sure that Frere would fall into her hands. She watched, and watched, and watched. Oh! not in vain this time. She saw him: saw him looking from the balcony of a well-built comfortable house, and saw the Creole enter. tion averted, he made way once more into the yielding heart that listened. He falsified his whole life; his reasons for leaving her, his trials and persecutious, his long imprisonments, the anger of her relations. As to love, he had known other women, but never really loved, except herself. He Ailie never prayed; or she might have asked for no love - only aid to escape to prayed then to keep her senses, so flutAmerica or the West Indies. She could tering and leaping were the pulses of heart give it. She could be his saviour, his and brain. Afraid to leave, and miss him, guardian angel. Some day, when her boy as on that former occasion, she stood wistwas old enough to understand, he would fully considering, and looking about for bless her a thousand times over for saving a policeman on his beat to call the detechim from the heritage of indelible shame tive who was watching in Manchester Square. consequent on the disgrace and despair of She saw one advancing, and went swiftly his father. The smuggler's death need not up to him. She spoke in a hurried breathbe the horror to her that it was to the Eng-less tone: "In there (pointing to the Only in Eng- house) lives the man who committed that murder in the Isle of Wight; you will get a reward here is the placard; go in and take him. lishwomen who witnessed it. land is such a calm value set on human life. Thousands of soldiers die on the field as suddenly. Every bullet has its billet. He did not mean to slay the man, but to shake While the man stood hesitating, mutterhimself free: he was maddened and being something in a doubtful and surprised wildered by meeting her. He scarce knew tone about a "warrant," and "speaking to what he did at the time. Any way, if he the sergeant of the force," the Creole was the veriest wretch that ever burdened passed out again. Her veil was down, and earth, she had loved him once, and by that she moved slowly and sadly with her handlove and by her child's life, he besought her kerchief to her face as though weeping. pity, her pity, and nothing more. So that, Her dress brushed lightly against Ailie's as in the onward years when she was happy she went by, and the latter drew back from and blest, she might think of the miser- the contact with an angry shudder. able wanderer who had gone to die in the Far West, and rejoice that she, at least, had had compassion in the sorest need of his hunted and persecuted life. "I live," she said at last, "in Manchester Square. Take an apartment near there, and I will come and see you, and talk of possible things and ships that will sail soon.' There was a pause, and she added in a low voice, "Do not be miserable!" "Do not be miserable.” She did not belong to the class of women who slay Jason's children to punish Jason. She had melted. The exulting blood bounded in the man's heart. Gaining so much, he might yet gain more. "Go in now," she said to the policeman in a hoarse whisper, "the servant-girl is still standing at the open door: there is a large reward, I tell you. Here is your sergeant coming." The detective at this moment joined them. The two men advanced, and Ailie followed. They passed together up the stairs, and opened the door of the sittingroom. Frere sat at the writing-table, with his back to them, apparently too intent on his occupation to notice the intrusion. The detective moved forward a pace or two, touched him on the shoulder, and stepped back again, as if prepared for any show of resistance he might offer. But But Ailie also had thought over "possi- nothing of the kind seemed impending. bilities." And among those possibilities He rose quietly and slowly, and turning she classed the meeting with this lost round deliberately, faced Ailie Ross. She Anita. She had ascertained her name, or gave a cry, and darted to the door. the name she went by, from the people of "It is not the right person,” she exclaimed.. the hotel in the Isle of Wight, and her ad-"They have changed clothes; he has es-dress in London. caped! Follow him: he cannot have got far! This is a woman!" The day came, and the hour, when Frere was once more within reach of her cat-like "Yes," said the Creole, as she fixed her spring. He had not left in any ship. He large dark eyes scornfully on Alice. "I am was in the lodging near Manchester Square, a woman, though wear the garb of a and Ailie, prowling near the Creole's house, man; and you, you are a tigress, perhaps, saw her go forth in the late dim hours though you wear the garb of a woman. always in one direction. Then she made | He saw you from his balcony. He saw you !'» ry: RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. To From the Fortnightly Review. | into the gayest society in England, which ON the 18th of December, 1813, Lord mine personal compliment paid me in the pres ence of the British nation." When one eminent man, having been flattered by another, repays the debt in like coin, his action is not wholly disinterested, nor should it be rated beyond its worth. So little is this maxim regarded in Sheridan's case, that the speech of Byron and the phrase of Gibbon have been generally accepted as representing, not the utterance of a young enthusiast and the expression of a single compliment, but as embodying the judgment of two distinguished contemporaries which posterity would do wrong to question. Ought posterity to ratify that decision? if not, what should be its verdict? I. When still a youth and dependent on his wits for a livelihood, Sheridan was admitted Though the son of a player, and destitute of wealthy or influential patrons, Sheridan yet succeeded in moving on terms of equality with the most notable personages in Bath. He could write such verses as in those days were regarded as poetry. Whoever could do this better than the crowd of polite versifiers had then an opportunity for distinguishing himself, for Lady Miller, a would-be poetess, had established a sort of poetical competition in which all might take ion, sufficiently exalted. The prize was a whose merit or rank was, in her opinpart myrtle wreath which she bestowed with her own hand. Sheridan had the pleasure of joining in the game, and the honour, if such it can be styled, of winning many a crown. He derived more solid advantage from watching the manners of the motley group of characters there assembled, and storing his mind with the traits of character with which he afterwards endowed his heroes and heroines of dramatic life. He had the still greater satisfaction of figuring in an exploit which made him for a time the talk of society. Miss Linley was then the loveliest and most popular of public singers. The charms of her voice attracted immense audiences; the charms of her person attracted numerous suitors. Men of large fortune, and men of rank, men who had no reputation to lose, and men who had a reputation to make, contended for her hand. Among the rivals were Sheridan's most intimate friend, H lhed, and his elder brother Charles. One by one they retired from the struggle. The most romantic and generous was Mr. Long, an elderly gentleman of fortune. On being told by Miss Linley, that if she married she could never love him, he abandoned his suit, and settled upon her the sum of three thousand pounds by way of compensation for any pain he might have caused her. The most ignoble of the band was a Captain Matthews. He was that most despicable of all creatures, a married rake. In order to gratify his passion for the fascinating singer, he was prepared to commit bigamy or adultery. It was Sheridan who at once thwarted his projects, and became possessor of the treasure for which So many had vainly sighed and striven. Under the pretext of shielding her from the base solicitations of a man she detested, Sheridan persuaded Miss Linley to elope with him. They escaped to France and were married. Even in this busy and common-sense age the conduct of the young man who should act as Sheridan then did would be the topic of many tongues, and the subject of newspaper articles. He would bave succeeded in making himself a name. Whoever does this has taken the first step in gaining the favour of the public. It is equivalent to a letter of introduction. Whatever such an one may do next will assuredly be watched with interest by some persons. Nothing is more distasteful to the general public than the endeavour to enlist its sympathies on behalf of an unknown person. He is looked upon with the aversion which the Romans manifested for a new man. The confessions of an avowed reprobate will be more widely read than the life of the philanthropist who does good by stealth. If these remarks have a direct application now, they are still more applicable to the period when Sheridan became the talk of the town. The interest excited by the first intelligence of his adventure was kept alive by the consequences which naturally flowed from it. In accordance with the barbarous custom of the time, Captain Matthews sought to avenge his defeat by slaying his successful rival. Two duels were fought, but without fatal results. Indeed, the dispute between the pair became changed into a controversy as to the fairness which they had shown in their attempts to kill each other. This gave fresh matter for the newspapers, and hindered the scandal from being too soon forgotten. The end was that all parties ceased their recriminations, because Sheridan was too indolent to furnish fresh topics for controversy. His opponents having circulated reports reflecting on his honour, he requested Woodfall to publish them at length in the Morning Advertiser, as a preliminary to his refuting them in detail. In compliance with his wish, the charges were printed and circulated. He forgot to answer them! Excepting the sun of money he got with his wife, he had no pecuniary resource. Had he consented to his wife's singing in public he would have gained an income from her professional labours which would have amply sufficed for all moderate demands. But he was chivalrous, or, as some may think, Quixotic enough to hold that he would have been dishonoured had he trusted for an income to the exercise of his wife's splendid talents. By the thinking section of the public his conduct in this matter was deservedly applauded. Under the circumstances, he had no option between doing what he shrank from with loathing, and earning a living by means of his pen. In concert with his friend Halhed, he had already made a venture as a man of letters. They had published a versified translation of the flowery prose of Aristænetus, a Greek writer whose work few had ever heard of, and fewer still had read. The translation met with the reception it merited: the wise critics styled it labour expended in vain; the foolish critics attributed it to Dr. Johnson or Dr. Armstrong. Before making another attempt he tried many experiments which, fortunately for his fame, were not printed during his lifetime. Among these were essays like those of the Spectator; letters after the manner of Lord Chesterfield. Had he written fifty years earlier he would have persevered in essay writing: fifty years later he would have forwarded articles to the editor of the Edinburgh. As it was, he had the discernment to perceive, and the ability to gratify, the taste of the time. He composed The Rivals, and became famous. Sheridan was twenty-four years of age when, in 1775, this play was first performed at Covent Garden. The theatre-going public was then ready to welcome anything which was fresh as well as clever, The licence of Wycherley and Congreve was no longer tolerated, but a substitute which should contain wit without alloy was not yet forthcoming. New plays were produced nearly as frequently as new novels are now published; the result being that a good play was then as great a rarity as a really good novel is at present. Besides, the audiences which then filled a theatre went to criticise quite as much as be amused. The opinion of the pit was the terror of the young and inexperienced dramatist. There were few professional newspaper critics to puff the plays of their friends and censure those of their rivals. An audience | ence were alike dissatisfied; but this feel- He worked the rich vein with assiduity, At first the change in the management occasioned disappointment. Instead of beginning his new career with an original Comedy, Sheridan contented himself with purging Vanburgh's play, The Relapse. of indecency, and changing the title to A Trip to Scarborough. The actors and the audi ing was exchanged for one of surprise and pleasure, when, a few months afterwards, The School for Scandal was written and put on the stage. The opinion now became general that in the author of that comedy England had acquired another great dramatist. It was believed that while he might write more comedies, he could not possibly write any which should surpass those he had produced. This appeared to be his own impression also. Although he made sketches of others, yet he never completed them. His last theatrical venture of an original kind was The Critic, a farce produced four years after his first comedy. This farce at once became popular, and, like the School for Scandal, is still hailed with applause whenever competent actors can be found to fill the principal parts. At the age of twenty-eight he abandoned the composition of plays, having within the compass of four years produced three of remarkable excellence. Two years after ceasing to compose for the stage he took his seat in the House of Commons as a member for Stafford, and delivered his maiden speech. From one whose reputation for wit was so great, much was expected, but the result was unsatisfactory. The duller members reckoned on an addition to their ranks. Mr. Rigby, a veteran place-hunter, sneered at the new member's fine sentiments. But Fox was ready with a retort, which turned the laugh against Sheridan's opponents, and not long afterwards Sheridan attacked those who had attempted to put him to shame. His onslaught was so effective that their discomfiture was complete. It was evident that he had the power to take high rank as an orator; he certainly spared no efforts to ensure scccess, and the result was that while still a young member of the House, he was acknowledged to be one of its most brilliant ornaments. In the year 1782 the Whig party succeeded to office with the Marquis of Rockingham as premier. Although Sheridan had been in the House two years only, yet so highly did the party value his services that he was appointed an under Secretary of State. When the Coalition Ministry was formed after Lord Rockingham's death, Sheridan again held office. That he should have so quickly won his way as a politician proves that he was able to impress his friends with confidence in his abilities. was confidence more misplaced. Seldom has a more incompetent official, who was neither a peer nor a peer's son, occupied a Never, perhips, responsible post in the State. One thing connected with his official duties attracted less notice then than it would do now, or rather the times have so changed as to render it no longer possible for any one to do again what Sheridan did: he was at once a Secretary to the Treasury and the manager in reality, though not in name, of Drury Lane Theatre. He deserves the merit of having given open expression to a view respecting the manner in which the State ought to be served that is generally entertained by officials, but which none, excepting Sheridan, have had the frankness to avow. It consists in regarding the occupancy of a post to imply the receipt of pay combined with the absence of work. If other officials were courageous enough to brave public opinion, many would copy bis example, and order the notice to be affixed to the doors of their offices which was placed on that of his: "No applications can be received here on Sundays, nor any business done here during the remainder of the week."* His enjoyment of the sweets of office was short-lived. The downfall of the Coalition Ministry was followed by the disruption of the Whig party. Twenty years elapsed before that party again returned to power for a brief season, to be followed by another lengthened exclusion from official influence over the conduct of public affairs. Meantime, its chiefs, among whom Sheridan was one of the most popular, devoted themselves to criticising the acts of the Government, and endeavouring to oppose the undue ascendancy of the Crown as exercised through the medium of councel'ors far too subservient to the caprices of the sovereign and too indifferent about the welfare of their country men. On a memorable occasion the opposing factions made common cause, and united to bring to the bar of justice one who in the estimation of many enlightened men was the greatest criminal of the age. The impeachment of Warren Hastings was an act of which the merit cannot easily be overrated. During the latter part of the eighteenth century there were plenty of great orators and astute statesmen, but the display of great virtues was then far rarer than the manifestation of great talents. On the part of the ablest politicians, and on the part of a large section of the community, there was too conspicuous a leaning in favour of high-handed measures. Nothing *Sheridan's notice ended with the word Sundays. The remainder was added by a wicked wag. Liv. Age. was then so much admired as success. Among successful men, there were few to rival Lord Clive and Warren Hastings. They had extended the rule of Englishmen over countries of which the very names were synonymous with fabulous wealth and boundless extent. To have conquered the great rulers of India in the face of fearful odds was an achievement which gratified the nation's pride. To have supplanted the French in a country where they had secured a footing, and whereof they promised to become the masters, was considered a national triumph even more glorious than the conquest of Indian soil from its hereditary possessors. But to have done these things at no pecuniary sacrifice; on the contrary, to have accomplished them, yet sent home treasure to add to the national wealth, was a feat which seemed so praiseworthy as to deserve unstinted honour instead of minute criticism and petty censure. He A few men thought otherwise, men of truly noble minds, and loving justice more than glory. Foremost among them was Edmund Burke. He had perused the recital of the splendid achievements with misgivings as to their real character. When complaints were timidly made by the victims of English policy, he gave to them his most serious attention, inquiring into their foundation and testing their truth. The result was to convince him that Englishmen had perpetrated great wrongs on the weak and defenceless natives of India; that the conquerors whose praises were sounded by so many tongues deserved to be stigmatised as freebooters and punished as tyrauts. devoted his energies and talents to bring them to trial, in order that they might receive their deserts. He communicated his ardour and determination to others endowed with less genius but possessing greater influence than himself. The Liberal party in the House of Commons ranged itself on his side. The vehemence and the intense hatred of oppression which characterised Fox were easily enliste l in support of the good cause. Inferior men obeyed the brilliant lealers of their party, and simulated their unbounded and uncompromising enthusiasın. By none was the question espoused with greater cordiality than by Sheridan. He had the tact to perceive from the first that the opportunity afforded him a field for the display of his peculiar talents, a field wherein he could distinguish himself greatly, and widen his renown. Many hours he snatched from pleasure in order to master his subject. All the rhetorical arts in which he was an adept were se lulously cultivated |