may happen; and I remember a farmer whose five sons were famous for fighting every marketday, on their return from Bristol or Gloucester, by way of adjusting their several accounts. When their reverend and respected Sire was on his death-bed, he left his farm, which was a very good one, to his youngest son, saying, "Ben can lather all vour o' his brothers, an' zo let he ha 't."

"What a brute !" exclaimed the Liverpool gentleman.

"Pardon me," continued Sheridan, "they are much worse as you travel northward. I remember seeing a kick-bullock-and-bite contest between two Lancashire blades, in which one actually bit off the other's nose. When some of the bystanders condoled with the maimed combatant on his misfortune, he exclaimed, 'Never moaind, I ha' boitend off a piece of his —;' saying which, he spat the amputated portion out of his mouth."

1

An attorney one day meeting Mr. Sheridan walking with another gentleman in Piccadilly,

told him that he had just been apprenticing his second daughter, a very pretty girl, to a fashionable dress-maker in Bond-street; at the same time asking his opinion of this family arrangement. "Depend upon it, Sir," said Sheridan, "that she is in as fair a way of being ruined, as a boy is to become a rogue, when he is first put clerk to a lawyer !"

This observation was accompanied by such a penetrating look from Mr. Sheridan, that the man of law shrunk from it, as if conscious that he deserved the sting which it conveyed.

When he was gone, Sheridan, said, “How do

you think that fellow once served me?— Whilst pretending to befriend me on a certain occasion, and whilst declaring himself my friend and very humble servant, I found that he was urging one of my creditors to arrest me; and that, too, when he knew that such a thing would have gone well nigh to ruin me. The scoundrel does not suppose that I am aware of the fact; but, I think, I have mixed him up a dose of gall and vinegar which will give him the mulligrubs for a month."

XVII.

HIS EARLY POETRY.

MR. SHERIDAN produced many epigrams and other lively poetical morceaux, particularly in his youthful days, which, it is feared, have long since been lost, or consigned to oblivion among the contents of the ephemerides, and other similar "tombs of all the Capulets." The following Anacreontic address to the God of Wine, appeared in the West Country Magazine, under the signature of Pindar Paul, Esq. whilst the author resided at Bath.-Would that Mr. Sheridan had always kept such moderation in view!

BACCHUS AND VENUS.

Rosy God! thy purple hoard
Fain would I with rapture press;
Drain libations at thy board,
Quaffing joys, but not excess.

If excess, thy power is done,

Thy azure goblet crown'd in vain : Riot, madness-reason's gone ;

Then succeeds an age of pain.

Why, ivy-crowned King of Wine,
Should excess thy blessings shame?

Why should Venus, all divine!

Hold thy votaries to blame?

Venus will not yield the palm,

Nor your share of pleasure scan ;

Chloe owns the wine as balm,

Invokes the God to aid the Man.

Come, then, laughter-loving youth,
Round the myrtle wreathe the vine ;
Charm'd with music, love, and truth,

Drink the pledge, 'tis Love And Wine!

THE FOLLOWING NEAT EPIGRAM,

ON IMPRISONMENT FOR DEBT, Was written nearly about the same time.

Of old, to debtors that insolvent died,
Egypt the rights of sepulture denied ;

A different trade enlighten'd Christians drive,
And charitably bury them alive.

ON THE PROSPECT OF COACHES TO BE LAID DOWN IN 1798.

Alas! must Mrs. Jackdaw lose her coach,

And, levell'd with her betters, walk the street! Besides, how can she bear the rude approach Of sisters, aunts, and cousins, she

may

meet!

I doubt not each expedient she will find,Thomas can keep the blackguards off behind; But still, ah! still her case we must deplore, For who can keep the blackguards off before?