lose; and I never won but one, which I had made against my judgment.’  His bets were generally laid in hundreds; and though he did not gamble, he could of course run through a good deal of money in this way.  He betted on every possible trifle, but chiefly, it would seem, on political possibilities; the state of the Funds, the result of an election, or the downfall of a ministry.  Horse-races do not seem to have possessed any interest for him, and, in fact, he scarcely knew one kind of horse from another.  He was never an adept at field-sports, though very ambitious of being thought a sportsman.  Once, when staying in the country, he went out with a friend’s gamekeeper to shoot pheasants, and after wasting a vast amount of powder and shot upon the air, he was only rescued from ignominy by the sagacity of his companion, who, going a little behind him when a bird rose, brought it down so neatly that Sheridan, believing he had killed it himself, snatched it up, and rushed bellowing with glee back to the house to show that he could shoot.  In the same way, he tried his hand at fishing in a wretched little stream behind the Deanery at Winchester, using, however, a net, as easier to handle than a rod.  Some boys, who had watched his want of success a long time, at last bought a few pennyworth of pickled herrings, and throwing them on the stream, allowed them to float down towards the eager disciple of old Izaak.  Sheridan saw them coming, rushed in regardless of his clothes, cast his net and in great triumph secured them.  When he had landed his prize, however, there were the boys bursting with laughter, and Piscator saw he was their dupe.  ‘Ah!’ cried he, laughing in concert, as he looked at his dripping clothes, ’this is a pretty pickle indeed!’

His extravagance was well known to his friends, as well as to his creditors.  Lord Guildford met him one day.  ’Well, Sherry, so you’ve taken a new house, I hear.’—­’Yes, and you’ll see now that everything will go on like clockwork.’—­’Ay,’ said my lord, with a knowing leer, ‘tick, tick.’  Even his son Tom used to laugh at him for it.  ’Tom, if you marry that girl, I’ll cut you off with a shilling,’—­’Then you must borrow it,’ replied the ingenuous youth.[8] Tom sometimes disconcerted his father with his inherited wit—­his only inheritance.  He pressed urgently for money on one, as on many an occasion.  ‘I have none,’ was the reply, as usual; ’there is a pair of pistols up stairs, a horse in the enable, the night is dark, and Hounslow Heath at hand.’

[8:  Another version is that Tom replied:  ’You don’t happen to have it about you, sir, do you?’]

‘I understand what you mean,’ replied young Tom; ’but I tried that last night, and unluckily stopped your treasurer, Peake, who told me you had been beforehand with him, and robbed him of every sixpence he had in the world.’

So much for the respect of son to father!

Papa had his revenge on the young wit, when Tom, talking of Parliament, announced his intention of entering it on an independent basis, ready to be bought by the highest bidder ‘I shall write on my forehead,’ said he, “To let."’