many wanton stabs at the reputation and livelihood of poor players had been given by their malignant stilettos; how much acute and poignant misery a remark of theirs, penned in drunkenness, or folly, or spite, must have occasioned to luckless actors, whose very bread depended probably on the way in which a manager might have regarded the lucubrations of the puppy critic. A congeniality of soul drew these fellows to Kean. Their word was potential over the apprenticeboys and young Whigs of the pit-the milliners of the gallery and their beaux -and the ladies of the saloons. Even decent people at that time used to read the play-house critiques of the Examiner: and as impudence frequently passes for talent, and blustering always terrifies those who do not think for themselves, some ten years ago they were looked upon by the theatrical people as models of elegance, deep reading, and acumen. The whole tribe puffed Kean, and silenced the voice of common sense. Creatures whom the most paltry of the two-pennies of London would not now admit as gratis contributors, then directed the "taste of the town." They went about crim, crisp, and jaunty, weaving chaplets of laurel, and venting sonnets on one another. You heard a sugh at every corner about fine gusto, and virtu, and keeping, and those down-looking Greeks, of whom, by the way, they could not spell the names, far less read them, if written in their native characters. Poor devils! When we look back at their happy state, our heart is sometimes "wae" within us on reflecting that it was we who marred their Elysium-a feeling which, however, fades in an instant all away when we recollect that they used the power they possessed to insult merit-to outrage decency-to vilify religion-to puff meanness-and to beslaver all that was glorious and venerable in the land. These were Kean's patrons they pronounced him a second Garrick, and the town bent in prostrate reverence before the fetid breath of the oracle. Under the auspices of this gang, Kean went on and prospered. He soon entertains us with an account of a most asinine speech he made, at the most asinine ceremony of presenting him with a gold cup, which was delivered to him by Palmer. And in a page or so afterwards, he gets so delighted with his oratory, that he again favours us with another most brilliant harangue, delivered by him at the opening of the Wolf Club, of which he was the appropriate grand-master. Its design was to howl, as its name implies, everybody who had any chance of rivalling the quack actor, who got them together, though Kean here seems to insinuate that they were merely a drunken set of soakers, who met to make themselves "comfortable," p. 130. He was at last obliged to knock it up. The opening sentence of the speech is too good. Conceive such a man as Kean beginning an oration thus :— "GENTLEMEN! (there was not one in the room, except a few gentlemen of the press)-Gentlemen and bro thers! "If we look to tradition, our arts and sciences, OUR laws and governments in embryo were uncertain, disputable, and vague." This is a deep discovery. "To accomplish perfection in any degree, (there being of course various degrees of perfection,) has been, and will remain, the work of ages and constant perseverance. "I am THEREFORE aware of the difficulties we have to encounter in bringing our little society," &c. &c. &c. What an Argal! Arts, sciences, laws, governments, ages, and tradition, lugged in by the head and shoulders, to preface the formation of a drunken club! The force of pathos could no farther go. He went in 1818 to France-dined with Talma-and got a snuff-box from some French players-all of which important events are duly dated. It is from circumstances of this kind, that we conclude it must be an auto-biography, for surely no man alive would take the trouble of finding out, that, on the 15th of July, 1818, Kean dined with Talma, or would care a pinch of snuff whether, on the day afore-men tioned, he had gone supperless to bed. wise. None of your outlandish diamonds, therefore, which cost siller, when we can get our own cairngorms for nothing. The inscription on the sword is worthy of them that gave, and him who received. We copy it as it appears in this authentic tome, p. 136. contentment. After this, we have him acting in Howard Payne's most stupid of all stupid plays, Brutus, very much to his own He tells us, that the leading feature of his acting was dignity," dignity approaching to the sublime, and downright simple energy." This is too audacious. Kean act Brutus with dignity! Howard Payne write a play in which anybody could act with dignity! Author and actor were worthy of one another. We next slur over his indefensible conduct to poor Jenny Porter, and her play of Switzerland- -as also his behaviour to Bucke's Italians. He owns he had the worse of the latter controversy; but defends his letter in answer to Bucke, by saying that it was written under angry feelings. He must have been not angry with Bucke only, but with the language of the country, for it was full of words misspelt from beginning to end-just such a fine composition as he some time after had the folly to write to John Bull, and which Bull, with malicious mirth, printed verbatim as it came from the pen of the writer. Good old Sir John Sinclair after this makes his appearance, with the silly epistle which he wrote on the occasion of some foolish people of our modern Athens having clubbed their shillings to buy Kean a sword. It was an unjustifiable and cruel proceeding, after all; for the sword being unfortunately too large for Kean's body, he appeared, whenever he was tied to it, like a poor cockchaffer transfixed by a huge corking-pin. Sir John favours is correspondent with some remarks on swords, and on the history of Macbeth, very pleasant to read, and quite germane to the purpose. The sword, he tells him, is of the true Highland make, whence we conclude that the Celtic Society was at the bottom of the business, for it is quite fit for them. It is adorned, moreover, "with some of the most valuable stones that Scotland produces." We flatter ourselves that that is a touch redolent of the north side of the Tweed. It is good to be merry and 43 ATHENEUM VOL. 2. 2d series. This sword was presented ΤΟ EDMUND KEAN, WHEN he appears on the stage, The King of Scotland. Next follow his adventures in America, briefly related for good reasons; and the whole is wound up by a good deal of puffing, on some of his freaks of ostentatious generosity. Some insolent language of his to a tavernkeeper in Portsmouth, comes in for its share of applause, but the story is simply this: When Kean was a strolling player, he asked this man for half-apint of porter; and Boniface would not give it to him until he paid the penny beforehand-such was the shabby appearance of the poor fellow. We think the man was quite right, as every one ought to take care of his own property. Afterwards, when Mr. Kean was rich, this landlord, as landlords will do, came bowing and scraping to him, and Kean remembering the indignity of having been refused tick for a penny, made a most indignant. speech, and left the house. He knit his brow, he says, most awfully, and among much other stuff, he announced himself as "The same Edmund Kean that I was fifteen years ago, when you insulted me. Look at me again, sir. What alteration beyond that of dress do you discover in me? Am I a better man than I was then ?" &c. &c. Heaven help us! Here is nonsense in all its altitudes! To be sure, he was not a better man-very possibly he might have been a worse man-but he was decidedly richer-better on 'Change The landlord, when he saw poor Mr. Kean, was afraid of his money, and refused him credit-when he saw rich Mr. Kean, he looked to a good stiff bill-and that made all the difference. Kean was never so besotted as when he imagined the compliment paid to his purse was paid to his person. "On Kean's acting," continues he, (6 we decline offering any criticism; he is beyond it." Quite beyond it indeed but there are two kinds of beyonds, above and below. A worse actor never trod the stage-we mean, pretending to enact such characters as he has taken on himself to murder. Here ends the auto-biography. We go no farther, having nothing to do with Kean except to expose quackery, puffing, and humbug. He is going down very fast, and we flatter ourselves that this Life of his, though intended for a different purpose, will freshen his way a trifle down the ladder of popularity. BIOGRAPHY OF THE LATE JANE TAYLOR.* We have few readers, old or young, to whom the name of the Author of Display, and, in part, of the Original Poems and Hymns for Infant Minds, can be unknown; and by none who are acquainted with her productions, will the intimation have been received without concern, that their friend and their children's friend rests from her labours. To bestow on works for children the talent and the toil which, otherwise directed, might have commanded the higher honours of literary fame, may seem a self-denying exercise of genius; but there is no species of literary labour that yields so pure a reward, or that ensures for the writer so permanent a remembrance. For who ever ceases to recollect with interest the favourites of his childhood, the books connected with his earliest impressions, and to which, perhaps, he is able distinctly to trace a beneficial influence in the formation of his character ? The "Divine Songs" of Dr. Watts, perhaps his happiest production, and one that has survived the more ambitious labours of most of his contemporaries, will always be sufficient to perpetuate and endear his name. And we may safely predict, that our children and our children's children will be the faithful conservators of works which display equal genius and equal piety, in connexion with the peculiar tact and address which qualify woman pre-eminently to be the teacher of the young. We feel by no means sure that the Evenings at Home, and the Parent's Assistant, will not outlive the demand for the works of the Author of Waverley, and that Mrs. Barbauld's exquisite Prose Hymns for children will not survive, as they deserve to do, much of the poetry of the day. We might, perhaps, still more confidently predict, that the name of the Author of Little Henry and his bearer, and that of the venerable writer of the Cheap Repository Tracts, will be had in lasting remembrance. Society certainly could better dispense with one half of the literary world, than with these unpretended benefactors of the infant race. And among them, no inferior rank will be awarded to Jane Taylor. We have not the means of ascertaining all the productions for which the public are indebted to her pen. The Original Poems for Infant Minds was, we believe, the first that brought its anonymous authors into general favour. In this work, the speculation of the publishers, Miss Taylor was associated with her elder sister, Mrs. Gilbert, and another lady.† Many of the poems were, we have been given to understand, absolutely juvenile productions, and they are unequal. The success of the publication, however, was unprecedented: a second volume followed, a third for younger children, and a fourth, consisting of hymns, which has the most merit of the series. Of these little volumes, many thou *The Contributions of Q. Q. to a periodical Work: with some Pieces not before published. By the late Jane Taylor. 2 vols. 12mo. pp. 596. London 1824. † Miss Taylor's are distinguished by the initials J. and J. T. sands annually have regularly been sold for between fifteen and twenty years; and though they have given rise to many attempts at imitation, they remain, and are likely to remain, unequalled for their originality, exquisite adaptation, and admirable simplicity. The "Original Hymns for Sunday Schools" have had a still more extensive circulation. These, though of course every consideration was sacrificed to the most literal plainness of expression, have nevertheless much beauty: they exhibit religious truth brought down to the very humblest level, yet without being vulgarized. The fourth hymn in particular, beginning, 'Jesus, who lived above the sky,' is one of the happiest attempts to translate the truths of religion into the dialect of infant thought, without compromising the proprieties of language, that we have ever met with. In 1810, Miss Taylor contributed some poems to a little volume, the joint production of a few friends, and now more than ever an interesting memorial, entitled, "The Associate Minstrels." The Remonstrance to Time is a beautiful and touching Poem. The Birthday Retrospect is also but too characteristic of the tendency to melancholy which is observable in some of Miss Taylor's poems. As the volume is out of print, we should have been pleased to see these poems, with any other fugitive pieces of the same Author,* incorporated with the present work. In 1815, appeared "Display, a Tale for young People," the first publication to which its author had the courage to affix her name. Our opinion of it has been already given, and the public have sufficiently proved that we did not over estimate it. We have only to regret that the wish we then expressed, was destined never to be satisfied, to receive more of such tales from the same pen. This was followed, in 1816, with "Essays in Rhyme on Morals and Manners," the boldest literary effort on which its Author had yet ventured, and unquestionably displaying, in parts, the most genius and reach of thought. The title was not happily chosen, and the work was less adapted to be popular, than the Tale; its sale, accordingly, though successful, has not kept pace with that of its predecessor.† So rich was the poetry, however, in point and force of expression, in delicacy of sentiment, and occasionally, in both pathos and humour, that it led us to anticipate productions of a still higher cast. But in this expectation we were not to be gratified. Miss Taylor's failing health soon after this publication, rendered the excitement and exhaustion of literary composition too much for a frame of fragile texture. All that she could venture to undertake were short and desultory papers, and the present volumes consist of those interesting remains. Her brother informs us that, with the exception of two or three not before published, they appeared in the Youth's Magazine during the course of the seven years beginning with 1816, and ending with 1822, when Miss Taylor's declining health obliged her to desist entirely from literary occupations. 'Very soon after the commencement of her regular contributions to the Youth's Magazine, my sister,' says Mr. Taylor, had reason to believe that, through the medium of its pages, she had succeeded in gaining, in a high degree, the attention of a very large number of young persons. An assurance so encouraging inspired her with the earnest desire to improve the favourable impression she had made, for promoting the best intergrave or gay she never lost sight of this obests of her readers; and whether she was ject. Her friends have generally concurred in the opinion that many of these pieces are that a republication of them was due to their among the happiest efforts of her pen, and merit. In compliance with this opinion, she had revised and prepared for the press the greater part of the papers, not long before her last illness; and she left with me instructions for the publication of the whole.' Should the contents be as new to our * We recollect to have seen one or two hymns with Miss Taylor's initial in some popular collections, and at least one poem in an early volume of the Edinburgh Annual Register. The Essays have reached a fourth, Display a tenth edition. readers as they were to us, they will receive with no ordinary gratification this interesting legacy. Had Miss Taylor never published any thing before, these papers would be sufficient to entitle her to rank very high among our best moral writers. Many of them would have been esteemed acceptable contributions in the days of the Spectator, or the Rambler. It ought, indeed to be recollected, that they were written for young persons; that the choice of subject, as well as the unpretending style, has been determined by this circumstance; that the medium through which they found their way to the public, was a very humble one, and such as did not hold out to its contributors any inducement to extraordinary effort. But, with Miss Taylor, the prospect of efficient usefulness was an adequate stimulus; and in writing for the Youth's Magazine, she appears never to have excused herself from taking all the pains that could have been inspired by a trembling solicitude for fame. The papers are seventy-nine in number. As a mere list of the contents would give little idea of their nature, we shall at once proceed to select a few specimens of their varied character. The first that we shall take, is of a sportive cast, THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM. An old clock that had stood for fifty years in a farmer's kitchen without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summer's morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped. Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable) changed countenance with alarm; the hands made an ineffectual effort to continue their course; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; the weights hung speechless; each member felt disposed to lay the blame on the others. At length the dial instituted a formal inquiry as to the cause of the stagnation; when hands, wheels,weights, with one voice protested their innocence. But now a faint tick was heard below, from the pendulum, who thus spoke: "I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged that it was on the point of striking. 66 Lazy wire!" exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands. "Very good!" replied the pendulum, "it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as every body knows, set yourself up above me,--it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness! You, who have had nothing to do all the days of your life but to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and wag backwards and forwards, year after year, as I do." "As to that," said the dial," is there not a window in your house on purpose for you to look through ?" "For all that," resumed the pendulum, "it is very dark here; and although there is a window, I dare not stop, even for an instant, to look out. Besides, I am really weary of my way of life; and if you please, I'll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. This morning I happened to be calculating how many times I should have te tick in the course only of the next twenty The minute hand, being quick at figures, instantly replied, "eighty-six thousand four hundred times." 66 Exactly so," replied the pendulum : "well, I appeal to you all, if the thought of this was not enough to fatigue one? and when I began to multiply the strokes of one day by those of months and years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect: So after a great deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to myself, I'll stop.' The dial could scarcely keep its countebance during this harangue; but, resuming its gravity, thus replied::-- So we "Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious person as yourself should have been overcome by this sudden suggestion. It is true you have done a great deal of work in your time. have all, and are likely to do; and, although this may fatigue us to think of, the question is, whether it will fatigue us to do: would you now, do me the favour to give about half a dozen strokes, to illustrate my argument." The pendulum complied, and ticked six times at its usual_pace.--- Now," resumed the dial, " may I be allowed to inquire, if that exertion was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?" "Not in the least," replied the pendulum: ---"it is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, but of millions." 66 Very good," replied the dial, "but recollect that although you may think of a million strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but one; and that however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in." "That consideration staggers me, I confess," said the pendulum. "Then I hope," resumed the dial-plate, "we shall all immediately return to our duty; for the maids will lie in bed till noon if we stand idling thus." Upon this, the weights, who had never been accused of light conduct, used all their influence in urging him to proceed: when, |