he
greatest act of mercy for the world that the earth has ever yet received
from any hand but heaven!--My Lords, I have done.'

Sheridan's valet was very proud of his master's success, and as he had
been to hear the speech, was asked what part he considered the finest.
Plush replied by putting himself into his master's attitude, and
imitating his voice admirably, solemnly uttering, 'My Lords, I have
done!' He should have added the word 'nothing.' Sheridan's eloquence had
no more effect than the clear proof of Hastings' guilt, and the
impeachment, as usual, was but a troublesome subterfuge, to satisfy the
Opposition and dust the eyeballs of the country.

Sheridan's great speech was made. The orator has concluded his oration;
fame was complete, and no more was wanted, Adieu, then, blue-books and
parties, and come on the last grand profession of this man of many
talents--that of the wit. That it was a profession there can be no
doubt, for he lived on it, it was all his capital. He paid his bills in
that coin alone: he paid his workmen, his actors, carpenters, builders
with no more sterling metal; with that ready tool he extracted loans
from the very men who came to be paid; that brilliant ornament
maintained his reputation in the senate, and his character in society.
But wit without wisdom--the froth without the fluid--the capital without
the pillar--is but a poor fortune, a wretched substitute for real worth
and honest utility. For a time men forgave to Mr. Sheridan--extravagant
and reckless as he was--what would long before have brought an honester,
better, but less amusing man to a debtor's prison and the contempt of
society; but only for a time was this career possible.

Sheridan has now reached the pinnacle of his fame, and from this point
we have to trace that decline which ended so awfully.

Whilst we call him a dishonest man, we must not be supposed to imply
that he was so in heart. It is pleaded for him that he tricked his
creditors 'for the fun of the thing,' like a modern Robin Hood, and like
that forester bold, he was mightily generous with other men's money.
Deception is deception whether in sport or earnest, and Sheridan, no
doubt, made it a very profitable employment. He had always a taste for
the art of duping, and he had begun early in life--soon after leaving
Harrow. He was spending a few days at Bristol, and wanted a pair of new
boots, but could not afford to pay for them. Shortly before he left, he