concludes in the following manner :

"I do not wonder that the King did call,

Wilson, there's more words, let's hear them all:

Such was your skill, that what the rest o' the Court
Perhaps thought long, judicious ears thought short.
Excellent Artist! whose sweet strains devour,
Time swift as they, and make days seem an hour.

But what need more, since 'tis enough to tell

But this; King Charles hath heard, and lik'd them well."

The

The songs contained in this collection (69 in number) are as follows,

When Troy towne for ten years' war.

From the faire Lavinian shore.

Will you buy any honesty.

Full fathome five.

Where the bee sucks.

When love with unconfined wings.

Have you any work for a sow gelder.

Come hither, you that love.

Young Thirsis lay in Phillis' lap.

Kawasha comes in majestie.

Cast your capps and cares away.

Doe not feare to put thy feet.

Thoughts doe not vex me.

Whoso complaineth gaineth.
Come, silent night.

Come, constant hearts.

Love and disdain.

In a season all oppressed.

Cupid, thou art a wanton boy.

Though your strangenesse.

Ask me no more.

Clora's false love made Chloris weep.

I love, alas, but cannot show it.

If I die be this my will.
Greedy lover pause awhile.
Thine eyes to me like sunnes.
Awake, awake, the morne.
I would have thee merry.
In the merry month of may.
Fain would I, Chloris.
Leere give me a thousand kisses.

Lawne as white as driven snow.
Goe weather beaten thoughts.
Goe restlesse thoughts.
If my lady did beginne
Tell me where the beauty lycs.
Boast not, blind boy.

Come thou father of the spring.
Sir, this my little mistresse here.
No, no, I tell thee no.

For ever let thy heavenly tapers.
Fly hence, shadows.

Since love hath in thine and mine.
Since love hath bought thee.

Yon herauld of my mistresse heart.

Why think'st thou foole.

When the cleer suun.

What would any man desire?
Thou that excellest.

I swear by muskadell.

Fondness of man to love.

Down, be still, you seas.

You say you love me.

Hence with this wedlock chaine.

So have I seen a silver swann.

View'st thou that poore penurious payre.

If I must tell you what I love.

When on mine eyes.

Be not thou so foolish nice.

Come, I faint.

God Lycus ever young.

Nor roses coucht within a lilly bed.
So many lovers have I neglected.
Now the lusty spring is seen.

Wherefore peep'st thou envious day.
Turne thy beauteous face away.
When I behold my Mistres face
My love and I for kisses plaid.
In a vale with flowrets spangled.

From the above list it is evident that Dr. Wilson was intimately acquainted with the works of the poets of the time of James I., Shakespeare, Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Breton, &c., a further proof of the correctness of my position. Many other of Wilson's compositions (and also some of those printed in the above collection) are to be found in the following rare musical works, all of which are in my library: "Catch that catch can," 1652; "Select Musicall Ayres and Dialogues," 1652; "Select Ayres and Dialogues," 1659: "The Musical Companion," 1667; "The Treasury of Music," 1669, &c.

Upon a careful consideration of the various circumstances adduced in the course of this paper, I cannot but consider that my position is pretty clearly established. The Doctor's settings of the Shakespearian Lyrics-his knowledge of the original composer of the music in the "Tempest "-his companionship with the great dramatic composers, the two Lawes's-his familiar appellation of" Jack Wilson "-and, above all, the thirty-two years gap

in the early history of his life, all these circumstances combined are evidences not to be slighted, and, until these evidences can be set aside by something more conclusive, I shall rest satisfied in my own mind, that "Jack Wilson," the singer of Shakespeare's stage, and Doctor John Wilson, the learned Professor of the University of Oxford, were one and the same person.

MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA.

(Suggested by a passage in Eugene Aram.)

BY MRS. ABDY.

I STOOD by the sea in the silence of night,
And mark'd the fair moon as she beamingly shone,
And sigh'd to perceive that her silvery light
Illumined one line of the waters alone.

It griev'd me to watch her thus wooingly play
Ön so narrow a track of the ocean's vast tide,
Refusing to cheer with one gladd'ning ray

The dark quiet billows that roll'd by its side.

Then I paus'd, for I felt that my strictures were vain,
And blam'd my rash judgment and limited sight,
Which thus had presumptuously dar'd to arraign
The course of so wondrous and distant a light.

The moon to our gaze as a niggard may seem,
Since few of her rays our perceptions may strike,
Yet she casts on the ocean no favouring beam,

But mirrors her smiles on each billow alike.

Thus often with envy those mortals we view

To whom dazzling distinctions and honours are given,
Our eyes their bright track in amazement pursue,
And we deem them especially favour'd by Heaven.

Yet happiness shines o'er life's varied expanse,
Though distance her light may appear to subdue,
And the many are hourly rejoic'd by the glance
Which we falsely imagine confin'd to the few.

Their fame may not spread, nor their riches increase,
Yet owning pure pleasures, calm thoughts, loving ties,
Their homes may repose in the moonlight of peace,
Though the rays be reflected not back to our eyes.

God pours, with a hand unaccustom'd to spare,
The light of his bounty on cottage and hall,
And none should distrustfully question their share
Of the radiance so amply sufficient for all.

DIALOGUES OF THE STATUES.

No. II.

BY PETER ORLANDO HUTCHINSON.

Shakspere's Statue in Poet's Corner to Thorwaldsen's Statue of Lord Byron in the library of Trinity College, Cambridge.

ABSTRACTEDLY speaking it ought not to be difficult to define what is good and what is evil in the world. Indeed, it is not

difficult to define what is good and what is evil, but the difficulty is, when we look round upon the great mass of men who environ us, to point out who is good and who is evil-or, in other words, who is the possessor of the good, and who is the possessor of the evil, which is the same thing.

All men are hypocrites, more or less; and hence ordinary conversation-ay, even the greatest intimacy, for years sometimeswill not suffice to reveal the innate bent of some men's minds. It is surprising how little the greatest intimates know of each other. This fact we have arrived at from observation, and every day assures us of its truth. But if every man is a little of a dissembler in society; if, in mixing with others, he endeavours to set himself off to the best advantage, and thereby outwardly appears more amiable than he inwardly is, what criterion have we to go by, and how are we to find out the nature of any man's heart? Why, it is said that a person's writings are a true index of himself. A man may dissemble in society (ladies never dissemble), because he may either do so unconsciously, when agreeable friends draw out his best qualities and leave the blacker ones undisturbed, or he may do it purposely, through the desire of passing for a vastly amiable personage-and all people like to be thought amiable. Not only that; it may be his interest to show only the bright side, and consequently, though anything should occur to ruffle the demon within, he will still smooth him down with all his might, knowing that if he did not the revelation would turn to his detriEducation and discretion teach men to keep their passions under a restraint, but neither education nor discretion can always succeed in annihilating them so much as if they did not exist. Hence it is that in daily intercourse and general society a curb or slight restraint is thrown over the bearing, or mien, or tongue, or actions of most people.

We may ask the reader a plain question :-Has it not perhaps more than once in his life happened that he has somewhere or other chanced to encounter a man who, by some act of rudeness or

impertinence, so incensed him that his prompt desire was instantly to knock him down? But did he knock him down? No. Why not? Because this same curb or restraint of education and discretion withheld his hands, or checked his wrath, or suggested other modes of requital more befitting the dignity of a gentleman. This is the control which etiquette enjoins to be observed between man and man.

But, as we said before, this restraint is believed not to be carried into a person's writings. When a man pours out his mind upon paper, he generally takes up his pen in the retirement of some secluded study, apart from the noise of the world, the restraints of ceremony, the interests of party, or the distractions of busy society. It is argued that he then is free, and then only really free; that he expresses the veritable opinions which he holds; that he lays bare the workings of his inmost soul-not as they seem to work but as they do work, and that, indeed, he paints himself in his true colours-black or white, sable or fair, and not like the cameleon, as he elsewhere is, stealing a congenial hue from every varying object that surrounds him. This is correct in degree, but not always absolutely so in totality. Persons are sometimes hypocrites in their writings-that is to say, now and then, and for a season; but they are rarely so for a long series of years, though they may be in society for an equally extended period. In their early literary productions, though these productions emanate from the seclusion of a retired chamber, a certain restraint is thrown over them, a restraint somewhat similar to that which governs the mien, actions, and conversation of daily intercourse in public places, as before remarked: because the germinating authors of such productions have the terror of the world's verdict before their eyes, even before they are judged, and they are excessively solicitous that that verdict may be a favourable Hence they feel as if they were already in public, months perhaps before they actually are so. This feeling fetters the freedom of their maiden efforts, and thus it is that many productions, which have only accidentally got into print (like these dialogues) read with a manifest and pleasant degree of fluency. Such maiden efforts, too, often differ considerably from the tenor of subsequent works, when the mind has grown callous to the world's opinion, and cares not a pin's fee either for censure or praise.

one.

Who, now, can look at Lord Byron's poems and fail to perceive the difference between the first and the last in the long series? We speak not here of the difference in talent, but the difference in sentiment. The earlier pieces betray the timidity we mention, as of one conscious of being about to appear before a formidable tribunal. In places, therefore, they court favour, and are apologetic; but further on they become fearless, hostile, and full of defiance. We would not infer that Lord Byron's mind, in his