e Farquhar--how his name conjures up a vision of all that
is brilliant, rakish, and bibulous in the expiring days of the
seventeenth century! It is easy to picture him, as he stands near
the congenial bar of the tavern, entranced by the liquid tones and
marvellous expression of Nance's youthful voice. He has a whimsical,
good-humoured face, perhaps showing the rubicund effects of steady
drinking (as whose features did not in those halcyon times of merry
nights and tired mornings?), and a general air of loving the world and
its pleasures, despite a secret suspicion that a hard-hearted bailiff
may be lying in wait around the corner. His flowing wig may seem a
trifle old, the embroidery on his once resplendent vest look sadly
tarnished, and the cloth of his skirted coat exhibit the unmistakable
symptoms of age, but, for all that, Captain Farquhar stands forth an
honourable, high-spirited gentleman. And gentleman George Farquhar
is both by birth and bearing. Was he not the son of genteel parents
living in the North of Ireland, and did he not receive a polite
education at the University in Dublin? So polite, indeed, has his
training been that he is already the author of that wonderful "Love
and a Bottle," a comedy wherein he amusingly holds the mirror up to
English vices, including his own. And, speaking of vices, he can now
look back to those salad days when he wrote verses of unimpeachable
morality, setting forth, among other sentiments, that--

"The pliant Soul of erring Youth
Is, like soft Wax, or moisten'd Clay,
Apt to receive all heav'nly Truth,
Or yield to Tyrant Ill the Sway.
Shun Evil in your early Years,
And Manhood may to Virtue rise;
But he who, in his Youth, appears
A Fool, in Age will ne'er be wise."

Poor fellow! He never will be wise in the material sense; he will trip
gracefully through life with more brains and bonhomie than worldly
discretion, yet eclipsing many steadier companions by writing the
"Recruiting Officer" and other sparkling plays, not forgetting "The
Inconstant," which will last even unto the end of the nineteenth
century. At present--and 'tis the present rather than the past or
future that most concerns the captain--he holds a commission in the
army, which he is foolish enough to relinquish later on, and he has
come to the very sensible conclusion that he is far more at home in
the writing of comedies than the acting therein. For he has been
on the stage, and precipitatel