ward to the highest distinctions of genius, and hope

"To rival all but Shakespeare's name below."

Though it is easy for the thoughtful moralist to discern even among the sources of his prosperity, the fine taint of disease, and to trace the causes of reverse; yet it cannot be denied that the chances of the game of life were in his favor; and it may be permitted to the biographer to look with a subdued complacency on the splendid elevation of so many talents, and so many amiable and attractive dispositions, into their appropriate position in the world. His means were at this time sensibly improved. His command of money encreased from different sources. Of these, however, it is to be admitted, some were not consistent with prudence. With the improvidence which belonged to his temperament, he began early to draw upon the future, and to live upon those resources which his popular attractions, and his wit laid open to him. But of this we shall have too much to say. During the present interval he is thought to have partly lived by periodical writing, in which he received some assistance from the talent of his wife. Another source of income must have been still more productive. Though he had refused to permit the public exhibition of his wife as a singer; yet the freedom of his expenditure made any encrease to his means too important to be rejected; the method of private concerts was soon adopted, and as his own popularity enforced the attractions of Mrs. Sheridan's voice, beauty, and skill, it is probable that, after all, nothing was lost by the confinement of these resources to the benefit of their proprietors. The style in which they soon began to live, was, however, profuse, and Sheridan was by nature both hospitable and generous. He never, at any period of his life, had any sense of the value of money, and with his self-reliance of temper, he entertained no fear of want. He, therefore, began, as he continued to lavish such resources as he could command. The class from which both himself and his wife were just emerging, is, by all its habits, addicted to expense; revelry is its profession-dissipation its habit its taste is festivity. With this, the ambition of genius, the temper social by nature, and the love of elegance that was native to a taste like his,

combined to add their impulses to the infatuation of splendid extravagance; a passion fairly entitled to its place among those moral diseases for which there is no cure but ruin.

The social temperament which leads to the excesses of pleasure and expence is among the most prominent disposi tions of our nature, and at all times to be illustrated from every scene of human life. But if we may be understood comparatively, it was peculiarly the feature of that generation. Wit was then a passport to the heart of society, for it gave a fascination to conviviality; it usurped a wizard influence over those orgies which held a spell now happily forgotten, over the tastes of the aristocracy. Wine held its place with woman in the song, and flowing bowls were celebrated in conjunction with sparkling eyes: good fellowship was the praise and ambition of ordinary men, and to be a thoroughly good fellow was to combine a moderately fair reputation as a drunkard, a gamester and a rake. Much of the truth of this might be made to appear from the numerous memoirs of the time. But we must content ourselves with the reference we have made to its songs ;-the song is always sure to contain a strong reflection of the spirit of the age. The charm in which care and the tedium of life were “drowned," was heightened by the cordial expan sion of the exhilarated breast, and enlivened by the electric overflow of wit, or humour. Then were these noctes cœnæque, of which the faint echo does not linger in the hall, and brother wits, in the fulness of the heart, were called Dick, and Ned, and Tom, and cracked jokes, or played gay pranks on each other with the malici ous pleasantry of schoolboys. It is easy to understand the adaptation of such scenes, for unfolding and illus trating the peculiar social powers of Sheridan. The refined and graceful allusion, the play of sentiment, the repartee of unrivalled pungency, the humor of comic narration, and the ! adroit practical humbug of which so many instances are universally known. These must of themselves have amount ed to a ruling influence over the spirit of life. There was not then, as there had been in the former reign, and has since in a measure returned, the chilling hauteur which guards the passes of privilege and fashion. The distinctions, too,! of mind, while they had a higher socia!

:value, were not yet depreciated by abundance and universal diffusion. Literature had not expanded into a wholesale manufacture of headless and heartless workhouse ware: and there was more real power in Grub-street, than is now sufficient to supply the daily wisdom of a literary nation. The gold of that gay generation has been, by a liberal alloy, multiplied into brass, and retaining its use has ceased to be ornamental. We may, indeed, aptly apply to literature of every class, and to every department of mental effort, what Mr. Moore says of poetry:

"Besides, in poetry the temptation of distinction no longer exists: the commonness of that talent in the market, at present, being such as to reduce the value of an elegant copy of verses very far below the price it was at, when Mr. Hayley enjoyed an almost exclusive monopoly of the article."

Sheridan's house became a centre of wit, song, and gay festivity; a splendid income, dissipated without control, or providence of the future, added its substantial attractions to the fascination of elegance, beauty, and genius. His hand was not more lavish to spend, than free to give; and had a little prudence governed his life or if events peculiarly unfortunate, had not conspired with his own imprudence, he might have been commemorated as one formed to ornament prosperity by munificence and the virtues of splendid hospitality, rather than "to point a moral" by the bright promise of his beginning, and the sad realization of his decline.

It is, indeed, a curious, but melancholy reflection in his history, that the causes of ruin, and those of advancing prosperity, were at this early period advancing with a coordinate progress; as the seed of some latent fatal disease, which must ere long destroy life, grows into strength and virulence with the growth of the living powers. And to the reflecting reader, there is a strong and feeling contrast, between the condition of pecuniary entanglement, which

was weaving its meshes round him at every advance, and the almost festal abandonment of his home circle, and his brilliant increase in reputation and influence. His house was the home of gay attraction; and those hours which were not engaged in the earnest and absorbing whirl of politics and party, were given to mirth and frolic dissipation. Drury-lane, although contracting and accumulating embarrassment not to be retrieved, was yet supplying a respectable income; and this was sunk, as it was received, in the splendour of hospitality that knew no bounds.

Of this prosperous interval Mr. Moore has amassed an interesting collection of facts and anecdotes, in the perusal of which the above reflections have been suggested. There are letters to and from his wife, which exhibit the steadiness of his domestic affections, and while they afford an occasional indication of the morbid sensitiveness to which we have already traced so much, they show the amiability and generosity of a character which there was much to corrupt and much to pervert in the habits of his life.

Besides that conversational wit which is preserved in his writings, Sheridan was, as might be imagined, equally endowed with that adroit spirit of frolic and facetious mischief which consists in practical jokes. These he was in the habit of pursuing occasionally to a very extreme length. His biographers have preserved some amusing specimens. We must now return to the detail of that portion of his life, by which his place among the illustrious names of British talent must be fixed. The most splendid of his dramatic successes are before us, and he was yet to produce the first comedy in any language. We cannot, with due regard to the scale on which these sketches are written, and the abundance of our subject, af ford to lead the reader's mind through the anxious and interesting interval spent in the preparation of "The Duenna." To do adequate justice

to this most important portion of literary history, requires the ample space of a voluminous work, as it can only be effected by a detail in which nothing is too minute to be important. Mr. Moore has been enabled to trace the progress of the successful dramatist by a succession of authentic documents, for which, if we had space-yet it would be a matter of doubt whether we could fairly appropriate that which gives its principal value to an able work, to which we must acknowledge our obligations. Sheridan's correspondence with Mr. Linley exhibits his judgment, his earnest anxiety, and the diligence of his preparation. He seems to have labored much under the usual embarrassment of those who have to fit their labors to the capabilities and caprices of actors. And these seem to have been aggravated by a peculiar embarrassment in this instance. Leoni, an eminent singer, who was to act Don Carlos, could not speak English well enough for the purpose of the dialogue, and it was therefore impossible to assign him that part in the dialogue which a principal part in the drama might demand. Sheridan's ingenuity conquered this obstacle. After all, on consideration, it may not appear so great. A musical drama cannot be dependant on the interest of the plot, in the degree which might be inferred from the language of the critics of this piece. Its plot is praised by some and censured by others. We shall here give our own reason for thinking it just what it should have been, for the purpose intended. The fault often found with the Duenna is the exaggeration of its characters, and the absurdity of its incidents, when measured by the test of nature or real life. Now, all this is in truth a consistent artifice of the design. It is not within the scope of legitimate art to attempt to excite the attention, by several distinct interests. This want of harmony and unity of effect could only tend to embarrass the spectator, and dissipate the attention. The intent of the Duenna is to delight by music, and to relieve attention by the intervals of humour and playful wit. The plot is no more than the light frame for these; and, consistently with its purpose, cannot be allowed to attract the attention from them by concentrating the mind of the spectator on the deeper sympathies of human nature. There is, in the progress of a well-wrought fiction, an accumulation

of sympathies, and an earnest suspense of interest, which soon becomes impatient of the play of fancy; the song becomes inappropriate, and the jest impertinent, while tragic terrors are yet impending, and human affections are yet writhing in the suspense of jealous doubt. Any plot not absurd enough to divert attention too forcibly, or to untune the spirits for the play of humor, and the fascination of song, is all that is to be desired to create an excuse for the elegant trifling of the comic muse; a playful and fantastic turn is given to the incidents, which thus not only do not impede, but heighten the effect of the whole.

The Duenna came out on the 21st of Nov., 1775, at Covent-Garden. Its success was prodigious and unprecedented; it ran for ninety-five nights. One cause contributed, it is said, (we think by Mr. Moore,) to its success; the adaptation of the songs to popular airs. The electric effect of a favourite air, on a crowded theatre, is too well known for comment; and the manner in which the effect thus produced is heightened by surprise, will occur to every one.

In the same year he entered into a treaty with Garrick, for Drury Lane. This extraordinary man, still in the vigor of his great powers, had made up his mind to retire into private life. He had, by talent and prudence, realized a fortune, which may well have excited the most golden dreams in a successor's imagination. Sheridan had been introduced to Garrick by Reynolds, at whose table, the centre of the wit and talent of the day, they had an opportunity of ripening mutual admiration into friendship. It was, therefore, probably by the advice of Garrick, that Sheridan resolved to embark in a speculation so fraught with extreme contingencies. Garrick probably found the increasing difficulty of controlling the humors and reconciling the broils of these "children of a larger growth" who "strut and fret their hour" in no figurative import, in the green room, as well as on the stage. He thought, however, that the splendid powers of Sheridan as a writer, and his address as a man, would have the effect of giving renewed attraction to the stage, and governing its petty intestine broils. Sheridan was doubtless of the same opinion, and it must be admitted that their premises were specious enough. Garrick's friendship smoothed the way for an arrangement, which, consider

ing Sheridan's means, must have otherwise been attended with serious difficulties, and when the agreement was concluded, Sheridan's £10,000 was advanced by two intimate friends of Mr. Garrick, on two mortgages of his share in the theatre. After some ncgociation the following arrangement was effected. Sheridan paid £10,000; Mr. Linley the same; Dr. Ford £15,000; the rest of the estate remaining in Mr. Lacy, who had been Mr. Garrick's partner. Sheridan's confidence in the success of this speculation is strongly expressed in the following extract of a letter to Mr. Linley :

"The truth is, that, in all undertakings which depend principally upon ourselves, the surest way not to fail is to determine to succeed."

Such determinations are, we believe, more frequent than their fulfilment; and, however essentially they may form a part of the resolution that leads to success, must depend for their entire value on the prudent and persevering activity which can alone ensure it. So far as his ambition supplied the motive, and his vanity the stimulus, no one could be more laborious or persevering; hence the anxious diligence in the elaboration of his dramas. But for money, he had no feelings; his heart could not be engaged in the commercial details of life; and, though his sagacity was prompt to seize upon an apparent advantage, and his fancy to be dazzled by the ambitious dream of realizing affluence, yet it was but the ardor of speculation which seldom follows out the dream of future splendor, into the wearisome paths by which it is to be acquired. Nothing can be more at variance, than the spirit that loves the splendor of affluence, and the spirit that acquires it. The impulse continued not long, but it was, for a while, seconded by those of a different kind. The position in which he was now placed, was one that placed him under the influences of the public, and he had yet in reserve a conservative supply of strength, in his long-projected and unfinished dramas, which lay ripening in his mind.

His first efforts were not such as to answer the very high expectations of his friends. The alteration of Van

brugh's feeble and licentious comedy of the Relapse, must have given much disappointment. In pruning its licen tiousness he evaporated the little humour it contained, and substituted nothing of his own.

It is Mr. Moore's opinion, and his facts support it, that the first sketch of the School for Scandal was among the earliest dramatic efforts of Sheridan. And the finished composition, all perfect in its kind as it is, is not more deserving of admiration than the history of its growth is worthy of the student's attention. It indeed exhibits, on a scale of unusual breadth, the secrets of the midnight lamp. In extenuation of an exposure which has given offence to the sympathies of authorship, we have already said enough. Sheridan's ambition to excel has, nevertheless, supplied very aggravated instances. But it is the property of genius to be capable of indefinite improvement, and it may be useful to ambitious mediocrity to learn this truth, that no toil or time could have achieved those excellencies which the dull may presume to attribute to any effort within their compass. The vulgar adage about "silk purse out of a sow's ear," has a justness of application that may excuse its homeliness. There cannot in truth be a surer test of high ideal excellence, than this longcontinued progress of successful refining; and it will be but fair to observe and admit how small are the improvements which the toil of years can add to the first conception of the moment. They who would lessen the value of the ultimate result, by the charge of labor, would in few instances be competent to distinguish the merit of changes, which can only be appreciated by the eye of disciplined taste. A thousand years of labor could not have enabled Hayley to write "Comus," or Cumberland the "School for Scandal."

We have attributed something of the turn of Sheridan's wit to his sojourn in Bath. Mr. Moore confirms the notion by his critical history of this piece. The sketch out of which it may be said to have grown, bears strong evidence to the source. It embodies the living spirit of the scene with a force and a fidelity which leaves no room for doubt. Bath, the indiscri

minate concourse of every rank, in which so much of the ordinary constraints of human character have been conventionally softened, has always been the fertile scene of satire. The human character is masked by manners and the etiquettes of social life, and the slightest relaxation of these exposes a world of follies else unnoticeable. The humbler classes assert their claim by ostentatious affectations which set off vulgarity in a broader light, and their superiors compensate themselves by laughter. The infirm are brought into contact with youth and gaiety the adventurer with the orderly-the wit with the laughable and the simple: while the ordinary restraints of social convention are lost in the vast and indiscriminate contacts of this vast vanityfair of England. What folly, vice, envy, diseased minds and bodies, would conceal-scandal, the child of idleness and spleen, does not fail to spy with its thousand eyes, and whisper about with the amplification of its thousand tongues. And this is the very essence of the "School for Scandal" - the truest yet severest picture of life that ever came from mortal hand.

We cannot agree in the opinion which imputes to Sheridan the borrow ing of anything from Wycherly. The assumption is unnecessary. Much of his education must be referred to his early acquaintance with the drama. And there is an involuntary and unavoidable reproduction of acquired notions, from which it is unnecessary to defend him. But his real affluence of wit, the abundance of his materials, and the industry of his observation, make it altogether unreasonable to presume that he would incur so needless and derogatory an obligation.

Mr. Moore exhibits in detail the slow steps of the progress, in which two distinct sketches, having different plots, became at length combined and moulded into one. And the still more interesting and curious process, by which point and witty satire became condensed and accumulated by study, until the whole was kindled into a dazzling excess, that pervades every sentence, and animates every character. In this Sheridan appears to have seized and treasured every hint. Every point too was turned in every

aspect and form of language, and changed from place to place, until it was placed to the best advantage. There was throughout a running attendance of stray points, which followed in the margin, for preferment to vacant speeches. Thus was worked out a comedy which, for keen and polished wit and delicate delineation of human views and follies, as well as for the consummate finish of its simple and pointed style, must place its author above all rivalry as a comic writer, unless indeed we should assign the palm to the more natural, easy and characteristic dramas of Goldsmith, in whom much that was sought with art by others, seems to be the spontaneous felicity of nature.

What we have said of the Duenna, is applicable to the School for Scandal. Its interest is not in the plot, but in the workings of character, and the inimitable satire; the moral of the piece can, however, only be defended by evasion. The best defence that can be offered is that mentioned by Mr. Moore, that there was worse before it. It was not a corruption, but an amelioration. Mr. Moore only thinks it necessary to defend "the gay charm thrown around the irregularities of Charles." The "poetical justice exercised upon the Turtuffe of sentiment," (Joseph Surface,) he places in the opposite scale, as "a service done to morals." The time is past when this would be worth disputing by argument; but we must strongly record our protest against the fallacy. No one so well acquainted with life as Mr. Moore, can be ignorant that the real effect of Joseph Surface is far worse than that which he thinks it necessary to defend. The favorite cant of open profligacy is the charge of "hypocrisy:" and the only real effect of the character is to bring the higher decencies of life into ridicule, by painting them as the ostentatious cloak of vice, and contrasting them with the fictitious combination of virtue in the guise of airy libertinism. We are not so much concerned with the moral exaggeration of both characters, as with the illusive effect. It is enough that the dramatist has supplied the light and thoughtless with a defence of folly, and a weapon against prudence and virtue. The truth of the portraiture