Sheridan Convivial


LORD BYRON notes: What a wreck is Sheridan! and all from bad pilotage;

for no one had ever better gales, though now and then a little squally.

Poor dear Sherry! I shall never forget the day he, and Rogers, and

Moore, and I passed together, when he talked and we listened, without

one yawn, from six to one in the morning.



One night, Sheridan was found in the street by a watchman, bereft of

that divine particle of air called reason, and fuddled, and

bewildered, and almost insensible. The watchman asked, Who are you,

sir? No answer. What's your name? A hiccup. What's your name?

Answer, in a slow, deliberate, and impassive tone, Wilberforce! Byron

notes: Is not that Sherry all over?--and, to my mind, excellent. Poor

fellow! his very dregs are better than the first sprightly runnings of

others.



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