most dreadful ordeal to which the human mind could be subjected: all its most precious thoughts brought forward for public scrutiny, perhaps to be misjudged and ridiculed; the labour of months, the hope of a life, to be the sacrifice of a single night; and even he knew not the extent of to-night's importance to the author.
Walter Maynard's fortunes wholly depended on the success of his play. Lintot refused to bring out his poems till the fate of the tragedy was decided; and he well knew that if it failed, the cautious bookseller would decline the publication altogether. A few shillings were all he possessed in the world: and yet there he stood, the light word on his lip, and seemingly far less anxious than his friend. The subject of his play was the fate of Agis, the young and heroic King of Sparta: it gave the ideal of patriotism, relieved by the tenderness of sorrow, and the fidelity of love. It is curious to note how much an author throws himself into his creations: there are his passions, his feelings, and his thoughts. He only models his hero by
