curacy;" and it is worthy of remark as indicative of the state. of literary taste in Ireland at the time, that six editions of Milton's works were published in Dublin between 1747 and 1752. Hawkey* died in Grafton-street in 1759; his son, the rev. Samuel Pullein Hawkey, was appointed master of the free school of Dundalk, and published in 1788 a translation of the "Gallic and civil wars of Cæsar," dedicated to the bishop of Derry. Although the most learned critics have concurred in eulogizing Hawkey's erudition, so neglected has our literary history hitherto been, that the present is the only account extant of the works published by him and his son.

In Grafton-street was the residence of Richard Colley, esq., of Castle Carberry, created baron of Mornington in 1746, and deserving of notice as grandfather of the late duke of Wellington. His lordship, who was the first of his family who assumed the name of Wellesley, died at his house here in January, 1758, and was succeeded by his more talented son Garret, first earl of Mornington, who resided in this street until the year 1763.

Of the residents in Grafton-street in the last century few were better known in the city than Samuel Whyte, of whom no account has hitherto been given, although he published several works, and founded a school which maintained a high reputation for nearly seventy years.

Samuel Whyte, natural son of captain Solomon Whyte, deputy governor of the Tower of London, first saw the light about the year 1733, under circumstances chronicled as follows by himself:

"Born premature, such the all-wise decree,

Loud shriek'd the storm, and mountains ran the sea;
Ah! what, sweet voyager! in that dreadful hour,
Avail'd thy blooming youth; thy beauty's pow'r?

Hawkey's wife was sister of the rev. Samuel Pullein, A.M., author of "An Essay on the culture of silk; treating, 1. Of planting mulberry trees; 2. On hatching and rearing silk-worms; 3. On obtaining their silk and breed; 4. On reeling their silk pods; for the use of the American colonies," 8vo. London, 1758. "Observations towards a method of preserving the seeds of plants in a state fit for vegetation during long voyages," 8vo. London, 1760. "A new improved silkreel," Philosophical Transactions, 1759; "Of a particular species of cocoon, or silk pod from America," ib. In consequence of these publications, considerable numbers of mulberry trees were planted in the county of Dublin, for the purpose of propagating silk-worms. Pullein was author of several poetical productions, including a translation of Vida's "Bombyx" or the silk-worm, 8vo. Dublin, 1750; and London: 1753: his version will not, however, bear comparison with that published some years since by another Irish writer, the rev. Francis Mahony.

She died

her breast with double anguish torn,
And, her sole care, I first drew breath forlorn.
Her nurse, when female aid was most requir'd,
Faithful to death, kiss'd, bless'd her and expir'd;
The stout ship braved the elemental strife,
And the good crew preserv'd my little life.
Lerpool receiv'd and foster'd me a while,

Call'd, thrice repuls'd, thence to Hibernia's isle."

Solomon Whyte's sister married Dr. Philip Chamberlaine, prebend of Rathmichael, archdeacon of Glendaloch, and rector of St. Nicholas without; their daughter, Frances Chamberlaine, who became the wife of Thomas Sheridan in 1747, is well known as authoress of "Sidney Biddulph," and "Nourjahad." Samuel Whyte received his education from Samuel Edwards, the most eminent Dublin schoolmaster of his day, at whose academy in Golden-lane he was placed as a boarder, after leaving which he paid a visit to London, of which he has left the following reminiscence, which is the more interesting as being, we believe, the only account preserved of the latter days of the benevolent laureate's daughter :

"Cibber, the elder, had a daughter named Charlotte, who also took to the stage; her subsequent life was one continued series of misfortune, afflictions and distress, which she sometimes contrived a little to alleviate by the productions of her pen. About the year 1755, she had worked up a novel for the press, which the writer accompanied his friend the bookseller to hear read; she was at this time a widow, having been married to one Charke, a musician, long since dead. Her habitation was a wretched thatched hovel, situated on the way to Islington in the purlieus of Clerkenwell Bridewell, not very distant from the new river head, where at that time it was usual for the scavengers to leave the cleansings of the streets, and the priests of Cloacina to deposit the offerings from the temples of that all-worshipped Power. The night preceding a heavy rain had fallen, which rendered this extraordinary seat of the muses almost inaccessible, so that in our approach we got our white stockings inveloped with mud up to the very calves, which furnished an appearance much in the present (1790) fashionable style of half boots. We knocked at the door (not attempting to pull the latch-string) which was opened by a tall, meagre, ragged figure, with a blue apron, indicating, what else we might have doubted, the feminine gender. A perfect model for the Copper captain's tattered landlady; that deplorable exhibition of the fair sex, in the comedy of Rule-a-wife. She with a torpid voice and hungry smile desired us to walk in. The first object that presented itself was a dresser, clean, it must be confessed, and furnished with three or four coarse delf plates, two brown platters, and underneath an earthen pipkin and a black pitcher with a

snip out of it. To the right we perceived and bowed to the mistress of the mansion sitting on a maimed chair under the mantle piece, by a fire, merely sufficient to put us in mind of starving. On one hob sat a monkey, which by way of welcome chattered at us going in; on the other a tabby cat, of melancholy aspect! and at our author's feet on the flounce of her dingy petticoat reclined a dog, almost a skeleton! he raised his shagged head and eagerly staring with his bleared eyes, saluted us with a snarl. Have done, Fidele! these are friends. The tone of her voice was not harsh; it had something in it humbled and disconsolate; a mingled effort of authority and pleasure. Poor soul! few were her visitors of that descriptionno wonder the creature barked! A magpie perched on the top rung of her chair, not an uncomely ornament! and on her lap was placed a mutilated pair of bellows, the pipe was gone, an advantage in their present office, they served as a succedaneum for a writing desk, on which lay displayed her hopes and treasure, the manuscript of her novel. Her ink-stand was a broken tea-cup, the pen worn to a stump; she had but one! A rough deal board, with three hobbling supporters, was brought for our convenience, on which without further ceremony we contrived to sit down and entered upon business. The work was read, remarks made, alterations agreed to and thirty guineas demanded for the copy. The squalid handmaiden, who had been an attentive listener, stretched forward her tawny length of neck with an eye of anxious expectation! The bookseller offered, five! Our authoress did not appear hurt; disappointments had rendered her mind callous; however some altercation insued. This was the writer's first initiation into the mysteries of bibliopolism and the state of authorcraft. He, seeing both sides pertinacious, at length interposed, and at his instance the wary haberdasher of literature doubled his first proposal with this saving provisoe, that his friend present would pay a moiety and run one half the risk; which was agreed to. Thus matters were accommodated, seemingly to the satisfaction of all parties; the lady's original stipulation of fifty copies for herself being previously acceded to. Such is the story of the once admired daughter of Colley Cibber, poet laureate and patentee of Drury-lane, who was born in affluence and educated with care and tenderness, her servants in livery, and a splendid equipage at her command, with swarms of time-serving sycophants officiously buzzing in her train; yet unmindful of her advantages and improvident in her pursuits, she finished the career of her miserable existence on a dunghill. The account given of this unfortunate woman is literally correct in every particular, of which, except the circumstance of her death, the writer himself was an eye-witness."

At Dublin, where his father had fixed his residence, Samuel Whyte found attached friends in his relatives the' Sheridans, with whom he lived on terms of close intimacy. The affair of the Douglas medal, of which Whyte gives the following ac

count, shews that Sheridan entertained no mean idea of the talents of his young relative :

"When the tragedy of Douglas first came out, Mr. Sheridan, then manager of the Dublin theatre, received a printed copy of it from London, which having, according to custom, previously read to his company, he cast for representation; for it is true he highly admired it, and apprized the performers, it was his intention to give the author his third nights, as if the play had been originally brought out at his own house; an unprecedented act of liberality in the manager, which, it was thought, would be wonderfully productive to the author. The first night, as the play had received the sanction of a British audience, the house was crammed, and the second night kept pace with the first. The printers meanwhile were not idle; it now issued from the Irish press, and, unfortunately for the poor author, a dissenting clergyman, with an ecclesiastical anathema against him annexed. Things instantly took a new turn; the play was reprobated, and considered as a profanation of the clerical character; a faction was raised against it, and the third night, which was expected to be an overflow, fell miserably short of expenses. The manager was in an awkward predicament; he was the cause of raising expectations, at least innocently, that could not be answered; and stood committed to the author and his friends in a business which unforeseen accidents had utterly defeated. An unfeeling mind might have let it rest there; but it was not an unfeeling mind that dictated the measure. Something must be done: and though the writer of this account was at the time a very young man, Mr. Sheridan was pleased to communicate to him his difficulties on the occasion. The first idea was to write a friendly letter to the rev. author, and accompany it with a handsome piece of plate. To this I took the liberty to object, for, as I understood he was not a family man, it might run him to expence in showing it; which, in such a case, was a very natural piece of vanity, and surely in itself no way reprehensible. I rather thought something he could conveniently carry about with him would answer better; suppose a piece of gold in the way of a medal, Mr. Sheridan thanked me for the hint, and advising with Mr. Robert Calderwood (of Cork-hill), a silversmith of the first eminence, a man of letters also and good taste, he threw out the very same idea, influenced by pretty much the same reasons. It was executed accordingly; the intrinsic value somewhere about twenty guineas. On one side was engraved a laurel wreath, and on the reverse, as nearly as I remember, at the distance of almost forty years, the following inscription: Thomas Sheridan, manager of the Theatre royal, Smock-alley, Dublin, presents this small token of his gratitude to the author of Douglas, for his having enriched the stage with a perfect tragedy.' Soon after I carried it with me to London, and through the favor of Lord Macartney, it was delivered to the minister, Lord Bute, for his countryman, the author of Douglas. But even this also he was near being deprived of; on the road, a few miles from London, I was stopped by highwaymen, and preserved the well-meant

offering, by the sacrifice of my purse, at the imminent peril of my life. It was considered merely as a sort of compensation for the disappointment in regard of the third night's profits, and certainly no proof of ostentation in the manager."

Johnson's mistaken view of this subject, and his ungracious conduct towards Sheridan, to whose exertions he principally owed his pension, have been detailed as follows by Boswell under the year 1772:

"Johnson.-Sheridan is a wonderful admirer of the tragedy of Douglas, and presented its author with a gold medal. Some years ago, at a coffee-house in Oxford, I called to him, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Sheridan, how came you to give a gold medal to Home, for writing that foolish play?' This, you see, was wanton and

insolent; but I meant to be wanton and insolent. A medal has no value but as a stamp of merit. And was Sheridan to assume to himself the right of giving that stamp? If Sheridan was magnificent enough to bestow a gold medal as an honorary reward of dramatic excellence, he should have requested one of the Universities to choose the person on whom it should be conferred. Sheridan had no right to give a stamp of merit: it was counterfeiting Apollo's coin."

Solomon Whyte's estates in Longford passed after his death in 1757 to Richard Chamberlaine, his nephew. Samuel Whyte being thus left but ill provided for, was induced by Thomas Sheridan to entertain the idea of establishing a school chiefly for the instruction of youth in the English language, the cultivation of which had been strenuously advocated by Sheridan in his lectures on oratory, noticed in the first paper of this series. The influence of the Sheridans and their relatives having been actively exerted in favor of Whyte, he was enabled to open his "English grammar school," at no. 75, Grafton-street,* in 1758, with considerable éclat, and among his first pupils were Richard Brinsley and Alicia, the children of his relative Frances Sheridan, who was "the friend and parent of his youth." Whyte's clementary treatise on the English language, printed in 1761, though not published till

This house is at present numbered 79 Grafton-street; Whyte's school-rooms were in Johnston's-court. Moore's father resided in that court before his removal to Aungier-street, and the locality figured conspicuously in the scandalous chronicles of Dublin during the first thirty years of the reign of George III. On the opposite side of the street stands "Little Grafton-street," which was originally styled "Span's-lane," from a family of that name who resided close to it in Grafton-street in the middle of the last century.