which is to draw all the human kind to Drury'. This is become absolutely necessary on account of a marvellous preparation of the kind which is making at Covent-Garden.

"Touching the tragedies you mention, if you speak of them merely as certain tragedies that may be had, I should think it impossible we could find the least room, as you know Garrick saddles us with one which we must bring out. But, if you have any particular desire that one of them should be done, it is another affair, and I should be glad to see them. Otherwise, I would much rather you would save me the disagreeableness of giving my opinion to a fresh tragic bard, being already in disgrace with about nine of that irascible fraternity.

"Betsey has been alarmed about Tom, but without reason. He is in my opinion better than when you left him, at least to appearance, and the cold he caught is gone. We sent to see him at Battersea, and would have persuaded him to remove to Orchard Street; but he thinks the air does him good, and he seems with people where he is at home, and may divert himself, which, perhaps, will do him more good than the air,but he is to be with us soon.

:

"Ormsby has sent me a silver branch on the score of the Duenna. This will cost me, what of all things I am least free of, a letter and it should have been a poetical one, too, if the present had been any piece of plate, but a candlestick !—I believe I must melt it into a bowl to make verses on it, for there is no possibility of bringing candle, candlestick or snuffers, into metre. However, as the gift was owing to the muse, and the manner of it very friendly, I believe I shall try to jingle a little on the occasion; at least, a few such stanzas as might gain a cup of tea from the urn at Bath-Easton.

66

Betsey is very well, and on the point of giving Tom up to feed like a Christian and a gentleman, or, in other words, of weaning, waining, or weening him. As for the young gentleman himself, his progress is so rapid, that one may plainly see the astonishment the sun is in of a morning, at the improvement of the night. Our loves to all.

“ Yours ever, and trùly,
"R. B. SHERIDAN."

The first contribution which the dramatic talent of the new manager furnished to the stock of the theatre, was an alteration of Vanbrugh's comedy, The Relapse, which was brought out on the 24th of February, 1777, under the title of "A Trip to Scarborough."

In reading the original play, we are struck with surprise, that Sheridan should ever have hoped to be able to defecate such dialogue, and yet leave any of the wit, whose whole spirit is in the lees, behind. The very life of such characters as Berinthia is their licentiousness, and it is with them, as with objects that are luminous from putrescence, to remove their taint is to extinguish their

1

I find that the pantomime at Drury-Lane this year was a revival of "Harlequin's Invasion," and that at Covent-Garden "Harlequin's Frolics."

light. If Sheridan, indeed, had substituted some of his own wit for that which he took away, the inanition that followed the operation would have been much less sensibly felt. But to be so liberal of a treasure so precious, and for the enrichment of the work of another, could hardly have been expected from him. Besides, it may be doubted whether the subject had not already yielded its utmost to Vanbrugh, and whether, even in the hands of Sheridan, it could have been brought to bear a second crop of wit. Here and there through the dialogue, there are some touches from his pen-more, however, in the style of his farce than his comedy. For instance, that speech of Lord Foppington, where, directing the hosier not 66 to thicken the calves of his stockings so much," he says, "You should always remember, Mr. Hosier, that if you make a nobleman's spring legs as robust as his autumnal calves, you commit a monstrous impropriety, and make no allowance for the fatigues of the winter." Again, the following dialogue :

"Jeweller. I hope, my lord, those buckles have had the unspeakable satisfaction of being honoured with your lordship's approbation? "Lord F. Why, they are of a pretty fancy; but don't you think them rather of the smallest ?

"Jeweller. My lord, they could not well be larger, to keep on your lordship's shoe.

Lord F. My good sir, you forget that these matters are not as they used to be formerly, indeed, the buckle was a sort of machine, intended to keep on the shoe; but the case is now quite reversed, and the shoe is of no earthly use, but to keep on the buckle."

About this time Mrs. Sheridan went to pass a few weeks with her father and mother at Bath, while Sheridan himself remained in town, to superintend the concerns of the theatre. During this interval he addressed to her the following verses, which I quote, less from their own peculiar merit, than as a proof how little his heart had yet lost of those first feelings of love and gallantry which too often expire in matrimony, as Faith and Hope do in heaven, and from the same causes

"One lost in certainty, and one in joy."

"To Laura.

"Near Avon's ridgy bank there grows
A willow of no vulgar size,

That tree first heard poor Silvio's woes,

And heard how bright were Laura's eyes.

Its boughs were shade from heat or show'r,
Its roots a moss-grown seat became ;
Its leaves would strew the maiden's bow'r,
Its bark was shatter'd with her name!

Once on a blossom-crowned day

Of mirth-inspiring May

Silvio, beneath this willow's sober shade

In sullen contemplation laid,

Did mock the meadow's flowery pride,

Rail'd at the dance and sportive ring;The tabor's call he did deride,

And said, it was not Spring.

He sconr'd the sky of azure blue,

He scorn'd whate'er could mirth bespeak;

He chid the beam that drank the dew,

And chid the gale that fann'd his glowing cheek, Unpaid the season's wonted lay,

For still he sigh'd, and said, it was not May.

"Ah, why should the glittering stream
"Reflect thus delusive the scene?
"Ah, why does a rosy-ting'd beam,
"Thus vainly enamel the green ?
"To me nor joy nor light they bring
"I tell thee, Phœbus, 'tis not Spring.

66

And, Zephyr, I call'd not on thee; "Thy fragrance no longer can please, "Then rob not the blossoms for me: "But hence unload thy balmy wing, "Believe me, Zephyr, 'tis not Spring.

"Yet the lily has drank of the show'r,

"And the rose 'gins to peep on the day;
"And yon bee seems to search for a flow'r,
"As busy as if it were May :-
"In vain, thou senseless flutt'ring thing,
My heart informs me, 'tis not Spring."

May pois'd her roseate wings, for she had heard
The mourner, as she pass'd the vales along;

And, silencing her own indignant bird,

She thus reprov'd poor Silvio's song.

"How false is the sight of a lover; "How ready his spleen to discover

"And Philomel sings on the spray; "The gale is the breathing of spring, "'Tis fragrance it bears on its wing,

"And the bee is assur'd it is May."

"Pardon (said Silvio with a gushing tear),

"'Tis spring, sweet nymph, but Laura is not here."

In sending these verses to Mrs. Sheridan, he had also written her a description of some splendid party, at which he had lately been present, where all the finest women of the world of fashion were assembled. His praises of their beauty, as well as his account of their flattering attentions to himself, awakened a feeling of at least poetical jealousy in Mrs. Sheridan, which she expressed in the following answer to his verses-taking occasion, at the same time, to pay some generous compliments to the most brilliant among his new fashionable friends. Though her verses are of that kind which we read more with interest than admiration, they have quite enough of talent for the gentle themes to which she aspired; and there is, besides, a charm about them, as coming from Mrs. Sheridan, to which far better poetry could not pretend.

"To Silvio.

"Soft flow'd the lay by Avon's sedgy side,

While o'er its streams the drooping willow hung,

Beneath whose shadow Silvio fondly tried

To check the opening roses as they sprung.

In vain he bade them cease to court the gale,
That wanton'd balmy on the zephyr's wing;
In vain, when Philomel renew'd her tale,

He chid her song, and said, “It was not Spring."
For still they bloom'd, tho' Silvio's heart was sad,
Nor did sweet Philomel neglect to sing;
The zephyrs scorn'd them not, tho' Silvio had,
For love and nature told them it was Spring '.

To nobler themes his daring Muse aspires;
Around him throng the gay, the young, the fair,
His lively wit the list'ning crowd admires.

And see, where radiant Beauty smiling stands,
With gentle voice and soft beseeching eyes,
To gain the laurel from his willing hands,
Her every art the fond enchantress tries.

What various charms the admiring youth surround,
How shall he sing, or how attempt to praise ?
So lovely all-where shall the bard be found,
Who can to one alone attune his lays?

*

As the poem altogether would be too long, I have here omitted five or six

stanzas.

With beaming lustre see they dart at thee,

Ah! dread their vengeance-yet withhold thy hand,-
That deep'ning blush upbraids thy rash decree;

Her's is the wreath-obey the just demand.

"Pardon, bright nymph" (the wond'ring Silvio cries),
"And oh, receive the wreath thy beauty's due"
His voice awards what still his hand denies,
For beauteous Amoret now his eyes pursue.
With gentle step and hesitating grace,

3

Unconscious of her pow'r, the fair one came :
If, while he view'd the glories of that face,

Poor Silvio doubted,-who shall dare to blame?

A rosy blush his ardent gaze reprov'd,

The offer'd wreath she modestly declined;

,”

"If sprightly wit and dimpled smiles are lov'd,

"My brow," said Flavia 4, "shall that garland bind.

With wanton gaiety the prize she seized

Silvio in vain her snowy hand repell'd;
The fickle youth unwillingly was pleas'd;
Reluctantly the wreath he yet withheld.
But Jessie's all seducing form appears,

Nor more the playful Flavia could delight;
Lovely in smiles, more lovely still in tears,

Her every glance shone eloquently bright.

Those radiant eyes in safety none could view,
Did not those fringed lids their brightness shade-
Mistaken youths! their beams, too late ye knew,
Are by that soft defence more fatal made.
"O God of Love!" with transport Silvio cries,
"Assist me thou, this contest to decide:
"And since to one I cannot yield the prize,
"Permit thy slave the garland to divide.