Sheridan was once travelling to town in one of the public coaches, for the purpose of canvassing Westminster, at the time that Mr. Paull was his opponent, when he found himself in company with two Westminster electors.  In the course of conversation, one of them asked his friend to whom he meant to give his vote?  The other replied, “to Paull, certainly; for, though I think him but a shabby sort of a fellow, I would vote for anyone rather than that rascal Sheridan!” “Do you know Sheridan?” inquired the stranger.  “Not I, sir,” was the answer, “nor should I wish to know him.”  The conversation dropped here; but when the party alighted to breakfast, Sheridan called aside the other gentleman and said, “Pray who is that very agreeable friend of your’s?  He is one of the pleasantest fellows I ever met with; I should be glad to know his name?” “His name is Mr. T.; he is an eminent lawyer, and resides in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”  Breakfast being over, the party resumed their seats in the coach; soon after which, Sheridan turned the discourse to the law.  “It is,” said he, “a fine profession.  Men may rise from it to the highest eminence in the state, and it gives vast scope to the display of talent; many of the most virtuous and noble characters recorded in our history have been lawyers.  I am sorry, however, to add, that some of the greatest rascals have also been lawyers; but of all the rascals of lawyers I ever heard of, the greatest is one T., who lives in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”  The gentleman fired up at the charge, and said very angrily, “I am Mr. T., sir.”  “And I am Mr. Sheridan,” was the reply.  The jest was instantly seen; they shook hands, and instead of voting against the facetious orator, the lawyer exerted himself warmly in promoting his election.

Sterne.—­Sterne used to relate a circumstance which happened to him at York.  After preaching at the cathedral, an old woman whom he observed sitting on the pulpit stairs, stopped him as he came down, and begged to know where she should have the honour of hearing him preach the following Sunday.  On leaving the pulpit the next Sunday he found her placed as before, when she put the same question to him.  The following Sunday he was to preach four miles out of York, which he told her; and to his great surprise, he found her there too, and the same question was put to him as he descended from the pulpit.  “On which,” added he “I took for my text these words, expecting to find my old woman as before:  ’I will grant the request of this poor widow, lest by her often coming, she weary me,’” One of the company immediately replied, “Why, Sterne, you omitted the most applicable part of the passage, which is, ’Though I neither fear God nor regard man.’”