GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS was born in Holborn. He was for many years a strolling player, and was afterwards engaged at Covent Garden theatre. His powers as an actor were very indifferent ; and he had long lived in necessitous circumstances, when he had recourse to a plan which brought him affluence-this was, delivering his Lecture on Heads, a medley of wit and nonsense, to which no other performance than his own could give comic effect. The lecture was originally designed for Shuter; who, however, wholly failed in his delivery of it. When Stevens gave it himself, it immediately became popular; he repeated it with success in different parts of Great Britain and Ireland, and, crossing the Atlantic, found equal favour among the Calvinists of Boston, and the Quakers of Philadelphia. On his return to England he attempted to give novelty to the exhibition by a supplementary lecture on portraits and whole lengths; but the supplement had no success. In 1773 he appeared again on the Haymarket stage, in a piece of his own composing, "The Trip to Portsmouth." He afterwards resumed his tour of lectures on heads, till finding his own head worn out by dissipation,

he sold the property of the composition to Lee Lewis, the comedian; and closed a life of intemperance in a state of idiotism.

If Fletcher of Salton's maxim be true, "that the popular songs of a country are of more importance than its laws," Stevens must be regarded as an important criminal in literature. But the songs of a country rather record, than influence, the state of popular morality. Stevens celebrated hard drinking, because it was the fashion; and his songs are now seldom vociferated, because that fashion is gone by. George was a leading member of all the great bacchanalian clubs of his day; the Choice Spirits, Comus' Court, and others, of similar importance and utility. Before the scheme of his lecture brought him a fortune, he had frequently to do penance in jail for the debts of the tavern; and, on one of those occasions, wrote a poem, entitled "Religion," expressing a penitence for his past life, which was probably sincere, while his confinement lasted. He was also author of "Tom Fool," a novel; "The Birthday of Folly," a satire; and several dramatic pieces of slender consequence *.

My cellar's my camp, and my soldiers my flasks,
All gloriously ranged in review;
When I cast my eyes round, I consider my casks
As kingdoms I've yet to subdue,

My brave boys.

Like Macedon's Madman, my glass I'll enjoy,

On their stumps some have fought, and as stoutly
When reeling I roll on the floor; [will I,
Then my legs must be lost, so I'll drink as I lie,
And dare the best Buck to do more,
My brave boys.

My brave boys.

My brave boys.

THOUGH grief and fondness in my breast rebel, When injured Thales bids the town farewell; [*«London is one of those few imitations," says Gray, "that have all the ease and all the spirit of an original." "Mr. Johnson's London," says Goldsmith," is the best imitation of the original that has appeared in our language; being possessed of all the force and satirical resentment of Juvenal. Imitation gives us a much truer idea of the ancients than ever translation could do."

But The Vanity of Human Wishes " is a better poem. Sir Walter Scott speaks of it as a satire, "the deep and pathetic morality of which has often extracted tears from those whose eyes wander dry over pages professedly sentimental." ""Tis a grand poem," writes Byron,-" and so true!-true as the 10th of Juvenal himself; all the examples and mode of giving them sublime, as well as the latter part, with the exception of an occasional couplet. I do not so much admire the opening."

His Drury Lane Prologue is the perfection of its kind; and his lines on Levett breathe an air of constrained complaint and forceful tenderness. His pathos is too austere, but it is very fine.]

[t Johnson's London was published in May 1738, and it is remarkable that it came out on the same morning with Pope's satire entitled 1738, so that England had at once its Juvenal and Horace as poetical monitors.-BOSWELL.]

[That the "injured Thales" of Johnson's London was the poet Savage, (as is generally understood,) has been questioned by Boswell, and his acute editor Mr. Croker; we think without much show of reason.

"The event of Savage's retirement," says Sir John Hawkins, "is antedated in the poem of London; but in every particular, except the difference of a year, what is there said of the departure of Thales must be understood of Savage, and looked upon as true history."

"This conjecture," writes Boswell," is, I believe, entirely groundless. I have been assured that Johnson said he was not so much as acquainted with Savage when he wrote his London. If the departure mentioned in it was the departure of Savage, the event was not antedated, but foreseen; for London was published in May 1738, and Savage did not set out for Wales till July 1739."

Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend, I praise the hermit, but regret the friend,

Notwithstanding," says Mr. Croker," Mr. Boswell's proofs, and Dr. Johnsor's own [accredited ?] assertion, the identity of Savage and Thales has been repeated by all the biographers, and has obtained general vogue. It may therefore be worth while to add, that Johnson's residence at Greenwich (which, as it was the scene of his ! fancied parting from Thales, is currently taken to have been that of his real separation from Savage) occurred two years before the latter event; and at that time it does not appear that Johnson was so much as acquainted with Savage, or even with Cave, at whose house he first met Savage. Again, Johnson distinctly tells us, in his Life of Savage, that the latter took his departure for Wales, not by embarking at Greenwich, but by the Bristol stage coach; and, finally and decisively, Johnson, if Thales had been Savage, could never have admitted into his poem two lines which seem to point so forcibly at the drunken fray, when Savage stabbed a Mr. Sinclair, for which he was convicted of murder:

Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast, Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest. There is, certainly, a curious coincidence between some points of the characters of Thales and Savage; but it seems equally certain that the coincidence was fortuitous Mr. Murphy endeavours to reconcile the difficulties by supposing that Savage's retirement was in contemplation eighteen months before it was carried into effect: but even if this were true (which may well be doubted), it would not alter the facts that London was written before Johnson knew Savage; and that one of the severest strokes of the satire touched Savage's sorest point."

Johnson left Lichfield for London, March 2nd 1737; in the July of the same year he lived in Church-street Greenwich, and sought by letter the notice of Cave. In March 1738 appeared his ode "Ad Urbanum;" in April 1738 he turned and printed an epigram in praise of Savage; and in May 1738, published his noble imitation of Juvenal's third satire. Savage left London for Swansea in the July of the succeeding year.

"Johnson has marked," says Boswell, "upon his car

Who now resolves, from vice and London far,
To breathe in distant fields a purer air;
And, fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore,
Give to St. David one true Briton more.

For who would leave, unbribed, Hibernia's land, Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand? rected copy of the first edition of London' Written in 1738; and, as it was published in the month of May in that year, it is evident that much time was not employed in preparing it for the press.” "Part of the beauty of the performance," says Johnson to Cave, "(if any beauty be allowed it) consists in the adaptation of Juvenal's sentiments to modern facts and persons." This is curious, and seems to justify the appropriation of Thales to Savage.

Boswell's attempt to overthrow the statement of his rival Hawkins was soon forgotten by himself. He had been assured that Johnson was unacquainted with Savage in May 1738, yet some forty pages further on he can print an encomium on Savage from The Gentleman's Magazine for April 1738, which he had been assured was written by Johnson, and thus give his former statement the lie in a silent way. "How highly," writes Boswell, "Johnson admired him [Savage] for that knowledge which he himself so much cultivated, and what kindness he entertained for him, appears from the following lines in the Gentleman's Magazine for April 1738, which I am assured were written by Johnson :

Ad Ricardum Savage, Arm. Humani Generis Amatorem.
Humani studium generis cui pectore fervet,
O! colat humanum te foveatque genus!"

This was not likely to have come from the pen of Johnson, (if Johnson's it is), had he been unacquainted with Savage. And where did Mr. Croker learn that Johnson met

Savage for the first time at the house of Cave? A literary adventurer, without a penny in his pocket, could not well have been a month in London before he fell into the society of Savage. Thomson's first want in London was a pair of shoes, his first London acquaintance the wretched Savage.

But what if, after all, Mr. Murphy's view of the subject is the correct one? "Savage's distress," says Johnson, "was now [say early in 1738] publicly known, and his friends therefore thought it proper to concert some measures for his relief... . The scheme proposed for his happy and independent subsistence was, that he should retire into Wales, and receive an allowance of fifty pounds a year, to be raised by a subscription. . . . . This offer Mr. Savage gladly accepted... While this scheme was ripening his friends directed him to take a lodging in the liberties of the Fleet, that he might be secure from his creditors, and sent him every Monday a guinea....... After many allerations and delays, a subscription was at length raised, and he left London in July 1739, having taken leave with great tenderness of his friends, and parted from the author of this narrative with tears in his eyes."

There was therefore a considerable interval between the period when the scheme of Savage's retirement to Swansea was first proposed to him, and his setting off in July 1739, by the coach for the shores of Wales!

Whoever Juvenal's Umbritius was, the Thales of Johnson's imitation was poor Savage; and let us notice here the propriety of Johnson's laying the scene of Savage's departure from Greenwich. There is a note before us from Savage to Birch, dated “Greenwich May 14th 1735," wherein he says, "I have been here some days for the benefit of the air." There is no necessity therefore to bother oneself in this inquiry with the date of Johnson's residence at Greenwich.

And what is there to disprove the fact that Thales was Savage in his departing by coach from London and not, as the poem has it, by boat from Greenwich? Mr. King was the fellow-student, not the fellow-shepherd, of Milton; yet that he was the Lycidas of the poet who will doubt? To our thinking the coincidence is too close to be accidental, too particular to be unmeant.]

There none are swept by sudden fate away,
But all, whom hunger spares, with age decay :
Here malice, rapine, accident conspire,
And now a rabble rages, now a fire;
Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay,
And here the fell attorney prowls for prey;
Here falling houses thunder on your head,
And here a female atheist talks you dead.

While Thales waits the wherry that contains Of dissipated wealth the small remains, On Thames's banks, in silent thought we stood, Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood: Struck with the seat that gave Eliza birth, We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth; In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew, And call Britannia's glories back to view; Behold her cross triumphant on the main, The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain, Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd, Or English honour grew a standing jest.

A transient calm the happy scenes bestow, And for a moment lull the sense of woe. At length awaking, with contemptuous frown, Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town: "Since worth," he cries," in these degenerate days, Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise; In those cursed walls, devote to vice and gain, Since unrewarded science toils in vain ; Since hope but soothes to double my distress, And every moment leaves my little less; While yet my steady steps no staff sustains, And life still vigorous revels in my veins ; Grant me, kind Heaven, to find some happier place, Where honesty and sense are no disgrace; Some pleasing bank where verdant osiers play, Some peaceful vale with Nature's painting gay; Where once the harass'd Briton found repose, And safe in poverty defied his foes; Some secret cell, ye powers indulgent, give, Let live here, for has learn'd to live. Here let those reign whom pensions can incite To vote a patriot black, a courtier white; Explain their country's dear-bought rights away, And plead for pirates in the face of day † ; With slavish tenets taint our poison'd youth, And lend a lie the confidence of truth. Let such raise palaces, and manors buy, Collect a tax, or farm a lottery; With warbling eunuchs fill a licensed stage ‡, And lull to servitude a thoughtless age.

"Heroes, proceed! what bounds your pride shall hold ?

What check restrain your thirst of power and gold?

Behold rebellious Virtue quite o'erthrown, Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives your own. To such a groaning nation's spoils are given, When public crimes inflame the wrath of Heaven:

* Queen Elizabeth, born at Greenwich. The encroachments of the Spaniards had been palliated in both houses of parliament.

The licensing act had then lately passed.

Aghast you start, and scarce with aching sight
Sustain the approaching fire's tremendous light;
Swift from pursuing horrors take your way,
And leave your little all to flames a prey;
Then through the world a wretched vagrant roam,
For where can starving Merit find a home?
In vain your mournful narrative disclose,
While all neglect, and most insult your woes.
"Should Heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth
confound,

And spread his flaming palace on the ground,
Swift o'er the land the dismal rumour flies,
And public mournings pacify the skies;
The laureate tribe in servile verse relate,
How Virtue wars with persecuting Fate;
With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band
Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land.
See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come,
And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome;
The price of boroughs and of souls restore,
And raise his treasures higher than before:
Now bless'd with all the baubles of the great,
The polish'd marble, and the shining plate,
Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire,
And hopes from angry Heaven another fire.

"Couldst thou resign the park and play content,
For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent;
There mightst thou find some elegant retreat,
Some hireling senator's deserted seat,
And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land,
For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand;
There prune thy walks, support thy drooping
flowers,

Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers;
And, while thy beds a cheap repast afford,
Despise the dainties of a venal lord:
There every bush with nature's music rings,
There every breeze bears health upon its wings;
On all thy hours security shall smile,

And bless thine evening walk and morning toil.
"Prepare for death, if here at night you roam;
And sign your will, before you sup from home.
Some fiery fop, with new commission vain,
Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man ;
Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast,
Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest.

"Yet e'en these heroes, mischievously gay, Lords of the street, and terrors of the way; Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and wine, Their prudent insults to the poor confine; Afar they mark the flambeau's bright approach, And shun the shining train and golden coach. "In vain, these dangers pass'd, your doors you close,

And hope the balmy blessings of repose: Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, The midnight murderer bursts the faithless bar; Invades the sacred hour of silent rest, And plants, unseen, a dagger in your breast. "Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn die,

With hemp the gallows and the fleet supply.

Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band,
Whose ways and means support the sinking land;
Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring,
To rig another convoy for the king +.

"A single jail, in Alfred's golden reign,
Could half the nation's criminals contain ;
Fair Justice then, without constraint adored,
Held high the steady scale, but sheathed the sword;
No spies were paid, no special juries known;
Bless'd age! but ah! how different from our own!
"Much could I add,--but see the boat at hand,
The tide retiring, calls me from the land:
Farewell!-When youth, and health, and fortune
Thou fliest for refuge to the wilds of Kent; [spent,
And, tired like me with follies and with crimes,
In angry numbers warn'st succeeding times;
Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his aid,
Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade;
In virtue's cause once more exert his rage,
Thy satire point, and animate thy page."

THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.

IN IMITATION OF THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL.

LET observation with extensive view,
Survey mankind from China to Peru;
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life;
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate,
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate,
Where wav'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride,
To chase the dreary paths without a guide,
As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good;
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice;
How nations sink by darling schemes oppress'd,
When vengeance listens to the fool's request.
Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart,
Each gift of nature and each grace of art;
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,
With fatal sweetness elocution flows,
Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful breath,
And restless fire precipitates on death.

But, scarce observed, the knowing and the bold
Fall in the general massacre of gold;
Wide wasting pest! that rages unconfined,
And crowds with crimes the records of mankind;
For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;
Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys,
The dangers gather as the treasures rise.

Let history tell where rival kings command, And dubious title shakes the madded land, When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, How much more safe the vassal than the lord; Low sculks the hind beneath the rage of power, And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower,

* A technical term in parliament for raising money. The nation was then discontented at the repeated visits made by George the Second to Hanover.