Life of Sheridan, vol 1 | Page 9

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 posture, looking at the fire and beating the dust out of his wooden leg, when I perceived he was going to touch upon the other subject; but, having by chance cast his eye on my face, and finding (I suppose) something extraordinary in my countenance, he immediately dropped all concern for the weather, and putting his hand into his pocket, (as if he meant to find what he was going to say, under pretence of feeling for his tobacco-box,) 'Hernan! (he began) why, man, you look for all the world as if you had been thinking of something.'-- 'Yes,' replied I, smiling, (that is, not actually smiling, but with a conscious something in my face,) 'I have, indeed, been thinking a little.'--'What, is't a secret?'--'Oh, nothing very material.' Here ensued a pause, which I employed in