shake them. It is quite amusing to remark with what an amiable and anile tenderness he fondles them, without the slightest argument in their defence; but, above all, the perfect composure with which he hears them confuted every day, conceding every time the whole series of propositions, by which the confutation is achieved; and then, when his opponent has done talking, calmly asserting his right to remain in the same opinion as before.

No

Of the same immoveable kind, is his opinion on the stale subject of Catholic emancipation. force of argument can loosen its grasp. It sits secure amidst the superannuated garrison of his other notions, and entrenched within the same impenetrable fortresses. Not that he argues when he is vanquished. He never argues, and is therefore never vanquished. I was highly entertained one day, when a warm advocate for the Catholic cause thought that he was overthrowing, by a course of Socratic interrogation, the decided unqualified negative of honest Will upon the claims of that large portion of the community; and calculating that reasoning would have the same ope

ration upon his, as upon the general run of human understandings.

"I think I can convince you," said he to Linley, "if you are candid."

"I am candid," rejoined the other, "but not to be convinced."

"I will begin then. Will you not allow, that in all civil communities, each individual has a right to worship his Creator in the mode he thinks best, if, in so doing, he does not disturb the peace and order of society?"

Certainly."

If, then, the Catholics claim that very right, and their tenets and worship are by no means injurious to the public tranquillity, ought the civil magistrate to punish them by a penal exclusion from the rights and immunities which are enjoyed by others?"

"Oh! no-my good fellow-certainly not."

"Well then-is there any thing in their holding transubstantiation, or in kneeling to saints, or in making confessions, or in considering an old man, or rather an old woman at Rome, as the head of their church; and permitting that old

woman to give orders, and to make regulations about that church: is there any thing in all this that can promote rebellion against the laws, or disobedience to the authority of the state?”

Perhaps, then, you will admit, that to punish them for their belief or their worship, is not likely to make them better or more obedient subjects, nor the best way to make them relinquish them ; but, on the contrary, to render them troublesome enthusiasts, or turbulent for the recovery of what they conceive to be unjustly withheld from them?"

"I admit all that," exclaimed Linley.

Then do you not think," continued the other, "that if there is a decided majority of

these enthusiasts and troublesome customers' in Ireland, who are rendered so by the penal laws, which they ask you to remove, that this valuable member of our empire is now, or may be, soon endangered ?"

Assuredly."

Why, then, would it not be better to give

them what they want, and render them insignificant and harmless (as all sects become when you let them alone) rather, than by keeping open their discords, and nurturing their animosities, make them, by your policy, the bad subjects, which you admit that their religious notions, or modes of worship, have no tendency to make them ?"

66

Why, yes, I admit all that; but I must still keep to my opinion-that Catholic emancipation would overturn church, state, and every thing."

There was something truly comic in the disappointment of this ingenious disputant, when he found the most willing admission of all his premises, without the slightest inclination to concur in his conclusion; and that he had thrown away so much good logic upon an intellect that never submitted to its jurisdiction, and suffered no argument to come within the precincts of its preconceptions. The reasoner, however, was one who loved humour; and having stared a few seconds at his invincible antagonist, he became instantly alive to the farce, and burst into a shout of laughter.

Linley imparted to Mr. Thomas Moore some interesting materials for the work which, under

the title of a Life of Sheridan, is such a motley patchwork of metaphor, simile, and quotation from Ovid's Metamorphoses, that the slender streak of biography that intersects its gaudy and enamelled pages, is hardly discernible. When the editor first waited upon Will, with a solicitation for all the information he could supply respecting his brother-in-law, the interview did not promise a fruitful supply of anecdote. Our worthy friend's memory is proverbially treacherous, and it generally contrives to break down with the incident or joke at the most critical moment. It fortuned so on this occasion. "Ah! Mr. Moore," said he, as soon as the purpose of the visit was opened, "I am exceedingly happy to find that you have undertaken the task of writing the life of my brother-in-law, Mr. Sheridan. I say my brother-in-law," (Will is minutely circumstantial in narration,) "for you know that he married my sister," I comprehend you perfectly," said the other. 66 Oh! Mr. Moore, I must first tell you an admirable epigram written by Sheridan, soon after his marriage, whilst it is fresh in my recollection. It is so poignant, and so witty, that I