RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. SHERIDAN, RICHARD BRINSLEY, an eminent British politician and dramatist; born at Dublin, October 30, 1751; died at London, July 7, 1816. He was educated at Harrow School, and in 1773 commenced the study of law at the Middle Temple, London. In 1780 he was returned to Parliament, and for many years took a prominent part in the political movements of the time. In 1787 he was chosen one of the managers of the impeachment of Warren Hastings. His opening speech was deemed a masterpiece of eloquence. Extravagant living, enormous losses, and the burning, in 1809, of the Drury Lane Theatre, reduced him to great pecuniary straits. He died deserted by all but a few of his former friends and associates, but he was honored with a tomb in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey. Sheridan's claim to a place in literature rests almost wholly on his comedies - the best of which are "The Rivals," "The School for Scandal," and "The Critic." "The Life of Sheridan" has been written by Thomas Moore (1825) and by Mrs. Oliphant (1883). MRS. MALAPROP'S VIEWS. (From "The Rivals.") The scene is MRS. MALAPROP'S lodgings at Bath. Present, LYDIA LANGUISH. Enter MRS. MALAPROP and SIR MRS. MALAPROP. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling. LYDIA. Madam, I thought you once MRS. MALAPROP. You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all: thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow; to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory. LYDIA. Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget. MRS. MALAPROP. But I say it is, miss; there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set abont it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he had never existed — and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman. SIR ANTHONY. Why, sure she won't pretend to remember what she's ordered not! Ay, this comes of her reading! LYDIA. What crime, madam, have I committed to be treated thus ? MRS. MALAPROP. Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will you promise to do as you're bid? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing? LYDIA. Madam, I must tell you plainly that had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion. MRS. MALAPROP. What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion? They don't become a young woman; and you ought to know that as both always wear off, 't is safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before marriage as if he'd been a blackamoor; and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife I made? and when it pleased Heaven to release me from him, 't is unknown what tears I shed! But suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley? LYDIA. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words. MRS. MALAPROP. Take yourself to your room. You are fit company for nothing but your own ill-humors. LYDIA. Willingly, ma'am - I cannot change for the worse. [Exit. MRS. MALAPROP. There's a little intricate hussy for you! SIR ANTHONY. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am: all this is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. Had I a thousand daughters, by heaven I'd as soon have them taught the black art as their alphabet! MRS. MALAPROP. Nay, nay, Sir Anthony: you are an absolute misanthropy. SIR ANTHONY. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library! She had a book in each hand; they were half-bound volumes with marble covers! From that moment I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress! MRS. MALAPROP. Those are vile places indeed! SIR ANTHONY. Madam, a circulating library in a town is as an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge, it blossoms through the year! And depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves will long for the fruit at last. MRS. MALAPROP. Fy, fy, Sir Anthony! you surely speak laconically. SIR ANTHONY. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation now, what would you have a woman know? MRS. MALAPROP. Observe me, Sir Anthony. I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning; I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman: for instance, I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning; neither would it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments. But, Sir Anthony, I would send her at nine years old to a boarding-school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and as she grew up I would have her instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the contagious countries but above all, Sir Anthony, she should be mistress of orthodoxy, that she might not misspell and mispronounce words so shamefully as girls usually do; and likewise that she might reprehend the true meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would have a woman know; and I don't think there is a superstitious article in it. SIR ANTHONY. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the point no further with you; though I must confess that you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost every third word you say is on my side of the question. But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point in debate: you say you have no objection to my proposal? MRS. MALAPROP. None, I assure you. I am under no positive engagement with Mr. Acres; and as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps your son may have better success. SIR ANTHONY. Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I have for some time had the proposal in my head. He is at present with his regiment. MRS. MALAPROP. We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; but I hope no objection on his side. SIR ANTHONY. Objection! let him object if he dare! No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows that the least demur puts me in a frenzy directly. My process was always very simple: in their younger days, 't was, "Jack, do this;" if he demurred I knocked him down, and if he grumbled at that I always sent him out of the room. MRS. MALAPROP. Ay, and the properest way, o' my conscience! Nothing is so conciliating to young people as severity. Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive your son's invocations; and I hope you will represent her to the captain as an object not altogether illegible. SIR ANTHONY. Madam, I will handle the subject prudently. Well, I must leave you; and let me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the girl. Take my advice - keep a tight hand : if she rejects this proposal, clap her under lock and key; and if you were just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner for three or four days, you can't conceive how she'd come about. [Erit. MRS. MALAPROP. Well, at any rate I shall be glad to get her from under my intuition. She has somehow discovered my partiality for Sir Lucius O'Trigger: sure, Lucy can't have betrayed me! No, the girl is such a simpleton, I should have made her confess it. [Calls.] Lucy! Lucy! Had she been one of your artificial ones, I should never have trusted her. - THE DUEL. (From "The Rivals.") Scene: King's-Mead Fields, Bath. Enter SIR LUCIUS O'TRIGGER and ACRES with pistols. ACRES. By my valor! then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and aims! I say it is a good distance. SIR LUCIUS. Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me. Stay now I'll show you. [Measures paces along the stage.] There now, that is a very pretty distance a pretty gentleman's distance. ACRES. Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry-box! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. SIR LUCIUS. Faith! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if he was out of sight! ACRES. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think forty or eightand-thirty yards SIR LUCIUS. Pho! pho! nonsense! three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. ACRES. Odds bullets, no! - by my valor! there is no merit in killing him so near: do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot; - a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me! SIR LUCIUS. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commision I could execute for you? ACRES. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius, but I don't understand SIR LUCIUS. Why, you may think there's no being shot at without a little risk; and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it-I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters. ACRES. A quietus ! SIR LUCIUS. For instance, now-if that should be the case would you choose to be pickled and sent home? or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey? I'm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey. ACRES. Pickled! Snug lying in the Abbey! Odds tremors ! Sir Lucius, don't talk so! SIR LUCIUS. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before? ACRES. No, Sir Lucius, never before. SIR LUCIUS. Ah! that's a pity! - there's nothing like being used to a thing. Pray now, how would you receive the gentleman's shot? ACRES. Odds files! I've practised that-there, Sir Lucius - there. [Puts himself in an attitude.] A side-front, hey? Odd! I'll make myself small enough: I'll stand edgeways. SIR LUCIUS. Now you 're quite out; for if you stand so when I take my aim [Levelling at him.] ACRES. Zounds! Sir Lucius are you sure it is not cocked? ACRES. But - but you don't know |