His death was in singular accordance with his _taste_ through life. He
sought the banks of the _Brandywine_, and whether it were that the
composition of its stream so little responded to its title as to prey
upon his _spirits_, or from some other cause, there he "_drank_ his
last."


DICKEY SUETT.


I met with him once in a house situated on the very confines of _Beef
and Law_; on the line of demarcation between the theatres and Lincoln's
Inn; a sort of _debateable_ ground between the spouters and ranters of
the stage, and the eaters of commons, by either of which party it was
frequented. Around a large table in the parlour sat a motley group.
There were ragged wits, well-dressed students, new-fledged actors, a
hackney writer or so, an Irish barrister named Shuter, a Scotch
reporter, and a hodge-podge of most discordant materials congregated
under the amalgamating power of Suett, who seemed, by the incongruity of
his dress and diversified manner, to have studied the various tastes of
those he swayed, and to be the comprehensive representative of each of
the strange beings he looked upon, with all of whom he would
occasionally identify himself with so much ease, that it were hard to
say whether it was the result of labour or of tact, of calculation, or
the mere impulse of mother-wit. The _ropes of his face_, when drawn
_taught_, peculiarly commanded the attention of the Caledonian, while
the sly and humorous glance of his half-shut eye was acknowledged by the
Hibernian to whom it was addressed; the _snow drift_ of powder which lay
in patches on his long, straight hair, agreed with the taste of his