During the king's temporary derangement, at the latter end of 1788, Sheridan zealously advocated the heirapparent's claims to an unrestricted regency; and he was generally supposed to have been the author of the celebrated letter, sent by his royal highness, on the 1st of January, 1789, to Mr. Pitt. It appears, however, to have been written by Burke, and altered a little, as Lord Minto states, but not improved, by Sheridan and other critics. The | sudden recovery of the king, marred the flattering prospects of the Whigs, who had fully relied on being called to office by the prince, as soon as the regency bill, then in progress, should have passed. In the following year, a schism took place among them, relative to the French revolution, which Burke and others of the party regarded with abhorrence; while Fox, Sheridan, and the residue, maintained it to be as necessary, just, and glorious, as that which had taken place in this country, in 1688. For the avowal of these and similar opinions, Burke declared, that the union which had long subsisted between Sheridan and himself, was for ever at an end.

At the election for Westminster, in 1790, Sheridan, who had been returned again for Stafford, having assisted Fox on the hustings, Horne Tooke termed him a merry-andrew, who attempted to cajole the mob, when the quack doctor, Fox, had left the platform. The interference of England between Russia and the Porte, and the state of the Scotch representation, were the main topics on which Sheridan spoke during the next session. In 1792, he was visited with a heavy domestic calamity : Mrs. Sheridan died in that year, at Bristol, of a decline, at the early age of thirty-eight. In her was united extraordinary talent to surpassing beauty, and the most intense perception of the enjoyments of home. For domestic privacy, she gladly abandoned the feverish but flattering excitements of a splendid professional career; preferring the love and approbation of her husband to the applause and admiration of thousands. In all the employments of private life she displayed a romantic, yet exquisite taste; as a mother and a wife, she has never been surpassed; and it may safely be said of her, that in

VOL. I.

manners, virtues, temper, accomplishments, and loveliness, but few have approached so near to the ideal standard of feminine perfection. It was happy for her that she did not live to witness the decline and distresses of her beloved and admired, but imprudent husband.

In May, 1794, Sheridan had to make his reply on the Begum charge. It is related of him, that, previously to its delivery, he passed two or three days alone at Wanstead, so occupied, in writing, and reading papers, as to complain that he had motes before his eyes. This mixture of real labour, observes Mr. Moore, with apparent carelessness, was one of the most curious features of his life and character. On each of the four days of his reply, Sheridan was assisted, as is the custom on such occasions, by one of his brother managers of the impeachment, whose business it was to read whatever papers might be necessary. Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor, who undertook this office, asked Sheridan, one morning, for the bag containing the documents. Sheridan replied, that he had neither bag nor papers, and that they must contrive, by management and effrontery, to do without them. He had not proceeded far in his speech, when the lord chancellor requested that the minutes of the evidence, to which Sheridan had just referred, might be read. Mr. Taylor, on this, pretended to send for the bag; and the undaunted orator continued his address, in order, as he said, not to waste time. In a few minutes, the papers were again called for, and messengers were despatched in all directions for the bag, which Sheridan affected to suppose had been mislaid. In the midst of the outcry, Fox ran up to Taylor, and anxiously inquired what had become of the bag:

Sir," replied Taylor, in a whisper, "the man has no bag!" In the meantime, Sheridan proceeded triumphantly with his speech; and, at length, in answer to another interruption, accompanied by rather a severe expostulation on his inattention and irregularity, from the chancellor, he indignantly observed, "that as manager of the impeachment, on behalf of the house of commons he should conduct his case as he thought fit; that it was his most ardent desire to be perfectly correct in what he stated;

and that, should he fall into error, the printed minutes of evidence would correct him."

His

In 1795, he married Miss Ogle, daughter of the Dean of Winchester: the lady's fortune was £5,000, to which he contrived to add thrice that amount; and the entire sum being vested in trustees, they laid it out in purchasing the estate of Polesdon, in Surrey. At this period, during the debates on the treason and sedition bills, Sheridan, following the example of Fox, who preached popular resistance to the measures of government, was betrayed into the utterance of much violent and unconstitutional language. The suspension of the habeas corpus act, and the investigation of the prince's debts, were the next events of consequence in which he stood conspicuously forward. conduct during the mutiny at the Nore was eminently patriotic: discarding all party feelings, and private views, he zealously supported ministers; and nobly declared, that the time had arrived, when the king had an undoubted right to call on all classes of his subjects to maintain the laws, and give effect to the measures of government. Immediately after Mr. Grey's motion for reform had been rejected by the house, he seceded, with Fox and his adherents, from parliament; but had the mortification to perceive, that this manœuvre created no sensation, and was productive of no benefit. The Irish rebellion, in 1798, furnished an inexhaustible topic for his eloquence, and he repeatedly imputed to the criminal misgovernment of the "wicked ministers," all the horrors which were then raging in his unhappy country.

On the appearance of the fictitious Shakespeare papers, published in 1796, he had been duped into a conviction of their authenticity, and had purchased, for £300, from Ireland, who, subsequently avowed himself to be its author, the play of Vortigern, which he forthwith set about producing. In 1798, he adapted from the German, and brought forward, the drama of The Stranger; the extraordinary success of which induced him to concoct, from a production of the same author (Kotzebue) the drama of Pizarro. This piece was got up with great splendour, and attained such popularity, that it attracted a succession

of vast audiences to the theatre, even in the middle of summer. Lord Thurlow attended one of its representations, but sunk into a profound sleep during Rolla's celebrated address to the Peruvians. "Poor fellow!" said Sheridan, on being informed of the circumstance, "I suppose he fancied he was on the bench."

Sheridan continued to adhere pertinaciously to his party; refusing a lucrative office offered by government to his son, and meeting with coldness a message from the king, "expressive of the approbation with which he regarded his public conduct, and of the pleasure he should feel in conferring upon him some mark of his royal favour." In 1804, he received a welcome accession to his income, by a grant, from the Prince of Wales, of the receivership of the duchy of Cornwall, "as a trifling proof of that sincere friendship his royal highness had always professed and felt for him through a long series of years." The wishes of the prince deterred Sheridan from uniting himself to the Addington administration, although he supported it, with a view to prevent the return of Pitt to the helm of state. The latter, however, was soon recalled to office, in which he continued until his death, which took place in 1806. The Fox and Grenville parties then coalesced, and succeeded to power. Sheridan, sharing in the triumph of his friends, obtained the treasurership of the navy; which, however, he considered totally inadequate to his merits, although his necessities, the result of constant imprudence, rendered it highly acceptable. On the death of Fox, which soon afterwards occurred, Sheridan felt anxious to offer himself as a candidate to the electors of Westminster; but was deterred, by an intimation from Lord Grenville, who is said to have looked with no favourable eye upon the treasurer of the navy, that government had promised its influence to Earl Percy. Parliament being soon afterwards dissolved, and Earl Percy having declined to offer himself again for Westminster, Sheridan was proposed as one of the candidates, and, after a tumultuous contest, was triumphantly elected. With bitter regret, he beheld his colleagues rush into those measures, which drove him,

previously encumbered it. Although overwhelmed with debt, and no longer exempt from arrest, he declined an offer from the prince to procure him a seat for one of the government boroughs; and, for some time, lurked at different coffee houses, to avoid falling into the hands of sheriffs' officers. His propensity for the bottle, which had long been notorious, deplorably increased; until, at length, he was almost always intoxicated. One morning, at day-break, he left a tavern, in such a state of inebriety, that after having proceeded a few steps, he fell, and all his attempts to get up again were ineffectual. Some persons assisted him to rise, and requested his name and address. He begged them, in reply, to take him to a neighbouring coffee-house, adding, "I am Mr. Wilberforce."

He was soon compelled to part with every article of comfort or luxury for his immediate wants. The splendid copies of works which had been presented to him, were sent, volume after volume, to the pawnbroker. He disposed of some choice and favourite pictures, by Morland and Gainsborough; and, at length, the beloved portrait of his first wife, painted by Reynolds, also disappeared: In 1815, he was arrested. His fortunes were now at the lowest ebb; but Whitbread, on visiting the spunging house where he was confined, found him buoying himself up with the vain hope of obtaining a seat in parliament for Westminster. A violent re-action, however, took place, after his liberation; and he is said to have wept most passionately at the idea of his person having been profaned by the touch of a

bailiff.

In the spring of 1816, it became evident that he was bankrupt in health, as well as in fortune. The partial relief he experienced from a few friends, and the loan, (in other words, the gift,) of £100 from Mr. Canning, afforded him but a momentary respite from distress. Writs and executions, out of number, were issued against him, and he had the greatest difficulty to avoid capture. At length, a sheriff's officer obtained access to his chamber, and, but for the interference of Dr. Bain, would have carried off the dying orator in his blankets. Had he been removed, he would, in all probability, as Dr. Bain told the officer,

have expired before they reached the spunging-house. Lord Holland, the poet Moore, Peter Moore, Rogers, and a few others of his private friends, did not desert him: but the great mass of those with whom he had been on the most intimate terms when in the zenith of his fortune and fame, neither consoled him with their presence, nor assisted him with their purses, although it was known that he lay dying and almost destitute. Still, his sanguine disposition did not desert him; the phantom, hope, hovered round his couch, and cheered his departing spirit. Moore, the poet, relates that one morning, when he took Sheridan a checque for £150 from Rogers, he found him in good spirits, though his hour was then almost at hand. He spoke of the price he expected for his dramatic works, and said that he felt certain of being able to get out of his difficulties, if he only had the power to leave his bed. The prince proposed, through one of his agents, to present him with £200; but this tardy, and, as it was deemed, paltry offer, appears to have been rather indignantly declined.

At length, a noble-minded individual, who, though by no means on good terms with Sheridan, forgot in his fallen state that he had ever offended, aroused the public sympathy in his favour, by a powerful appeal, in the Morning Post, which contained this animated passage: -"Oh! delay not to draw aside the curtain, within which that proud spirit hides its sufferings! Prefer ministering in the chamber of sickness, to mustering at the splendid sorrows that adorn the hearse.' I say, life and succour, against Westminster abbey and a funeral!" Royal and noble visitors, now called at his door. The Bishop of London read prayers by his bed-side, and a general disposition was exhibited to afford him relief; but no assistance could now avail him. On the 7th of July, 1816, he breathed his last. His remains were deposited, with great solemnity, in the only unoccupied spot of Poet's corner, in Westminster abbey. His second wife, and two sons, by his first, survived him.

In early life, Sheridan had been generally accounted handsome: he was rather above the middle size, and well proportioned. He excelled in several manly exercises: he was a proficient in

horsemanship, and danced with great elegance. His eyes were black, brilliant, and always particularly expressive. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted his portrait, is said to have affirmed, that their pupils were larger than those of any human being he had ever met with. They retained their beauty to the last; but the lower parts of his face exhibited, in his latter years, the usual effects of intemperance. His arms were strong, although by no means large; and his hands small and delicate. On a cast of one of them, the following appropriate couplet is stated, by Moore, to have been written:

Good at a fight, but better at a play; Godlike in giving; but the devil to pay ! The source of Sheridan's misfortunes was ambition, or an insatiable appetite for display. At the outset of his career, he adopted a style of living, the expenses of which far exceeded his limited means; and he plunged headlong into debt to keep up an appearance equal to that of his opulent associates. His pride, and increasing desire to shine in superior society, prevented him from attempting to retrieve his independence, by abandoning the course which he had thus rashly adopted: had he done so, when he began to discover its manifold inconveniences, his future progress in life would, perhaps, have been more happy and more honourable, but, in all probability, much less brilliant; for the same vice which ultimately led to his ruin, was also the cause of his celebrity. His ruling passion prompted him, by dint of intense application, to aim at achieving extraordinary reputation as a dramatist; he succeeded, but was not satisfied. The supreme controul of one of the great theatres then became the pinnacle of his aspiring views by some miraculous means he attained it; but, cloyed with possession, and eager to distinguish himself in a more important station, he formed expensive political connexions, with the view of obtaining a seat in parliament. His wish was again gratified: he became a member of the house of commons; and, at length, one of the leaders of his party. But his success as an orator tended to accelerate his ruin. To maintain his political eminence, he devoted his attention to public affairs;

his private concerns were consequently neglected. The emoluments which he might, perhaps, have acquired, by a sedulous attention to his business, as a stage-proprietor, were considered as dust in the balance, against the congenial society, the entertainment, and flattering applause which he met with in parliament. Intoxicated by his reputation for eloquence, he beheld, with indifference, his respectability vanish, his pecuniary resources diminish, and his liabilities enormously increase. Privileged from arrest, and gifted with an extraordinary power of appeasing the most clamorous creditor, debt, in his opinion, appeared to be no disgrace, and scarcely an inconvenience. He frequently so infatuated his victims, that, many who called upon him for payment, were cajoled to lend him more money, or furnish him with more goods. Selfishness was a predominant quality in his tharacter. With an apathy, evincing a lamentable want of principle, he borrowed and squandered away what he had no prospect of repaying; and thus reduced to beggary, several who had the strongest claims on his gratitude. Although affected even to the shedding of tears, at the profanation of his person by the touch of a bailiff, he appears to have been contemptibly callous to the distresses of those on whom he had entailed misery, and, in some cases, absolute want, by his carelessness and extravagance.

Amid the struggles of party, and all the feverish, but, to him, delectable excitements of political life, the drama still possessed some of its original fascination. He shamefully neglected, but would not, until absolutely compelled by circumstances, altogether abandon his theatrical pursuits, incompatible as they were with his political avocations. His finances were suffered to fall into ruinous confusion; while, in return for the devotion of his talents and time to public affairs, he obtained little but fame; his party, though able and energetic, having but rarely and briefly enjoyed the sweets of office. His debts rapidly accumulated; his intellectual powers gradually diminished; and the more nearly he approached towards poverty, the more grossly did he abandon himself to sensual indulgences. In the course of his career, he had made numerous enemies, many admirers, but