Life of Sheridan, vol 1 | Page 9

it meets with success, there is no doubt of profit
accruing, as I have already engaged a publisher, of established
reputation, to undertake it for the account of the authors. But I am to
indemnify him in case it should not sell, and to advance part of the first
expense, all which I can do without applying to Mr. Ewart."--"I would
be glad to know what stock of papers you have already written, as there
ought to be ten or a dozen at least finished before you print any, in
order to have time to prepare the subsequent numbers, and ensure a
continuance of the work. As to the coffee-houses, you must not depend
on their taking it in at first, except you go on the plan of the Tatler, and
give the news of the week. For the first two or three weeks the expense
of advertising will certainly prevent any profit being made. But when
that is over, if a thousand are sold weekly, you may reckon on receiving
L5 clear. One paper a week will do better than two. Pray say no more
as to our accounts."
The title intended by Sheridan for this paper was "Hernan's
Miscellany," to which his friend Halhed objected, and suggested, "The
Reformer," as a newer and more significant name. But though Halhed
appears to have sought among his Oxford friends for an auxiliary or
two in their weekly labors, this meditated Miscellany never proceeded
beyond the first number, which was written by Sheridan, and which I
have found among his papers. It is too diffuse and pointless to be given
entire; but an extract or two from it will not be unwelcome to those

who love to trace even the first, feeblest beginnings of genius:
HERNAN'S MISCELLANY.
No. I.
"'I will sit down and write for the good of the people--for (said I to
myself, pulling off my spectacles, and drinking up the remainder of my
sixpen'worth) it cannot be but people must be sick of these same
rascally politics. All last winter nothing but--God defend me! 'tis
tiresome to think of it.' I immediately flung the pamphlet down on the
table, and taking my hat and cane walked out of the coffee-house.
"I kept up as smart a pace as I could all the way home, for I felt myself
full of something, and enjoyed my own thoughts so much, that I was
afraid of digesting them, lest any should escape me. At last I knocked
at my own door.--'So!' said I to the maid who opened it, (for I never
would keep a man; not, but what I could afford it--however, the reason
is not material now,) 'So!' said I with an unusual smile upon my face,
and immediately sent her for a quire of paper and half a hundred of
pens--the only thing I had absolutely determined on in my way from
the coffee-house. I had now got seated in my arm chair,--I am an infirm
old man, and I live on a second floor,--when I began to ruminate on my
project. The first thing that occurred to me (and certainly a very natural
one) was to examine my common-place book. So I went to my desk
and took out my old faithful red-leather companion, who had long
discharged the office of treasurer to all my best hints and
memorandums: but, how was I surprised, when one of the first things
that struck my eyes was the following memorandum, legibly written,
and on one of my best sheets of vellum:--'Mem.--_Oct. 20th, 1769, left
the Grecian after having read ----'s Poems, with a determined resolution
to write a Periodical Paper, in order to reform the vitiated taste of the
age; but, coming home and finding my fire out, and my maid gone
abroad, was obliged to defer the execution of my plan to another
opportunity._' Now though this event had absolutely slipped my
memory, I now recollected it perfectly,--ay, so my fire was out indeed,
and my maid did go abroad sure enough.--'Good Heavens!' said I, 'how
great events depend upon little circumstances!' However, I looked upon

this as a memento for me no longer to trifle away my time and
resolution; and thus I began to reason,--I mean, I would have reasoned,
had I not been interrupted by a noise of some one coming up stairs. By
the alternate thump upon the steps, I soon discovered it must be my old
and intimate friend Rudliche.
* * * * *
"But, to return, in walked Rudliche.--'So, Fred.'--'So, Bob.'--'Were you
at the Grecian to-day?'--'I just stepped in.'--'Well, any news?'--'No, no,
there was no news.' Now, as Bob and I saw one another almost every
day, we seldom abounded in conversation; so, having settled one
material point, he sat in his usual