will neither reform the rake or the hypocrite; the thoughtless will always apply the lash of the satirist, or the plea of the apologist, as suits best with their inclinations.

The "School for Scandal" made its appearance, May 8th, 1777. It had the full run that the lateness of the season permitted; and for many succeeding seasons it appears to have damped the effect of every thing else that was brought out. For a long time it was played two or three times a week, and still holds its unrivalled place at the head of British comedy. One of his biographers dwells more than we should think necessary on a doubt as to the authorship of this play, which was set on foot by some malicious person, and seemingly confirmed by his delay to publish it from an authentic copy. The imputation is, however, too absurd to be met seriously the evidence of style of itself should have been enough to have set such a whim at rest. This witty comedy was as much the natural and perceptible emanation from Sheridan's well-known talent, as daylight from the sun; and if any one else were competent to the same production, that person could no more have been concealed than Sheridan. Nor indeed is the revolting baseness implied in such a charge, at all reconcileable to his character, or with even the least creditable incidents of his life.*

An edition was printed in Dublin. We have it from Mr. Moore, that after its success in London, "he presented a copy of it to his eldest sister, Mrs. Le Fanu, to be disposed of for her own advantage, to the manager of the Dublin theatre." It has been translated into most languages in Europe.

In the year 1778, Sheridan made a further purchase of Drury-lane theatre, "at a price exceeding £45,000." One of the first uses which he made of his authority thus augmented, was his appointment of his father to the management-a reconciliation had some time previously taken place, as might be easily anticipated from successes of which old Tom Sheridan must have

been proud. He had been less successful than his pretensions led him to expect having, as is natural, greatly overrated his own talents. He could not well conceive or bear the public preference for Garrick, to whom he had the vanity to fancy himself a rival; nor did he patiently acquiesce in the little estimation of his skill in philology and declamation. It was, however, thought that his skill and experience as a manager might repair the evils which now began to be too apparent under the management of his son. There was among the players a spirit of dissension, too strong for the goodnatured indolence of the wit. He had also been induced to lend the sanction of his name to " The Camp," a production of Tickell's, which Mr. Moore calls "an unworthy trifle", and which Dr. Watkins mentions as having given great offence, by unseasonable ridicule on the military profession, at a moment when it was rendered popular by the emergency of a threatened invasion.

On the 20th Jan. 1779, Garrick died, and Sheridan attended as chief mourner, at his funeral. On this occasion he wrote the most elaborate and longest of his poems. Mr. Moore justly describes it "as more remarkable for refinement and elegance, than for either novelty of thought, or depth of sentiment:" and to this opinion, which he qualifies by some merited praise, we have nothing to add. cess of this poem, when publicly recited on the stage, was little. The solemnity of the occasion repressed all expression of discontent; but the portentous and sullen silence of the theatre sufficiently spoke its want of power.

The suc

The disappointment of public expectation began to be sensibly felt, and it was become necessary to make some redeeming effort. Sheridan made his last in the service of the comic muse. The Critic" appeared this season, and fully sustained the reputation of its author. This at least is true of half of it, which may be offered as the fairest specimen of its author's wit and powers of irony; while there is in the remainder a degree of inferiority, which appears to justify the no

tion that it was a joint concern between Sheridan and Tickell. The piece is a designed imitation of the Duke of Buckingham's "Rehearsal," written for the purpose of ridiculing Dryden. Nor was something of the same laudable inspiration wanting to the "Critic," of which the principal sufferer, Sir Fretful Plagiary, is the known representation of Cumberland. Some time before, a coolness had sprung up between this celebrated dramatist and Sheridan; and an incident which has often been repeated, is supposed to have elicited the Critic. After the "School for Scandal" had appeared, Sheridan, with the usual anxiety of an author, asked some common acquaintance what Cumberland had said of it.

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Why, faith, he might have been hung beside Uncle Oliver's picture; he had the damned disinheriting countenance like the ladies and gentlemen on the walls, he never moved a muscle." "Devilish ungrateful that," observed Sheridan, "for I sat out his tragedy last week, and laughed from beginning to end of it."

Cumberland declared afterwards, that he had been elsewhere at the time when the incident was said to have occurred. But the "alibi" was late to arrest the summary retribution.

The affairs of Drury-lane became now so entangled by improvidence, and so embroiled by dissension, that no skill, perhaps, could have redeemed it from the gathering cloud of confusion which threatened it. Old Sheridan found his old age feeble to resist difficulties, which, in a minor form had been too much for the vigour of his better days. He resigned the post, and theatrical ruin, the most rapid and formidable of all, began to set in, and to involve the career of his son in difficulties that never left him, until they laid him low. His splendid talents, it is true, maintained him long in a struggle, in which any one but himself would have sunk without reprieve; but he bore it like a living death, through all his brilliant successes-embittering pleasure, destroying respectability, and wearing away the loftier and finer traits of his nature, until his mind was lowered to the measure of his degradation. But the anticipation is premature, and we have a bright and gay interval before us yet.

It has been often asked why, with his dramatic power, and all the advantages of his connection with the stage, early associations, and early success, Sheridan did not take the full advantage of his opportunities, and by persevering in the course thus favourably begun, reap the full harvest of his genius. The answer must contain much of the character of his mind, and something of the incidents of his varied career. First, he was indolent, improvident, and a lover of pleasure; secondly, his fame, his success, and his pre-eminent social talent, opened for him, and absorbed him into the dazzling seductions of the world; thirdly, he was vain, and the fame he had earned was to be maintained by efforts, in the result of which he had a very reasonable distrust. He knew the secrets of his own power; but another course, far more attractive to ambition, now began to open before him.

Sheridan lived in a period favourable to his peculiar talents. As a great master of the comic drama, the stage had not yet survived its popularity-as a wit, and possessed of the first order of convivial talent, there was yet a full and brilliant scope in the light, familiar, and playful intercourse of the great men of his time, for the exercise of his fascinating control over the festal circle. A brilliant period of literature was just passing away into the dull trance of the press, which was broken by the trumpet note of Scott; but it had left its deposit on the mind and tongue, and given an intellectual cast to conversation. The throne was occupied by an amiable, virtuous, and truly British king, whose taste had led the way in dispelling the high-toned and chilling reserve, that checks the freedom of intercourse among ranks. It was easier for the gifted spirit to win its way upwards. And, lastly, the political state of the age was more favorable to the attainment of distinction by men of oratorical power, than it has been since, or is ever likely to be again.

It was the beginning of the great revolutionary period, which has since swept over the civilized world with incessant waves-the human mind had long been accumulating change-the state of society had outgrown the measure and form of existing institutionsa vast mass of new mind, of increased knowledge, and new interest, was to be taken into their scope. A long conversation with the various ques

tions thus produced, had not yet methodized them into mere statements, or broken them into detail. Their general aspect, and, still more, their urgent nature, presented them in a more imposing and formidable character to the fancy and imagination. Instead of sects and corporations, there was the clash of striving nations, the spoliation of thrones and principalities, and the spreading conflagration of revolutionary phrenzy. Such was the material which gave to the public debate all the scope and luxuriance of poetry, and made it possible for the mere exhibition of flowery rhetoric to win political eminence; yet it must now be, in candour, allowed, that the biographer of Sheridan cannot, without great injustice to his memory, exhibit him under the character of a statesman, and that our view of the history of this stirring period must be reserved for our memoir of Burke, with whose intellectual history it is identified. This portion of our task must be limited to the bare mention of the questions which gave occasion either to the changes in which the subject of our memoir is concerned, or which gave the occasion for his appearance as a partizan and an orator. A few words will sufficiently follow up the history of his transition from the stage of fiction, to that of bustling and anxious reality, on which, however we may adjust his comparative pretensions, he soon attained no mean eminence.

His celebrity as the successful dramatist the attractions of his wit-the romance of his history-the fascinations of his hospitality-and that undefineable charm of address, of which so many curious instances are repeated -all combined to win his way in society. His election in the Literary Club planted him at once in the first circle of contemporary talent, and made him the associate of those who could best appreciate and recommend him. It was, as we have said, the day of oratory, when eloquence had its themes of power; and it was quickly seen that his ready wit and fluent tongue were adapted for a larger and freer scope than the social board. He was not master of the extended information, the fluent logic and subtle theory of Fox-he was not possessed of the terse common sense the intuitive justness, and practical mastery of Pitt-nor had he the vast insight, massive knowledge, and copious induction of Burke; but, viewed with regard to the immediate

purposes of public eloquence, it was soon perceived that he was possessed of powers not less available than any of these gifted men, for the uses of a popular assembly. His command of language, his power over the figurative ornaments of rhetoric, and, above all, his wit, marked the popular and effective speaker. If he was not prepared with the treasures of extended knowledge, he had at least the perfect command over all he knew. He was possessed of the cominon rudiments of history, and had that ordinary share of constitutional knowledge, which a quick and sagacious mind can acquire by conversation, with the help of a little desultory reading. The discipline of composition had trained his mind and ear to the tricks of speech, and the artifices of representation. Nature gave him persuasion, fancy, and wit. Thus, though not qualified to lead great measures, or to instruct the house, there was no one fitter to act the assigned part-to appeal successfully to the passions-or to scatter flowers over the tedious debate. The feelings of a romantic spirit, yet unblighted by adversity, were an additional recommendation to those who were the advocates of popular rights, which had not yet transgressed their constitutional limit.

It had been long Sheridan's ambition to fill the place for which he felt himself qualified. And this feeling was warmly seconded by the admiration of those whose influence could pave the way. He was introduced to Mr. Fox by Lord John Townsend, who made a dinner for the purpose, of which an account is preserved in a letter of the noble lord's, from which the following extract will suffice to convey the impression on either side

"Fox told me, after breaking up from dinner, that he had always thought Hare, after my uncle Charles Townsend, the wittiest man he ever met with, but that Sheridan surpassed them both in fertility; and Sheridan told me next day that he was quite lost in admiration of Fox, and he admired most, his commanding supethat it was a puzzle to him to say what. riority of talent and universal knowledge, benevolence of heart, which shewed itself or his playful fancy, artless manners, and in every word he uttered."

This new connexion, perhaps, gave decision to his opinions already cast into the popular mould by temper, as well as association.

Mr. Moore tells us that his first political service to the party with whom he now closely connected himself, was the active share which he took in a political paper called the Englishman, set up by the Whigs, for the purpose of seconding, out of Parliament, the crimination and invective of which they kept up such a brisk fire within." Of this the first paper was written by Sheridan. From this, and from another, Mr. Moore gives extracts, which are not without merit; yet fall far short of what might be expected from the dramatist. The language wants his terse simplicity, and the points are laboured without effect.

His first public demonstration of political opinion, placed him in a close union with Mr. Fox, having his name to a report on the state of the representation, from the Westminster Committee, for the purpose of proposing annual parliaments and universal suffrage. The inexperienced reader might be startled at finding names seemingly so authoritative, coupled with these wild abortions of political fanaticism. But a little acquaintance with party influences, will soon make him understand, that there is little sincerity in such demonstrations. The political adventurer, who looks for support in the passions and prejudices of the people must needs adopt extreme opinions; and he who would hold the first place, must leave no room for a rival, to go further in extravagance. Fox's real opinions fell far short of this unprincipled pitch, although it was necessary to preserve the favor of his constituency, by stretching his real opinions to their utmost latitude. Sheridan's subordinate course did not require this self-sophistication. His subtlety was less than that of his great master, and his sagacity much greater. Without equal power of self-deception, he was harder to be deceived. In common

with the leading minds of the party which he espoused, he was aware that their impracticable politics were but t instruments of warfare and defence in [ the game of opposition, and which he knew how to treat in private with the playfulness of humour.

"When any one," he would say, "proposes to you a specific plan of Reform, always answer that you are for nothing short of annual parliaments and universal suffrage-there you are safe.”—Moore's Life.

Even in his more serious conversation, on the subject of Reform, there was a vein of irony, which pretty plainly hinted that his common sense was not the dupe of the shallow sophistry of party; and Mr. Moore, who gives a longer specimen than we can afford room for, with a candour highly praiseworthy in him, in a pointed sentence, observes-"such were the arguments by which he affected to support his cause, and it is not difficult to detect the eyes of the snake glistening from under them."

In the various authorities to which we have had recourse, we have been very much struck by one very prominent fallacy. The strange contrariety, between the general praise or blame, and the details by which it is followed. One very clever writer, (Life of Geo. IV.) praises Fox as an honor to human nature and with seeming unconsciousness goes on to describe a clever profligate and debauchee in private life. With equal consistency, the same writer aggravates the natural infirmities, and miscontrues the virtues of Geo. III. while he supports his charges by facts honourable to the memory of that good man and illustrious king. In the same way Mr. Moore, whose candour and fairness uniformly preserve him from misinterpretations of fact, inadvertently blames in the abstract, while he does justice in detail. Of this, all his no