sonal ambition. No
young man of any character can think, without a thrill of rapture, on
the glory of having _his_ name--now obscure--written in capitals on the
page of his country's history. A true patriot cares nothing for fame; a
really great man is content to die nameless, if his acts may but survive
him. Sheridan was not really great, and it may be doubted if he had any
sincerity in his political views. But the period favoured the rise of
young men of genius. In former reigns a man could have little hope of
political influence without being first a courtier; but by this time
liberalism had made giant strides. The leaven of revolutionary ideas,
which had leavened the whole lump in France, was still working quietly
and less passionately in this country, and being less repressed,
displayed itself in the last quarter of the eighteenth century in the
form of a strong and brilliant opposition. It was to this that the young
men of ambition attached themselves, rallying under the standard of
Charles James Fox, since it was there only that their talents were
sufficient to recommend them.

To this party, Sheridan, laughing in his sleeve at the extravagance of
their demands--so that when they clamoured for a 'parliament once a
year, or oftener if need be,' he pronounced himself an
'Oftener-if-need-be' man--was introduced, when his fame as a literary
man had brought him into contact with some of its hangers on. Fox, after
his first interview with him, affirmed that he had always thought Hare
and Charles Townsend the wittiest men he had ever met, but that Sheridan
surpassed them both; and Sheridan was equally pleased with 'the Man of
the People.'

The first step to this political position was to become a member of a
certain club, where its leaders gambled away their money, and drank away
their minds--to wit, Brookes'. Pretty boys, indeed, were these great
Whig patriots when turned loose in these precincts. The tables were for
stakes of twenty or fifty guineas, but soon ran up to hundreds. What did
it matter to Charles James Fox, to the Man of the People, whether he
lost five, seven, or ten thousand of a night, when the one-half came out
of his father's, the other out of Hebrew, pockets--the sleek,
thick-lipped owners of which thronged his Jerusalem chamber, as he
called his back sitting-room, only too glad to 'oblige' him to any
amount? The rage for gaming at this pandemonium may be understood from a
rule of the club, which i