122 S- H E R 
rupted society; the other is the glow of nature. I would, 
therefore, exclude all novels that show human nature de¬ 
praved ; however well executed, the design will disgust.” 
It is well remarked by a writer in the Westminster Re¬ 
view, that “ Sheridan was extremely ignorant, and these 
were the visions of a fasting mind ; in the provinces of wit 
and fancy he contrived to do without knowledge, but when¬ 
ever we find him committing himself to paper argumenta¬ 
tively on grave subjects, we observe a lamentable crudity 
and a lack of bottom. It may be objected, that it is unfair 
to found any opinion on performances not published by the 
writer, and perhaps not intended for publication ; we cannot 
but think, however, that such rough sketches as those to 
which we allude, furnish indications of the furniture of a 
mind.” 
But from the abovementioned source, “ Moore’s Life of 
Sheridan,” we learn that, in an early essay of Chesterfield’s 
Letters, a passage exists from the pen of our author that 
deserves to be written in letters of gold. He says, “ His 
(Lord Chesterfield’s) frequent directions for constant em¬ 
ployment are entirely ill-founded: a wise man is formed 
more by the action of his own thoughts than by continually 
feeding it. * Hurry,’ he (lord C.) says, ‘ from play to 
study ; never be doing nothing.’ I say, frequently be un¬ 
employed; sit and think. There are, on every subject, 
but a few leading and fixed ideas; their tracks may be 
traced by our own genius, as well as by reading: a man of 
deep thought, who shall have accustomed himself to sup¬ 
port or attack all he has read, will soon find nothing new.” 
It is remarkable, that this profound remark has been made, 
in a work just now quoted with praise (The Westminster 
Review), the subject of an attack on Sheridan. It is as¬ 
sumed there, however, that Sheridan deemed information 
might be thus easily acquired; but the passage bears no such 
interpretation. It can be held only to apply to reflexion ; 
and here it is most undeniably true. Facts cannot be dis¬ 
covered by sitting still and thinking; but these, once ac¬ 
quired, we dare to assert with Sheridan, that a man may 
advance more safely and rapidly by sitting unemployed, and 
reflecting upon them, than by filling up his time with hunt¬ 
ing out the conclusions of other people. Let us add, that 
such a proposition from one so young and so uninstructed 
in philosophy, is strong evidence of a powerful and ori¬ 
ginal mind. 
In 1775, he projected and partly accomplished a reply to 
Johnson’s slavish book “ Taxation no Tyranny.” Such a 
work might of course easily have been blown to atoms; but 
this task was not performed by our author. 
We must return to Sheridan’s private affairs. 
In consequence of his father’s residence for a time at Bath, 
Mr. Sheridan saw, and had become enamoured with Eliza, 
the daughter of Mr. Charles Linley, a celebrated musician 
and composer, who had been bred up under Mr. Chilcot, 
the organist of the Abbey Church. She was born in 1754, 
and, like the rest of the family, evinced, at a very early 
age, both a talent and a passion for the art in which her 
father excelled. After two duels with Mr. Matthews, the 
latter of which is said to have been of a desperate nature, 
Mr. Richard Sheridan triumphed over all his rivals, among 
whom was included his elder brother, Charles Francis, by 
obtaining possession of the heart of “ the Syren,” as this 
lady was then usually termed. But marriage was a measure 
that could not receive the countenance of either family; 
however, as prudence is seldom to be found in the catalogue 
of good qualities appertaining to fond lovers, an elopement 
to France took place. Old Linley instantly pursued the 
fugitives thither, and gladly brought back his daughter, on 
whose voice and talents so much of his present prosperity 
depended. Notwithstanding this, the ceremony soon after 
took place in due form, on the 13th of April, 1773, Richard 
being in his twenty-second, and she in her nineteenth year. 
Such was the exquisite delicacy of the young husband, 
that it was not without great difficulty he permitted his bride 
to fulfil her antecedent engagement to sing at the Worcester 
musical meeting; and, when thjs was over, he immediately 
I D A N. 
returned the money. He refused, nearly at the same time, 
the sum of one thousand pounds, with a benefit valued at 
the same amount, at the Pantheon ; but his determination 
to seclude her entirely, and for ever, from the public gaze, 
appears to have nowhere found either countenance or sup¬ 
port, except from the great lexicographer, who exclaimed, 
“ He is a brave man! he has resolved wisely and nobly! I 
know not if I should not prepare myself for a public singer 
as readily as let my wife be one.” 
This, however, was at least a bold and daring undertak¬ 
ing ; for all that Mr. Sheridan now possessed in the world, 
was the sum of one thousand pounds, being the amount of 
an award paid by a Mr. Long, a' rich old gentleman, then 
resident at Bath, for a breach of promise of marriage to 
Miss Eliza Linley. However trifling this dowry may be 
considered, it was the first large sum that had ever come 
into possession of the subject of this memoir; and certain 
it is, that he acted as if it had been an inexhaustible treasure 1 
When this was dissipated, which occurred in the course of 
a few months, some other fund was to be recurred to. The 
law presented an equivocal and uncertain aspect; temporary 
and fugitive essays for the periodical press could afford but 
a scanty and inadequate supply: the theatre alone held out 
a golden prospect of speedy and immediate supply. Ac¬ 
cordingly, the comedy of “ The Rivals” was brought out at 
Covent Garden, in January 1775, about eighteen months 
after this union, and, although at first but badly received, 
it gave a promise of superior talents. “ The Duenna,” 
which followed soon after, was ushered in with such a 
long-continued and uninterrupted burst of applause, that, 
in point of success, it rivalled, if it did not surpass, “ The 
Beggar’s Opera.” 
Mr. Sheridan now began to be considered as a man of 
extraordinary talents, and seems to have occupied a situa¬ 
tion in society somewhat similar to that of Sir Richard Steele, 
or rather, perhaps, one of the great wits in Charles the 
Second’s day. His conversation was full of point; his dia¬ 
logue attic ; his manners fascinating. Those who could 
not bear the father, loved the son ; and two men, who ap¬ 
pear to have in some measure regulated the taste of the town, 
partly on his own account, and partly on that of his most 
amiable and excellent mother, took great delight in serving 
him.—Dr. Johnson, who had quarrelled with the elder 
Sheridan, introduced him to the literary club; while Gar¬ 
rick, who was also on bad terms with him, afforded a far 
more substantial proof of his favour. Being at length re¬ 
solved to retire not only from the stage, but also from the 
management of Drury-Lane, he smoothed the way, at least, 
for the introduction of his young friend, who actually be¬ 
came one of the joint patentees, along with Messrs. Linley 
and Ford, by means of borrowed money, secured by mort¬ 
gage on the property. 
Mr. Richard Sheridan, who had acted hitherto only 
as a dramatic writer, now presided over the theatre, and 
soon after brought forward the “ School for Scandal 
the best and the most popular of his productions. It is 
justly esteemed the first genteel comedy we have; alike 
remarkable for the conciseness and polish of the lan¬ 
guage, the refinement of the thoughts, the easy conduct 
of the plot, and the natural pourtraiture of the charac¬ 
ters. The morality of the piece has been much objected to 
by critics, because, like Tom Jones, this production tends 
to place licentiousness of conduct in too favourable a light. 
But we cannot think this censure well grounded, for great 
care is shewn to distinguish the errors of Charles from any 
thing like gross sensual indulgence; and since such a 
distinction is true in experience, where is the harm of 
describing it. It is no argument to say that we afford an 
excuse to vice, because we depict it in moderate instead of 
outrageous hues of darkness. The reverse might rather be 
maintained. Besides, it cannot be expected that a play is to 
satirise all vices at once. The object of the School for 
Scandal is to shew that censoriousness, malignant detraction 
and hypocrisy are deeper grades of iniquity than sensual 
indulgencies which may arise from mere thoughtlessness. 
