pinions, and cleave into the general air, unto which I am born," and descending to an anti-climax, "he resumed his seat." We remember nothing to match this, unless it be an anecdote in Faux's Travels in America, of a young American gentleman of unspeakable talents and infinite promise, who determined to shoot himself because the landlord of the Table d'Hôte refused to give him credit for claret at dinner. On receiving this check in his liquor, the youth resolved on instant suicide, and asked why he should not do that which Cato did, and Addison approved. After this, he begged of the company all round a priming of powder for his pistols, and then broke out thus: "I am a flower nipped in the bud; a lily untimely torn from its stem!" As Kemble, though a thawed eagle, shaking his pinions to cleave the general air, took a chair, so our American, though a lily set on suicide, resolved on a fell, not a full blow, yet took a place in the diligence, Faux tells us, and went off very quietly the next morning, (as his creditors remarked,) more like a runner than any flower they had ever seen. Having said thus much, we cannot omit to add, that the ingenious Mr. Faux observes, that this young gentleman was a youth of singular amiability, and though only twenty-one years of age, he had had three wives, and deserted them all! We quote from memory, but such is the substance. We are, however, wandering into America, and losing sight of Sheridaniana. Of course we cannot quarrel with a collector of the jokes of a celebrated wit, for collecting some that are bad, or no jokes; he must glean all that are reputed jests or he does not execute his undertaking to the letter; but we are utterly at a loss to understand how the subjoined story first came to pass for wit:

SHERIDAN'S PUN ON POLESDEN.

Sheridan's residence of Polesden was near Leatherhead, respecting which there had been much punning at his expense; when he was told of this in the country, he replied, that on his return to town he would get out of their debts. "What will you pay them each?" said a friend; "Oh! I'll give them-a strapping!"

The subjoined bit from Sheridan's projected comedy, Affectation, is quoted with commendation. Had any one but Sheridan written it, it would have been accounted what it is, merely disgusting. There is no humour in the picture; it is simply unpleasant and offensive to the mind's eye

"" Lady Clio. What am I reading ?-have I drawn nothing lately?-is the workbag finished?-how accomplished I am!- has the man been to untune the harpsichord? does it look as if I had been playing on it?

"Shall I be ill to-day ?-shall I be nervous?' 'Your La'ship was nervous yesterday.' Was I ?—then I'll have a cold-I haven't had a cold this fortnight-a cold is becoming-no, I'll not have a cough; that's fatiguing-I'll be quite well.'-You become sickness-your La'ship always looks vastly well when you're ill.'

"Leave the book half read, and the rose half finished-you know I love to be caught in the fact.'

After this we think it necessary to refresh our readers with a good story-and here is one:

SHERIDAN AND RICHARDSON.

Mr. Sheridan was extremely attached to Mr. Richardson; and when Mrs. Sheridan was at Bognor, he used to take Richardson down with him on visits to her. One of these visits, says Kelly, Sheridan once described to me with infinite humour, and although I fear it is impossible to impart literally, the spirit which he practically infused into it, when relating it, I give it as I remember it.

Richardson had set his mind upon going down to Bognor with Mr. Sheridan on one particular occasion, because it happened that Lord Thurlow, with whom he was on

terms of intimacy, was staying there. "So," said Richardson, "nothing can be more delightful; what with my favourite diversion of sailing-my enjoyment of walking on the sands-the pleasure of arguing with Lord Thurlow, and taking my snuff by the sea-side, I shall be in my glory.'

"Well," said Mr. Sheridan; "down 'he went full of anticipated joys. The first day, in stepping into the boat to go sailing, he tumbled down, and sprained his ancle, and was obliged to be carried into his lodgings, which had no view of the sea; the following morning he sent for a barber to shave him, but there being no professional shaver nearer than Chichester, he was forced to put up with a fisherman, who volunteered to officiate, and cut him severely just under the nose, which entirely prevented his taking snuff; and the same day at breakfast, eating prawns too hastily, he swallowed the head of one, horns and all, which stuck in his throat, and produced such pain and inflammation, that his medical advisers would not allow him to speak for three days. So, thus," said Mr. Sheridan, "ended in four-and-twenty hours, his walking--his sailing his snuff-taking—and his arguments."

Another

As Mr. Sheridan was coming up to town in one of the public coaches, for the purpose of canvassing Westminster, at the time when Paull was his opponent, he found himself in company with two Westminster electors. In the course of conversation one of them asked the other to whom he meant to give his vote? When his friend replied, "To Paull, certainly; for though I think him but a shabby sort of fellow, I would vote for any one rather than that rascal Sheridan!"

"Do you know Sheridan?" asked the stranger.

"Not I, Sir," answered the gentleman, "nor should I wish to know him."

The conversation dropped here; but when the party alighted to breakfast, Sheridan called aside the other gentleman, and said :

:

Fray who is that very agreeable friend of yours? He is one of the pleasantest fellows I ever met with, and should be glad to know his name?"

"His name is Mr. T--; he is an eminent lawyer, and resides in Lincoln's Inn Fields."

Breakfast over, the party resumed their seats in the coach; soon after which, Sheridan turned the discourse to the law. "It is," said he, "a fine profession. Men may rise from it to the highest eminence in the state; and it gives vast scope to the display of talent: many of the most virtuous and noble characters recorded in our history have been lawyers. I am sorry, however, to add, that some of the greatest rascals have also been lawyers; but of all the rascals of lawyers I ever heard of, the greatest is one Twho lives in Lincoln's Inn Fields."

"I am Mr. T

said the gentleman.

"And I am Mr. Sheridan," was the reply.

The jest was instantly seen; they shook hands, and instead of voting against the facetious orator, the lawyer exerted himself warmly in promoting his election.

We now give a story of a very different kind, which strikes us as rather a strange one. Sheridan, on finding himself too late for his friend Richardson's funeral, was in an agony of grief at the disappointment, but his name had such effect with the rector, that it procured a polite repetition of the close of the funeral service! and thus Sheridan was, we are told, enabled to say that he had attended the funeral of his friend. It is difficult to suppose that a clergyman would have consented to such sheer mummery; and none but a very theatrical character could have thought of requiring it. The sequel of the tale of sentiment is in strict keeping with the pantomimic incident :

SHERIDAN AND HIS FRIEND RICHARDSON.

On the 9th of June, Mr. Richardson, one of the proprietors of Drury Lane, died from the effects of a ruptured blood vessel. He once said a strong thing of Sheridan : "It was his sincere conviction, that could some enchanter's wand touch him into the possession of fortune, he would instantly convert him into a being of the nicest honour and most unimpeachable moral excellence."

Sheridan had for Richardson all the affection that a careless man can have for any thing. He made a point, therefore, of going down to Egham, to see the last offices performed over his remains. Mr. Taylor says, "they arrived too late by about a

quarter of an hour. The clergyman had just retired from the grave. Sheridan was in an agony of grief at this disappointment; but his powerful name, properly enforced upon the rector, procured a polite and humane repetition of the close of the service, to enable the tardy orator to say that he had attended the funeral of his friend.

The party dined together at the inn, and after the cloth was removed, their kindness for the deceased broke forth in designed testimonials to his merits. Dr. Combe was to choose the kind of stone for his mausoleum, and Sheridan himself undertook to compose a suitable inscription, but no stone ever covered his remains, and the promised inscription never was written. Such are the hasty pledges of recent grief, and the performances of indolent genius. They drained the cup," says Moore, "to his memory, and found oblivion at the bottom."

66

Before we dismiss this collection, we must not forget to mention, that about the very best joke in it is a remarkably happy imitation of Mr. Moore's style, in a jeu-d'esprit called the editor's Notice. The manner and metaphors of the author of the Life of Sheridan are so exactly copied, that we could scarcely believe that we were not reading a page out of his work. There is the sustained tone of the language, the poise of the sentences, the same vein of conceit, the similes in the tail of the sentence harnessed by a like to the preceding remark, whose sole business is to drag in the pretty fancy. All these, and many more indescribable points of resemblance there are in the felicitous imitation before us, of which we extract some examples :

In the selection of materials for this Volume, the Editor has not only carefully searched every work in which he was likely to find any reliques of Sheridan, in order to bring together in one the essence of many expensive volumes, and extracted from his parliamentary speeches such fragments of wit and eloquence as could, without injury to their lustre, bear, as it were, a separate setting,-but he has collected many brilliant sayings of that eminent person, which, like the congealed words in Rabelais, were floating about unheard in society, till a late Life of Sheridan called them into voice.

It is difficult to extract, even from such speeches as Sheridan's, much that is fit for a publication like the present. Though profusely figured, and glittering with the reflected lights of wit-though there are plenty of eloquent and clever things in them, yet, like Gothic ornaments, when detached from the solid structure to which they belong, their beauty and appropriateness are lost. Some of Sheridan's parliamentary retorts, however, not liable to this objection, have been preserved-as well as some fragments from his famous speech on the impeachment of Hastings. That speech has, unfortunately for the cause of eloquence, and the oratorical fame of Sheridan, never been accurately reported. Its splendour is but the theme of tradition-but the fragments which have not lost all their original brightness in passing through the hands of the reporters, (some of which are preserved in this Volume,) sufficiently attest, like the ornaments cast up from buried cities, the value and the beauty of what has been lost.

Some rejected passages from Sheridan's published plays have been also given. It was thought worth while to gather up those sparks which flew off in the polish of the diamond, which must always be of value, in proportion to the beauty of the jewel of which they were once a part.

Dr. Watkins is the only person throughout Mr. Moore's work, who receives any thing but laudation :-Whig and Tory, Ministers and Opposition, are all equally objects of Mr. Moore's admiration, while Dr. Watkins is destined to be the scapegoat who carries off the sins of all Mr. Moore's Noble and Right Honourable friends, and enables this new "Jupiter æquus" to scatter his indiscriminating favour upon them all,

HISTORY OF A PORTRAIT.

I was lately on a visit at a friend's in the country, whose house, once a mansion of some importance, is a solemn edifice, of the architecture peculiar to the period of Elizabeth and James I. Though considerably dilapidated, its ivy-clad turrets of red brick; its casements, with heavy stone mullions and diamond panes, partially covered with creeping plants; the bright vane over the dove-cote, and the ticking clock below; the smooth lawn and broad gravel walk in front, and the wall-flower waving over the archway of the principal entrance, present a grave exterior of great attractions for a lover of the old times. The chamber to which I was conducted at the close of the evening, partook of the venerable character of the mansion. It was a large square room, with oak-pannelled wainscots and floor. By the side of the fire-place, which was very spacious, stood an antique carved couch, and opposite to it was a table, on which a lighted taper was placed. The fire burnt cheerfully, but yet was insufficient, though aided by the taper, to show distinctly the full extent of the apartment.

I sat for some time watching the fire, and decyphering the figures it successively created and demolished-now thinking of this, then of that-ruminating on old times, old folks, old manners-and amusing myself with the fancies to which the mansion itself, and the apartment in which I was, naturally gave rise. What a change, thought I, is here exhibited. That dusty mirror there, which once reflected the blazing light of a brilliant apartment, resounding with the mirth of gay cavaliers and dames, in all the glories of ruff, and boddice, and farthingale, now discovers only a silent and dusty apartment, obscurely shown by the light of a decaying fire and a single unsnuffed taper, and tenanted by a solitary individual. From one reverie I fell insensibly into another, till my attention was drawn towards a portrait, which I had not before observed, and which hung over the mantel-piece. The embers of the fire happening at this moment to collapse, and the snuff of my neglected taper falling of itself, the room was suddenly lighted up, and the picture was seen distinctly in the bright gleam that flashed upon it. It was the portrait of a gentleman in the costume of the court of Elizabeth; and though its originally bright colouring had been sobered and somewhat embrowned, the picture had suffered little injury from time. The features were high and marked with that expression of chivalrous politeness and adventurous spirit, united to a considerable shrewdness, which usually characterises the portraits of Elizabeth's statesmen. But notwithstanding the

shrewd intelligence of the eyes, and the animation and spirit of the countenance, the predominant expression was a pensiveness that seemed to increase the more I gazed, and insensibly affected me with a feeling of melancholy and regret. Whilst thus fixed in earnest contemplation of the face before me, and musing upon the possible sufferings that had contributed to give its original the melancholy air by which my attention was rivetted, I was suddenly startled by a deepdrawn sigh. Astounded and half afraid, I looked suspiciously around, but the extremities of the chamber were lost in the same obscurity as before, and nothing met my eyes but the dim reflection of the fire, in the antique mirror I had before noticed. Imagining that my fancy

had played me a trick, or that the wind, which was heard moaning without, had created the sound that alarmed me, I turned towards the portrait. Conceive the thrill of terror I experienced on discovering that, during the momentary interval in which my eyes had wandered round the apartment, it had strangely increased in its dimensions, and had assumed the aspect of a living breathing man. Its dark eyes rolled in their sockets, and its whole countenance was lighted up with animation. Whilst lost in a mixture of amazement and terror I gazed at the figure before me, with a fixedness like that of one subject to some fascination, and unable to remove my eyes from the object that appalled me, another sigh, more distinct than the former, completed my consternation. The lips of the portrait seemed to move, as in the act of speaking, and a voice, melancholy in its expression and sepulchral in its tone, stole upon my ear.

"The portrait, stranger," it said," on which you have looked so earnestly, and with so much sympathy, is the resemblance of one, eminent in his day, who moved the principal figure in the bright group of knights and ladies that once filled this very apartment, but who, like the rest of his gay circle, is now mouldering in a charnel house, forgotten by posterity. Yet the family of De Grey was not among the least illustrious of the reign of Elizabeth; and their lofty ambition, and the wealth and pomp by which they surrounded themselves, seemed to promise some more lasting memorials of their high estate, than the tattered escutcheon on the walls of the village church; and the heavy monuments, decorated with headless cherubim and an illegible scroll, which no longer speaks their virtues, even to the curious decypherers of monumental inscriptions. Yet, like the persons who now move in the same exalted sphere, they little dreamed of the total oblivion that awaited them, and like them lived their hour with a parade, and pomp, and bravery, that raised them in their own estimation above the vulgar lot of mankind.

"What a scene of festivity was that which I myself witnessed, when I was first presented by the artist who drew me, to the family of which my original, then, as you may perceive, in the flower of his age, was the head. In the room chosen for the exhibition, a numerous party hailed me with an admiration that satisfied even the artist's cravings after applause. The lady of the house and her children, gazed on me with affectionate delight; the friends of the family pronounced me an excellent, though by no means a flattering likeness;-the artist eyed me with complacency, and stole occasional glances of ill-disguised rapture, as the company vied in encomiums upon the spirit and fidelity which I discovered. How little was it then in the thoughts of any one then present, or of myself, that this popular artist, as well as the personage whose resemblance I bore, was in a few brief years, in spite of this double memorial of the handsome features of the one, and the skill of the other, to be utterly forgotton; and that I myself was to be thrust into a dark corner, a neglected and nameless effigy. I remained four years in the conspicuous place to which the reverence due to my original had exalted me. Towards the end of

this period I could perceive, by comparing my original with the reflection of myself seen in a mirror which hung on the opposite wall, that a considerable alteration had taken place in his appearance.