g, and badger-drawing, as unworthy of a man. In the last
century these young animals, who unite the modesty of the puppy with the
clear-sightedness of the pig, not to mention the progressiveness of
another quadruped, were more numerous than in the present day, and in
consequence more forward in their remarks. It was one of these charming
youths, who was staying in the same house as Sheridan, and who, quite
unprovoked, began at dinner to talk of 'actors and authors, and those
low sort of people, you know.' Sheridan said nought, but patiently bided
his time. The next day there was a large dinner-party, and Sheridan and
the youth happened to sit opposite to one another in the most
conspicuous part of the table. Young Nimrod was kindly obliging his side
of the table with extraordinary leaps of his hunter, the perfect working
of his new double-barrelled Manton, &c., bringing of course number one
in as the hero in each case. In a moment of silence, Sheridan, with an
air of great politeness, addressed his unhappy victim. 'He had not,' he
said, 'been able to catch the whole of the very interesting account he
had heard Mr. ---- relating.' All eyes were turned upon the two. 'Would
Mr. ---- permit him to ask who it was who made the extraordinary leap he
had mentioned?--'I, sir,' replied the youth with some pride. 'Then who
was it killed the wild duck at that distance?'--'I, sir.' 'Was it your
setter who behaved so well?'--'Yes, mine, sir,' replied the youth,
getting rather red over this examination. 'And who caught the huge
salmon so neatly?'--'I, sir.' And so the questioning went on through a
dozen more items, till the young man, weary of answering 'I, sir,' and
growing redder and redder every moment, would gladly have hid his head
under the table-cloth, in spite of his sporting prowess. But Sheridan
had to give him the _coup de grace_.

'So, sir,' said he, very politely, 'you were the chief _actor_ in every
anecdote, and the _author_ of them all; surely it is impolitic to
despise your own professions.'

Sheridan's intemperance was as great and as incurable as his
extravagance, and we think his mind, if not his body, lived only on
stimulants. He could neither write nor speak without them One day,
before one of his finest speeches in the House, he was seen to enter a
coffee-house, call for a pint of brandy, and swallow it 'neat,' and
almost at one gulp. His friends occasionally interfered. This drinking,
they told him, would dest