. And yet his own songs, upon which his
title to a place in literature rests, were incidental products of his
active mind. He was an actor, a dramatist, and a composer as well. He
wrote some thirty minor plays and the once popular operettas of 'The
Shepherd's Artifice,' 'The Padlock,' 'The Quaker,' and 'The Waterman.'
He wrote also a 'History of the Stage,' 'Musical Tour through England,'
and an autobiography which bore the title 'Professional Life.' His two
novels are now forgotten, but it is interesting to recall that for the
Stratford Jubilee in honor of Shakespeare, the words of which were by
Garrick, Dibdin composed the much admired songs, dances, and serenades.
He wrote more than thirteen hundred songs, most of which had of course
only a brief existence; but there were enough of them, burning with
genuine lyric fire, to entitle him to grateful remembrance among
England's poets.

In all of these songs, whether the theme be his native land or the
wind-swept seas that close it round, love is the poet's real
inspiration; love of old England and her sovereign, love of the
wealth-bringing ocean, love of the good ship that sails its waves. This
fundamental affection for the things of which he sings has endeared the
songs of Dibdin to the heart of the British sailor; and in this lies the
proof of their genuineness. His songs are simple and melodious; there is
a manly ring in their word and rhythm; they have the swagger and the
fearlessness of the typical tar; they have, too, the beat of his true
heart, his kindly waggery, his sturdy fidelity to his country and his
king. There is nothing quite like them in any other literature.

SEA SONG

I sailed in the good ship the Kitty,
With a smart blowing gale and rough sea;
Left my Polly, the lads call so pretty,
Safe at her anchor. Yo, Yea!

She blubbered salt tears when we parted,
And cried "Now be constant to me!"
I told her not to be down-hearted,
So up went the anchor. Yo, Yea!

And from that time, no worse nor no better,
I've thought on just nothing but she,
Nor could grog nor flip make me forget her,--
She's my best bower-anchor. Yo, Yea!

When the wind whistled larboard and starboard,
And the storm came on weather and lee,
The hope I with her should be harbored
Was my cable and anchor. Yo, Yea!

And yet, my boys, would you believe me?
I returned w