One of the causes of this--as far as money was concerned--was his
extreme indolence and utter negligence. He trusted far too much to his
ready wit and rapid genius. Thus when 'Pizarro' was to appear, day after
day went by, and nothing was done. On the night of representation, only
four acts out of five were written, and even these had not been
rehearsed, the principal performers, Siddons, Charles Kemble and
Barrymore, having only just received their parts. Sheridan was up in the
prompter's room actually writing the fifth act while the first was being
performed, and every now and then appeared in the green-room with a
fresh relay of dialogue, and setting all in good humour by his merry
abuse of his own negligence. In spite of this, 'Pizarro' succeeded. He
seldom wrote except at night, and surrounded by a profusion of lights.
Wine was his great stimulant in composition, as it has been to better
and worse authors. 'If the thought is slow to come,' he would say, 'a
glass of good wine encourages it; and when it does come, a glass of good
wine rewards it.' Those glasses of good wine, were, unfortunately, even
more frequent than the good thoughts, many and merry as they were.

His neglect of letters was a standing joke against him. He never took
the trouble to open any that he did not expect, and often left sealed
many that he was most anxious to read. He once appeared with his begging
face at the Bank, humbly asking an advance of twenty pounds. 'Certainly,
sir; would you like any more?--fifty or a hundred?' said the smiling
clerk. Sheridan was overpowered. He _would_ like a hundred. 'Two or
three?' asked the scribe. Sheridan thought he was joking, but was ready
for two or even three--he was always ready for more. But he could not
conceal his surprise. 'Have you not received our letter?' the clerk
asked, perceiving it. Certainly he had received the epistle, which
informed him that his salary as Receiver-General of Cornwall had been