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On the Electrical Phenomena exhibited in Vacuo.

On the State of Water and Aëriform Matter in Cavities found in certain Crystals.

On a new Phenomenon of Electro-magnetism.

On the Condensation of Muriatic Gas into the liquid Form. On the Application of Liquids formed by the Condensation of Gases as Mechanical Agents.

Experiments and Observations on the Application of Electrical Combinations to the Preservation of the Copper Sheathing of Ships.

The Bakerian Lecture on the Relations of Electrical and Chemical Changes.

1826.

On the Phenomenon of Volcanos. 1828.

An Account of some Experiments on the Torpedo.

To Nicholson's Journal he communicated,

An Account of some Experiments made with the Galvanic Apparatus of Signor Volta. 1801.

Note respecting the Absorption of Nitrous Gas, by Solutions of Green Sulphate and Muriate of Iron.

To the Philosophical Magazine,

1802.

A few additional Practical Observations on the Wire-gauze Safety Lamps for Mines. 1816.

Suggestions arising from Inspections of Wire-gauze Lamps in their working State in Mines. Ibid.

For by much the larger and more valuable portion of the materials of which the foregoing memoir has been composed we are indebted to a series of able and interesting papers published in the "Spectator," and we believe justly attributed to a gentleman himself of the highest scientific attainments; and who, we are happy to understand, is at present employed in preparing for the press a detailed and authentic life of his illustrious friend.

No. V.

WILLIAM SHIELD, Esq.

As long as beautiful melody has power to charm, so long will the name of William Shield be held in grateful remembrance. For the following memoir of this truly English composer, and most kind and estimable man, we are (with the exception of two or three brief passages from the "Life of Mr. Holcroft," and from other quarters,) indebted to "The Harmonicon."

Swalwell, in the county of
He received the first rudi-

William Shield was born at Durham, about the year 1749. ments of music from his father, a singing-master, and at the early age of six began to practise the violin, and afterwards the harpsichord, on both of which instruments, but particularly the former, he soon acquired considerable proficiency. When he had attained his ninth year, he had the misfortune to lose his father, who left a widow and four children, with very scanty means of subsistence. As it now became imperatively necessary that he should think of some business as a future means of subsistence, he had the choice proposed to him of becoming a barber, a sailor, or a boat-builder. He fixed on the last, and was accordingly bound apprentice to Edward Davison of North Shields. He has often been heard to describe his feelings when he packed up his clothes, not forgetting his violin and little stock of music left him by his father, bade adieu to his mother, little brothers and sisters, and proceeded with a heavy heart to the place of his destination. He, however, found a kind and indulgent master, who so far from checking him in his favourite pursuit encouraged

his love for music, and even forwarded his views, by enabling him in several instances to turn his talents on the violin to account, by playing at the musical meetings of North Shields, as well as at the parties of the principal families of the town.

As soon as the term of his apprenticeship was expired, he resolved to quit the trade of boat-building, and devote himself to an art to which his disposition inclined him, and to the pursuit of which the encouragement he had already received operated as an additional stimulus. He had by this time made such progress on the violin, as to be able to lead the Newcastle subscription concerts, where he repeatedly played the solo parts of Geminiani's and Giardini's concertos. His talents attracted the notice of the celebrated Avison, known by his elegant "Essay on Musical Expression," who, with the kindness which characterised him, gave him lessons in thorough bass. He shortly after afforded a striking proof of the manner in which he had profited by this instruction. A new church was to be consecrated at Sunderland: he composed an anthem for the occasion, which was accepted, and performed by the choir of Durham cathedral, to an immense congregation. The best judges pronounced it an excellent specimen of church music; the dignitaries of the church invited him to their tables, and his reputation began to rise from that moment.

He was shortly afterwards invited to undertake the direction of the fashionable concerts at Scarborough, and became the leader in the orchestra of the theatre, for which he composed several songs, written by his friend, the much-admired pastoral poet, Cunningham, who was an actor in the Scarborough company at that period. Here he became acquainted with those wellknown performers Borghi and Fischer, who were so satisfied with his talents and execution, that they strongly advised him to visit London; and afterwards represented his abilities in so favourable a light to the celebrated Giardini, leader of the band at the Opera House, that an engagement was offered him in that orchestra, which he accepted. He took his station among the second violins; but the season following, attracting the notice of Mr. Cramer, who had become leader,

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he was promoted to the rank of principal viola, a post which he retained for upwards of eighteen years.

An adventure which occurred to Mr. Shield soon after his first engagement at the Opera is thus related in the "Memoirs of Mr. Holcroft," with whom Mr. Shield had become intimately acquainted in his still more youthful days:

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"It was winter, and in consequence of some new piece, they had very long rehearsals every morning. One day Mr. Shield was detained longer than usual, his dinner-hour was over, he felt himself very cold when he came out, and his attendance for so many hours had sharpened his appetite. He therefore proceeded up the Haymarket with the determination to get some refreshment at the first place that offered. He had strolled into St. Martin's Lane, without meeting with any thing that he liked, till he came to a little bye-court, called Porridge Island;' at the corner of which, in a dark, dirty-looking window, he discovered a large round of beef, smoking, which strongly seconded the disposition he already felt in himself to satisfy his hunger. He did not, however, much like the appearance of the place: he looked again, the temptation grew stronger, and at last he ventured in. Having asked for dinner, he was shown into a room up one pair of stairs, not very large, but convenient and clean, where he found several persons already set down to dinner. He was invited to join them, and to his great joy found both the fare and the accommodation excellent. But his attention was shortly much more powerfully arrested by the conversation which took place at the table. Philosophy, religion, politics, poetry, the belles lettres, were talked of, and in such a manner, as to show that every person there was familiar with such subjects, and that they formed the ordinary topics of conversation. Mr. Shield listened in a manner which denoted his surprise and pleasure. The conversation at one time began to take rather a free turn, when a grave, elderly-looking man, who sat at the head of the table, addressed the new guest telling him that he seemed a young man, and by his countenance showed some signs of grace; that he would not have

him mind what was said by persons who scarcely believed their own sophisms; that he himself when young had been attacked and staggered by the same objections; that he had examined them all, and found them all false and hollow. This diverted the discourse to other subjects which were more agreeable. The name of the person who had thus addressed Mr. Shield, and who thus assumed the office of a censor, was Cannon: he was the son of an Irish bishop. He was advanced in years, and presided in the company with an air of authority that was partly submitted to in earnest, and partly humoured for the joke's sake. He regularly dined here every day. On entering the room, he first pulled off his great coat, and fastened it with two long pins to the back of a tall cane-worked old chair, with knobs behind; and after disposing of his umbrella, which in those days was a great singularity, he used to pay his respects to the company with much formality, and then sat down. He had one place, which was always kept for him; and for this privilege, it seems, he paid double price. If any stranger came in by chance, and took possession of his seat, he would never sit down in any other, but walked up and down the room in a restless way, till the person was gone. It was his constant custom to carry with him a small pocket volume of Milton, or Young's Night Thoughts, in which he had made a great number of marginal notes; and as soon as dinner was over, he regularly took out one of his favourite authors, and opening the book at random, requested the person who sat next him, whether a stranger, or one of the usual company, to read aloud a certain passage which he thought very beautiful. This offer was of course declined by those who knew him, who, in return, begged that he would favour the company with it himself, which he did, at the same time repeating the remarks which he had made in the margin. He then very deliberately closed the book, and put it into his pocket again. Cannon was a man of letters, and had travelled. He spoke a very florid language, full of epithets and compound words, and professed to be engaged in an edition of Tibullus.

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