That is the grasshopper's-he takes the lead With his delights, for, when tired out with fun, On a lone winter evening, when the frost Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, With those who think the candles come too soon, O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, One to the fields, the other to the hearth, KEATS. Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong LEIGH HUNT. Scene from the Critic. SHERIDAN. [IT is a painful thing to trace such a career as that of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. The wit whose comedies were held by the most refined audiences to surpass all that Wycherley, or Vanbrugh, or Congreve had achieved-the orator after one of whose great speeches the first statesman of his age moved that the House should adjourn, because it was under the wand of the magician —was in all his private dealings with his fellow-men little better than an accomplished swindler. Pitied he unquestionably must be, for he was the slave of the circumstances that surrounded him, and his false ambition could never aspire to the real dignity which the man of genius may always attain through that independence which is the result of the limitation of his desires. Sheri. dan was born in Dublin in 1751. His father was a teacher of elocution; his mother was a most amiable and accomplished woman, the author of “Sidney Biddulph" and "Nourjahad." When he was two-and-twenty, he married the celebrated singer, Miss Linley, whom he compelled to quit her profession. His first comedy was the "Rivals," which, after a partial failure, was highly successful. "The Duenna," one of the most charming of English operas, followed. By some stroke of policy he became one of the proprietors of Drury Lane Theatre, and in 1777 produced "The School for Scandal,” perhaps the best comedy of wit in our language. "The Critic" followed in 1779. In 1780 he was brought into Parliament, and uniformly supported the Whig party. The latter years of his life must have been truly miserable. He had no certain means of support: he lived in a perpetual struggle with pecuniary difficulties; his necessities could not be laughed away by his animal spirits; he feasted at the tables of the great, and the luxury in which he occasionally participated only made his own home more cheerless. He died in 1816.] Enter SERVANT. Serv. Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir. Dangle. Beg him to walk up.-[Exit SERVANT.] Now, Mrs Dangle, Sir Fretful Plagiary is an author to your own taste. Mrs Dangle. I confess he is a favourite of mine, because every. body else abuses him. Sneer. Very much to the credit of your charity, madam, if not of your judgment. Dangle. But, egad, he allows no merit to any author but himself, that's the truth on 't-though he's my friend. Sneer. Never. He is as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of six-and-thirty; and then the insidious humility with which he seduces you to give a free opinion on any of his works can be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with which Le is sure to reject your observations. Dangle. Very true, egad-though he is my friend. Sneer. Then his affected contempt of all newspaper strictures; though at the same time he is the sorest man alive, and shrinks like scorched parchment from the fiery ordeal of true criticism; yet is he so covetous of popularity, that he had rather be abused than not mentioned at all. Dangle. There's no denying it—though he is my friend. Sneer. You have read the tragedy he has just finished, haven'? you! Dangle. Oh yes; he sent it to me yesterday. Sneer. Well, and you think it execrable, don't you? Dangle. Why, between ourselves, egad, I must own--though he is my friend that it is one of the most-he's here [Aside]— finished and most admirable perform Sir Fretful, (without.) Mr Sneer with him, did you say? Enter SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY. Dangle. Ah, my dear friend! Egad, we were just speaking of your tragedy. Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable! Sneer. You never did anything beyond it, Sir Fretful-never in your life. Sir Fret. You make me extremely happy; for, without a compliment, my dear Sneer, there isn't a man in the world whose judgment I value as I do yours-and Mr Dangle's. Sir Fret. Sincerely, then, you do like the piece? Sir Fret. But, come now, there must be something that you think might be amended, hey? Mr Dangle, has nothing struck you? Dangle. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing, for the most part, to Sir Fret. With most authors it is just so indeed; they are in general strangely tenacious. But, for my part, I am never so well pleased as when a judicious critic points out any defect to me; for what is the purpose of showing a work to a friend, if you don't mean to profit by his opinion? Sneer. Very true. Why then, though I seriously admire the piece upon the whole, yet there is one small objection, which, if you'll give me leave, I'll mention. Sir Fret. Sir, you can't oblige me more. Sneer. I think it wants incident. Sir Fret. You surprise me !—wants incident! Sneer. Yes; I own I think the incidents are too few. Sir Fret. Believe me, Mr Sneer, there is no person for whose judgment I have a more implicit deference. But I protest to you, Mr Sneer, I am only apprehensive that the incidents are toc crowded. My dear Dangle, how does it strike you? Dangle. Really I can't agree with my friend Sneer. I think the plot quite sufficient; and the first four acts by many degrees the best I ever read or saw in my life. If I might venture to suggest anything, it is that the interest rather falls off in the fifth. Sir Fret. Rises, I believe, you mean, sir. Dangle. No, I don't, upon my word. Sir Fret. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul-it certainly don't fall off, I assure you. No, no; it don't fall off. Dangle. Now, Mrs Dangle, didn't you say it struck you in the same light? Mrs Dangle. No, indeed, I did not--I did not see a fault in any part of the play from the beginning to the end. Sir Fret. Upon my soul, the women are the best judges, after all! Mrs Dangle. Or, if I made any objection, I am sure it was to nothing in the piece; but that I was afraid it was on the whole a little too long. Sir Fret. Pray, madam, do you speak as to the duration of time, or do you mean that the story is tediously spun out? Mrs Dangle. Oh, Lud! no. I speak only with reference to the usual length of acting plays. Sir Fret. Then I am very happy-very happy indeed-because the play is a short play, a remarkably short play. I should not venture to differ with a lady on a point of taste; but, on these occasions, the watch, you know, is the critic. Mrs Dangle. Then, I suppose, it must have been Mr Dangle's drawling manner of reading it to me. Sir Fret. Oh, if Mr Dangle read it, that's quite another affair! But, I assure you, Mrs Dangle, the first evening you can spare me three hours and a half, I'll undertake to read you the whole from beginning to end, with the prologue and epilogue, and allow time for the niusic between the acts. Mrs Dangle. I hope to see it on the stage next. Dangle. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get rid as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you do of ours. Sir Fret. The newspapers! Sir, they are the most villanouslicentious-abominable-infernal-not that I ever read them. No; I make it a rule never to look into a newspaper. Dangle. You are quite right-for it certainly must hurt an author of delicate feelings to see the liberties they take. Sir Fret. No! quite the contrary; their abuse is, in fact, the best panegyric-I like it of all things. An author's reputation is only in danger from their support. Sneer. Why, that's true-and that attack, now, on you the other day Sir Fret. What? Where? Dangle. Ay, you mean in the paper of Thursday; it was completely ill-natured, to be sure. Sir Fret. Oh, so much the better. Ha! ha! I wouldn't have it otherwise. Dangle. Certainly, it is only to be laughed at; for Sir Fret. You don't happen to recollect what the fellow said, do you? I Sneer. Pray, Dangle-Sir Fretful seems a little anxious. Sir Fret. Oh, Lud! no; anxious-not I-not in the least. But one may as well hear, you know. Dangle. Sneer, do you recollect? Make out something. [Aside. Sneer. I will.-[To DANGLE.] Yes, yes, I remember perfectly. Sir Fret. Well, and pray now-not that it signifies-what might the gentleman say? Sneer. Why, he roundly asserts that you have not the slightest invention or original genius whatever, though you are the greatest traducer of all other authors living. Sir Fret. Ha! ha ha!-very good! Sneer. That, as to comedy, you have not one idea of your own, |