and Fortune, the slippery jilt, had reduced a good man to a bed of straw and a mud-wall cottage, who had once slept on feathers, and lived in a house full of glass windows, with a brick chimney." I found this piece of information to be very true. The old man received me with a great deal of kindness; and when I communicated my wishes to him, he shook me by the hand, approving of my patriotism, in collecting even the most trifling particulars of two men who would have shed lustre on any country, in any age. He said, he had seen Swift only once in his life, had heard him speak with Mr. Richardson, vicar of the parish of Beltarbet; but at that distance of time could not recollect any part of the conversation. He had known his cousin Dr. Sheridan for many years; and was extremely sorry that none of his countrymen, whom nature had blessed with talents, had even the vanity, national pride, or love of learning, to pay a small tribute either in prose or verse, to the memory of á man whom Swift had honoured so many years with his friendship. Author. As genius is hereditary in all the branches of your family, I am not a little surprised that you did not discharge that sacred trust yourself; it was a duty incumbent on you; he was your relative and your friend; but his two sons are still alive, and they are men of talents, Sheridan. Sheridan. Not equal to the father; and yet the Doctor, with all his talents and learning, would have never been known, but as a mere dealer out of nouns and pronouns, if he had not cultivated the acquaintance of Swift. Excuse me, Sir; old men are like grasshoppers, they chirp to the last; in plain English, they are loquacious, especially when the subject is dear to their heart. The Doctor, as I have already observed, was a man of talents; but he was naturally indolent, and was content with whatever fortune threw in his way. He was of a very social turn; if you placed him in an arm-chair after dinner, in a snug room, with a good fire, and a few pleasant companions that could tell a good story, you made him the happiest man on earth. Mitres, arch mitres, and church preferments vanished at a stroke of wit or a pun; and I don't suppose that ever he dreamt of any thing beyond the innocent enjoyment of the day, or rather the night; for he would sit up for ever, if he could get any one to sit up with him, and hold him in conversation, even on subjects that some would think beneath the consideration of a man of letters. As to a man of learning, he was a man of learning for his day. He was an excellent Greek and Latin scholar. I need not tell you the value that was placed on this species of learning in my time; but I know the period will come, that science, that is, I mean mathematics, &c. will be looked upon as real learning. Author. I hope so: that period, thank Heaven! is approaching. Sheridan. 'Tis true, the Greeks and Romans, particularly the former, excelled in poetry, history, and oratory. Author. But were little acquainted with experimental philosophy. Sheridan. I may then say, that Dr. Sheridan knew all that the Greeks and Romans knew, that is, all that Time could not put his envious tooth upon; therefore, I may call him a man of letters. Author. Undoubtedly. Sheridan. And yet, when I think of the manner in which he spent his boyish days, I am surprised that he knew as much as he did. The poets were his favourites. Author. They are the favourites of youth, the favourites of old age; in short, they are the favourites of all men; they recall all the beautiful images of our happiest moments, they strew the thorny path of life with rose-buds, and exhibit the most exalted sentiments in the most captivating dress. The Muses extend their mild empire to the sciences; and even mathematical lines and angles borrow new charms from the magic of harmonious sounds: poetry, besides, assists the memorySheridan. Sheridan. As spectacles assist the sight. Author. So that the Doctor was rather wild in his youth. Sheridan. As wild as if he had been bred in the woods of America. His father kept a pack of hounds, and if he had not parted with them in time, he would have shared the fate of Acteon. The son, to the great mortification of the old man, preferred the dog-kennel to the school; the sound of the horn would have roused him from his bed, the coldest morning in winter; and as the chase was all the rage in the part of the country where he lived, I am really astonished that a line of Lily ever stuck to his memory. He was not insensible, however, to the charms of learning; he was fond of listening to the conversation of those who had made any progress in letters, and would treasure up their remarks;. and sometimes he would make such observations on them as evinced, that the seeds of genius were sown in his mind, and that a little cultivation would call them into a plentiful harvest. The father saw this, and made use of every argument in his power, to draw his favourite son from those pursuits and amusements that are so congenial (if I may use the expression) to the youthful mind. I recollect a hunting song he wrote, when he was twelve years old; and if it does not exhibit strong marks of poetical powers, it will at least B 3 least tend to confirm what I have said, that the chase was his favourite amusement. This is the song; as it is the copy of a copy, perhaps the original has lost as much by transcription, as some originals have lost by translation. Hark! hark! I think I hear the horn, The dew-drop twinkles on the thorn, Hark! hear! I hear black Betsy snort, When Nature thus proclaims the sport, For this she lent the gentle hart She taught the hare her mazy art, Let sages then of human race, The chase supplied our ancient sires With food and raiment too— Then Law stretch'd forth her artful toils, And Plunder gloried in her spoils, And fill'd the world with cares. But |