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-so 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!

Though 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, written by him, apparently, about the year 1794, and addressed to Lord Howe and the other 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, than P-tl-d's brighter far,
The Pole shall furnish you a Star?
Damn their ribands and their garters,
Get you to your post and quarters.

Think, on what things are ribands shower'd―
The two Sir Georges-Y- and H—!
Look to what rubbish stars will stick,
To Dicky Hn 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 Rh!

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 honour 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.”

UNFINISHED PLAYS AND POEMS

UNFINISHED PLAYS AND POEMS.

WHEN in his seventeenth year, Sheridan produced a dramatic sketch founded on the "Vicar of Wakefield," a scene of which will serve to show how early his talent for lively dialogue displayed itself:

SCENE II.

THORNHILL and ARNOLD.

Thornhill. Nay, prithee, Jack, no more of that if you love me. What, shall I stop short with the game in full view? Faith, I believe the fellow's turned puritan. What think you of turning methodist, Jack? You have a tolerable good canting countenance, and, if escaped being taken up for a Jesuit, you might make a fortune in Moorfields.

Arnold. I was serious, Tom.

Thorn. Splenetic, you mean. Come, fill your glass, and a truce to your preaching. Here's a pretty fellow has let his conscience sleep for these five years, and has now plucked morality from the leaves of his grandmother's Bible, beginning to declaim against what he has practised half his life-time. Why, I tell you once more, my schemes are all come to perfection. I, am now convinced Olivia loves me—at our last conversation, she said she would rely wholly on my honour.

Arn. And therefore you would deceive her.

Thorn. Why no-deceive her?-why-indeed—as to thatbut-but, for God's sake, let me hear no more on this subject, for 'faith, you make me sad, Jack. If you continue your admonitions, I shall begin to think you have yourself an eye on the girl. You have promised me your assistance, and, when you came down into the country, were as hot on the scheme as myself: but, since you have been two or three times with me at Primrose's, you have fallen off strangely. No encroachments, Jack, on my little rosebud-if you have a mind to beat up game in this quarter, there's her sister-but no poaching.