which they so much dreaded. On the 6th of May, the House of Commons was witness to an unequalled display of passion on one side, and tenderness on another. Burke with violence and impetuosity severed the ties of friendship that so long had bound the two great men together. Burke's warning voice against the danger of trying new theories, his wish to cherish the British constitution, and to save it from the influence of French philosophy, passed by unheeded; but when Fox whispered that there would be no loss of friendship, Burke repudiated the idea, "Yes there was a loss of friendship-he knew the price of his conduct-he had done his duty at the price of his friend their friendship was at an end." Here Fox betrayed an amiable weakness, tears coursed each other down his cheek, as he rose to reply. The House was visibly affected; not a sound was heard. It was felt that men of noble nature, long deeply attached, were torn from each other by a high sense of honour, by a sacred feeling of duty, and the love of their native land. Although the greater part of those with whom Sheridan usually acted saw without apprehension the commencement of the conflict in France, there was one master spirit of the age who feared danger in the struggle, and left the old companions of his political views. Burke, with whom Sheridan had lived on terms of intimacy, who had fought the battle against Hastings so nobly with him, who had cheered him on, and who had received him fainting in his arms, after his great effort in the House of Lords, from the earliest moment expressed his dissent from his former friend, and by his writings and speeches attempted to counteract his opinions. On the 9th of February came on the discussion on the Army Estimates; the Session had been opened on the 1st of February, and as early as the 5th, Mr. Fox had taken an opportunity, whilst discussing the reduction of the army, to observe that the army in Paris had, by its refusal to obey the court, set a glorious example, and shown that men by becoming soldiers had not ceased to be citizens; and, therefore, one of his great objections to a standing army had been removed. Mr. Burke, after some eloquently expressed compliments on Mr. Fox, deprecated the effects which such language was likely to produce; and said "that so strongly was he opposed to any the least tendency towards the means of introducing a democracy like that of

the French, as well as to the end itself, that, much as it would afflict him if such a thing should be attempted, and that any friend of his should concur in such measures-he was far, very far, from believing they could-he would abandon his best friends, and join with his worst enemies to oppose either the means or the end." This declaration called forth from Fox one of the most beautiful eulogiums ever pronounced by one friend upon another. After stating the value he placed upon his friendship, he thus spoke of the splendid powers of that great orator :- If he were to put all the political information which he had learned from books, all which he had gained from science, and all which any knowledge of the world, and in affairs, into one scale, and the improvement which he had derived from his right honourable friend's instruction and conversation were placed in the other, he should be at a loss to decide to which to give the preference." Burke was evidently pleased with these explanations, and rose to express his satisfaction; but Sheridan was not so easily acted upon. He uttered "some warm compliments to Mr. Burke's general principles; but said that he could not conceive how it was possible for a person of such principles, or for any man who valued our own constitution, and revered the Revolution that obtained it for us, to unite with such feelings an indignant and unqualified abhorrence of all the proceedings of the patriotic party in France.

"He conceived theirs to be as just a revolution as our own, proceeding upon as sound a principle and a greater provocation. He vehemently defended the general views and conduct of the national assembly. He could not even understand what was meant by the charge against them of having overturned the laws, the justice, and the revenues of their country. What were their laws? The arbitrary mandates of capricious despotism. What their justice? The partial adju dications of venal magistrates. What their revenues? National bankruptcy. This he thought the fundamental error of the right honourable gentleman's argument, that he accused the national assembly of creating the evils which they had found existing in full deformity at the first hour of their meeting. The public creditor had been defrauded; the manufacturer was out of employ; trade was languishing: famine clung upon the poor; despair on all. In this situs

tion, the wisdom and feelings of the nation were appealed to by the government; and was it to be wondered at by Englishmen, that a people, so circumstanced, should search for the cause and source of all their calamities; or that they should find them in the arbitrary constitution of their government, and in the prodigal and corrupt administration of their revenues? For such an evil, when proved, what remedy could be resorted to, but a radical amendment of the frame and fabric of the constitution itself? This change was not the object and wish of the national assembly only, it was the claim and cry of all France, united as one man for one purpose. He joined with Mr. Burke in abhorring the cruelties that had been committed; but what was the striking lesson, the awful moral that was to be gathered from the outrages of the populace? What, but a superior abhorrence of that accursed system of despotic government which had so deformed and corrupted human nature, as to make its subjects capable of such acts; a government that sets at nought the property, the liberty, and lives of the subjects; a government that deals in extortion, dungeons, and tortures; sets an example of depravity to the slaves it rules over; and, if a day of power comes to the wretched populace, it is not to be wondered at, however it is to be regretted, that they act without those feelings of justice and humanity which the principles and the practice of their governors have stripped them of. At the same time if there were any persons who, for the purposes of their own private and personal ambition, had instigated those outrages, they, whatever their rank, birth, or fortune, deserved the execration of mankind. Justice, however, required that no credit should be given to mere rumours on such a subject."

Mr. Burke replied that he most sincerely lamented over the inevitable necessity of now publicly declaring that, henceforth, he and his honourable friend were separated in politics. He complained "that he had not represented his arguments fairly; it was not what he expected in the moment of departed friendship. On the contrary, was it not evident that the honourable gentleman had made a sacrifice of his friendship for the sake of catching some momentary popularity?—all the applause which he could gain from clubs was scarcely worthy the sacrifice which he had chosen to make for such an acqui

sition." Attempts were in vain made to heal the breach thus made between two men who had so often fought together mighty battles against power, against corruption and tyranny A meeting took place at Burlington House, according to a previous arrangement; it lasted from ten o'clock at night until three in the morning; and never was there a more remarkable display of talent on both sides. Burke was, however, implacable; all communication ceased between them; and though Sheridan spoke of him, in the House of Commons, as one for whose talents and personal virtue he had the highest esteem, veneration, and regard, all was in vain. Burke spoke of him with asperity from that time forward; and attributed to his unwarrantable interference his own secession from his former party.

It was alleged that Sheridan had hastened on this separation by his imprudent speeches, and that this was the result of jealousy, and an anxious desire to fill the place in Charles Fox's esteem that for a quarter of a century Burke had enjoyed. Of the littleness that could invent this calumny we may speak with contempt; but of the eagerness to diffuse the venom we think with disgust. It is not unlikely that Sheridan should have urged on this explanation of the differences which existed in that great party, whose chief end and aim was declared to be the love of a pure and well-defined constitution, which, whilst it guarded the liberties of a people, acknowledged frankly the great principles of royalty, and of a House of Lords.

A speech made by Sheridan on a motion of Mr. Grey, against any interference in the war between Russia and the Porte, is well worthy of perusal, as illustrating the information, and likewise the discretion and tact with which he could handle a subject of difficulty. It is remarkable for the avowal of a doctrine that the prerogative of the crown to declare war might prove obnoxious to the House, and that there existed an ancient, constitutional, and most useful function of a British House of Commons to advise the Crown, and by a due application of their preventive wisdom to save the country from that expense and calamity into which they might otherwise be plunged, either by the terror of ministers, their impru dence, their neglect, or their corruption.

Mr. Sheridan retired, in the month of April, from the busi

ness of the House; during this period there are no records of speeches to be met with, no traces of his occupation. In fact, his mind was harassed by many conflicting thoughts; Mrs. Sheridan's state of health excited the deepest apprehension. She was compelled to seek change of air at Clifton. The state of Drury Lane Theatre, too, was such as to be a source of much anxiety to him; it had been pronounced by competent persons to be unfit to receive large audiences, and that it was necessary that it should be rebuilt. The circumstances attending such a determination could not fail to require all the attention of Mr. Sheridan; his time and mind were devoted to the completion of the plans that were now devised, and from which hopes were entertained that ultimate .advantages would accrue. These hopes were not destined to be fulfilled; and we may look to this period of this great man's life as the one from which sprang all the ultimate misfortunes that gradually overpowered him. He had now attained the zenith of his reputation. His popularity, his talents, and his exertions were all the theme of general eulogy. Though some slight embarrassments had occurred, they had passed away like the fleeting clouds across the summer sun; but he was now destined to fall from the giddy height, and to feel how transitory are all the gifts of fortune. He had, it would seem, three establishments, and his style of living was such as became a man mingling in the richer class of society, and enjoying all that luxury can give. To build the theatre seemed an easy task; all that was required was one hundred and fifty thou sand pounds. This was raised with the utmost facility in three hundred debentures of five hundred pounds each; but the difficulty of paying the interest of that large sum was scarcely calculated upon. Three instalments were to be paid up, and as soon as one was paid all was prepared. On the 4th of June, his Majesty's birthday, Old Drury Lane, the scene of so many extraordinary circumstances, closed for ever; the company went to the Opera House, and from thence, when the musical season commenced, to the Haymarket, where they played at advanced prices. On the 4th of September the first stone of the new theatre was laid. Unforeseen difficulties, fresh expenses, vexatious negotiations, combined to retard the completion of the new theatre; and during this inter val a sad calamity occurred.