r
partizans. In Parliament he was the assailant most dreaded; in the
law-courts he was the advocate deemed the most essential; in both he
was an object of all the more powerful passions of man but rivalry,--

'He stood alone and shone alone.'"

During Curran's residence in Amelia Place he suffered two slight
apoplectic attacks; but he, nevertheless, "occasionally indulged in
society, and was to his last sparkle the most interesting, singular, and
delightful of all table companions." The forenoon he generally passed in
a solitary ramble through the neighbouring fields and gardens (which have
now disappeared), and in the evening he enjoyed the conversation of a few
friends; but, though the brilliancy of his wit shone to the last, he
seemed like one who had outlived everything in life that was worth
enjoying. This is exemplified in Curran's melancholy repartee to his
medical attendant a few days before his decease. The doctor remarked
that his patient's cough was not improved. "That is odd," remarked
Curran, "for I have been practising all night!"

On Thursday, the 9th of October, Curran dined abroad for the last time
with Mr. Richard ("Gentleman") Jones, {78} of No. 14 Chapel Street,
Grosvenor Place, for the purpose of being introduced to George Colman
"the Younger." The party, besides the host and hostess, consisted of Mr.
Harris and Sir William Chatterton. Colman that evening was unusually
brilliant, anticipating, by apt quotation and pointed remark, almost
everything that Curran would have said. One comment of Curran's,
however, made a deep impression on all present. Speaking of Lord Byron's
'Fare thee well, and if for ever,' he observed that "his lordship first
weeps over his wife, and then wipes his eyes with the newspapers." He
left the dinner-table early, and, on going upstairs to coffee, either
affected not to know or did not remember George Colman's celebrity as a
wit, and inquired of Mrs. Jones who that Mr. Colman was? Mr. Harris
joined them at this moment, and apologised for his friend Colman
engrossing so much of the conversation to himself, adding, that he was
the spoiled child of society, and that even the Prince Regent listened
with attention when George Colman talked. "Ay," said Curran, with a
melancholy smile, "I now know who Colman is; we must both sleep in the
same bed."

The next morning Curran was seized with apoplexy, and continued
speechless, though