Must broils and quarrels be the marriage lot? To form a plan so trivial, false, and low? RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, Who has been with great propriety styled the Congreve of the present day, was born at Quilca, near Dublia, about the year 1752; and at the age of six years was brought to England, and placed at Harrow school, where he re ceived his education, under the care of Dr. Sumner. After having finished his studies at that seminary, he entered himself of the Middle Temple society, with a view to the profession of the law; but the attractions of dramatic peetry seem to have suspended his ardour in that pursuit. At the age of eighteen, he joined with another gentleman in translating the epistles of Aristacnetus from the Greek; and, before he arrived at the age of twenty-two, his first pley, The Rivals, was acted. In the year 1776, Mr. Garrick, having resolved to quit all his theatrical connexions, entered into a treaty with Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Linley, and Mr. Ford, for the sale of his share and interest in the patent, which agreement was soon afterwards finished, and our author became one of the managers of Drury Lane Theatre. On the 13th of April 1773, he was married to Miss Elizabeth Linley, an accomplished lady of exquisite musical talents. Amidst the cares of a theatre, Mr. Sheridan had not kept clear of the concerns of the political drama. Among the connexion that he had formed in this way was the late Right Hon. Charles James Fox. To that great man, then at the height of his talents, we may most probably attribute Mr. Sheridan's commencement of senatorial honours. After a variety of expectations from parliamentary interests, he offered himself a candidate for the independent borough of Stafford, in the election of 1780, against the gentleman who had for some years represented it, and succeeded. His connexion with Mr. Fox naturally led him to the support of his party, at that time in opposition. His first effort in parliament was on the subject of the employment of the military during the riots arising from the Protestant petition. On the accession to power of the second administration formed under the Marquis of Rockingham, in 1782, when Lord Shelburne and Mr. Fox were principal secretaries of state, and Burke was paymaster of the forces, Mr. Sheridan became under-secretary to his friend, and with him resigned, when the death of that Noble Marquis again changed the dispo sition of power. Again Mr. Sheridan returned to his former exertions with new vigour, and, in conjunction with other persons, set up a periodical paper, called The Jesuit, which had not been long established, when its authors rendered themselves liable to a prosecution. This was not long delayed; for Mr. Pitt, then just twenty-three years old, was t the head of the administration, Mr. Dundas was the treasurer of the navy, etc., and Lord Shelburne at the head of the treasury-board. The powerful party under Lord North was now in opposition as well as that of Mr. Fox, A coali tion was therefore brought about by means of Edmund Burke, the mutual friend of both, for the purpose of creating a majority against administration. This was that celebrated coalition, against which every party joined in mutaal recrimination. On the debate of the preliminary articles of peace, (February 17, 1785.) Mr. Sheridan had warmly sw conded Lord John Cavendish, in an amendment of the address, which went to omit the approval of the treaty. Mr. Pitt, in answer to him, thought proper to commence his speech with the following exordium: "No man (he said) admired more than he did, the abilities of that Honourable Gentleman, the elegant sallies of his thought, the gay ca sions of his fancy, his dramatic turns, and his epigrammatic points: and if they were reserved for the proper stage. they would no doubt receive, what the Honourable Gentleman's abilities always did receive, the plaudits of the asdience and it would be his fortune, Sui plausu gaudere theatri: But this was not the proper scene for these elegancies; and he therefore called the attention of the House to the question," etc. In his reply to this, Mr. Sherida said, that "On the particular sort of personality which the Right Honourable Gentleman had thought proper to make use of, he need not make any comment; the propriety-the taste-the gentlemanly point of it, must have been obvioas to the House. But (continued he), let me assure the Right Honourable Gentleman, that I do now, and will at any time, when he chooses to repeat this sort of allusion, meet it with the most sincere good humour. Nay, I will say more-flattered and encouraged by the Right Honourable Gentleman's panegyric on my talents, if ever I again engage in the compositions to which he alludes, I may be tempted to an act of presumption to attempt an improvement o one of Ben Jonson's best characters-that of the Angry Boy in The Alchymist.” The Coalition triumphed for a lime and Mr. Sheridan again returned to place (April 1783), as secretary to the treasury, of which the Duke of Portland was first Lord. Mr. Fox, at the same time, was secretary for foreign affairs, and Lord North for the home depart ment, while Mr. Burke, as before, was paymaster, In defence of the Bill for the Government of India, of his friend Mr. Fox, Sheridan evinced powers which appeared to astonish equally his auditors and the public The time was however, arrived when the whole men and measures of the English government were to experience a change, and Mr Sheridan, with his friends, receded into a long exile from power, on Mr. Pitt's more general assumption of it-The latter gentleman now became first lord of the treasury and chancellor of the exchequer, with a number of new cha racters in the highest departments of the state. This did not, however, interrupt Mr. Sheridan's career to excellence and importance as a parliamentary orator; for, on the trial of Mr. Hastings, arising out of the disorders in the govern ment of India, on which he had already distinguished himself, he was appointed a manager. The great estimation which he then stood, may be readily conceived by the following enlogium, pronounced on him by Burke, upon exertions in the above business: "He has this day surprised the thousands, who hung with rapture on his accents, be such an array of talents, such an exhibition of capacity, such a display of powers, as are unparalleled in the annals of oratory; a display that reflected the highest bonour upon himself-lustre upon letters-renown upon parliament-glory upon the country. Of all species of rhetoric, of every kind of eloquence that has been witnessed or recorded, either in ancient or modern times; whatever the acuteness of the bar, the dignity of the senate, the solidity of the judgment seat, and the sacred morality of the pulpit, have hitherto furnished nothing has surpassed, nothing has equalled, what we have heard this day in Westminster Hall. No holy seer of religion, no sage, no statesman, no orator, no man of any description whatever, has come up, in the one instance, to the pure sentiments of morality; or in the other, to that variety of knowledge, force of imagination, propriety and vivacity of allusion, beauty and elegance of diction strength and copiousness of style, pathos and sublimity of conception, to which we have this day listened with ardour and admiration. From poetry up to eloquence there is not a species of composition, of which a complete and perfect specimen might not from that single speech be culled and collected "Mr. Fox said, that all he had ever heard or read, when compared with it, dwindled into nothing.-Mr. Pitt acknowledged, "that he had surpassed all the eloquence of ancient or modern times, and that his speech (on the third charge against Mr. Hastings) possessed every thing that ge nius or art could furnish, to agitate and control the human mind." The next great occasion in which the powers of bis eloquence were called forth, was the question of regency; in which he supported with great dignity the rights of his Royal Patron. Thronghout the whole of this important period, the Prince of Wales honoured Mr. Sheridan with his confidence, and which has since remained with a steady constancy. About the same time he also lost his father, who died at Margate, August 14, 1788. The true friend of liberty, he always displayed himself as a genuine loyalist During the melancholy period of the naval mutiny, he said "Whatever difference in political sentiments might prevail in the country, the moment was come when His Majesty had an undoubted right to call upon all his subjects for their jealous co-operation in maintaining the due execution of the laws, and in giving every possible efficiency to the measures of Government." In all questions that regard the liberty of the subject, Mr. Sheridan has ever been promi ment and active; and in questions of commerce and finance, as well as military affairs, he has surprised his most inimate friends, Mr. Sheridan had, previous to his entering into Parliament, increased his property in the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, by the purchase of Mr. Lacy's share in the patcut, in addition to his own; yet the increased expeuses of an establishment calculated for all that was great and gay, rendered the increase of fortune unequal to their support, and produced embarrassments, of which, however they may, on some occasions, delight in the recital, we should not feel warranted in the insertion. In 1799, he lost his lady, who died of a lingering decline. Mr. Wilkes said of her, she was "the most modest, pleasing, and delicate flower" he had seen. Once more he lent his aid to the interests of Drury Lane Theatre, as well as the drama at large. In the latter end of the season of 1799, appeared the tragedy of Pizarro, translated from the German of Kotzebue; but translated with such freedom and additional beauties that it might be said to be his own. It was most happily adapted to the times and to the genius of the British nation, with all the graces and combinations of dramatic interest; hence the applause it met with was unbounded. Notwithstanding the success of the establishment, for which Mr. Sheridan's talents were so ably exerted, its finances were in a state that required the frequent interference of the Lord Chancellor; the decisions of whom were, however, always to the honour of Mr. Sheridan. It was about this time that he purchased the pleasant villa of Polesden, near Leatherhead, in Surrey, formerly the residence of Admiral Geary; soon after which he was appointed receiver-general of the Dutchy of Cornwall, to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. On the retirement of Mr. Pitt, Mr. Sheridan acted as usual in accordance with Mr. Fox; and on the return of Mr. Pitt, to ofice, he did not fail of his wonted rigour against him. On the death of that great statesman, Mr. Fox, after an absence from power of twenty-three years, was, by the unnanimous voice of the Sovereign and the people, called into office, and Mr. Sheridan was invited to share the honours of his friend. He became a member of the privy council, and treasurer of the navy, and applied himself to the important duties of his situation with great diligence. But an event soon took place that checked the apparent serenity of his progress, as well as that of his co-partners: this was the death of Mr. Fox, The pleasing prospects which honour, popularity, and power, might have given to the view of Mr. Sheridan, now soon faded before him." On the subject of the Roman Catholic question a difference in the cabinet took place, which occasioned a sudden dissolution of Parliament; in consequence of which Mr. Sheridan again was found in opposition, in which he continued. We decline stating the wretchedness of his latter end, as that is now known to all the world. THE RIVALS. Comedy by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Acted at Covent-Garden, 1775. This was the first dramatic piece of an author, who has since reached the highest point of excellence in the least easy and most hazardous species of writing. The present play is formed on a plot unborrowed from any former drama, and contains wit, humour, character, incident, and the principle requisites to constitute a perfect comedy. It, notwithstanding, met with very harsh treatment the first night, and was with difficulty allowed a second representation. It has, however, of lale years been always received with great applause. ACT I. Fag. No.- Well, honest Thomas, I must SCENE I. A Street in BATH. COACHMAN puzzle you no farther:-briefly then-Captain crosses the stage. Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the same person. Coach. The devil they are! Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the ensign half of my master being on guard at Coach. Hey!-Odd's life! Mr. Fag!-give us present-the captain has nothing to do with me. your hand, my old fellow-servant. Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas:-I'm devilish glad to see you, my lad: why, my prince of charioteers, you look as hearty!-but who the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath? Coach. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, and the postillion, be all come. Fag. Indeed! Coach. Ay! master thought another fit of the gout was coming to make him a visit;so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip! we were all off at an hour's warning. Fag. Ay, ay! hasty in every thing, or it would not be Sir Anthony Absolute! Coach. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master? Odd! Sir Anthony will stare to see the captain here! Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now.— Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign Coach. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the better. Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. Coach. So, so!-what, this is some freak, 1 warrant! Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o't-you know I ha' trusted you. Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas? Coach. As a coach-horse. Fag. Why then the cause of all this isLove, Love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter. Coach. Ay, ay!-I guess'd there was a lady in the case:-but pray, why does your master pass only for ensign?-now if he had shamin'd general indeed— Fag. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery o'the matter. Hark'ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste: a lady who likes him better as a half-pay ensign than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a year. Coach. That is an odd taste indeed! but has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? is she rich, hey? Fag. Rich! why, I believe she owns half the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the Coach. No! why didn't you say you had national debt as easily as I could my washerleft young master? woman!-- She has a lap-dog that eats out of gold, she feeds her parrot with small pearls,—SCEne II. Coach. Bravo, faith!-Odd! I warrant she LYDIA sitting on a Sofa, with a book in her has a set of thousands at least:-but does she Hand. Lucy, as just returned from a draw kindly with the captain? Message. Fag. As fond as pigeons. Coach. May one hear her name? Fag. Miss Lydia Languish.-But there is an old tough aunt in the way;-though, by the by, she has never seen my master-for we got acquainted with miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire. Coach. Well-I wish they were once harnessed together in matrimony.-But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath?—I ha' heard a deal of it-here's a mort o'merrymaking, hey? Lucy. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the town in search of it: I don't believe there's a circulating library in Bath I ha'n't been at. Lydia. And could not you get "The Reward of Constancy?" Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. Lydia. Nor "The Fatal Connexion?" Lydia. Nor "The Mistakes of the Heart?" Lydia. Heigh-ho? - Did you inquire for Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well-'tis a good lounge; in the morning we go to the "The Delicate Distress?" pump-room (though neither my master nor I Lucy. Or, "The Memoirs of Lady Wooddrink the waters); after breakfast we saunter ford?" Yes, indeed, ma'am. I asked every on the parades, or play a game at billiards; where for it; and I might have brought it at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm from Mr. Frederick's, but Lady Slattern Lounger, tired of it: their regular hours stupefy me- who had just sent it home, had so soiled and not a fiddle nor a card after eleven!-how- dog's-ear'd it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to read. ever, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep Lydia. Heigh-ho!-Yes, I always know when it up a little in private parties; I'll in- Lady Slattern has been before me. She has troduce you there, Thomas- you'll like him a most observing thumb; and, I believe, chemuch. rishes her nails for the convenience of making Coach. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne marginal notes.-Well, child, what have you you know his master is to marry Madam brought me? Julia. Lucy. Oh! here, ma'am. [Taking books Fag. I had forgot. But, Thomas, you must from under her cloak, and from her pockets.] polish a little-indeed you must-Here now-This is "The Gordian Knot,”—and this "Perethis wig! what the devil do you do with a grine Pickle" Here are "The Tears of Senwig, Thomas?-none of the London whips of sibility," and "Humphrey Clinker." This is any degree of ton wear wigs now. "The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, written Coach. More's the pity! more's the pity, I by herself," and here the second volume of say-Odd's life! when I heard how the lawyers "The Sentimental Journey." and doctors had took to their own hair, I Lydia. Heigh-ho!-What are those books thought how 'twould go next:-Odd rabbit it! by the glass? when the fashion had got foot on the Bar, I Lucy. The great one is only "The Whole guess'd 'twould mount to the Box! - but 'tis Duty of Man," where I press a few blonds, all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and look'ee, I'll never gi' up mine - the lawyers and doctors may do as they will. Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that. Coach. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of they professions ben't all of a mind-for in our village now, thoff Jack Gauge the exciseman has ta'en to his carrots 1), there's little Dick the farrier swears he'll never forsake his bob, tho' all the college should appear with their own heads! Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick! but holdmark! mark! Thomas. Coach. Zooks! 'tis the captain-Is that the lady with him? Fag. No! no! that is Madam Lucy - my master's mistress's maid. They lodge at that house but I must after him to tell him the news. Coach. Odd! he's giving her money!—well, Mr. Fag ma'am. Lydia. Very well-give me the sal volatile. Enter JULIA. Lydia. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I! [Embrace] How unexpected was this happiness! Julia. True, Lydia-and our pleasure is the greater; - but what has been the matter? you were denied to me at first! Lydia. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you!-but first inform me what has conjured you to Bath? Is Sir Anthony here? Julia. He is we are arrived within this Fag. Good bye, Thomas. I have an ap-hour-and I suppose he will be here to wait pointment in Gyde's Porch this evening at on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dress'd. eight; meet me there, and we'll make a little Lydia. Then before we are interrupted, let party. [Exeunt severally. me impart to you some of my distress! - I know your gentle nature will sympathize with me, though your prudence may condemn me 1) Red hair. -My letters have informed you of my whole Anthony), yet have you, for this long year, connexion with Beverley; but I have lost been a slave to the caprice, the whim, the him, Julia!—my aunt has discovered our inter- jealousy of this ungrateful Faulkland, who will course by a note she intercepted, and has con- ever delay assuming the right of a husband, fined me ever since!--Yet, would you believe while you suffer him to be equally imperious it? she has fallen absolutely in love with a as a lover. tall Irish baronet she met one night since we Julia. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We have been here at Lady Macshuffle's rout. were contracted before my father's death. Julia. You jest, Lydia! That, and some consequent embarrassments, Lydia. No, upon my word!-She really have delayed what I know to be my Faulkcarries on a kind of correspondence with him, land's most ardent wish. He is too generous under a feigned name though, till she chooses to trifle on such a point. And for his chato be known to him;-but it is a Delia or a racter, you wrong him there too. No, Lydia, Celia, I assure you. he is too proud, too noble to be jealous; if Julia. Then, surely, she is now more in-he is captious, 'tis without dissembling; if fretdulgent to her niece. ful, without rudeness. Unused to the fop Lydia. Quite the contrary. Since she has peries of love, he is negligent of the little discovered her own frailty, she is become more duties expected from a lover-but being unsuspicious of mine. Then I must inform you hackneyed in the passion, his affection is ardent of another plague! - That odious Acres is to and sincere; and as it engrosses his whole be in Bath to-day; so that I protest I shall be soul, he expects every thought and emotion teased out of all spirits! of his mistress to move in unison with his. Julia. Come, come, Lydia, hope for the Yet, though his pride calls for this full return, best-Sir Anthony shall use his interest with his humility makes him undervalue those quaMrs. Malaprop. lities in him which would entitle him to it; Lydia. But you have not heard the worst. and not feeling why he should be loved to Unfortunately I had quarrelled with my poor the degree he wishes, he still suspects that he Beverley, just before my aunt made the dis- is not loved enough: This temper, I must covery, and I have not seen him since, to own, has cost me many unhappy hours; but make it up. I have learned to think myself his debtor, for those imperfections which arise from the ar Julia. What was his offence? Lydia. Nothing at all!-But, I don't know dour of his attachment. how it was, as often as we had been together, Lydia. Well, I cannot blame you for dewe had never had a quarrel !—And, somehow, fending him. But tell me candidly, Julia, had I was afraid he would never give me an op- he never saved your life, do you think you portunity. So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter should have been attached to him as you are? to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was Believe me, the rude blast that overset your at that time paying his addresses to another boat was a prosperous gale of love to him, woman. I signed "your friend unknown," Julia. Gratitude may have strengthened my showed it to Beverley, charged him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, and vowed I'd never see him more. Julia. And you let him depart so, and have not seen him since? Lydia. 'Twas the next day my aunt found the matter out. I intended only to have teased him three days and a half, and now I've lost him for ever. Julia. If he is as deserving and sincere as you have represented him to me, he will never give you up so. Yet consider, Lydia, you tell me he is but an ensign, and you have thirty thousand pounds! attachment to Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him before he had preserved me; yet surely that alone were an obligation sufficient Lydia. Obligation!- Why a water-spaniel would have done as much!-Well, I should never think of giving my heart to a man because he could swim! Julia. Come, Lydia, you are too inconsiderate. Lydia. Nay, I do but jest.-What's here? Enter Lucy in a hurry. Lucy. O ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just come home with your aunt. Lydia. But you know I lose most of my Lydia. They'll not come here. - Lucy, do fortune if I marry without my aunt's consent, you watch. [Exit Lucy. till of age; and that is what I have determined Julia. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does to do, ever since I knew the penalty. Nor not know I am here, and if we meet, he'll could I love the man, who would wish to detain me, to show me the town. I'll take wait a day for the alternative. another opportunity of paying my respects to Julia. Nay, this is caprice! Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as Lydia. What, does Julia tax me with ca-long as she chooses, with her select words so price? I thought her lover Faulkland had ingeniously misapplied, without being mispronounced. -- inured her to it. Julia. I do not love even his faults. Re-enter Lucy. Lucy. O Lud! ma'am, they are both coming Julia. Not yet, upon my word-nor has he up stairs. the least idea of my being in Bath. Sir Anthony's resolution was so sudden, I could not inform him of it Lydia. Well, Julia, you are your own mistress (though under the protection of Sir Lydia. Well, I'll not detain you, coz.--Adieu, my dear Julia, I'm sure you are in haste to send to Faulkland. There-through my room you'll find another staircase. Julia. Adieu!- [Embrace. Exit Julia. Lydia. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these fore marriage as if he'd been a black-a-moor books. Quick, quick,-Fling "Peregrine Pickle" -and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife under the toilet-throw "Roderick Random" I made!-and when it pleased Heaven to reinto the closet-put "The innocent Adultery" lease me from him, 'tis unknown what tears into "The Whole Duty of Man"-thrust "Lord I shed!-But suppose we were going to give Aimworth" under the sofa-cram "Ovid" be- you another choice, will you promise us to hind the bolster there- put "The Man of give up this Beverley? Feeling" into your pocket-so, so-now lay Lydia. Could I belie my thoughts so far "Mrs. Chapone" 1) in sight, and leave "For-as to give that promise, my actions would dyce's Sermons" open on the table. Lucy. O burn it, ma'am, the hairdresser has torn away as far as "Proper Pride." Lydia. Never mind-open at "Sobriety."Fling me "Lord Chesterfield's Letters."-Now for 'em. certainly as far belie my words. Mrs. Mal. Take yourself to your room.You are fit company for nothing but your own ill-humours. Lydia, Willingly, ma'am-I cannot change for the worse. [Exit Lydia. Mrs. Mal. There's a little intricate bussy Enter MRS. MALAPROP and SIR ANTHONY for you! ABSOLUTE. are Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, Mrs. Mal. There, Sir Anthony, there sits ma'am,-all this is the natural consequence of the deliberate simpleton, who wants to dis-teaching girls to read. Had I a thousand grace her family, and lavish 2) herself on a daughters, by heaven! I'd as soon have them fellow not worth a shilling. taught the black art as their alphabet! Lydia. Madam, I thought you once- Mrs. Mal. Nay, nay, Sir Anthony, you Mrs. Mal. You thought, miss! I don't know an absolute misanthropy ). any business you have to think at all-thought| Sir Anth. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, does not become a young woman. But the I observed your niece's maid coming forth point we would request of you is, that you from a circulating library! She had a book will promise to forget this fellow to illite- in each hand-they were half-bound volumes, rate 3) him, I say, quite from your memory. with marble covers! From that moment l Lydia. Ah, madam! our memories are in- guessed how full of duty I should see her dependent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget. Mrs. Mal. But I say it is, miss; there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about 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 Anth. 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? mistress! a Mrs. Mal, Those are vile places, indeed! Sir Anth, Madam, a circulating library in 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. Mal. Fie, fie, Sir Anthony, you surely speak laconically 2). Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, what would you have a woman know? or Si Mrs. Mal. Observe me, Sir Anthony.-1 would by no means wish a daughter of mine Mrs. Mal. Now don't attempt to extirpate *) to be a progeny 3) of learning; I don't think yourself from the matter; you know I have so much learning becomes a young woman; proof controvertible 5) of it.-But tell me, will for instance, I would never let her meddle you promise to do as you're bid? Will you with Greek, or Hebrew, or Algebra, take a husband of your friend's choosing? mony, or Fluxions, or Paradoxes, or such inLydia. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that flammatory branches of learning-neither would had I no preference for any one else, the it be necessary for her to handle any of your choice you have made would be my aversion. mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruMrs. Mal. What business have you, miss, ments +): - But, Sir Anthony, I would send with preference and aversion? They don't her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school, become a young woman; and you ought to in order to learn a little ingenuity 5) and arti know, that as both always wear off, 'tis safest fice. Then, sir, she should have a supercilious) in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. knowledge in accounts;--and as she grew up, I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle be- I would have her instructed in geometry) 1) These books are introduced in such a manner, that that she might know something of the conthey produce either a very whimsical contrast, or antagious) countries; but above all, Sir Anapiness of allusion; for instance, Peregrine Pickle, as thony, she should be mistress of orthodoxy) lady's man, can have no better place than the toilet; that she might not mis-spell, and mispronounce closet; the innocent Adultery is not the most proper words so shamefully as girls usually do; and thing in the whole duty of man: Loid Aimworth (see likewise that she might reprehend 10) the true alliance; Ovid is to attend the dreams of the love meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir sick maid; and the Man of Feeling is to direct our Anthony, is what I would have a woman chavities. Mrs. Chapone has written advice to young know; - and I don't think there is a superstitious 11) article in it. Roderick Random's peregrinations are confined to the Maid of the Mill) has debased himself by a mes women upon marriage, etc. s) New for Mrs. Malaprop's "words so ingeniously misapplied, without being mispronounced." We can be lavish of any thing, but we must throw away ourselves. 3) Obliterate. 4) Extricate. 5) Incontrovertible. 1) Misanthropist. |