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.