from their father in English grammar and ora— tory. Of this advantage, however, it is probable, only the elder son availed himself, as Richard, who seems to have been determined to owe all his excellence to nature alone, was found as impracticable a pupil at home as at school. But, however inattentive to his studies he may have been at Harrow, it appears, from one of the letters of his school-fellow, Mr. Halhed, that, in poetry, which is usually the first exercise in which these young athlete of intellect try their strength, he had already distinguished himself— and, in conjunction with his friend Halhed, had translated the seventh Idyl, and many of the lesser poems of Theocritus. This literary partnership was resumed soon after their departure from Harrow. In the year 1770, when Halhed was at Oxford, and Sheridan residing with his father at Bath, they entered into a correspondence (of which unluckily only Halhed's share remains), and, with all the hope and spirit of young adventurers, began and prosecuted a variety of works together, of which none but their translation of Aristanetus ever saw the light. There is something in the alliance between these boys peculiarly interesting. Their united ages, as Halhed boasts in one of his letters, did not amount to thirty-eight. They were both abounding in wit and spirits, and as sanguine as the consciousness of talent and youth could make them; both inspired with a taste for pleasure, and thrown upon their own resources for the means of gratifying it; both carelessly embarking, without rivalry or reserve, their venture of fame in the same bottom, and both, as Halhed discovered at last, passionately in love with the same woman. It would have given me great pleasure to have been enabled to enliven my pages with even a few extracts from that portion of their correspondence, which, as I have just mentioned, has fallen into my hands. There is in the letters of Mr. Halhed a fresh youthfulness of style, and an unaffected vivacity of thought, which I question whether even his witty correspondent could have surpassed. As I do not, however, feel authorised to lay these letters before the world, I must only avail myself of the aid which their contents supply, towards tracing the progress of his literary partnership with Sheridan, and throwing light on a period so full of interest in the life of the latter. Their first joint production was a farce, or rather play, in three acts, called "Jupiter," written in imitation of the burletta of Midas, whose popularity seems to have tempted into its wake a number of these musical parodies upon heathen fable. The amour of Jupiter with Major Amphitryon's wife, and Sir Richard Ixion's courtship of Juno, who substitutes Miss Peggy Nubilis in her place, form the subject of this ludicrous little drama, of which Halhed furnished the burlesque scenes, while the form of a rehearsal, into which the whole is thrown, and which, as an anticipation of "The Critic," is highly curious, was suggested and managed entirely by Sheridan. The following extracts will give some idea of the humour of this trifle; and in the character of Simile the reader will at once discover a sort of dim and shadowy pre-existence of Puff :— "Simile. Sir, you are very ignorant on the subject, -it is the method most in vogue. "O'Cul. What! to make the music first, and then make the sense to it afterwards! "Sim. Just so. Monop. What Mr. Simile says is very true, gentlemen; and there is nothing surprising in it, if we consider now the general method of writing plays to scenes. -- "O'Cul. Writing plays to scenes! — oh, you are joking. 66 Monop. Not I, upon my word. Mr. Simile knows that I have frequently a complete set of scenes from Italy, and then I have nothing to do but to get some ingenious hand to write a play to them. "Sim. I am your witness, Sir. Gentlemen, you perceive you know nothing about these matters. "O'Cul. Why, Mr. Simile, I don't pretend to know much relating to these affairs; but what I think is this, that in this method, according to your principles, you must often commit blunders. "Sim. Blunders! to be sure I must, but I always could get myself out of them again. Why, I'll tell you an instance of it. You must know I was once a journeyman sonnet-writer to Signor Squallini. Now, his method, when seized with the furor harmonicus was constantly to make me sit by his side, while he was thrumming on his harpsichord, in order to make extempore verses to whatever air he should beat out to his liking. I remember, one morning, as he was in this situation, thrum, thrum, thrum (moving his fingers as if beating on the harpsichord), striking out something prodigiously great, as he thought,- Hah!' said he,hah! Mr. Simile, thrum, thrum, thrum, by gar, here is vary fine,— thrum, thrum, thrum, write me some words directly.'—I durst not interrupt him to ask on what subject, so instantly began to describe a fine morning. I "Calm was the land and calm the seas, And calm the heaven's dome serene, Hush'd was the gale and hush'd the breeze, sang it to his notes. Hah!' upon my vord vary pritt,—thrum, thrum, thrum, stay, stay, thrum, thrum.-Hoa! upon my vord, here it must be an adagio, -thrum, thrum,-oh! let it be an Ode to Melancholy. Monop. The Devil! there you were puzzled 66 sure. "Sim. Not in the least,-I brought in a cloud in the next stanza, and matters, you see, came about at once. 66 'Monop. An excellent transition! "O'Cul. Vastly ingenious indeed! "Sim. Was it not? hey! it required a little command, -a little presence of mind,-but I believe we had better proceed. Monop. The sooner the better,—come, gentlemen, resume your seats. "Sim. Now for it. Draw up the curtain, and (looking at his book) enter Sir Richard Ixion, but stay, ―zounds, Sir Richard ought to over-hear Jupiter and his wife quarrelling, but, never mind, these accidents have spoilt the division of my piece. So enter Sir Richard, and look as cunning as if you had overheard them. Now for it, gentlemen, you can't be too attentive. Enter Sir RICHARD IXION, completely dressed, with bag, sword, etc. "Ix. 'Fore George, at logger-heads, a lucky mi nute, 'Pon honour, I may make my market in it. Dem it, my air, address, and mien must touch her, Now out of sorts with him, less God than butcher. O rat the fellow,— where can all his sense lie, To gallify the lady so immensely? Ah! le grand béte qu'il est! how rude the bear is! now or never. I'll niggle snugly into Juno's favour. My person · (looking in a glass) my face, - 'twill work upon her. - toll loll oh, immense, upon my honour. My eyes, oh fie, the naughty glass it flatters, Courage,-Ixion flogs the world to tatters. [Exit Ixion. "Sim. There is a fine gentleman for you, - in the very pink of the mode, with not a single article about him his own,—his words pilfered from Magazines, his address from French valets, and his clothes not paid for. |