set plan could his faculties work, and that the stage, however adapted to the display of individual eccentricities, wants something more than a bundle of embodied fads to make its performances tell. Sir Bubble Bon, Sir Peregrine Paradox, the representative "man who delights in hurry and interruption," the "man intriguing only for the reputation of it," the "lady who affects poetry," and all the rest, do well enough for the table-talk of the imagination, or even to jot down and play with in a note-book; but Sheridan was better inspired than to attempt to make them into a play. He had already among these memorandums of his the first ideas of almost all his future productions, the primitive notes afterwards to be developed into the brilliant malice of the scandalmongers, the first conception of old Teazle, the earliest adumbration of the immortal Puff. But the little verses which we have already quoted were the best of his actual achievements at this early period, dictated as they were by the early passion which made the careless boy into a man. At least one other poetical address of a similar description -stilted, yet not without a tender breath of pastoral sweetness—was addressed to Eliza after she became Sheridan's wife, and told how Silvio reclined upon "Avon's ridgy bank". "Did mock the meadow's flowing pride, Rail'd at the dawn and sportive ring; And said, It was not Spring. "He scorned the sky of azure blue, He scorned whate'er could mirth bespeak; He chid the beam that drank the dew, And chid the gale that fanned his glowing cheek. Unpaid the season's wonted lay, For still he sighed and said, It was not May." Which is, of course, explained by the circumstance that Delia (for the nonce called Laura) was not there. Laura responded in verses not much worse. It was a pretty commerce, breathing full of the time when shepherds and shepherdesses were still the favourites of dainty poetrya fashion which seems in some danger of returning with the other quaintnesses of the time. But this was after the young pair were united; and in 1772, when he had recovered of his wounds, and was making what shift he could to occupy himself in the solitude of Waltham, studying a little for a variety, reading up the History of England and the works of Sir William Temple, by way of improving his mind, that blessed event seemed distant and unlikely enough. In the Lent of 1773 Miss Linley came to London, to sing in the oratorios, and it is said that young Sheridan resorted to the most romantic expedients to see her. He was near enough to "tread on the heels of perilous probabilities "a phrase which Moore quotes from one of his letters and is said to have come from Waltham to London, and to have disguised himself as a hackney coachman, and driven her home from her performances on sevcral occasions. The anonymous author of Sheridan and his Times asserts that on one of these occasions, by some accident, the lady was alone, and that this opportunity of communication led to a series of meetings, which at length convinced the parents that further resistance was hopeless. During all this time, it would appear, the marriage at Calais was never referred to, and was thought nothing of, even by the parties most concerned. It was intended apparently as a safeguard to Delia's reputation should need occur, but as nothing more; which says a great deal for the romantic generosity of so ardent a lover and so penni less a man For Delia had her little fortune, besides all the other charms which spoke so much more eloquently to her Silvio's heart, and was indeed a liberal income in herself, to any one who would take advantage of it, with that lovely voice of hers. But the young man was romantically magnanimous and highflying in his sense of honour. He was indeed a very poor match-a youth without a penny, éven without a profession, and no visible means of living-for the adored siren, about whom wealthy suitors were dangling by the dozen, no doubt exciting many anxious hopes in the breasts of her parents, if not in her own faithful bosom. But love conquered in the long run, as an honest and honourable sentiment, if it lasts and can wait, is pretty sure to do. In April, 1773, about a year from the time of their clandestine marriage at Calais, they were married in the eye of day, with all that was needful to make the union dignified and respectable; and thus the bustling little romance, so full of incident, so entirely ready for the use of the drama, so like all the favourite stage-combinations of the time, came to an end. We do not hear very much of Mrs. Sheridan afterwards; indeed, except the letter to which we have referred, she does little to disclose her personality at any time, but there is something engaging and attractive-a sort of faint but sweet reflection-raying out from her through all her life. The Lydia Languish of early days-the sentimental and romantic heroine of so many persecutions and pursuits, of the midnight flight and secret marriage-developed into one of those favourites of society, half-artist, half-fine-lady, whose exertions for the amusement of the world bring nothing to them but a half-fictitious position and dangerous flatteries, without even the public singer's substantial reward- —a class embracing many charming and attractive women, victims of their own gifts and graces. Mrs. Sheridan was, however, at the same time-at least, in all the early part of her career—a devoted wife, and seems to have done her best for her brilliant husband, and formed no small item in his success as well as in his happiness as long as her existence lasted. It is said that she disliked the life of a singer, and it is certain that she acquiesced in his resolution to withdraw her from all public appearances; but even in that point it is very likely that there was some unconsidered sacrifice in her submission. "Hers was truly a voice as of the church choir," says a contemporary quoted by Moore, "and she was always ready to sing without any pressing. She sang here a great deal, and to my infinite delight; but what had a peculiar charm was, that she used to take my daughter, then a child, on her lap, and sing a number of childish songs with such a playfulness of manner and such a sweetness of look and voice as was quite enchanting." CHAPTER II. HIS FIRST DRAMATIC WORKS. MARRIED at last and happy, after so much experience of disappointment and hope deferred, Sheridan and his young wife took a cottage in the country, and retired there to enjoy their long-wished-for life together, and to consider an important, but it would seem not absolutely essential, point--what they were to do for their living. Up to this point they have been so entirely the personages of a drama, that it is quite in order that they should retire to a rose-covered cottage, with nothing particular to live upon; and that the young husband, though without any trade of his own by which he could earn a dinner, should magnificently waive off all offers of employment for his wife, who had a trade and a profitable one. He was still but twenty-two and she nineteen, and he had hitherto managed to get all that was necessary, besides post-chaises and a considerable share of the luxuries of the time, as the lilies get their bravery, without toiling or spinning; so that it is evident the young man confronted fate with very little alarm, and his proud attitude of family head and master of his own wife is in the highest degree edifying as well as amusing. We can scarcely help doubting greatly whether a prima donna even of nineteen would let herself be disposed of now by such an absolute authority. The |