As a Shakspearean, I must class next his two sweet songs in "As You Like it." His was the pipe to be listened to amongst the warblers of "Ardenne," in Dr. Arne's delicious "Blow! blow! thou Winter's wind," and "Under the green-wood tree." "Oh!" as Jaques says, "I can suck melancholy from the recollection of these songs as a weasel sucks eggs." Then follow Jackson of Exeter's "Lord of the Manor," and Dibdin's "Quaker" and "Waterman;" pieces after Incledon's own heart; all free, rich, clear melody, without glitter. But of all the composers of his own day, Shield[6] was his favourite; and justly. He furnished him with most of his popular songs. The singer was the peculiar organ of the composer--his "Thorn," his "Mouth which a Smile," "Tom Moody," "Heaving the Lead," and many, many others, seem to have faded away with the voice of the melodist. [6] Let the lover of melody look over the list of works published, in the obituary of that beautiful composer! But I find, were I to run through, as I proposed, all the songs _peculiar_ to my hero, I should, most likely, tire my reader. The delight with which I dwell upon them is a species of egotism; I will therefore only name a few more, and "leave him alone with his glory."--"Sally in our Alley," the song Addison was so fond of; what an _association!_ "Post Captain," "Brown Jug." In his decline, even "His father he lost," and "On Lethe's banks," in Artaxerxes;--hear the singers of the present day sing these songs! "Bay of Biscay," "When Vulcan forged," the second of "All's Well," "Bet, sweet blossom," "Will Watch," "Last Whistle," &c. &c. Alas! alas! and all this over! He has piped his last whistle, and poor Charles "sleeps in peace with the dead!" In concluding, I cannot but observe, that no singer has so completely identifies himself with particular songs. Those in which he most excelled, he stamped as his own--no one can touch them "while his memory be green." When the race who heard him has faded away, some one may attempt them; but I should as soon think of going to see Mr. Kean play Coriolanus, as to hear another sing "Black-eyed Susan." My mind is filled--I have Kemble's noble patrician _perfect_ before me; I have Gay's ballad in Incledon's notes as fully in "my mind's _ear_," and I would not have them displaced. _Blackwood's Magazine._ * * * * * THE GATHERER. A snapper up of unconsidered trifles. Shakspeare. _The following is inscribed on a black Tablet in Sherborne Church, Dorset:_