Life of Sheridan, vol 1 | Page 6

a pupil at home
as at school. But, however inattentive to his studies he may have been
at Harrow, it appears, from one of the letters of his school-fellow, Mr.
Halhed, that in poetry, which is usually the first exercise in which these
young athletae of intellect try their strength, he had already
distinguished himself; and, in conjunction with his friend Halhed, had
translated the seventh Idyl, and many of the lesser poems of Theocritus.
This literary partnership was resumed soon after their departure from

Harrow. In the year 1770, when Halhed was at Oxford, and Sheridan
residing with his father at Bath, they entered into a correspondence, (of
which, unluckily, only Halhed's share remains,) and, with all the hope
and spirit of young adventurers, began and prosecuted a variety of
works together, of which none but their translation of Aristaenetus ever
saw the light.
There is something in the alliance between these boys peculiarly
interesting. Their united ages, as Halhed boasts in one of his letters, did
not amount to thirty-eight. They were both abounding in wit and spirits,
and as sanguine as the consciousness of talent and youth could make
them; both inspired with a taste for pleasure, and thrown upon their
own resources for the means of gratifying it; both carelessly embarking,
without rivalry or reserve, their venture of fame in the same bottom,
and both, as Halhed discovered at last, passionately in love with the
same woman.
It would have given me great pleasure to have been enabled to enliven
my pages with even a few extracts from that portion of their
correspondence, which, as I have just mentioned, has fallen into my
hands. There is in the letters of Mr. Halhed a fresh youthfulness of style,
and an unaffected vivacity of thought, which I question whether even
his witty correspondent could have surpassed. As I do not, however,
feel authorized to lay these letters before the world, I must only avail
myself of the aid which their contents supply towards tracing the
progress of his literary partnership with Sheridan, and throwing light on
a period so full of interest in the life of the latter.
Their first joint production was a farce, or rather play, in three acts,
called "Jupiter," written in imitation of the burletta of Midas, whose
popularity seems to have tempted into its wake a number of these
musical parodies upon heathen fable. The amour of Jupiter with Major
Amphitryon's wife, and Sir Richard Ixion's courtship of Juno, who
substitutes Miss Peggy Nubilis in her place, form the subject of this
ludicrous little drama, of which Halhed furnished the burlesque
scenes,--while the form of a rehearsal, into which the whole is thrown,
and which, as an anticipation of "The Critic" is highly curious, was

suggested and managed entirely by Sheridan. The following extracts
will give some idea of the humor of this trifle; and in the character of
Simile the reader will at once discover a sort of dim and shadowy pre-
existence of Puff:--
"_Simile._ Sir, you are very ignorant on the subject,--it is the method
most in vogue.
"_O'Cul._ What! to make the music first, and then make the sense to it
afterwards!
"_Sim._ Just so.
"_Monop._ What Mr. Simile says is very true, gentlemen; and there is
nothing surprising in it, if we consider now the general method of
writing _plays to scenes._
"_O'Cul._ Writing _plays to scenes_!--Oh, you are joking.
"_Monop._ Not I, upon my word. Mr. Simile knows that I have
frequently a complete set of scenes from Italy, and then I have nothing
to do but to get some ingenious hand to write a play to them.
"_Sim._ I am your witness, Sir. Gentlemen, you perceive you know
nothing about these matters.
"_O'Cul._ Why, Mr. Simile, I don't pretend to know much relating to
these affairs, but what I think is this, that in this method, according to
your principles, you must often commit blunders.
"_Sim._ Blunders! to be sure I must, but I always could get myself out
of them again. Why, I'll tell you an instance of it.--You must know I
was once a journeyman sonnet-writer to Signor Squallini. Now, his
method, when seized with the _furor harmonicus_, was constantly to
make me sit by his side, while he was thrumming on his harpsichord, in
order to make extempore verses to whatever air he should beat out to
his liking. I remember, one morning, as he was in this situation, _thrum,
thrum, thrum, (moving his fingers as if beating on the harpsichord,)_

striking out something prodigiously great, as he thought,--'Hah!' said
he,--'hah! Mr. Simile, _thrum, thrum, thrum,_ by gar here is vary
fine,--_thrum, thrum, thrum_, write me some words directly.'--I durst
not interrupt him to ask on what subject, so instantly began to describe
a fine morning.