Chap. VII.] Potatoes. 157 



pounds had been expended upon embellishing his 

 works ; after numerous commentators and engravers 

 and painters and booksellers had got fat upon the trade ; 

 after jubilees had been held in honour of his memory; 

 at a tmie when there were men, otherwise of apparently 

 good sense, who were what was aptly enough termed 

 Shakespear-mad. At this very moment an occurrence 

 took place, which must have put an end, for ever, to 

 this national folly, had it not been kept up by infatuation 

 and obstinacy without parallel. Young Ireland, I 

 think his name was Wilmam, no matter from what 

 motive, though I never could see any harm in his motive, 

 and have always thought him a man most unjustly and 

 brut<illy used. No matter, however, what were the in- 

 ducing circumstances, or the motives, he did write, and 

 bring forth, as being Shakespear's, some plays, a prayer, 

 and a love-letter. The learned men of England, Ire- 

 land and Scotland met to examine these performances. 

 Some itovbted, a few denied : but, the far greater part, 

 amongst whom were Dr. Parb, Dr. Wharton, and 

 Mr. George Chalmers, declared, in the most positive 

 terms, that no man but ShaAcspear could have written 

 those things. There was a division; but this division 

 arose more from a suspicion of some trick, than from 

 any thing to be urged against the merit of the writings. 

 The plays went so far as to be ACTED. Long lists of 

 subscribers appeared to the work. And, in short, it was 

 decided, in the most unenuivocal manner, that this young 

 man of sixteen years of age had written so nearly like 

 Shakespear, that a majority of the learned and critical 

 classes of the nation most firmly believed the writings to 

 be Shakespear's ; and, there cannot be a doubt, that, if 

 Mr. Ireland had been able to keep his secret, they would 

 have passed for Shakespear's 'till the time shall come 

 when the whole heap of trash will, by the natural good 

 sense of the nation, be consigned to everlasting oblivion ; 

 and, indeed, as folly ever doats on a darling, it is very 

 likely, that these last found productions of " our im- 

 mortal bard" would have been regarded as his best. 

 Yet, in spite of all this ; in spite of what one would 

 have thought was sufficient to make blind people see, 

 the fashion has been kept up ; and, what excites some- 



