CHAPTER XI.

AFFAIRS OF THE NEW THEATRE.--MR. WHITBREAD.--NEGOTIATIONS WITH LORD GREY

AND LORD GRENVILLE.--CONDUCT OF MR. SHERIDAN RELATIVE TO THE

HOUSEHOLD.--HIS LAST WORDS IN PARLIAMENT.--FAILURE AT STAFFORD.

--CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. WHITBREAD.--LORD BYRON.--DISTRESSES OF

SHERIDAN.--ILLNESS.--DEATH AND FUNERAL.--GENERAL REMARKS.

It was not till the close of this year that the Reports of the Committee

appointed under the Act for rebuilding the Theatre of Drury-Lane, were

laid before the public. By these it appeared that Sheridan was to

receive, for his moiety of the property, 24,000_l_., out of which

sum the claims of the Linley family and others were to be

satisfied;--that a further sum of 4000_l_. was to be paid to him for

the property of the Fruit Offices and Reversion of Boxes and Shares;--and

that his son, Mr. Thomas Sheridan, was to receive, for his quarter of the

Patent Property, 12,000_l_.

The gratitude that Sheridan felt to Mr. Whitbread at first, for the

kindness with which he undertook this most arduous task, did not long

remain unembittered when they entered into practical details. It would be

difficult indeed to find two persons less likely to agree in a

transaction of this nature,--the one, in affairs of business, approaching

almost as near to the extreme of rigor as the other to that of laxity.

While Sheridan, too,--like those painters, who endeavor to disguise their

ignorance of anatomy by an indistinct and _furzy_ outline,--had an

imposing method of generalizing his accounts and statements, which, to

most eyes, concealed the negligence and fallacy of the details, Mr.

Whitbread, on the contrary, with an unrelenting accuracy, laid open the

minutiae of every transaction, and made evasion as impossible to others,

as it was alien and inconceivable to himself. He was, perhaps, the only

person, whom Sheridan had ever found proof against his powers of

persuasion,--and this rigidity naturally mortified his pride full as much

as it thwarted and disconcerted his views.

Among the conditions to which he agreed, in order to facilitate the

arrangements of the Committee, the most painful to him was that which

stipulated that he, himself, should "have no concern or connection, of

any kind whatever, with the new undertaking." This concession, however,

he, at first, regarded as a mere matter of form--feeling confident that,

even without any effort of his own, the necessity under which the new

Committee would find themselves of recurring to his advice and

assistance, would, ere long, reinstate him in all his former influence.

But in this hope he was disappointed--his exclusion from all concern in

the new Theatre, (which, it is said, was made a _sine-qua-non_ by

all who embarked in it,) was inexorably enforced by Whitbread; and the

following letter addressed by him to the latter will show the state of

their respective feelings on this point:--

"MY DEAR WHITBREAD,

"I am not going to write you a controversial or even an argumentative

letter, but simply to put down the heads of a few matters which I wish

shortly to converse with you upon, in the most amicable and temperate

manner, deprecating the impatience which may sometimes have mixed in our

discussions, and not contending who has been the aggressor.

"The main point you seem to have had so much at heart you have carried,

so there is an end of that; and I shall as fairly and cordially endeavor

to advise and assist Mr. Benjamin Wyatt in the improving and perfecting

his plan as if it had been my own preferable selection, assuming, as I

must do, that there cannot exist an individual in England so presumptuous

or so void of common sense as not sincerely to solicit the aid of my

practical experience on this occasion, even were I not, in justice to the

Subscribers, bound spontaneously to offer it.

"But it would be unmanly dissimulation in me to retain the sentiments I

do with respect to _your_ doctrine on this subject, and not express

what I so strongly feel. That doctrine was, to my utter astonishment, to

say no more, first promulgated to me in a letter from you, written in

town, in the following terms. Speaking of building and plans, you say to

me, '_You are in no, way answerable if a bad Theatre is built: it is

not_ YOU _who built it; and if we come to the_ STRICT RIGHT _of

the thing, you have_ NO BUSINESS TO INTERFERE;' and further on you

say, '_Will_ YOU _but_ STAND ALOOF, _and every thing will go

smooth_, and a good Theatre shall be built;' and in conversation you

put, as a similar case, that, '_if a man sold another a piece of land,

it was nothing to the seller whether the purchaser built himself a good

or a bad house upon it._' Now I declare before God I never felt more

amazement than that a man of your powerful intellect, just view of all

subjects, and knowledge of the world, should hold such language or resort

to such arguments; and I must be convinced, that, although in an

impatient moment this opinion may have fallen from you, upon the least

reflection or the slightest attention to the reason of the case, you

would, 'albeit unused to the retracting mood,' confess the erroneous view

you had taken of the subject. Otherwise, I must think, and with the

deepest regret would it be, that although you originally engaged in this

business from motives of the purest and kindest regard for me and my

family, your ardor and zealous eagerness to accomplish the difficult task

you had undertaken have led you, in this instance, to overlook what is

due to my feelings, to my honor, and my just interests. For, supposing I

were to '_stand aloof_,' totally unconcerned, provided I were paid

for my share, whether the new Theatre were excellent or execrable, and

that the result should be that the Subscribers, instead of profit, could

not, through the misconstruction of the house, obtain one per cent. for

their money, do you seriously believe you could find a single man, woman,

or child, in the kingdom, out of the Committee, who would believe that I

was wholly guiltless of the failure, having been so stultified and

proscribed by the Committee, (a Committee of _my own nomination)_ as

to have been compelled to admit, as the condition of my being paid for my

share, that 'it was nothing to me whether the Theatre was good or bad'

or, on the contrary? can it be denied that the reproaches of

disappointment, through the great body of the Subscribers, would be

directed against me and me alone?

"So much as to _character_:--now as to my feelings on the subject;--I

must say that in friendship, at least, if not in '_strict right_,'

they ought to be consulted, even though the Committee could either prove

that I had not to apprehend any share in the discredit and discontent

which might follow the ill success of their plan, or that I was entitled

to brave whatever malice or ignorance might direct against me. Next, and

lastly, as to my just interest in the property I am to part with, a

consideration to which, however careless I might be were I alone

concerned, I am bound to attend in justice to my own private creditors,

observe how the matter stands:--I agree to wave my own '_strict

right_' to be paid before the funds can be applied to the building,

and this in the confidence and on the continued understanding, that my

advice should be so far respected, that, even should the subscription not

fill, I should at least see a Theatre capable of being charged with and

ultimately of discharging what should remain justly due to the

proprietors. To illustrate this I refer to the size of the pit, the

number of private boxes, and the annexation of a tavern; but in what a

situation would the doctrine of your Committee leave me and my son? 'It

is nothing to us how the Theatre is built, or whether it prospers or

not.' These are two circumstances we have nothing to do with; only,

unfortunately, upon them may depend our best chance of receiving any

payment for the property we part with. It is nothing to us how the ship

is refitted or manned, only we must leave all we are worth on board her,

and abide the chance of her success. Now I am confident your justice will

see, that in order that the Committee should, in '_strict right_,'

become entitled to deal thus with us, and bid us _stand aloof_, they

should buy us out, and make good the payment. But the reverse of this has

been my own proposal, and I neither repent nor wish to make any change in

it.

"I have totally departed from my intention, when I first began this

letter, for which I ought to apologize to you; but it may save much

future talk: other less important matters will do in conversation. You

will allow that I have placed in you the most implicit confidence--have

the reasonable trust in me that, in any communication I may have with B.

Wyatt, my object will not be to _obstruct_, as you have hastily

expressed it, but _bonâ fide_ to assist him to render his Theatre as

perfect as possible, as well with a view to the public accommodation as

to profit to the Subscribers; neither of which can be obtained without

establishing a reputation for him which must be the basis of his future

fortune.

"And now, after all this statement, you will perhaps be surprised to find

how little I require;--simply some Resolution of the Committee to the

effect of that I enclose.

"I conclude with heartily thanking you for the declaration you made

respecting me, and reported to me by Peter Moore, at the close of the

last meeting of the Committee. I am convinced of your sincerity; but as I

have before described the character of the gratitude I feel towards you

in a letter written likewise in this house, I have only to say, that

every sentiment in that letter remains unabated and unalterable.

"Ever, my dear Whitbread,

"Yours, faithfully.

"P.S. The discussion we had yesterday respecting some investigation of

the _past_, which I deem so essential to my character and to my

peace of mind, and your present concurrence with me on that subject, have

relieved my mind from great anxiety, though I cannot but still think the

better opportunity has been passed by. One word more, and I release you.

Tom informed me that you had hinted to him that any demands, not

practicable to be settled by the Committee, must fall on the proprietors.

My resolution is to take all such on myself, and to leave Tom's share

untouched."

Another concession, which Sheridan himself had volunteered, namely, the

postponement of his right of being paid the amount of his claim, till

after the Theatre should be built, was also a subject of much acrimonious

discussion between the two friends,--Sheridan applying to this condition

that sort of lax interpretation, which would have left him the credit of

the sacrifice without its inconvenience, and Whitbread, with a firmness

of grasp, to which, unluckily, the other had been unaccustomed in

business, holding him to the strict letter of his voluntary agreement

with the Subscribers. Never, indeed, was there a more melancholy example

than Sheridan exhibited, at this moment, of the last, hard struggle of

pride and delicacy against the most deadly foe of both, pecuniary

involvement,--which thus gathers round its victims, fold after fold, till

they are at length crushed in its inextricable clasp.

The mere likelihood of a sum of money being placed at his disposal was

sufficient--like the "bright day that brings forth the adder"--to call

into life the activity of all his duns; and how liberally he made the

fund available among them, appears from the following letter of

Whitbread, addressed, not to Sheridan himself, but, apparently, (for the

direction is wanting,) to some man of business connected with him:--

"MY DEAR SIR,

"I had determined not to give any written answer to the note you put into

my hands yesterday morning; but a further perusal of it leads me to think

it better to make a statement in writing, why I, for one, cannot comply

with the request it contains, and to repel the impression which appears

to have existed in Mr. Sheridan's mind at the time that note was written.

He insinuates that to some postponement of his interests, by the

Committee, is owing the distressed situation in which he is unfortunately

placed.

"Whatever postponement of the interests of the Proprietors may ultimately

be resorted to, as matter of indispensable necessity from the state of

the Subscription Fund, will originate in the written suggestion of Mr.

Sheridan himself; and, in certain circumstances, unless such latitude

were allowed on his part, the execution of the Act could not have been

attempted.

"At present there is no postponement of his interests,--but there is an

utter impossibility of touching the Subscription Fund at all, except for

very trifling specified articles, until a supplementary Act of Parliament

shall have been obtained.

"By the present Act, even if the Subscription were full, and no

impediments existed to the use of the money, the Act itself, and the

incidental expenses of plans, surveys, &c., are first to be paid

for,--then the portion of Killegrew's Patent,--then the claimants,--and

_then_ the Proprietors. Now the Act is not paid for: White and

Martindale are not paid; and not one single claimant is paid, nor can any

one of them _be_ paid, until we have fresh powers and additional

subscriptions.

"How then can Mr. Sheridan attribute to any postponement of his

interests, actually made by the Committee, the present condition of his

affairs? and why are we driven to these observations and explanations?

"We cannot but all deeply lament his distress, but the palliation he

proposes it is not in our power to give.

"We cannot guarantee Mr. Hammersley upon the fund coming eventually to

Mr. Sheridan. He alludes to the claims he has already created upon that

fund. He must, besides, recollect the list of names he sent to me some

time ago, of persons to whom he felt himself in honor bound to

appropriate to each his share of that fund, in common with others for

whose names he left a blank, and who, he says in the same letter, have

written engagements from him. Besides, he has communicated both to Mr.

Taylor and to Mr. Shaw, through me, offers to impound the whole of the

sum to answer the issue of the unsettled demands made upon him by those

gentlemen respectively.

"How then can we guarantee Mr. Hammersley in the payment of any sum out

of this fund, so circumstanced? Mr. Hammersley's possible profits are

prospective, and the prospect remote. I know the positive losses he

sustains, and the sacrifices he is obliged to make to procure the chance

of the compromise he is willing to accept.

"Add to all this, that we are still struggling with difficulties which we

may or may not overcome; that those difficulties are greatly increased by

the persons whose interest and duty should equally lead them to give us

every facility and assistance in the labors we have disinterestedly

undertaken, and are determined faithfully to discharge. If we fail at

last, from whatever cause, the whole vanishes.

"You know, my dear Sir, that I grieve for the sad state of Mr. Sheridan's

affairs. I would contribute my mite to their temporary relief, if it

would be acceptable; but as one of the Committee, intrusted with a public

fund, I can do nothing. I cannot be a party to any claim upon Mr.

Hammersley; and I utterly deny that, individually, or as part of the

Committee, any step taken by me, or with my concurrence, has pressed upon

the circumstances of Mr. Sheridan.

"I am,

"My dear Sir,

"Faithfully yours,

"_Southill, Dec. 19, 1811."_

"SAMUEL WHITBREAD."

A Dissolution of Parliament being expected to take place, Mr. Sheridan

again turned his eyes to Stafford; and, in spite of the estrangement to

which his infidelities at Westminster had given rise, saw enough, he

thought, of the "_veteris vestigia flammae_" to encourage him to

hope for a renewal of the connection. The following letter to Sir Oswald

Moseley explains his views and expectations on the subject:--

"DEAR SIR OSWALD,

"_Cavendish-Square, Nov. 29, 1811._

"Being apprised that you have decided to decline offering yourself a

candidate for Stafford, when a future election may arrive,--a place where

you are highly esteemed, and where every humble service in my power, as I

have before declared to you, should have been at your command,--I have

determined to accept the very cordial invitations I have received from

_old friends_ in that quarter, and, (though entirely secure of my

seat at Ilchester, and, indeed, even of the second seat for my son,

through the liberality of Sir W. Manners), to return to the old goal from

whence I started thirty-one years since! You will easily see that

arrangements at Ilchester may be made towards assisting me, in point of

expense, to meet _any opposition_, and, _in that respect,_

nothing will be _wanting._ It will, I confess, be very gratifying to

me to be again elected _by the sons of those_ who chose me in the

year _eighty_, and adhered to me so stoutly and so long. I think I

was returned for Stafford seven, if not eight, times, including two most

tough and expensive contests; and, in taking a temporary leave of them I

am sure my credit must stand well, for not a shilling did I leave unpaid.

I have written to the Jerninghams, who, in the handsomest manner, have

ever given me their warmest support; and, as no political object

interests my mind so much as the Catholic cause, I have no doubt that

independent of their personal friendship, I shall receive a continuation

of their honorable support. I feel it to be no presumption to add, that

other respectable interests in the neighborhood will be with me.

"I need scarcely add my sanguine hope, that whatever interest rests with

you, (which ought to be much), will also be in my favor.

"I have the honor to be,

"With great esteem and regard,

"Yours most sincerely,

"R. B. SHERIDAN."

"I mean to be in Stafford, from Lord G. Levison's, in about a fortnight."

Among a number of notes addressed to his former constituents at this

time, (which I find written in his neatest hand, as if _intended_ to

be sent), is this curious one:--

"DEAR KING JOHN,

"_Cavendish-Square, Sunday night_,

"I shall be in Stafford in the course of next week, and if Your Majesty

does not renew our old alliance I shall never again have faith in any

potentate on earth.

"Yours very sincerely,

"_Mr. John K_.

"R. B. SHERIDAN."

The two attempts that were made in the course of the year 1812--the one,

on the cessation of the Regency Restrictions, and the other after the

assassination of Mr. Perceval,--to bring the Whigs into official

relations with the Court, were, it is evident, but little inspired on

either side, with the feelings likely to lead to such a result. It

requires but a perusal of the published correspondence in both cases to

convince us that, at the bottom of all these evolutions of negotiation,

there was anything but a sincere wish that the object to which they

related should be accomplished. The Maréchal Bassompiere was not more

afraid of succeeding in his warfare, when he said, _"Je crois que nous

serons assez fous pour prendre la Rochelle_," than was one of the

parties, at least, in these negotiations, of any favorable turn that

might inflict success upon its overtures. Even where the Court, as in the

contested point of the Household, professed its readiness to accede to

the surrender so injudiciously demanded of it, those who acted as its

discretionary organs knew too well the real wishes in that quarter, and

had been too long and faithfully zealous in their devotion to those

wishes to leave any fear that advantage would be taken of the concession.

But, however high and chivalrous was the feeling with which Lord Moira,

on this occasion, threw himself into the breach for his Royal Master, the

service of Sheridan, though flowing partly from the same zeal, was not, I

grieve to say, of the same clear and honorable character.

Lord Yarmouth, it is well known, stated in the House of Commons that he

had communicated to Mr. Sheridan the intention of the Household to

resign, with the view of having that intention conveyed to Lord Grey and

Lord Grenville, and thus removing the sole ground upon which these Noble

Lords objected to the acceptance of office. Not only, however, did

Sheridan endeavor to dissuade the Noble Vice-Chamberlain from resigning,

but with an unfairness of dealing which admits, I own, of no vindication,

he withheld from the two leaders of Opposition the intelligence thus

meant to be conveyed to them; and, when questioned by Mr. Tierney as to

the rumored intentions of the Household to resign, offered to bet five

hundred guineas that there was no such step in contemplation.

In this conduct, which he made but a feeble attempt to explain, and which

I consider as the only indefensible part of his whole public life, he

was, in some degree, no doubt, influenced by personal feelings against

the two Noble Lords, whom his want of fairness on the occasion was so

well calculated to thwart and embarrass. But the main motive of the whole

proceeding is to be found in his devoted deference to what he knew to be

the wishes and feelings of that Personage, who had become now, more than

ever, the mainspring of all his movements,--whose spell over him, in this

instance, was too strong for even his sense of character; and to whom he

might well have applied the words of one of his own beautiful songs--

"Friends, fortune, _fame itself_ I'd lose,

To gain one smile from thee!"

So fatal, too often, are Royal friendships, whose attraction, like the

loadstone-rock in Eastern fable, that drew the nails out of the luckless

ship that came near it, steals gradually away the strength by which

character is held together, till, at last, it loosens at all points, and

falls to pieces, a wreck!

In proof of the fettering influence under which he acted on this

occasion, we find him in one of his evasive attempts at vindication,

suppressing, from delicacy to his Royal Master, a circumstance which, if

mentioned, would have redounded considerably to his own credit. After

mentioning that the Regent had "asked his opinion with respect to the

negotiations that were going on," he adds, "I gave him my opinion, and I

most devoutly wish that that opinion could be published to the world,

that it might serve to shame those who now belie me."

The following is the fact to which these expressions allude. When the

Prince-Regent, on the death of Mr. Perceval, entrusted to Lord Wellesley

the task of forming an Administration, it appears that His Royal Highness

had signified either his intention or wish to exclude a certain Noble

Earl from the arrangements to be made under that commission. On learning

this, Sheridan not only expressed strongly his opinion against such a

step, but having, afterwards, reason to fear that the freedom with which

he spoke on the subject had been displeasing to the Regent, he addressed

a letter to that Illustrious Person, (a copy of which I have in my

possession,) in which, after praising the "wisdom and magnanimity"

displayed by His Royal Highness, in confiding to Lord Wellesley the

powers that had just been entrusted to him, he repeated his opinion that

any "proscription" of the Noble Earl in question, would be "a proceeding

equally derogatory to the estimation of His Royal Highness's personal

dignity and the security of his political power;"--adding, that the

advice, which he took the liberty of giving against such a step, did not

proceed "from any peculiar partiality to the Noble Earl or to many of

those with whom he was allied; but was founded on what he considered to

be best for His Royal Highness's honor and interest, and for the general

interests of the country."

The letter (in alluding to the displeasure which he feared he had

incurred by venturing this opinion) concludes thus:--

"Junius said in a public letter of his, addressed to Your Royal Father,

'the fate that made you a King forbad your having a friend.' I deny his

proposition as a general maxim--I am confident that Your Royal Highness

possesses qualities to win and secure to you the attachment and devotion

of private friendship, in spite of your being a Sovereign. At least I

feel that I am entitled to make this declaration as far as relates to

myself--and I do it under the assured conviction that you will never

require from me any proof of that attachment and devotion inconsistent

with the clear and honorable independence of mind and conduct, which

constitute my sole value as a public man, and which have hitherto been my

best recommendation to your gracious favor, confidence, and protection."

It is to be regretted that while by this wise advice he helped to save

His Royal Master from the invidious _appearance_ of acting upon a

principle of exclusion, he should, by his private management afterwards,

have but too well contrived to secure to him all the advantage of that

principle in _reality_.

The political career of Sheridan was now drawing fast to a close. He

spoke but upon two or three other occasions during the Session; and among

the last sentences uttered by him in the House were the

following;--which, as calculated to leave a sweeter flavor on the memory,

at parting, than those questionable transactions that have just been

related, I have great pleasure in citing:--

"My objection to the present Ministry, is that they are avowedly arrayed

and embodied against a principle,--that of concession to the Catholics of

Ireland,--which I think, and must always think, essential to the safety

of this empire. I will never give my vote to any Administration that

opposes the question of Catholic Emancipation. I will not consent to

receive a furlough upon that particular question, even though a Ministry

were carrying every other that I wished. In fine, I think the situation

of Ireland a paramount consideration. If they were to be the last words I

should ever utter in this House, I should say, 'Be just to Ireland, as

you value your own honor,--be just to Ireland, as you value your own

peace.'"

His very last words in Parliament, on his own motion relative to the

Overtures of Peace from France, were as follow:--

"Yet after the general subjugation and ruin of Europe, should there ever

exist an independent historian to record the awful events that produced

this universal calamity, let that historian have to say,--'Great Britain

fell, and with her fell all the best securities for the charities of

human life, for the power and honor, the fame, the glory, and the

liberties, not only of herself, but of the whole civilized world.'" In

the month of September following, Parliament was dissolved; and,

presuming upon the encouragement which he had received from some of his

Stafford friends, he again tried his chance of election for that borough,

but without success. This failure he, himself, imputed, as will be seen

by the following letter, to the refusal of Mr. Whitbread to advance him

2000_l._ out of the sum due to him by the Committee for his share of

the property:--

"DEAR WHITBREAD,

"_Cook's Hotel, Nov._ 1, 1812.

"I was misled to expect you in town the beginning of last week, but being

positively assured that you will arrive to-morrow, I have declined

accompanying Hester into Hampshire as I intended, and she has gone to-day

without me; but I must leave town to join her _as soon as I can_. We

must have some serious but yet, I hope, friendly conversation respecting

my unsettled claims on the Drury-Lane Theatre Corporation. A concluding

paragraph, in one of your last letters to Burgess, which he thought

himself justified in showing me, leads me to believe that it is not your

object to distress or destroy me. On the subject of your refusing to

advance to me the 2000_l._. I applied for to take with me to

Stafford, out of the large sum confessedly due to me, (unless I signed

some paper containing I know not what, and which you presented to my

breast like a cocked pistol on the last day I saw you,) I will not dwell.

_This, and this alone, lost me my election._ You deceive yourself if

you give credit to any other causes, which the pride of my friends chose

to attribute our failure to, rather than confess our poverty. I do not

mean now to expostulate with you, much less to reproach you, but sure I

am that when you contemplate the positive injustice of refusing me the

accommodation I required, and the irreparable injury that refusal has

cast on me, overturning, probably, all the honor and independence of what

remains of my political life, you will deeply reproach yourself.

"I shall make an application to the Committee, when I hear you have

appointed one, for the assistance which most pressing circumstances now

compel me to call for; and all I desire is, through a sincere wish that

our friendship may not be interrupted, that the answer to that

application may proceed from a _bonâ fide Committee, with their

signatures_, testifying their decision.

"I am, yet,

"Yours very sincerely,

"_S. Whitbread, Esq._

"R. B. SHERIDAN."

Notwithstanding the angry feeling which is expressed in this letter, and

which the state of poor Sheridan's mind, goaded as he was now by distress

and disappointment, may well excuse, it will be seen by the following

letter from Whitbread, written on the very eve of the elections in

September, that there was no want of inclination, on the part of this

honorable and excellent man, to afford assistance to his friend,--but

that the duties of the perplexing trust which he had undertaken rendered

such irregular advances as Sheridan required impossible:--

'MY DEAR SHERIDAN,

"We will not enter into details, although you are quite mistaken in them.

You know how happy I shall be to propose to the Committee to agree to

anything practicable; and you may make all practicable, if you will have

resolution to look at the state of the account between you and the

Committee, and agree to the mode of its liquidation.

"You will recollect the 5000_l_. pledged to Peter Moore to answer

demands; the certificates given to Giblet, Ker, Ironmonger, Cross, and

Hirdle, five each at your request; the engagements given to Ellis and

myself, and the arrears to the Linley family. All this taken into

consideration will leave a large balance still payable to you. Still

there are upon that balance the claims upon you by Shaw, Taylor, and

Grubb, for all of which you have offered to leave the whole of your

compensation in my hands, to abide the issue of arbitration.

"This may be managed by your agreeing to take a considerable portion of

your balance in bonds, leaving those bonds in trust to answer the events.

"I shall be in town on Monday to the Committee, and will be prepared with

a sketch of the state of your account with the Committee, and with the

mode in which I think it would be prudent for you and them to adjust it;

which if you will agree to, and direct the conveyance to be made

forthwith, I will undertake to propose the advance of money you wish. But

without a clear arrangement, as a justification, nothing can be done.

"I shall be in Dover-Street at nine o'clock, and be there and in

Drury-Lane all day. The Queen comes, but the day is not fixed. The

election will occupy me after Monday. After that is over, I hope we shall

see you.

"Yours very truly,

"_Southill, Sept. 25, 1812._

"S. WHITBREAD."

The feeling entertained by Sheridan towards the Committee had already

been strongly manifested this year by the manner in which Mrs. Sheridan

received the Resolution passed by them, offering her the use of a box in

the new Theatre. The notes of Whitbread to Mrs. Sheridan on this subject,

prove how anxious he was to conciliate the wounded feelings of his

friend:--

"MY DEAR ESTHER,

"I have delayed sending the enclosed Resolution of the Drury-Lane

Committee to you, because I had hoped to have found a moment to have

called upon you, and to have delivered it into your hands. But I see no

chance of that, and therefore literally obey my instructions in writing

to you.

"I had great pleasure in proposing the Resolution, which was cordially

and unanimously adopted. I had it always in contemplation,--but to have

proposed it earlier would have been improper. I hope you will derive much

amusement from your visits to the Theatre, and that you and all of your

name will ultimately be pleased with what has been done. I have just had

a most satisfactory letter from Tom Sheridan.

"I am,

"My dear Esther,

"Affectionately yours,

"_Dover-Street, July 4, 1812._

"SAMUEL WHITBREAD."

"MY DEAR ESTHER,

"It has been a great mortification and disappointment to me, to have met

the Committee twice, since the offer of the use of a box at the new

Theatre was made to you, and that I have not had to report the slightest

acknowledgment from you in return.

"The Committee meet again tomorrow, and after that there will be no

meeting for some time. If I shall be compelled to return the same blank

answer I have hitherto done, the inference drawn will naturally be, that

what was designed by himself, who moved it, and by those who voted it, as

a gratifying mark of attention to Sheridan through you, (as the most

gratifying mode of conveying it,) has, for some unaccountable reason,

been mistaken and is declined.

"But I shall be glad to know before to-morrow, what is your determination

on the subject.

"I am, dear Esther,

"Affectionately yours,

"_Dover-Street, July_ 12, 1812."

"S. WHITBREAD.

The failure of Sheridan at Stafford completed his ruin. He was now

excluded both from the Theatre and from Parliament:--the two anchors by

which he held in life were gone, and he was left a lonely and helpless

wreck upon the waters. The Prince Regent offered to bring him into

Parliament; but the thought of returning to that scene of his triumphs

and his freedom, with the Royal owner's mark, as it were, upon him, was

more than he could bear--and he declined the offer. Indeed, miserable and

insecure as his life was now, when we consider the public humiliations to

which he would have been exposed, between his ancient pledge to Whiggism

and his attachment and gratitude to Royalty, it is not wonderful that he

should have preferred even the alternative of arrests and imprisonments

to the risk of bringing upon his political name any further tarnish in

such a struggle. Neither could his talents have much longer continued to

do themselves justice, amid the pressure of such cares, and the increased

indulgence of habits, which, as is usual, gained upon him, as all other

indulgences vanished. The ancients, we are told, by a significant device,

inscribed on the wreaths they wore at banquets the name of Minerva.

Unfortunately, from the festal wreath of Sheridan this name was now but

too often effaced; and the same charm, that once had served to give a

quicker flow to thought, was now employed to muddy the stream, as it

became painful to contemplate what was at the bottom of it. By his

exclusion, therefore, from Parliament, he was, perhaps, seasonably saved

from affording to that "Folly, which loves the martyrdom of Fame,"

[Footnote: "And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame."

This fine line is in Lord Byron's Monody to his memory. There is another

line, equally true and touching, where, alluding to the irregularities of

the latter part of Sheridan's life, he says--

"And what to them seem'd vice might be but woe."] the spectacle of a

great mind, not only surviving itself, but, like the champion in Berni,

continuing the combat after life is gone:--

_"Andava combattendo, ed era morto."_

In private society, however, he could, even now, (before the Rubicon of

the cup was passed,) fully justify his high reputation for agreeableness

and wit; and a day which it was my good fortune to spend with him, at the

table of Mr. Rogers, has too many mournful, as well as pleasant,

associations connected with it, to be easily forgotten by the survivors

of the party. The company consisted but of Mr. Rogers himself, Lord

Byron, Mr. Sheridan, and the writer of this Memoir. Sheridan knew the

admiration his audience felt for him; the presence of the young poet, in

particular, seemed to bring back his own youth and wit; and the details

he gave of his early life were not less interesting and animating to

himself than delightful to us. It was in the course of this evening that,

describing to us the poem which Mr. Whitbread had written and sent in,

among the other Addresses, for the opening of Drury-Lane, and which, like

the rest, turned chiefly on allusions to the Phenix, he said,--"But

Whitbread made more of this bird than any of them:--he entered into

particulars, and described its wings, beak, tail, &c.; in short, it was a

_Poulterer's_ description of a Phenix!"

The following extract from a Diary in my possession, kept by Lord Byron

during six months of his residence in London, 1812-13, will show the

admiration which this great and generous spirit felt for Sheridan:--

"_Saturday, December 18, 1813._

"Lord Holland told me a curious piece of _sentimentality_ in

Sheridan. The other night we were all delivering our respective and

various opinions on him and other '_hommes marquans,_' and mine was

this:--'Whatever Sheridan has done or chosen to do has been _par

excellence_, always the _best_ of its kind. He has written the

_best_ comedy, (School for Scandal,) the _best_ opera, (The

Duenna--in my mind far before that St. Giles's lampoon, The Beggar's

Opera,) the _best_ farce, (The Critic--it is only too good for an

after-piece,) and the _best_ Address, (Monologue on Garrick,)--and

to crown all, delivered the very _best_ oration, (the famous Begum

Speech,) ever conceived or heard in this country.' Somebody told Sheridan

this the next day, and on hearing it, he burst into tears!--Poor

Brinsley! If they were tears of pleasure, I would rather have said those

few, but sincere, words, than have written the Iliad, or made his own

celebrated Philippic. Nay, his own comedy never gratified me more than to

hear that he had derived a moment's gratification from any praise of mine

--humble as it must appear to 'my elders and my betters.'"

The distresses of Sheridan now increased every day, and through the short

remainder of his life it is a melancholy task to follow him. The sum

arising from the sale of his theatrical property was soon exhausted by

the various claims upon it, and he was driven to part with all that he

most valued, to satisfy further demands and provide for the subsistence

of the day. Those books which, as I have already mentioned, were

presented to him by various friends, now stood in their splendid

bindings, [Footnote: In most of them, too, were the names of the givers.

The delicacy with which Mr. Harrison of Wardour-Street, (the pawnbroker

with whom the books and the cup were deposited,) behaved, after the death

of Mr. Sheridan, deserves to be mentioned with praise. Instead of

availing himself of the public feeling at that moment, by submitting

these precious relics to the competition of a sale, he privately

communicated to the family and one or two friends of Sheridan the

circumstance of his having such articles in his hands, and demanded

nothing more than the sum regularly due on them. The Stafford cup is in

the possession of Mr. Charles Sheridan.] on the shelves of the

pawnbroker. The handsome cup, given him by the electors of Stafford,

shared the same fate. Three or four fine pictures by Gainsborough, and

one by Morland, were sold for little more than five hundred pounds;

[Footnote: In the following extract from a note to his solicitor, he

refers to these pictures:

"DEAR BURGESS,

"I am perfectly satisfied with your account;--nothing can be more clear

or fair, or more disinterested on your part;--but I must grieve to think

that five or six hundred pounds for my poor pictures are added to the

expenditure. However, we shall come through!"] and even the precious

portrait of his first wife, [Footnote: As Saint Cecilia. The portrait of

Mrs. Sheridan at Knowle, though less ideal than that of Sir Joshua, is,

(for this very reason, perhaps, as bearing a closer resemblance to the

original,) still more beautiful.] by Reynolds, though not actually sold

during his life, vanished away from his eyes into other hands.

One of the most humiliating trials of his pride was yet to come. In the

spring of this year he was arrested and carried to a spunging-house,

where he remained two or three days. This abode, from which the following

painful letter to Whitbread was written, formed a sad contrast to those

Princely halls, of which he had so lately been the most brilliant and

favored guest, and which were possibly, at that very moment, lighted up

and crowded with gay company, unmindful of him within those prison

walls:--

"_Tooke's Court, Cursitor-Street, Thursday, past two._

"I have done everything in my power with the solicitors, White and

Founes, to obtain my release, by substituting a better security for them

than their detaining me--but in vain.

"Whitbread, putting all false professions of friendship and feeling out

of the question, you have no right to keep me here!--for it is in truth

_your_ act--if you had not forcibly withheld from me the _twelve

thousand pounds_, in consequence of a threatening letter from a

miserable swindler, whose claim YOU in particular knew to _be a

lie_, I should at least have been out of the reach of _this_

state of miserable insult--for that, and that only, lost me my seat in

Parliament. And I assert that you cannot find a lawyer in the land, that

is not either a natural-born fool or a corrupted scoundrel, who will not

declare that your conduct in this respect was neither warrantable nor

legal--but let that pass _for the present_.

"Independently of the 1000_l_. ignorantly withheld from me on the

day of considering my last claim. I require of you to answer the draft I

send herewith on the part of the Committee, pledging myself to prove to

them on the first day I can _personally_ meet them, that there are

still thousands and thousands due to me, both legally, and equitably,

from the Theatre. My word ought to be taken on this subject; and you may

produce to them this document, if one, among them could think that, under

all the circumstances, your conduct required a justification. O God! with

what mad confidence have I trusted _your word_,--I ask

_justice_ from you, and _no boon_. I enclosed you yesterday

three different securities, which had you been disposed to have acted

even as a private friend, would have made it _certain_ that you

might have done so _without the smallest risk_. These you discreetly

offered to put into the fire, when you found the object of your humane

visit satisfied by seeing me safe in prison.

"I shall only add, that, I think, if I know myself, had our lots been

reversed, and I had seen you in my situation, and had left Lady E. in

that of my wife, I would have risked 600_l_. rather than have left

you so--although I had been in no way accessory in bringing you into that

condition.

"_S. Whitbread. Esq._

"R. B. SHERIDAN."

Even in this situation the sanguineness of his disposition did not desert

him; for he was found by Mr. Whitbread, on his visit to the

spunging-house, confidently calculating on the representation for

Westminster, in which the proceedings relative to Lord Cochrane at that

moment promised a vacancy. On his return home, however, to Mrs. Sheridan,

(some arrangements having been made by Whitbread for his release,) all

his fortitude forsook him, and he burst into a long and passionate fit of

weeping at the profanation, as he termed it, which his person had

suffered.

He had for some months had a feeling that his life was near its close;

and I find the following touching passage in a letter from him to Mrs.

Sheridan, after one of those differences which will sometimes occur

between the most affectionate companions, and which, possibly, a

remonstrance on his irregularities and want of care of himself

occasioned:--"Never again let one harsh word pass between us, during the

period, which may not perhaps be long, that we are in this world

together, and life, however clouded to me, is mutually spared to us. I

have expressed this same sentiment to my son, in a letter I wrote to him

a few days since, and I had his answer--a most affecting one, and, I am

sure, very sincere--and have since cordially embraced him. Don't imagine

that I am expressing an interesting apprehension about myself, which I do

not feel."

Though the new Theatre of Drury-Lane had now been three years built, his

feelings had never allowed him to set his foot within its walls. About

this time, however, he was persuaded by his friend, Lord Essex, to dine

with him and go in the evening to His Lordship's box, to see Kean. Once

there, the "_genius loci_" seems to have regained its influence over

him; for, on missing him from the box, between the Acts, Lord Essex, who

feared that he had left the House, hastened out to inquire, and, to his

great satisfaction, found him installed in the Green-room, with all the

actors around him, welcoming him back to the old region of his glory,

with a sort of filial cordiality. Wine was immediately ordered, and a

bumper to the health of Mr. Sheridan was drank by all present, with the

expression of many a hearty wish that he would often, very often,

re-appear among them. This scene, as was natural, exhilarated his

spirits, and, on parting with Lord Essex that night, at his own door, in

Saville-Row, he said triumphantly that the world would soon hear of him,

for the Duke of Norfolk was about to bring him into Parliament. This, it

appears, was actually the case; but Death stood near as he spoke. In a

few days after his last fatal illness began.

Amid all the distresses of these latter years of his life, he appears but

rarely to have had recourse to pecuniary assistance from friends. Mr.

Peter Moore, Mr. Ironmonger, and one or two others, who did more for the

comfort of his decline than any of his high and noble associates, concur

in stating that, except for such an occasional trifle as his coach-hire,

he was by no means, as has been sometimes asserted, in the habit of

borrowing. One instance, however, where he laid himself under this sort

of obligation, deserves to be mentioned. Soon after the return of Mr.

Canning from Lisbon, a letter was put into his hands, in the House of

Commons, which proved to be a request from his old friend Sheridan, then

lying ill in bed, that he would oblige him with the loan of a hundred

pounds. It is unnecessary to say that the request was promptly and

feelingly complied with; and if the pupil has ever regretted leaving the

politics of his master, it was not at _that_ moment, at least, such

a feeling was likely to present itself.

There are, in the possession of a friend of Sheridan, copies of a

correspondence in which he was engaged this year with two noble Lords and

the confidential agent of an illustrious Personage, upon a subject, as it

appears, of the utmost delicacy and importance. The letters of Sheridan,

it is said, (for I have not seen them,) though of too secret and

confidential a nature to meet the public eye, not only prove the great

confidence reposed in him by the parties concerned, but show the

clearness and manliness of mind which he could still command, under the

pressure of all that was most trying to human intellect.

The disorder, with which he was now attacked, arose from a diseased state

of the stomach, brought on partly by irregular living, and partly by the

harassing anxieties that had, for so many years, without intermission,

beset him. His powers of digestion grew every day worse, till he was at

length unable to retain any sustenance. Notwithstanding this, however,

his strength seemed to be but little broken, and his pulse remained, for

some time, strong and regular. Had he taken, indeed, but ordinary care of

himself through life, the robust conformation of his frame, and

particularly, as I have heard his physician remark, the peculiar width

and capaciousness of his chest, seemed to mark him out for a long course

of healthy existence. In general Nature appears to have a prodigal

delight in enclosing her costliest essences in the most frail and

perishable vessels:--but Sheridan was a signal exception to this remark;

for, with a spirit so "finely touched," he combined all the robustness of

the most uninspired clay.

Mrs. Sheridan was, at first, not aware of his danger; but Dr. Bain--whose

skill was now, as it ever had been, disinterestedly at the service of his

friend, [Footnote: A letter from Sheridan to this amiable man, (of which

I know not the date,) written in reference to a caution which he had

given Mrs. Sheridan, against sleeping in the same bed with a lady who was

consumptive, expresses feelings creditable alike to the writer and his

physician:--

"MY DEAR SIR,

"_July 31._

"The caution you recommend proceeds from that attentive kindness which

Hester always receives from you, and upon which I place the greatest

reliance for her safety. I so entirely agree with your apprehensions on

the subject, that I think it was very giddy in me not to have been struck

with them when she first mentioned having slept with her friend. Nothing

can abate my love for her; and the manner in which you apply the interest

you take in her happiness, and direct the influence you possess in her

mind, render you, beyond comparison, the person I feel most obliged to

upon earth. I take this opportunity of saying this upon paper, because it

is a subject on which I always find it difficult to speak.

"With respect to that part of your note in which you express such

friendly partiality, as to my parliamentary conduct, I need not add that

there is no man whose good opinion can be more flattering to me.

"I am ever, my dear Bain,

"Your sincere and obliged

"R. B. SHERIDAN."]--thought it right to communicate to her the

apprehensions that he felt. From that moment, her attentions to the

sufferer never ceased day or night; and, though drooping herself with an

illness that did not leave her long behind him, she watched over his

every word and wish, with unremitting anxiety, to the last.

Connected, no doubt, with the disorganization of his stomach, was an

abscess, from which, though distressingly situated, he does not appear to

have suffered much pain. In the spring of this year, however, he was

obliged to confine himself, almost entirely, to his bed. Being expected

to attend the St. Patrick's Dinner, on the 17th of March, he wrote a

letter to the Duke of Kent, who was President, alleging severe

indisposition as the cause of his absence. The contents of this letter

were communicated to the company, and produced, as appears by the

following note from the Duke of Kent, a strong sensation:--

_Kensington Palace, March_ 27, 1816.

"MY DEAR SHERIDAN,

"I have been so hurried ever since St. Patrick's day, as to be unable

earlier to thank you for your kind letter, which I received while

presiding at the festive board; but I can assure you, I was not unmindful

of it _then_, but announced the afflicting cause of your absence to

the company, who expressed, in a manner that could not be

_misunderstood_, their continued affection for the writer of it. It

now only remains for me to assure you, that I appreciate as I ought the

sentiments of attachment it contains for me, and which will ever be most

cordially returned by him, who is with the most friendly regard, my dear

Sheridan,

"Yours faithfully,

"_The Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan_.

"EDWARD."

The following letter to him at this time from his elder sister will be

read with interest:--

"MY DEAR BROTHER,

"_Dublin, May 9, 1816._

"I am very, very sorry you are ill; but I trust in God your naturally

strong constitution will retrieve all, and that I shall soon have the

satisfaction of hearing that you are in a fair way of recovery. I well

know the nature of your complaint, that it is extremely painful, but if

properly treated, and no doubt you have the best advice, not dangerous. I

know a lady now past seventy four, who many years since was attacked with

a similar complaint, and is now as well as most persons of her time of

life. Where poulticing is necessary, I have known oatmeal used with the

best effect. Forgive, dear brother, this officious zeal. Your son Thomas

told me he felt obliged to me for not prescribing for him. I did not,

because in his case I thought it would be ineffectual; in yours I have

reason to hope the contrary. I am very glad to hear of the good effect

change of climate has made in him;--I took a great liking to him; there

was something kind in his manner that won upon my affections. Of your son

Charles I hear the most delightful accounts:--that he has an excellent

and cultivated understanding, and a heart as good. May he be a blessing

to you, and a compensation for much you have endured! That I do not know

him, that I have not seen you, (so early and so long the object of my

affection,) for so many years, has not been my fault; but I have ever

considered it as a drawback upon a situation not otherwise unfortunate;

for, to use the words of Goldsmith, I have endeavored to 'draw upon

content for the deficiencies of fortune;' and truly I have had some

employment in that way, for considerable have been our worldly

disappointments. But those are not the worst evils of life, and we have

good children, which is its first blessing. I have often told you my son

Tom bore a strong resemblance to you, when I loved you preferably to any

thing the world contained. This, which was the case with him in childhood

and early youth, is still so in mature years. In character of mind, too,

he is very like you, though education and situation have made a great

difference. At that period of existence, when the temper, morals, and

propensities are formed, Tom had a mother who watched over his health,

his well-being, and every part of education in which a female could be

useful. _You_ had lost a mother who would have cherished you, whose

talents you inherited, who would have softened the asperity of our

father's temper, and probably have prevented his unaccountable

partialities. You have always shown a noble independence of spirit, that

the pecuniary difficulties you often had to encounter could not induce

you to forego. As a public man, you have been, like the motto of the

Lefanu family, '_Sine macula_,' and I am persuaded had you not too

early been thrown upon the world, and alienated from your family, you

would have been equally good as a private character. My son is eminently

so. * * *

"Do, dear brother, send me one line to tell me you are better, and

believe me, most affectionately,

"Yours,

"ALICIA LEEANU."

While death was thus gaining fast on Sheridan, the miseries of his life

were thickening around him also; nor did the last corner, in which he now

lay down to die, afford him any asylum from the clamors of his legal

pursuers. Writs and executions came in rapid succession, and bailiffs at

length gained possession of his house. It was about the beginning of May

that Lord Holland, on being informed by Mr. Rogers, (who was one of the

very few that watched the going out of this great light with interest,)

of the dreary situation in which his old friend was lying, paid him a

visit one evening, in company with Mr. Rogers, and by the cordiality,

suavity, and cheerfulness of his conversation, shed a charm round that

chamber of sickness, which, perhaps, no other voice but his own could

have imparted.

Sheridan was, I believe, sincerely attached to Lord Holland, in whom he

saw transmitted the same fine qualities, both of mind and heart, which,

notwithstanding occasional appearances to the contrary, he had never

ceased to love and admire in his great relative;--the same ardor for

Right and impatience of Wrong--the same mixture of wisdom and simplicity,

so tempering each other, as to make the simplicity refined and the wisdom

unaffected--the same gentle magnanimity of spirit, intolerant only of

tyranny and injustice--and, in addition to all this, a range and vivacity

of conversation, entirely his own, which leaves no subject untouched or

unadorned, but is, (to borrow a fancy of Dryden,) "as the Morning of the

Mind," bringing new objects and images successively into view, and

scattering its own fresh light over all. Such a visit, therefore, could

not fail to be soothing and gratifying to Sheridan; and, on parting, both

Lord Holland and Mr. Rogers comforted him with the assurance that some

steps should be taken to ward off the immediate evils that he dreaded.

An evening or two after, (Wednesday, May 15,) I was with Mr. Rogers,

when, on returning home, he found the following afflicting note upon his

table:--

"_Saville-Row_.

"I find things settled so that 150_l_. will remove all difficulty. I

am absolutely undone and broken-hearted. I shall negotiate for the Plays

successfully in the course of a week, when all shall be returned. I have

desired Fairbrother to get back the Guarantee for thirty.

"They are going to put the carpets out of window, and break into Mrs.

S.'s room and _take me_--for God's sake let me see you.

"R. B. S."

It was too late to do any thing when this note was received, being then

between twelve and one at night; but Mr. Rogers and I walked down to

Saville-Row together to assure ourselves that the threatened arrest had

not yet been put in execution. A servant spoke to us out of the area, and

said that all was safe for the night, but that it was intended, in

pursuance of this new proceeding, to paste bills over the front of the

house next day.

On the following morning I was early with Mr. Rogers, and willingly

undertook to be the bearer of a draft for 150_l_. [Footnote: Lord

Holland afterwards insisted upon paying the half of this sum,--which was

not the first of the same amount that my liberal friend, Mr. Rogers, had

advanced for Sheridan.] to Saville-Row. I found Mr. Sheridan good-natured

and cordial as ever; and though he was then within a few weeks of his

death, his voice had not lost its fulness or strength, nor was that

lustre, for which his eyes were so remarkable, diminished. He showed,

too, his usual sanguineness of disposition in speaking of the price that

he expected for his Dramatic Works, and of the certainty he felt of being

able to arrange all his affairs, if his complaint would but suffer him to

leave his bed. In the following month, his powers began rapidly to fail

him;--his stomach was completely worn out, and could no longer bear any

kind of sustenance. During the whole of this time, as far as I can learn,

it does not appear that, (with the exceptions I have mentioned,) any one

of his Noble or Royal friends ever called at his door, or even sent to

inquire after him!

About this period Doctor Bain received the following note from Mr.

Vaughan:--

"MY DEAR SIR,

"An apology in a case of humanity is scarcely necessary, besides I have

the honor of a slight acquaintance with you. A friend of mine, hearing of

_our friend_ Sheridan's forlorn situation, and that he has neither

money nor credit for a few comforts, has employed me to convey a small

sum for his use, through such channel as I think right. I can devise none

better than through you. If I had had the good fortune to have seen you,

I should have left for this purpose a draft for 50_l_. Perhaps as

much more might be had if it will be conducive to a good end--of course

you must feel it is not for the purpose of satisfying troublesome people.

I will say more to you if you will do me the honor of a call in your way

to Saville-Street to-morrow. I am a mere agent.

"I am,

"My dear Sir,

"Most truly yours,

"23, _Grafton-Street_.

"JOHN TAYLOR VAUGHAN.

"If I should not see you before twelve, I will come through the passage

to you."

In his interview with Dr. Bain, Mr. Vaughan stated, that the sum thus

placed at his disposal was, in all, 200_l_.; [Footnote: Mr. Vaughan

did not give Doctor Bain to understand that he was authorized to go

beyond the 200_l_.; but, in a conversation which I had with him a

year or two after, in contemplation of this Memoir, he told me that a

further supply was intended.] and the proposition being submitted to Mrs.

Sheridan, that lady, after consulting with some of her relatives,

returned for answer that, as there was a sufficiency of means to provide

all that was necessary for her husband's comfort, as well as her own, she

begged leave to decline the offer.

Mr. Vaughan always said, that the donation, thus meant to be doled out,

came from a Royal hand;--but this is hardly credible. It would be safer,

perhaps, to let the suspicion rest upon that gentleman's memory, of

having indulged his own benevolent disposition in this disguise, than to

suppose it possible that so scanty and reluctant a benefaction was the

sole mark of attention accorded by a "gracious Prince and Master"

[Footnote: See Sheridan's Letter, page 268.] to the last, death-bed wants

of one of the most accomplished and faithful servants, that Royalty ever

yet raised or ruined by its smiles. When the philosopher Anaxagoras lay

dying for want of sustenance, his great pupil, Pericles, sent him a sum

of money. "Take it back," said Anaxagoras--"if he wished to keep the lamp

alive, he ought to have administered the oil before!"

In the mean time, the clamors and incursions of creditors increased. A

sheriff's officer at length arrested the dying man in his bed, and was

about to carry him off, in his blankets, to a spunging-house, when Doctor

Bain interfered--and, by threatening the officer with the responsibility

he must incur, if, as was but too probable, his prisoner should expire on

the way, averted this outrage.

About the middle of June, the attention and sympathy of the Public were,

for the first time, awakened to the desolate situation of Sheridan, by an

article that appeared in the Morning Post,--written, as I understand, by

a gentleman, who, though on no very cordial terms with him, forgot every

other feeling in a generous pity for his fate, and in honest indignation

against those who now deserted him. "Oh delay not," said the writer,

without naming the person to whom he alluded--"delay not to draw aside

the curtain within which that proud spirit hides its sufferings." He then

adds, with a striking anticipation of what afterwards happened:--"Prefer

ministering in the chamber of sickness to mustering at

'The splendid sorrows that adorn the hearse;'

I say, _Life_ and _Succor_ against Westminster-Abbey and a

Funeral!"

This article produced a strong and general sensation, and was reprinted

in the same paper the following day. Its effect, too, was soon visible in

the calls made at Sheridan's door, and in the appearance of such names as

the Duke of York, the Duke of Argyle, &c. among the visitors. But it was

now too late;--the spirit, that these unavailing tributes might once have

comforted, was now fast losing the consciousness of every thing earthly,

but pain. After a succession of shivering fits, he fell into a state of

exhaustion, in which he continued, with but few more signs of suffering,

till his death. A day or two before that event, the Bishop of London read

prayers by his bed-side; and on Sunday, the seventh of July, in the

sixty-fifth year of his age, he died.

On the following Saturday the Funeral took place;--his remains having

been previously removed from Saville-Row to the house of his friend, Mr.

Peter Moore, in Great George-Street, Westminster. From thence, at one

o'clock, the procession moved on foot to the Abbey, where, in the only

spot in Poet's Corner that remained unoccupied, the body was interred;

and the following simple inscription marks its resting-place:--

"RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN,

BORN, 1751,

DIED, 7th JULY, 1816.

THIS MARBLE IS THE TRIBUTE OF AN ATTACHED

FRIEND,

PETER MOORE."

Seldom has there been seen such an array of rank as graced this Funeral.

[Footnote: It was well remarked by a French Journal, in contrasting the

penury of Sheridan's latter years with the splendor of his Funeral, that

"France is the place for a man of letters to live in, and England the

place for him to die in."] The Pall-bearers were the Duke of Bedford, the

Earl of Lauderdale, Earl Mulgrave, the Lord Bishop of London, Lord

Holland, and Lord Spencer. Among the mourners were His Royal Highness the

Duke of York, His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, the Duke of Argyle,

the Marquisses of Anglesea and Tavistock; the Earls of Thanet, Jersey,

Harrington, Besborough, Mexborough, Rosslyn, and Yarmouth; Lords George

Cavendish and Robert Spencer; Viscounts Sidmouth, Granville, and

Duncannon; Lords Rivers, Erskine, and Lynedoch; the Lord Mayor; Right

Hon. G. Canning and W. W. Pole, &c., &c. [Footnote: In the train of all

this phalanx of Dukes, Marquisses, Earls, Viscounts, Barons, Honorables,

and Right Honorables, Princes of the Blood Royal, and First Officers of

the State, it was not a little interesting to see, walking humbly, side

by side, the only two men whose friendship had not waited for the call of

vanity to display itself--Dr. Bain and Mr. Rogers.]

Where were they all, these Royal and Noble persons, who now crowded to

"partake the gale" of Sheridan's glory--where were they all while any

life remained in him? Where were they all, but a few weeks before, when

their interposition might have saved his heart from breaking,--or when

the zeal, now wasted on the grave, might have soothed and comforted the

death-bed? This is a subject on which it is difficult to speak with

patience. If the man was unworthy of the commonest offices of humanity

while he lived, why all this parade of regret and homage over his tomb?

There appeared some verses at the time, which, however intemperate in

their satire and careless in their style, came, evidently, warm from the

heart of the writer, and contained sentiments to which, even in his

cooler moments, he needs not hesitate to subscribe:--

"Oh it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow,

And friendships so false in the great and high-born;--

To think what a long line of Titles may follow

The relics of him who died, friendless and lorn!

"How proud they can press to the funeral array

Of him whom they shunn'd, in his sickness and sorrow--

How bailiffs may seize his last blanket to-day,

Whose pall shall be held up by Nobles to-morrow!"

The anonymous writer thus characterizes the talents of Sheridan:--

"Was this, then, the fate of that high-gifted man,

The pride of the palace, the bower, and the hall--

The orator, dramatist, minstrel,--who ran

Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all.

"Whose mind was an essence, compounded, with art,

From the finest and best of all other men's powers;--

Who rul'd, like a wizard, the world of the heart,

And could call up its sunshine, or draw down its showers;--

"Whose humor, as gay as the fire-fly's light,

Play'd round every subject, and shone, as it play'd;--

Whose wit, in the combat as gentle as bright,

Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade;--

"Whose eloquence brightened whatever it tried,

Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave,

Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide,

As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave!"

* * * * *

Though a perusal of the foregoing pages has, I trust, sufficiently

furnished the reader with materials out of which to form his own estimate

of the character of Sheridan, a few general remarks may, at parting, be

allowed me--rather with a view to convey the impressions left upon

myself, than with any presumptuous hope of influencing the deductions of

others.

In considering the intellectual powers of this extraordinary man, the

circumstance that first strikes us is the very scanty foundation of

instruction, upon which he contrived to raise himself to such eminence

both as a writer and a politician. It is true, in the line of authorship

he pursued, erudition was not so much wanting; and his wit, like the

laurel of Caesar, was leafy enough to hide any bareness in this respect.

In politics, too, he had the advantage of entering upon his career, at a

time when habits of business and a knowledge of details were less looked

for in public men than they are at present, and when the House of Commons

was, for various reasons, a more open play-ground for eloquence and wit.

The great increase of public business, since then, has necessarily made a

considerable change in this respect. Not only has the time of the

Legislature become too precious to be wasted upon the mere gymnastics of

rhetoric, but even those graces, with which true Oratory surrounds her

statements, are but impatiently borne, where the statement itself is the

primary and pressing object of the hearer. [Footnote: The new light that

as been thrown on Political Science may also, perhaps, be assigned as a

reason for this evident revolution in Parliamentary taste. "Truth." says

Lord Bacon, "is a naked and open daylight, that doth not show the

masques, and mummeries, and triumphs of the present world half so stately

and daintily as candle-lights;"--and there can be little doubt that the

clearer and important truths are made, the less controversy they will

excite among fair and rational men, and the less passion and fancy

accordingly can eloquence infuse into the discussion of them. Mathematics

have produced no quarrels among mankind--it is by the mysterious and the

vague, that temper as well as imagination is most roused. In proof of

this while the acknowledged clearness almost to truism, which the leading

principles of Political Science have attained, has tended to simplify and

tame down the activities of eloquence on that subject. There is still

another arena left, in the science of the Law, where the same

illumination of truth has not yet penetrated, and where Oratory will

still continue to work her perplexing spells, till Common Sense and the

plain principles of Utility shall find their way there also to weaken

them.] Burke, we know, was, even for his own time, too much addicted to

what falconers would call _raking_, or flying wide of his game; but

there was hardly, perhaps, one among his great contemporaries, who, if

beginning his career at present, would not find it, in some degree,

necessary to conform his style to the taste for business and

matter-of-fact that is prevalent. Mr. Pitt would be compelled to curtail

the march of his sentences--Mr. Fox would learn to repeat himself less

lavishly--nor would Mr. Sheridan venture to enliven a question of

evidence by a long and pathetic appeal to Filial Piety.

In addition to this change in the character and taste of the House of

Commons, which, while it has lowered the value of some of the

qualifications possessed by Sheridan, has created a demand for others of

a more useful but less splendid kind, which his education and habits of

life would have rendered less easily attainable by him, we must take also

into account the prodigious difference produced by the general movement,

at present, of the whole civilized world towards knowledge;--a movement,

which no public man, however great his natural talents, could now lag

behind with impunity, and which requires nothing less than the versatile

and _encyclopaedic_ powers of a Brougham to keep pace with it.

Another striking characteristic of Sheridan, as an orator and a writer,

was the great degree of labor and preparation which his productions in

both lines cost him. Of this the reader has seen some curious proofs in

the preceding pages. Though the papers left behind by him have added

nothing to the stock of his _chef-d'oeuvres_, they have given us an

insight into his manner of producing his great works, which is, perhaps,

the next most interesting thing to the works themselves. Though no new

star has been discovered, the history of the formation of those we

already possess, and of the gradual process by which they were brought

"firm to retain their gathered beams," has, as in the instance of The

School for Scandal, been most interestingly unfolded to us.

The same marks of labor are discoverable throughout the whole of his

Parliamentary career. He never made a speech of any moment, of which the

sketch, more or less detailed, has not been found among his papers--with

the showier passages generally written two or three times over, (often

without any material change in their form,) upon small detached pieces of

paper, or on cards. To such minutiae of effect did he attend, that I have

found, in more than one instance, a memorandum made of the precise place

in which the words "Good God, Mr. Speaker," were to be introduced. These

preparatory sketches are continued down to his latest displays; and it is

observable that when from the increased derangement of his affairs, he

had no longer leisure or collectedness enough to prepare, he ceased to

speak.

The only time he could have found for this pre-arrangement of his

thoughts, (of which few, from the apparent idleness of his life,

suspected him,) must have been during the many hours of the day that he

remained in bed,--when, frequently, while the world gave him credit for

being asleep, he was employed in laying the frame-work of his wit and

eloquence for the evening.

That this habit of premeditation was not altogether owing to a want of

quickness, appears from the power and liveliness of his replies in

Parliament, and the vivacity of some of his retorts in conversation.

[Footnote: His best _bon mots_ are in the memory of every one. Among

those less known, perhaps, is his answer to General T----, relative to

some difference of opinion between them on the War in Spain:--"Well,

T----, are you still on your high horse?"--"If I was on a horse before, I

am upon an elephant now." "No, T----, you were upon an _ass_ before,

now you are upon a _mule_."

Some mention having been made in his presence of a Tax upon Milestones.

Sheridan said, "such a tax would be unconstitutional,--as they were a

race that could not meet to remonstrate."

As an instance of his humor, I have been told that, in some country-house

where he was on a visit, an elderly maiden lady having set her heart on

being his companion in a walk, he excused himself at first on account of

the badness of the weather. Soon afterwards, however, the lady

intercepted him in an attempt to escape without her:--"Well," she said,

"it has cleared up, I see." "Why, yes," he answered, "it has cleared up

enough for _one_, but not for _two_."] The labor, indeed, which

he found necessary for his public displays, was, in a great degree, the

combined effect of his ignorance and his taste;--the one rendering him

fearful of committing himself on the _matter_ of his task, and the

other making him fastidious and hesitating as to the _manner_ of it.

I cannot help thinking, however, that there must have been, also, a

degree of natural slowness in the first movements of his mind upon any

topic; and, that, like those animals which remain gazing upon their prey

before they seize it, he found it necessary to look intently at his

subject for some time, before he was able to make the last, quick spring

that mastered it.

Among the proofs of this dependence of his fancy upon time and thought

for its development, may be mentioned his familiar letters, as far as

their fewness enables us to judge. Had his wit been a "fruit, that would

fall without shaking," we should, in these communications at least, find

some casual windfalls of it. But, from the want of sufficient time to

search and cull, he seems to have given up, in despair, all thoughts of

being lively in his letters; and accordingly, as the reader must have

observed in the specimens that have been given, his compositions in this

way are not only unenlivened by any excursions beyond the bounds of mere

matter of fact, but, from the habit or necessity of taking a certain

portion of time for correction, are singularly confused, disjointed, and

inelegant in their style.

It is certain that even his _bon-mots_ in society were not always to

be set down to the credit of the occasion; but that frequently, like

skilful priests, he prepared the miracle of the moment before-hand.

Nothing, indeed, could be more remarkable than the patience and tact,

with which he would wait through a whole evening for the exact moment,

when the shaft which he had ready feathered, might be let fly with

effect. There was no effort, either obvious or disguised, to lead to the

subject--no "question detached, (as he himself expresses it,) to draw you

into the ambuscade of his ready-made joke"--and, when the lucky moment

did arrive, the natural and accidental manner in which he would let this

treasured sentence fall from his lips, considerably added to the

astonishment and the charm. So bright a thing, produced so easily, seemed

like the delivery of Wieland's [Footnote: See Sotheby's admirable

Translation of Oberon, Canto 9.] Amanda in a dream;--and his own apparent

unconsciousness of the value of what he said might have deceived dull

people into the idea that there was really nothing in it.

The consequence of this practice of waiting for the moment of effect was,

(as all, who have been much in his society, must have observed,) that he

would remain inert in conversation, and even taciturn, for hours, and

then suddenly come out with some brilliant sally, which threw a light

over the whole evening, and was carried away in the memories of all

present. Nor must it be supposed that in the intervals, either before or

after these flashes, he ceased to be agreeable; on the contrary, he had a

grace and good nature in his manner, which gave a charm to even his most

ordinary sayings,--and there was, besides, that ever-speaking lustre in

his eye, which made it impossible, even when he was silent, to forget who

he was.

A curious instance of the care with which he treasured up the felicities

of his wit, appears in the use he made of one of those epigrammatic

passages, which the reader may remember among the memorandums for his

Comedy of Affectation, and which, in its first form, ran thus:--"He

certainly has a great deal of fancy, and a very good memory; but, with a

perverse ingenuity, he employs these qualities as no other person

does--for he employs his fancy in his narratives, and keeps his

recollection for his wit:--when he makes his jokes, you applaud the

accuracy of his memory, and 'tis only when he states his facts that you

admire the flights of his imagination." After many efforts to express

this thought more concisely, and to reduce the language of it to that

condensed and elastic state, in which alone it gives force to the

projectiles of wit, he kept the passage by him patiently some

years,--till at length he found an opportunity of turning it to account,

in a reply, I believe, to Mr. Dundas, in the House of Commons, when, with

the most extemporaneous air, he brought it forth, in the following

compact and pointed form:--"The Right Honorable Gentleman is indebted to

his memory for his jests, and to his imagination for his facts."

His Political Character stands out so fully in these pages, that it is

needless, by any comments, to attempt to raise it into stronger relief.

If to watch over the Rights of the Subject, and guard them against the

encroachments of Power, be, even in safe and ordinary times, a task full

of usefulness and honor, how much more glorious to have stood sentinel

over the same sacred trust, through a period so trying as that with which

Sheridan had to struggle--when Liberty itself had become suspected and

unpopular--when Authority had succeeded in identifying patriotism with

treason, and when the few remaining and deserted friends of Freedom were

reduced to take their stand on a narrowing isthmus, between Anarchy on

one side, and the angry incursions of Power on the other. How manfully he

maintained his ground in a position so critical, the annals of England

and of the Champions of her Constitution will long testify. The truly

national spirit, too, with which, when that struggle was past, and the

dangers to liberty from without seemed greater than any from within, he

forgot all past differences, in the one common cause of Englishmen, and,

while others "gave but the _left_ hand to the Country," [Footnote:

His own words] proffered her _both_ of his, stamped a seal of

sincerity on his public conduct, which, in the eyes of all England,

authenticated it as genuine patriotism.

To his own party, it is true, his conduct presented a very different

phasis; and if implicit partisanship were the sole merit of a public man,

his movements, at this and other junctures, were far too independent and

unharnessed to lay claim to it. But, however useful may be the bond of

Party, there are occasions that supersede it; and, in all such deviations

from the fidelity which it enjoins, the two questions to be asked

are--were they, as regarded the Public, right? were they, as regarded the

individual himself, unpurchased? To the former question, in the instance

of Sheridan, the whole country responded in the affirmative; and to the

latter, his account with the Treasury, from first to last, is a

sufficient answer.

Even, however, on the score of fidelity to Party, when we recollect that

he more than once submitted to some of the worst martyrdoms which it

imposes--that of sharing in the responsibility of opinions from which he

dissented, and suffering by the ill consequences of measures against

which he had protested;--when we call to mind, too, that during the

Administration of Mr. Addington, though agreeing wholly with the Ministry

and differing with the Whigs, he even then refused to profit by a

position so favorable to his interests, and submitted, like certain

religionists, from a point of honor, to suffer for a faith in which he

did not believe--it seems impossible not to concede that even to the

obligations of Party he was as faithful as could be expected from a

spirit that so far outgrew its limits, and, in paying the tax of fidelity

while he asserted the freedom of dissent, showed that he could sacrifice

every thing to it, except his opinion. Through all these occasional

variations, too, he remained a genuine Whig to the last; and, as I have

heard one of his own party happily express it, was "like pure gold, that

changes color in the fire, but comes out unaltered."

The transaction in 1812, relative to the Household, was, as I have

already said, the least defensible part of his public life. But it should

be recollected hove broken he was, both in mind and body, at that

period;--his resources from the Theatre at an end,--the shelter of

Parliament about to be taken from over his head also,--and old age and

sickness coming on, as every hope and comfort vanished. In that wreck of

all around him, the friendship of Carlton-House was the last asylum left

to his pride and his hope; and that even character itself should, in a

too zealous moment, have been one of the sacrifices offered up at the

shrine that protected him, is a subject more of deep regret than of

wonder. The poet Cowley, in speaking of the unproductiveness of those

pursuits connected with Wit and Fancy, says beautifully--

"Where such fairies once have danc'd, no grass will ever grow;"

but, unfortunately, thorns _will_ grow there;--and he who walks

unsteadily among such thorns as now beset the once enchanted path of

Sheridan, ought not, after all, to be very severely criticised.

His social qualities were, unluckily for himself but too attractive. In

addition to his powers of conversation, there was a well-bred good-nature

in his manner, as well as a deference to the remarks and opinions of

others, the want of which very often, in distinguished wits, offends the

self-love of their hearers, and makes even the dues of admiration that

they levy a sort of "_Droit de Seigneur_," paid with unwillingness

and distaste.

No one was so ready and cheerful in promoting the amusements of a

country-house; and on a rural excursion he was always the soul of the

party. His talent at dressing a little dish was often put in requisition

on such occasions, and an Irish stew was that on which he particularly

plumed himself. Some friends of his recall with delight a day of this

kind which they passed with him, when he made the whole party act over

the Battle of the Pyramids on Marsden Moor, and ordered "Captain" Creevey

and others upon various services, against the cows and donkeys entrenched

in the ditches. Being of so playful a disposition himself, it was not

wonderful that he should take such pleasure in the society of children. I

have been told, as doubly characteristic of him, that he has often, at

Mr. Monckton's, kept a chaise and four waiting half the day for him at

the door, while he romped with the children.

In what are called _Ver de Sociétié_, or drawing-room verses, he

took great delight; and there remain among his papers several sketches of

these trifles. I once heard him repeat in a ballroom, some verses which

he had lately written on Waltzing, and of which I remember the following:

"With tranquil step, and timid, downcast glance,

Behold the well-pair'd couple now advance.

In such sweet posture our first Parents mov'd,

While, hand in hand, through Eden's bowers they rov'd;

Ere yet the Devil, with promise foul and false,

Turn'd their poor heads and taught them how to _Walse_.

One hand grasps hers, the other holds her hip--

* * * * *

For so the Law's laid down by Baron Trip."

[Footnote: This gentleman, whose name suits so aptly as legal authority

on the subject of Waltzing, was at the time these verses were written,

well known in the dancing circles.]

He had a sort of hereditary fancy for difficult trifling in

poetry;--particularly for that sort, which consists in rhyming to the

same word through a long string of couplets, till every rhyme that the

language supplies for it is exhausted, [Footnote: Some verses by General

Fitzpatrick on Lord Holland's father are the best specimen that I know of

this sort of _Scherzo_.] The following are specimens from a poem of

this kind, which he wrote on the loss of a lady's trunk:--

"MY TRUNK!

"(_To Anne_.)

"Have you heard, my deer Anne, how my spirits are sunk?

Have you heard of the cause? Oh, the loss of my _Trunk_!

From exertion or firmness I've never yet slunk;

But my fortitude's gone with the loss of my _Trunk_!

Stout Lucy, my maid, is a damsel of spunk;

Yet she weeps night and day for the loss of my _Trunk_!

I'd better turn nun, and coquet with a monk;

For with whom can I flirt without aid from my _Trunk_!

* * * * *

Accurs'd be the thief, the old rascally hunks;

Who rifles the fair, and lays hands on their _Trunks_!

He, who robs the King's stores of the least bit of junk,

Is hang'd--while he's safe, who has plunder'd my _Trunk_!

* * * * *

There's a phrase amongst lawyers, when _nune's_ put for _tune_;

But, tune and nune both, must I grieve for my _Trunk_!

Huge leaves of that great commentator, old Brunck,

Perhaps was the paper that lin'd my poor _Trunk_!

But my rhymes are all out;--for I dare not use st--k; [1]

'Twould shock Sheridan more than the loss of my _Trunk_!"

[Footnote 1: He had a particular horror of this word.]

From another of these trifles, (which, no doubt, produced much gaiety at

the breakfast-table,) the following extracts will be sufficient:--

"Muse, assist me to complain,

While I grieve for Lady _Jane_.

I ne'er was in so sad a vein,

Deserted now by Lady _Jane_.

* * * * *

Lord Petre's house was built by Payne--

No mortal architect made _Jane_.

If hearts had windows, through the pane

Of mine you'd see sweet Lady _Jane_.

* * * * *

At breakfast I could scarce refrain

From tears at missing lovely _Jane_,

Nine rolls I eat, in hopes to gain

The roll that might have fall'n to _Jane_," &c.

Another written on a Mr. _Bigg_, contains some ludicrous couplets:--

"I own he's not fam'd for a reel or a jig,

Tom Sheridan there surpasses Tom _Bigg_.--

For lam'd in one thigh, he is obliged to go zig-

Zag, like a crab--for no dancer is _Bigg_.

Those who think him a coxcomb, or call him a prig,

How little they know of the mind of my _Bigg_!

Tho' he ne'er can be mine, Hope will catch a twig--

Two Deaths--and I yet may become Mrs. _Bigg_.

Oh give me, with him, but a cottage and pig,

And content I would live on Beans, Bacon, and _Bigg_."

A few more of these light productions remain among his papers, but their

wit is gone with those for whom they were written;--the wings of Time

"eripuere _jocos_."

Of a very different description are the following striking and spirited

fragments, (which ought to have been mentioned in a former part of this

work,) written by him, apparently, about the year 1794, and addressed to

the Naval heroes of that period, to console them for the neglect they

experienced from the Government, while ribands and titles were lavished

on the Whig Seceders:--

"Never mind them, brave black Dick,

Though they've played thee such a trick--

Damn their ribands and their garters,

Get you to your post and quarters.

Look upon the azure sea,

There's a Sailor's Taffety!

Mark the Zodiac's radiant bow,

That's a collar fit for HOWE!--

And, then P--tl--d's brighter far,

The Pole shall furnish you a Star! [1]

Damn their ribands and their garters,

Get you to your post and quarters,

Think, on what things are ribands showered--

The two Sir Georges--Y---- and H---!

Look to what rubbish Stars will stick,

To Dicky H----n and Johnny D----k!

Would it be for your country's good,

That you might pass for Alec. H----d,

Or, perhaps,--and worse by half--

To be mistaken for Sir R----h!

Would you, like C----, pine with spleen,

Because your bit of silk was green?

Would you, like C----, change your side,

To have your silk new dipt and dyed?--

Like him exclaim, 'My riband's hue

Was green--and now, by Heav'ns! 'tis blue,'

And, like him--stain your honor too?

Damn their ribands and their garters,

Get you to your post and quarters.

On the foes of Britain close,

While B----k garters his Dutch hose,

And cons, with spectacles on nose,

(While to battle _you_ advance,)

His '_Honi soit qui mal y pense_.'"

* * * * *

[Footnote 1: This reminds me of a happy application which he made, upon a

subsequent occasion, of two lines of Dryden:--

"When men like Erskine go astray,

The stars are more in fault than they."]

It has been seen, by a letter of his sister already given, that, when

young, he was generally accounted handsome; but, in later years, his eyes

were the only testimonials of beauty that remained to him. It was,

indeed, in the upper part of his face that the Spirit of the man chiefly

reigned;--the dominion of the world and the Senses being rather strongly

marked out in the lower. In his person, he was above the middle size, and

his general make was, as I have already said, robust and well

proportioned. It is remarkable that his arms, though of powerful

strength, were thin, and appeared by no means muscular. His hands were

small and delicate; and the following couplet, written on a cast from one

of them, very livelily enumerates both its physical and moral qualities:--

"Good at a Fight, but better at a Play,

Godlike in giving, but--the Devil to Pay!"

Among his habits, it may not be uninteresting to know that his hours of

composition, as long as he continued to be an author, were at night, and

that he required a profusion of lights around him while he wrote. Wine,

too, was one of his favorite helps to inspiration;--"If the thought, (he

would say,) is slow to come, a glass of good wine encourages it, and,

when it _does_ come, a glass of good wine rewards it."

Having taken a cursory view of his Literary, Political, and Social

qualities, it remains for me to say a few words upon that most important

point of all, his Moral character.

There are few persons, as we have seen, to whose kind and affectionate

conduct, in some of the most interesting relations of domestic life, so

many strong and honorable testimonies remain. The pains he took to win

back the estranged feelings of his father, and the filial tenderness with

which he repaid long years of parental caprice, show a heart that had, at

least, set out by the right road, however, in after years, it may have

missed the way. The enthusiastic love which his sister bore him, and

retained unblighted by distance or neglect, is another proof of the

influence of his amiable feelings, at that period of life when he was as

yet unspoiled by the world. We have seen the romantic fondness which he

preserved towards the first Mrs. Sheridan, even while doing his utmost,

and in vain, to extinguish the same feeling in her. With the second wife,

a course, nearly similar, was run;--the same "scatterings and eclipses"

of affection, from the irregularities and vanities, in which he continued

to indulge, but the same hold kept of each other's hearts to the last.

Her early letters to him breathe a passion little short of idolatry, and

her devoted attentions beside his death-bed showed that the essential

part of the feeling still remained.

To claim an exemption for frailties and irregularities on the score of

genius, while there are such names as Milton and Newton on record, were

to be blind to the example which these and other great men have left, of

the grandest intellectual powers combined with the most virtuous lives.

But, for the bias given early to the mind by education and circumstances,

even the least charitable may be inclined to make large allowances. We

have seen how idly the young days of Sheridan were wasted--how soon he

was left, (in the words of the Prophet,) "to dwell carelessly ," and with

what an undisciplined temperament he was thrown upon the world, to meet

at every step that never-failing spring of temptation, which, like the

fatal fountain in the Garden of Armida, sparkles up for ever in the

pathway of such a man:--

"Un fonte sorge in lei, che vaghe e monde

Ha l'acque si, che i riguardanti asseta,

Ma dentro ai freddi suoi cristalli asconde

Di tosco estran malvagita secreta."

Even marriage, which is among the sedatives of other men's lives, but

formed a part of the romance of his. The very attractions of his wife

increased his danger, by doubling, as it were the power of the world over

him, and leading him astray by her light as well as by his own. Had his

talents, even then, been subjected to the _manège_ of a profession,

there was still a chance that business, and the round of regularity which

it requires, might have infused some spirit of order into his life. But

the Stage--his glory and his ruin--opened upon him; and the property of

which it made him master was exactly of that treacherous kind which not

only deceives a man himself, but enables him to deceive others, and thus

combined all that a person of his carelessness and ambition had most to

dread. An uncertain income, which, by eluding calculation, gives an

excuse for improvidence, [Footnote: How feelingly aware he was of this

great source of all his misfortunes appears from a passage in the able

speech which he delivered before the Chancellor, as Counsel in his own

case, in the year 1799 or 1800:--

"It is a great disadvantage, relatively speaking, to any man, and

especially to a very careless, and a very sanguine man, to have possessed

an uncertain and fluctuating income. That disadvantage is greatly

increased, if the person so circumstanced has conceived himself to be in

some degree entitled to presume that, by the exertion of his own talents,

he may at pleasure increase that income--thereby becoming induced to make

promises to himself which he may afterwards fail to fulfil.

"Occasional excess and frequent unpunctuality will be the natural

consequences of such a situation. But, my Lord, to exceed an ascertained

and limited income, I hold to be a very different matter. In that

situation I have placed myself, (not since the present unexpected

contention arose, for since then I would have adopted no arrangements,)

but months since, by my Deed of Trust to Mr. Adam, and in that situation

I shall remain until every debt on earth, in which the Theatre or I am

concerned, shall be fully and fairly discharged. Till then I will live on

what remains to me--preserving that spirit of undaunted independence,

which, both as a public and a private man, I trust, I have hitherto

maintained."] and, still more fatal, a facility of raising money, by

which the lesson, that the pressure of distress brings with it, is evaded

till it comes too late to be of use--such was the dangerous power put

into his hands, in his six-and-twentieth year, and amidst the

intoxication of as deep and quick draughts of fame as ever young author

quaffed. Scarcely had the zest of this excitement begun to wear off, when

he was suddenly transported into another sphere, where successes still

more flattering to his vanity awaited him. Without any increase of means,

he became the companion and friend of the first Nobles and Princes, and

paid the usual tax of such unequal friendships, by, in the end, losing

them and ruining himself. The vicissitudes of a political life, and those

deceitful vistas into office that were for ever opening on his party,

made his hopes as fluctuating and uncertain as his means, and encouraged

the same delusive calculations on both. He seemed, at every new turn of

affairs, to be on the point of redeeming himself; and the confidence of

others in his resources was no less fatal to him than his own, as it but

increased the facilities of ruin that surrounded him.

Such a career as this--so shaped towards wrong, so inevitably devious--it

is impossible to regard otherwise than with the most charitable

allowances. It was one long paroxysm of excitement--no pause for

thought--no inducements to prudence--the attractions all drawing the

wrong way, and a Voice, like that which Bossuet describes, crying

inexorably from behind him "On, on!" [Footnote: "La loi est prononcee; il

faut avancer toujours. Je voudrois retourner sur mes pas; 'Marche,

Marche!' Un poids invincible nous entraine; il faut sans cesse avancer

vers le precipice. On se console pourtant, parce que de tems en tems on

rencontre des objets qui nous divertissent, des eaux courantes, des

fleurs qui passent. On voudroit arreter; 'Marche, Marche!'"--_Sermon

sur la Resurrection_.] Instead of wondering at the wreck that followed

all this, our only surprise should be, that so much remained uninjured

through the trial,--that his natural good feelings should have struggled

to the last with his habits, and his sense of all that was right in

conduct so long survived his ability to practise it.

Numerous, however, as were the causes that concurred to disorganize his

moral character, in his pecuniary embarrassment lay the source of those

blemishes, that discredited him most in the eyes of the world. He might

have indulged his vanity and his passions, like others, with but little

loss of reputation, if the consequence of these indulgences had not been

obtruded upon observation in the forbidding form of debts and distresses.

So much did his friend Richardson, who thoroughly knew him, consider his

whole character to have been influenced by the straitened circumstances

in which he was placed, that he used often to say, "If an enchanter

could, by the touch of his wand, endow Sheridan suddenly with fortune, he

would instantly transform him into a most honorable and moral man." As

some corroboration of this opinion, I must say that, in the course of the

inquiries which my task of biographer imposed upon me, I have found all

who were ever engaged in pecuniary dealings with him, not excepting those

who suffered most severely by his irregularities, (among which class I

may cite the respected name of Mr. Hammersley,) unanimous in expressing

their conviction that he always _meant_ fairly and honorably; and

that to the inevitable pressure of circumstances alone, any failure that

occurred in his engagements was to be imputed.

There cannot, indeed, be a stronger exemplification of the truth, that a

want of regularity [Footnote: His improvidence in every thing connected

with money was most remarkable. He would frequently be obliged to stop on

his journies, for want of the means of getting on, and to remain living

expensively at an inn, till a remittance could reach him. His letters to

the treasurer of the theatre on these occasions were generally headed

with the words "Money-bound." A friend of his told me, that one morning,

while waiting for him in his study, he cast his eyes over the heap of

unopened letters that lay upon the table, and, seeing one or two with

coronets on the seals, said to Mr. Westley, the treasurer, who was

present, "I see we are all treated alike." Mr. Westley then informed him

that he had once found, on looking over this table, a letter which he had

himself sent, a few weeks before, to Mr. Sheridan, enclosing a ten-pound

note, to release him from some inn, but which Sheridan, having raised the

supplies in some other way, had never thought of opening. The prudent

treasurer took away the letter, and reserved the enclosure for some

future exigence.

Among instances of his inattention to letters, the following is

mentioned. Going one day to the banking-house, where he was accustomed to

receive his salary, as Receiver of Cornwall, and where they sometimes

accommodated him with small sums before the regular time of payment, he

asked, with all due humility, whether they could oblige him with the loan

of twenty pounds. "Certainly, Sir," said the clerk,--"would you like any

more--fifty, or a hundred?" Sheridan, all smiles and gratitude, answered

that a hundred pounds would be of the greatest convenience to him.

"Perhaps you would like to take two hundred, or three?" said the clerk.

At every increase of the sum, the surprise of the borrower increased.

"Have not you then received our letter?" said the clerk;--on which it

turned out that, in consequence of the falling in of some fine, a sum of

twelve hundred pounds had been lately placed to the credit of the

Receiver-General, and that, from not having opened the letter written to

apprise him, he had been left in ignorance of his good luck.] becomes,

itself, a vice, from the manifold evils to which it leads, than the whole

history of Mr. Sheridan's pecuniary transactions. So far from never

paying his debts, as is often asserted of him, he was, in fact, always

paying;--but in such a careless and indiscriminate manner, and with so

little justice to himself or others, as often to leave the respectable

creditor to suffer for his patience, while the fraudulent dun was paid

two or three times over. Never examining accounts nor referring to

receipts, he seemed as if, (in imitation of his own Charles, preferring

generosity to justice,) he wished to make paying as like as possible to

giving. Interest, too, with its usual, silent accumulation, swelled every

debt; and I have found several instances among his accounts where the

interest upon a small sum had been suffered to increase till it outgrew

the principal;--"_minima pars ipsa puella sui_."

Notwithstanding all this, however, his debts were by no means so

considerable as has been supposed. In the year 1808, he empowered Sir R.

Berkely, Mr. Peter Moore, and Mr. Frederick Homan, by power of attorney,

to examine into his pecuniary affairs and take measures for the discharge

of all claims upon him. These gentlemen, on examination, found that his

_bona fide_ debts were about ten thousand pounds, while his apparent

debts amounted to five or six times as much. Whether from

conscientiousness or from pride, however, he would not suffer any of the

claims to be contested, but said that the demands were all fair, and must

be paid just as they were stated;--though it was well known that many of

them had been satisfied more than once. These gentlemen, accordingly,

declined to proceed any further with their commission.

On the same false feeling he acted in 1813-14, when the balance due on

the sale of his theatrical property was paid him, in a certain number of

Shares. When applied to by any creditor, he would give him one of these

Shares, and allowing his claim entirely on his own showing, leave him to

pay himself out of it, and refund the balance. Thus irregular at all

times, even when most wishing to be right, he deprived honesty itself of

its merit and advantages; and, where he happened to be just, left it

doubtful, (as Locke says of those religious people, who believe right by

chance, without examination,) "whether even the luckiness of the accident

excused the irregularity of the proceeding." [Footnote: Chapter on Reason]

The consequence, however, of this continual paying was that the number of

his creditors gradually diminished, and that ultimately the amount of his

debts was, taking all circumstances into account, by no means

considerable. Two years after his death it appeared by a list made up by

his Solicitor from claims sent in to him, in consequence of an

advertisement in the newspapers, that the _bonâ fide_ debts amounted

to about five thousand five hundred pounds.

If, therefore, we consider his pecuniary irregularities in reference to

the injury that they inflicted upon others, the quantum of evil for which

he is responsible becomes, after all, not so great. There are many

persons in the enjoyment of fair characters in the world, who would be

happy to have no deeper encroachment upon the property of others to

answer for; and who may well wonder by what unlucky management Sheridan

could contrive to found so extensive a reputation for bad pay upon so

small an amount of debt.

Let it never, too, be forgotten, in estimating this part of his

character, that had he been less consistent and disinterested in his

public conduct, he might have commanded the means of being independent

and respectable in private. He might have died a rich apostate, instead

of closing a life of patriotism in beggary. He might, (to use a fine

expression of his own,) have 'hid his head in a coronet,' instead of

earning for it but the barren wreath of public gratitude. While,

therefore, we admire the great sacrifice that he made, let us be tolerant

to the errors and imprudences which it entailed upon him; and,

recollecting how vain it is to look for any thing unalloyed in this

world, rest satisfied with the Martyr, without requiring, also, the Saint.

THE END.