Memorial for Dr. W. T., [Footnote: This industrious Scotchman (of whose name I have only given the initials) was not without some share of humor. On hearing that a certain modern philosopher had carried his belief in the perfectibility of all living things so far, as to say that he did not despair of seeing the day when tigers themselves might be educated, Dr. T. exclaimed, “I should like dearly to see him in a cage with two of his pupils!”]
Fitzroy-street, Fitzroy-Chapel.
“In May, 1787, Dr. Parr, in the name of his political friends, engaged Dr. T. to embrace those opportunities, which his connections with booksellers and periodical publications might afford him, of supporting the principles of their party. Mr. Sheridan in August, 1787, gave two notes, 50l. each, to Dr. T. for the first year’s service, which notes were paid at different periods — the first by Mr. Sheridan at Brookes’s, in January, 1788, the second by Mr. Windham in May, 1788. Mr. Sheridan, in different conversations, encouraged Dr. T. to go on with the expectation of a like sum yearly, or 50l. half yearly. Dr. T. with this encouragement engaged in different publications for the purpose of this agreement. He is charged for the most part with the Political and Historical articles in the Analytic Review, and he also occasionally writes the Political Appendix to the English Review, of which particularly he wrote that for April last, and that for June last. He also every week writes an abridgment of Politics for the Whitehall Evening Post, and a Political Review every month for a Sunday paper entitled the Review and Sunday Advertiser. In a Romance, entitled ‘Mammoth, or Human Nature Displayed, &c.,’ Dr. T. has shown how mindful he is on all occasions of his engagements to those who confide in him. He has also occasionally moved other engines, which it would be tedious and might appear too trifling to mention. Dr. T. is not ignorant that uncommon charges have happened in the course of this last year, that is, the year preceding May, 1789. Instead of 100l., therefore, he will be satisfied with 50l for that year, provided that this abatement shall not form a precedent against his claim of 100l. annually, if his further services shall be deemed acceptable. There is one point on which Dr. T. particularly reserved himself, namely, to make no attack on Mr. Hastings, and this will be attested by Dr. Parr, Mr. Sheridan, and, if the Doctor rightly recollects, by Mr. Windham.
“Fitzroy-street, 21st July, 1789.”
Taking into account all the various circumstances that concurred to glorify this period of Sheridan’s life, we may allow ourselves, I think, to pause upon it as the apex of the pyramid, and, whether we consider his fame, his talents, or his happiness, may safely say, “Here is their highest point.”
The new splendor which his recent triumphs in eloquence had added to a reputation already so illustrious, — the power which he seemed to have acquired over the future destinies of the country, by his acknowledged influence in the councils of the Heir Apparent, and the tribute paid to him, by the avowal both of friends and foes, that he had used this influence in the late trying crisis of the Regency, with a judgment and delicacy that proved him worthy of it, — all these advantages, both brilliant and solid, which subsequent circumstances but too much tended to weaken, at this moment surrounded him in their newest lustre and promise.
He was just now, too, in the first enjoyment of a feeling, of which habit must have afterwards dulled the zest, namely, the proud consciousness of having surmounted the disadvantages of birth and station, and placed himself on a level with the highest and noblest of the land. This footing in the society of the great he could only have attained by parliamentary eminence; — as a mere writer, with all his genius, he never would have been thus admitted ad eundem among them. Talents, in literature or science, unassisted by the advantages of birth, may lead to association with the great, but rarely to equality; — it is a passport through the well-guarded frontier, but no title to naturalization within. By him, who has not been born among them, this can only be achieved by politics. In that arena, which they look upon as their own, the Legislature of the land, let a man of genius, like Sheridan, but assert his supremacy, — at once all these barriers of reserve and pride give way, and he takes, by storm, a station at their side, which a Shakspeare or a Newton would but have enjoyed by courtesy.
In fixing upon this period of Sheridan’s life, as the most shining aera of his talents as well as his fame, it is not meant to be denied that in his subsequent warfare with the Minister, during the stormy time of the French Revolution, he exhibited a prowess of oratory no less suited to that actual service, than his eloquence on the trial of Hastings had been to such lighter tilts and tournaments of peace. But the effect of his talents was far less striking; — the current of feeling through England was against him; — and, however greatly this added to the merit of his efforts, it deprived him of that echo from the public heart, by which the voice of the orator is endued with a sort of multiplied life, and, as it were, survives itself. In the panic, too, that followed the French Revolution, all eloquence, but that from the lips of Power, was disregarded, and the voice of him at the helm was the only one listened to in the storm.
Of his happiness, at the period of which we are speaking, in the midst of so much success and hope, there can be but little doubt. Though pecuniary embarrassment, as appears from his papers, had already begun to weave its fatal net around him, there was as yet little more than sufficed to give exercise to his ingenuity, and the resources of the Drury-Lane treasury were still in full nightly flow. The charms, by which his home was embellished, were such as few other homes could boast; and, if any thing made it less happy than it ought to be, the cause was to be found in the very brilliancy of his life and attractions, and in those triumphs out of the sphere of domestic love, to which his vanity, perhaps, oftener than his feelings, impelled him.
Among his own immediate associates, the gaiety of his spirits amounted almost to boyishness. He delighted in all sorts of dramatic tricks and disguises; and the lively parties, with which his country-house was always filled, were kept in momentary expectation of some new device for their mystification or amusement. [Footnote: To give some idea of the youthful tone of this society, I shall mention one out of many anecdotes related to me by persons who themselves been ornaments of it. The ladies having one evening received the gentlemen in masquerade dresses, which with their obstinate silence, made it impossible to distinguish one from the other, the gentlemen, in their turn invited the ladies next evening, to a similar trial of conjecture on themselves; and notice being given that they were ready dressed, Mrs. Sheridan and her companions were admitted into the dining room, where they found a party of Turks, sitting silent and masked around the table. After a long course of the usual guesses, examinations, &c, &c., and each lady having taken the arm of the person she was most sure of, they heard a burst of laughter through the half open door, and looking there, saw the gentlemen themselves in their proper person — the masks upon whom they had been lavishing their sagacity being no other than the maid servants of the house, who had been thus dressed up to deceive them.] It was not unusual to dispatch a man and horse seven or eight miles for a piece of crape or a mask, or some other such trifle for these frolics. His friends Tickell and Richardson, both men of wit and humor, and the former possessing the same degree of light animal spirits as himself, were the constant companions of all his social hours, and kept up with him that ready rebound of pleasantry, without which the play of wit languishes.
There is a letter, written one night by Richardson at Tunbridge [Footnote: In the year 1790, when Mrs. Sheridan was trying the waters of Tunbridge for her health. In a letter to Sheridan’s sister from this place, dated September 1790, she says: “I drink the waters once a day, and ride and drive all the forenoon, which makes me ravenous when I return. I feel I am in very good health, and I am in high beauty, two circumstances which ought and do put me in high good humor.”] (after waiting five long hours for Sheridan,) so full of that mixture of melancholy and humor, which chequered the mind of this interesting man, that, as illustrative of the character of o
ne of Sheridan’s most intimate friends, it may be inserted here: —
“DEAR SHERIDAN,
“Half-past nine, Mount Ephraim.
“After you had been gone an hour or two I got moped damnably. Perhaps there is a sympathy between the corporeal and the mind’s eye. In the Temple I can’t see far before me, and seldom extend my speculations on things to come into any fatiguing sketch of reflection. — From your window, however, there was a tedious scope of black atmosphere, that I think won my mind into a sort of fellow-travellership, pacing me again through the cheerless waste of the past, and presenting hardly one little rarified cloud to give a dim ornament to the future; — not a star to be seen; — no permanent light to gild my horizon; — only the fading helps to transient gaiety in the lamps of Tunbridge; — no Law coffee-house at hand, or any other house of relief; — no antagonist to bicker one into a control of one’s cares by a successful opposition, [Footnote: Richardson was remarkable for his love of disputation; and Tickell, when hard pressed by him in argument, used often, as a last resource, to assume the voice and manner of Mr. Fox, which he had the power of mimicking so exactly, that Richardson confessed he sometimes stood awed and silenced by the resemblance.
This disputatious humor of Richardson was once turned to account by Sheridan in a very characteristic manner. Having had a hackney-coach in employ for five or six hours, and not being provided with the means of paying it, he happened to espy Richardson in the street, and proposed to take him in the coach some part of his way. The offer being accepted, Sheridan lost no time in starting a subject of conversation, on which he knew his companion was sure to become argumentative and animated. Having, by well-managed contradiction, brought him to the proper pitch of excitement, he affected to grow impatient and angry, himself, and saying that “he could not think of staying in the same coach with a person that would use such language,” pulled the check-string, and desired the coachman to let him out. Richardson, wholly occupied with the argument, and regarding the retreat of his opponent as an acknowledgment of defeat, still pressed his point, and even hollowed “more last words” through the coach-window after Sheridan, who, walking quietly home, left the poor disputant responsible for the heavy fare of the coach.] nor a softer enemy to soothe one into an oblivion of them.
“It is damned foolish for ladies to leave their scissors about; — the frail thread of a worthless life is soon snipped. I wish to God my fate had been true to its first destination, and made a parson of me; — I should have made an excellent country Joll. I think I can, with confidence, pronounce the character that would have been given of me: — He was an indolent good-humored man, civil at all times, and hospitable at others, namely, when he was able to be so, which, truth to say, happened but seldom. His sermons were better than his preaching, and his doctrine better than his life; though often grave, and sometimes melancholy, he nevertheless loved a joke, — the more so when overtaken in his cups, which, a regard to the faith of history compels us to subjoin, fell out not unfrequently. He had more thought than was generally imputed to him, though it must be owned no man alive ever exercised thought to so little purpose. Rebecca, his wife, the daughter of an opulent farmer in the neighborhood of his small living, brought him eighteen children; and he now rests with those who, being rather not absolutely vicious than actively good, confide in the bounty of Providence to strike a mild average between the contending negations of their life, and to allow them in their future state, what he ordained them in this earthly pilgrimage, a snug neutrality and a useless repose. — I had written thus far, absolutely determined, under an irresistible influence of the megrims, to set off for London on foot, when, accidentally searching for a cardialgic, to my great delight, I discovered three fugitive sixpences, headed by a vagrant shilling, immerged in the heap in my waistcoat pocket. This discovery gave an immediate elasticity to my mind; and I have therefore devised a scheme, worthier the improved state of my spirits, namely, to swindle your servants out of a horse, under the pretence of a ride upon the heath, and to jog on contentedly homewards. So, under the protection of Providence, and the mercy of footpads, I trust we shall meet again to-morrow; at all events, there is nothing huffish in this; for, whether sad or merry, I am always,
“Most affectionately yours,
“J. RICHARDSON.
“P.S. Your return only confirmed me in my resolution of going; for I had worked myself, in five hours solitude, into such a state of nervous melancholy, that I found I could not help the meanness of crying, even if any one looked me in the face. I am anxious to avoid a regular conviction of so disreputable an infirmity; — besides, the night has become quite pleasant.”
Between Tickell and Sheridan there was a never-ending “skirmish of wit,” both verbal and practical; and the latter kind, in particular, was carried on between them with all the waggery, and, not unfrequently, the malice of school-boys. [Footnote: On one occasion, Sheridan having covered the floor of a dark passage, leading from the drawing room, with all the plates and dishes of the house, ranged closely together, provoked his unconscious play-fellow to pursue him into the midst of them. Having left a path for his own escape, he passed through easily, but Tickell, falling at full length into the ambuscade, was very much cut in several places. The next day, Lord John Townshend, on paying a visit to the bed-side of Tickell, found him covered over with patches, and indignantly vowing vengeance against Sheridan for this unjustifiable trick. In the midst of his anger, however, he could not help exclaiming, with the true feeling of an amateur of this sort of mischief, “but how amazingly well done it was!”] Tickell, much less occupied by business than his friend, had always some political jeux d’esprit on the anvil; and sometimes these trifles were produced by them jointly. The following string of pasquinades so well known in political circles, and written, as the reader will perceive, at different dates, though principally by Sheridan, owes some of its stanzas to Tickel, and a few others, I believe, to Lord John Townshend. I have strung together, without regard to chronology, the best of these detached lampoons. Time having removed their venom, and with it, in a great degree, their wit, they are now, like dried snakes, mere harmless objects of curiosity.
“Johnny W — lks, Johnny W — lks,
Thou greatest of bilks,
How chang’d are the notes you now sing!
Your fam’d Forty-five
Is Prerogative,
And your blasphemy, ‘God save the King,’
Johnny W-lks,
And your blasphemy, ‘God save the King.’”
“Jack Ch — ch — ll, Jack Ch — ch — ll,
The town sure you search ill,
Your mob has disgraced all your brags;
When next you draw out
Your hospital rout,
Do, prithee, afford them clean rags,
Jack Ch — ch — ll,
Do, prithee, afford them clean rags.”
“Captain K — th, Captain K — th,
Keep your tongue ‘twixt your teeth,
Lest bed-chamber tricks you betray;
And, if teeth you want more,
Why, my bold Commodore, —
You may borrow of Lord G — ll — y,
Captain K — th,
You may borrow of Lord G — ll — y.”
“Joe M — wb — y, Joe M — wb — y,
Your throat sure must raw be,
In striving to make yourself heard;
But it pleased not the pigs.
Nor the Westminster Whigs,
That your Knighthood should utter one word,
Joe M — wb — y,
That your Knighthood should utter one word.”
“M — ntm — res, M — ntm — res,
Whom nobody for is,
And for whom we none of us care;
From Dublin you came —
It had much been the same
If your Lordship had staid where you were,
M — ntm — res,
If your Lordship had staid
where you were.”
“Lord O — gl — y, Lord O — gl — y,
You spoke mighty strongly —
Who you are, tho’, all people admire!
But I’ll let you depart,
For I believe in my heart,
You had rather they did not inquire,
Lord O — gl — y,
You had rather they did not inquire.”
“Gl — nb — e, Gl — nb — e,
What’s good for the scurvy?
For ne’er be your old trade forgot —
In your arms rather quarter
A pestle and mortar,
And your crest be a spruce gallipot,
Gl — nb — e,
And your crest be a spruce gallipot.”
“Gl — nb — e, Gl — nb — e,
The world’s topsy-turvy,
Of this truth you’re the fittest attester;
For, who can deny
That the Low become High,
When the King makes a Lord of Silvester,
Gl — nb — e,
When the King makes a Lord of Silvester.”
“Mr. P — l, Mr. P — l,
In return for your zeal,
I am told they have dubb’d you Sir Bob;
Having got wealth enough
By coarse Manchester stuff,
For honors you’ll now drive a job,
Mr. P — l,
For honors you’ll now drive a job.”
“Oh poor B — ks, oh poor B — ks,
Still condemned to the ranks,
Nor e’en yet from a private promoted;
Pitt ne’er will relent,
Though he knows you repent,
Having once or twice honestly voted,
Poor B — ks,
Having once or twice honestly voted.”
“Dull H — l — y, dull H — l — y,
Your audience feel ye
A speaker of very great weight,
Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Page 138
