by Thomas Moore
The days of social happiness are o’er,
The voice of harmony is heard no more;
No more her graceful tenderness shall prove
The wife’s fond duty or the parent’s love.
Those eyes, which brighten’d with maternal pride,
As her sweet infants wanton’d by her side,
’Twas my sad fate to see for ever close
On life, on love, the world, and all its woes;
To watch the slow disease, with hopeless care,
And veil in painful smiles my heart’s despair;
To see her droop, with restless languor weak,
While fatal beauty mantled in her cheek,
Like fresh flow’rs springing from some mouldering clay,
Cherish’d by death, and blooming from decay.
Yet, tho’ oppress’d by ever-varying pain,
The gentle sufferer scarcely would complain,
Hid every sigh, each trembling doubt reprov’d,
To spare a pang to those fond hearts she lov’d.
And often, in short intervals of ease,
Her kind and cheerful spirit strove to please;
Whilst we, alas, unable to refuse
The sad delight we were so soon to lose,
Treasur’d each word, each kind expression claim’d, —
‘’Twas me she look’d at,’— ‘it was me she nam’d.’
Thus fondly soothing grief, too great to bear,
With mournful eagerness and jealous care.
“But soon, alas, from hearts with sorrow worn
E’en this last comfort was for ever torn:
That mind, the seat of wisdom, genius, taste.
The cruel hand of sickness now laid waste;
Subdued with pain, it shar’d the common lot.
All, all its lovely energies forgot!
The husband, parent, sister, knelt in vain,
One recollecting look alone to gain:
The shades of night her beaming eyes obscur’d,
And Nature, vanquished, no sharp pain endur’d;
Calm and serene — till the last trembling breath
Wafted an angel from the bed of death!
“Oh, if the soul, releas’d from mortal cares,
Views the sad scene, the voice of mourning hears,
Then, dearest saint, didst thou thy heav’n forego,
Lingering on earth in pity to our woe.
’Twas thy kind influence sooth’d our minds to peace.
And bade our vain and selfish murmurs cease;
’Twas thy soft smile, that gave the worshipp’d clay
Of thy bright essence one celestial ray,
Making e’en death so beautiful, that we,
Gazing on it, forgot our misery.
Then — pleasing thought! — ere to the realms of light
Thy franchis’d spirit took its happy flight,
With fond regard, perhaps, thou saw’st me bend
O’er the cold relics of my heart’s best friend,
And heard’st me swear, while her dear hand I prest.
And tears of agony bedew’d my breast,
For her lov’d sake to act the mother’s part,
And take her darling infants to my heart,
With tenderest care their youthful minds improve,
And guard her treasure with protecting love.
Once more look down, blest creature, and behold
These arms the precious innocence enfold;
Assist my erring nature to fulfil
The sacred trust, and ward off every ill!
And, oh, let her, who is my dearest care,
Thy blest regard and heavenly influence share;
Teach me to form her pure and artless mind,
Like thine, as true, as innocent, as kind, —
That when some future day my hopes shall bless,
And every voice her virtue shall confess,
When my fond heart delighted hears her praise,
As with unconscious loveliness she strays,
‘Such,’ let me say, with tears of joy the while,
‘Such was the softness of my Mary’s smile;
Such was her youth, so blithe, so rosy sweet,
And such her mind, unpractis’d in deceit;
With artless elegance, unstudied grace,
Thus did she gain in every heart a place!’
“Then, while the dear remembrance I behold,
Time shall steal on, nor tell me I am old,
Till, nature wearied, each fond duty o’er,
I join my Angel Friend — to part no more!”
To the conduct of Mr. Sheridan, during the last moments of his father, a further testimony has been kindly communicated to me by Mr. Jarvis, a medical gentleman of Margate, who attended Mr. Thomas Sheridan on that occasion, and whose interesting communication I shall here give in his own words: —
“On the 10th of August, 1788, I was first called on to visit Mr. Sheridan, who was then fast declining at his lodgings in this place, where he was in the care of his daughter. On the next day Mr. R. B. Sheridan arrived here from town, having brought with him Dr. Morris, of Parliament street. I was in the bedroom with Mr. Sheridan when the son arrived, and witnessed an interview in which the father showed himself to be strongly impressed by his son’s attention, saying with considerable emotion, ‘Oh Dick, I give you a great deal of trouble!’ and seeming to imply by his manner, that his son had been less to blame than himself, for any previous want of cordiality between them.
“On my making my last call for the evening, Mr. R. B. Sheridan, with delicacy, but much earnestness, expressed his fear that the nurse in attendance on his father, might not be so competent as myself to the requisite attentions, and his hope that I would consent to remain in the room for a few of the first hours of the night; as he himself, having been travelling the preceding night, required some short repose. I complied with his request, and remained at the father’s bed-side till relieved by the son, about three o’clock in the morning: — he then insisted on taking my place. From this time he never quitted the house till his father’s death; on the day after which he wrote me a letter, now before me, of which the annexed is an exact copy:
‘SIR,
‘Friday Morning,
‘I wished to see you this morning before I went, to thank you for your attention and trouble. You will be so good to give the account to Mr. Thompson, who will settle it; and I must further beg your acceptance of the inclosed from myself.
‘I am, Sir,
‘Your obedient Servant,
‘R. B. SHERIDAN.
‘I have explained to Dr. Morris (who has informed me that you will recommend a proper person), that it is my desire to have the hearse, and the manner of coming to town, as respectful as possible.’
“The inclosure, referred to in this letter, was a bank-note of ten pounds, — a most liberal remuneration. Mr. R. B. Sheridan left Margate, intending that his father should be buried in London; but he there ascertained that it had been his father’s expressed wish that he should be buried in the parish next to that in which he should happen to die. He then, consequently, returned to Margate, accompanied by his brother-in-law, Mr. Tickell, with whom and Mr. Thompson and myself, he followed his father’s remains to the burial-place, which was not in Margate church-yard, but in the north aisle of the church of St. Peter’s.”
Mr. Jarvis, the writer of the letter from which I have given this extract, had once, as he informs me, the intention of having a cenotaph raised, to the memory of Mr. Sheridan’s father, in the church of Margate. [Footnote: Though this idea was relinquished, it appears that a friend of Mr. Jarvis, with a zeal for the memory of talent highly honorable to him, has recently caused a monument to Mr. Thomas Sheridan to be raised in the church of St. Peter.] With this view he applied to Dr. Parr for an Inscription, and the following is the tribute to his old friend with which that learned and kind-hearted man supplied him: —
“This
monument, A. D. 1824, was, by subscription, erected to the memory of Thomas Sheridan, Esq., who died in the neighboring parish of St. John, August 14, 1788, in the 69th year of his age, and, according to his own request, was there buried. He was grandson to Dr. Thomas Sheridan, the brother of Dr. William, a conscientious non-juror, who, in 1691, was deprived of the Bishopric of Kilmore. He was the son of Dr. Thomas Sheridan, a profound scholar and eminent schoolmaster, intimately connected with Dean Swift and other illustrious writers in the reign of Queen Anne. He was husband to the ingenious and amiable author of Sidney Biddulph and several dramatic pieces favorably received. He was father of the celebrated orator and dramatist, Richard Brinsley Sheridan. He had been the schoolfellow, and, through life, was the companion, of the amiable Archbishop Markham. He was the friend of the learned Dr. Sumner, master of Harrow School, and the well-known Dr. Parr. He took his first academical degree in the University of Dublin, about 1736. He was honored by the University of Oxford with the degree of A. M. in 1758, and in 1759 he obtained the same distinction at Cambridge. He, for many years, presided over the theatre of Dublin; and, at Drury Lane, he in public estimation stood next to David Garrick. In the literary world he was distinguished by numerous and useful writings on the pronunciation of the English language. Through some of his opinions ran a vein of singularity, mingled with the rich ore of genius. In his manners there was dignified ease; — in his spirit, invincible firmness; — and in his habits and principles, unsullied integrity.”
CHAPTER III.
ILLNESS OF THE KING. — REGENCY. — PRIVATE LIFE OF MR. SHERIDAN.
Mr. Sheridan had assuredly no reason to complain of any deficiency of excitement in the new career to which he now devoted himself. A succession of great questions, both foreign and domestic, came, one after the other, like the waves described by the poet; —
“And one no sooner touched the shore, and died,
Than a new follower rose, and swell’d as proudly.”
Scarcely had the impulse, which his own genius had given to the prosecution of Hastings, begun to abate, when the indisposition of the King opened another field, not only for the display of all his various powers, but for the fondest speculations of his interest and ambition.
The robust health and temperate habits of the Monarch, while they held out the temptation of a long lease of power, to those who either enjoyed or were inclined to speculate in his favor, gave proportionally the grace of disinterestedness to the followers of an Heir-Apparent, whose means of rewarding their devotion were, from the same causes, uncertain and remote. The alarming illness of the Monarch, however, gave a new turn to the prospect: — Hope was now seen, like the winged Victory of the ancients, to change sides; and both the expectations of those who looked forward to the reign of the Prince, as the great and happy millennium of Whiggism, and the apprehensions of the far greater number, to whom the morals of his Royal Highness and his friends were not less formidable than their politics, seemed now on the very eve of being realized.
On the first meeting of Parliament, after the illness of His Majesty was known, it was resolved, from considerations of delicacy, that the House should adjourn for a fortnight; at the end of which period it was expected that another short adjournment would be proposed by the Minister. In this interval, the following judicious letter was addressed to the Prince of Wales by Mr. Sheridan: —
“SIR,
“Prom the intelligence of to-day we are led to think that Pitt will make something more of a speech, in moving to adjourn on Thursday, than was at first imagined. In this case we presume Your Royal Highness will be of opinion that we must not be wholly silent. I possessed Payne yesterday with my sentiments on the line of conduct which appeared to me best to be adopted on this occasion, that they might be submitted to Your Royal Highness’s consideration; and I take the liberty of repeating my firm conviction, that it will greatly advance Your Royal Highness’s credit, and, in case of events, lay the strongest grounds to baffle every attempt at opposition to Your Royal Highness’s just claims and right, that the language of those who may be, in any sort, suspected of knowing Your Royal Highness’s wishes and feelings, should be that of great moderation in disclaiming all party views, and avowing the utmost readiness to acquiesce in any reasonable delay. At the same time, I am perfectly aware of the arts which will be practised, and the advantages which some people will attempt to gain by time: but I am equally convinced that we should advance their evil views by showing the least impatience or suspicion at present; and I am also convinced that a third party will soon appear, whose efforts may, in the most decisive manner, prevent this sort of situation and proceeding from continuing long. Payne will probably have submitted to Your Royal Highness more fully my idea on this subject, towards which I have already taken some successful steps. [Footnote: This must allude to the negotiation with Lord Thurlow.] Your Royal Highness will, I am sure, have the goodness to pardon the freedom with which I give my opinion; — after which I have only to add, that whatever Your Royal Highness’s judgment decides, shall be the guide of my conduct, and will undoubtedly be so to others.”
Captain (afterwards Admiral) Payne, of whom mention is made in this letter, held the situation of Comptroller of the Household of the Prince of Wales, and was in attendance upon His Royal Highness, during the early part of the King’s illness, at Windsor. The following letters, addressed by him to Mr. Sheridan at this period, contain some curious particulars, both with respect to the Royal patient himself, and the feelings of those about him, which, however secret and confidential they were at the time, may now, without scruple, be made matters of history: —
“MY DEAR SHERIDAN,
“Half past ten at night.
“I arrived here about three quarters of an hour after Pitt had left it. I inclose you the copy of a letter the Prince has just written to the Chancellor, and sent by express, which will give you the outline of the conversation with the Prince, as well as the situation of the King’s health. I think it an advisable measure, [Footnote: Meaning, the communication to the Chancellor] as it is a sword that cuts both ways, without being unfit to be shown to whom he pleases, — but which he will, I think, understand best himself. Pitt desired the longest delay that could be granted with propriety, previous to the declaration of the present calamity. The Duke of York, who is looking over me, and is just come out of the King’s room, bids me add that His Majesty’s situation is every moment becoming worse. His pulse is weaker and weaker; and the Doctors say it is impossible to survive it long, if his situation does not take some extraordinary change in a few hours.
“So far I had got when your servant came, meaning to send this by the express that carried the Chancellor’s letter; in addition to which, the Prince has desired Doctor Warren to write an account to him, which he is now doing. His letter says, if an amendment does not take place in twenty-four hours, it is impossible for the King to support it: — he adds to me, he will answer for his never living to be declared a lunatic. I say all this to you in confidence, (though I will not answer for being intelligible,) as it goes by your own servant; but I need not add, your own discretion will remind you how necessary it is that neither my name nor those I use should be quoted even to many of our best friends, whose repetition, without any ill intention, might frustrate views they do not see.
“With respect to the papers, the Prince thinks you had better leave them to themselves, as we cannot authorize any report, nor can he contradict the worst; a few hours must, every individual says, terminate our suspense, and, therefore, all precaution must be needless: — however, do what you think best. His Royal Highness would write to you himself; the agitation he is in will not permit it. Since this letter was begun, all articulation even seems to be at an end with the poor King: but for the two hours preceding, he was in a most determined frenzy. In short, I am myself in so violent a state of agitation, from participating in the feelings of those about me, that if I am intelligible to you, ’tis more than I am to myself. Catap
lasms are on his Majesty’s feet, and strong fomentations have been used without effect: but let me quit so painful a subject. The Prince was much pleased with my conversation with Lord Loughborough, to whom I do not write, as I conceive ’tis the same, writing to you.
“The Archbishop has written a very handsome letter, expressive of his duty and offer of service; but he is not required to come down, it being thought too late.
“Good night. — I will write upon every occasion that information may be useful.
“Ever yours, most sincerely,
“J. W. PAYNE.
“I have been much pleased with the Duke’s zeal since my return, especially in this communication to you.”
“DEAR SHERIDAN,
“Twelve o’clock, noon.
“The King last night about twelve o’clock, being then in a situation he could not long have survived, by the effect of James’s powder, had a profuse stool, after which a strong perspiration appeared, and he fell into a profound sleep. We were in hopes this was the crisis of his disorder, although the doctors were fearful it was so only with respect to one part of his disorder. However, these hopes continued not above an hour, when he awoke, with a well-conditioned skin, no extraordinary degree of fever, but with the exact state he was in before, with all the gestures and ravings of the most confirmed maniac, and a new noise, in imitation of the howling of a dog; in this situation he was this morning at one o’clock, when we came to bed. The Duke of York, who has been twice in my room in the course of the night, immediately from the King’s apartment, says there has not been one moment of lucid interval during the whole night, — which, I must observe to you, is the concurring, as well as fatal testimony of all about him, from the first moment of His Majesty’s confinement. The doctors have since had their consultation, and find His Majesty calmer, and his pulse tolerably good and much reduced, but the most decided symptoms of insanity. His theme has been all this day on the subject of religion, and of his being inspired, from which his physicians draw the worst consequences, as to any hopes of amendment. In this situation His Majesty remains at the present moment, which I give you at length, to prevent your giving credit to the thousand ridiculous reports that we hear, even upon the spot. Truth is not easily got at in palaces, and so I find here; and time only slowly brings it to one’s knowledge. One hears a little bit every day from somebody, that has been reserved with great costiveness, or purposely forgotten; and by all such accounts I find that the present distemper has been very palpable for some time past, previous to any confinement from sickness; and so apprehensive have the people about him been of giving offence by interruption, that the two days (viz. yesterday se’nnight and the Monday following) that he was five hours each on horseback, he was in a confirmed frenzy. On the Monday at his return he burst out into tears to the Duke of York, and said, ‘He wished to God he might die, I for he was going to be mad;’ and the Queen, who sent to Dr. Warren, on his arrival, privately communicated her knowledge of his situation for some time past, and the melancholy event as it stood exposed. I am prolix upon all these different reports, that you may be completely master of the subject as it stands, and which I shall continue to advertise you of in all its variations. Warren, who is the living principle in this business, (for poor Baker is half crazed himself,) and who I see every half hour, is extremely attentive to the King’s disorder. The various fluctuations of his ravings, as well as general situation of his health, are accurately written down throughout the day, and this we have got signed by the Physician every day, and all proper inquiry invited; for I think it necessary to do every thing that may prevent their making use hereafter of any thing like jealousy, suspicion, or mystery, to create public distrust; and, therefore, the best and most unequivocal means of satisfaction shall be always attended to.
