n one corner
might be seen poor Dermody, the poet, shivering with wretchedness,
and Mother Butler pleading his cause with a generous feeling that does
honour to her heart, collecting for him a temporary supply which, alas!
his imprudence generally dissipated with the morrow. Here, George Sutton
Manners,{9} and Peter Finnerty,{10} and James Brownly,{11} inspired by
frequent potations of the real

8 Designated Cripplegate and Newgate.

9 The relative of the present Archbishop of Canterbury, and
then editor of the Satirist magazine.

10 Peter Finnerty was a reporter on the Chronicle. The his-
tory of Finnerty's political persecutions in his own country
(Ireland), and afterwards in this, are interwoven with our
history. The firmness and honesty of his mind had endeared
him to a very large circle of patriot friends. He was
eloquent, but impetuous, his ideas appearing to flow too
fast for delivery. With all the natural warmth of his
country, he had a heart of sterling gold. Finnerty died
in 1822, very shortly after his friend Perry.

11 James Brownly, formerly a reporter on the Times; of
whom Sheridan said, hearing him speak, that his situation
ought to have been in the body of the House of Commons,
instead of the gallery. Brownly possessed very rare
natural talents, was originally an upholsterer in Catherine-
street, Strand, and by dint of application acquired a very
correct knowledge of the tine arts: he was particularly
skilled in architecture and heraldry. In addition to
his extraordinary powers as an orator, he was a most elegant
critic, and a very amiable man. He died in 1822, much
regretted by all who knew him.

~352~~Rocrea whiskey, would hold forth in powerful contention, until
mine hostess of the _Finish_{12} would put an end to the debate; and the
irritation it would sometimes engender, by disencumbering herself of
a few of her Milesian monosyllables. Then would bounce into the room,
Felix M'Carthy, the very cream of comicalities, and the warm-hearted
James Hay ne, and Frank Phippen, and Michael Nugent, and the eloquent
David Power, and memory Middleton, and father Proby, just to sip an
emulsion after the close of their labours in reporting a long debate in
the House of Commons. Here, too, I remember to have seen for the first
time in my life, the wayward Byron, with the light of genius b