WITH the exception of Goldsmith’s comedy, “She Stoops to Conquer,” the only eighteenth century plays that still keep the stage are Sheridan’s three, “The Rivals,” “The Critic,” and “The School for Scandal.” Once in a while, to be sure, a single piece by one or another of Goldsmith’s and Sheridan’s contemporaries makes a brief reappearance in the modern theatre. I have seen Goldsmith’s earlier and inferior comedy, “The Good-natured Man,” as well as Towneley’s farce, “High Life Below Stairs,” both given by amateurs; and I have seen Colman’s “Heir at Law” (1797) acted by professionals. Doubtless other eighteenth century plays, such as Cumberland’s “West Indian” and Holcroft’s “Road to Ruin,” are occasionally revived and run for a few nights. Sometimes this happens even to an earlier piece, such as Farquhar’s “Beaux’ Stratagem” (1707), which retained its popularity all through the eighteenth century. But things of this sort, though listened to with a certain respectful attention, are plainly tolerated as interesting literary survivals, like an old miracle or morality play, say the “_Secunda Pastorum_” or “Everyman,” revisiting the glimpses of the moon. They do not belong to the repertoire. Sheridan’s plays, on the other hand, have never lost their popularity as acting dramas. “The School for Scandal” has been played oftener than any other English play outside of Shakespeare; and “The Rivals” is not far behind it. Even “The Critic,” which is a burlesque and depends for its effect not upon plot and character but upon the sheer wit of the dialogue and the absurdity of the situations—even “The Critic” continues to be presented both at private theatricals and upon the public stage, and seldom fails to amuse. There is no better proof of Sheridan’s extraordinary dramatic aptitude than is afforded by a comparison of “The Critic” with its model, Buckingham’s “Rehearsal.” To Boswell’s question why “The Rehearsal” was no longer played, Dr. Johnson answered, “Sir, it had not wit enough to keep it sweet”; then paused and added in good Johnsonese, “it had not vitality sufficient to preserve it from putrefaction.” “The Rehearsal” did have plenty of wit, but it was of the kind which depends for its success upon a knowledge of the tragedies it burlesqued. These are forgotten, and so “The Rehearsal” is dead. But “The Critic” is not only very much brighter, but it satirizes high tragedy in general and not a temporary literary fashion or a particular class of tragedy: and, therefore, nearly a century and a half after its first performance, “The Critic” is still very much alive. The enduring favor which Sheridan’s plays have won must signify one of two things: either that they touch the springs of universal comedy, _la comédie humaine_—the human comedy, as Balzac calls it: go down to the deep source of laughter, which is also the fountain of tears; or else that, whatever of shallowness or artificiality their picture of life may