To a life like Sheridan’s it is almost impossible to do justice in so narrow a space as I have here.  He is one of those men who, not to be made out a whit better or worse than they are, demand a careful investigation of all their actions, or reported actions—­a careful sifting of all the evidence for or against them, and a careful weeding of all the anecdotes told of them.  This requires a separate biography.  To give a general idea of the man, we must be content to give that which he inspired in a general acquaintance.  Many of his ‘mots,’ and more of the stories about him, may have been invented for him, but they would scarcely have been fixed on Sheridan, if they had not fitted more or less his character:  I have therefore given them.  I might have given a hundred more, but I have let alone those anecdotes which did not seem to illustrate the character of the man.  Many another good story is told of him, and we must content ourselves with one or two.  Take one that is characteristic of his love of fun.

Sheridan is accosted by an elderly gentleman, who has forgotten the name of a street to which he wants to go, and who informs him precisely that it is an out-of-the-way name.

‘Perhaps, sir, you mean John Street?’ says Sherry, all innocence.

‘No, an unusual name.’

‘It can’t be Charles Street?’

Impatience on the part of the old gentleman.

‘King Street?’ suggests the cruel wit.

‘I tell you, sir, it is a street with a very odd name!’

‘Bless me, is it Queen Street?’

Irritation on the part of the old gentleman.

‘It must be Oxford Street?’ cries Sheridan as if inspired.

‘Sir, I repeat,’ very testily, ’that it is a very odd name.  Every one knows Oxford Street!’

Sheridan appears to be thinking.

‘An odd name!  Oh! ah! just so; Piccadilly, of course?’

Old gentleman bounces away in disgust.

‘Well, sir,’ Sheridan calls after him, ’I envy you your admirable memory!’

His wit was said to have been prepared, like his speeches, and he is even reported to have carried his book of mots in his pocket, as a young lady of the middle class might, but seldom does, carry her book of etiquette into a party.  But some of his wit was no doubt extempore.

When arrested for non-attendance to a call in the House, soon after the change of ministry, he exclaimed, ’How hard to be no sooner out of office than into custody!’

He was not an inveterate talker, like Macaulay, Sydney Smith, or Jeffrey:  he seems rather to have aimed at a striking effect in all that he said.  When found tripping he had a clever knack of getting out of the difficulty.  In the Hastings speech he complimented Gibbon as a ‘luminous’ writer; questioned on this, he replied archly, ’I said vo-luminous.’

I cannot afford to be voluminous on Sheridan, and so I quit him.