half-past eight in winter, he commenced a certain routine of ope- 

 rations. He took out his watch and wound it ; it was now the 

 duty of those who were familiar with his habits, to remind him that 

 his hour was come, or, if they were all strangers, he announced it 

 himself, but requested the company not to move until he could escort 

 them. His next process was slowly to remove the buckles of his 

 shoes and knees, the conversation still continuing. After this, the 

 company was marched off, under his escort, to the head of the 

 staircase, and then they dispersed to their respective quarters, 

 while he retired to bed, from which he rose next morning, at four 

 o'clock in summer, and somewhat later in winter, to resume his 

 accustomed studies. 



But his slumbers were to be occasionally interrupted. His ser- 

 vant, Pope, already mentioned, always slept in his room ; his busi- 

 ness was to administer to his master, once or twice during the 

 night, a little tea, out of a teapot, by introducing the spout into his 

 mouth. But Pope, overpowered by sleep, would occasionally make 

 woeful mistakes ; and it was nothing uncommon to hear his master 

 in the middle of the night exclaim, " You booby, you are pouring 

 the tea into my eye!' 



Mr. Kirwan was so affable and conversable, and adapted his 

 conversation so judiciously to his company, that his society was 

 much sought after by ladies ; and he, in his turn, was much pleased 

 with their's, especially if they had literary pretensions. In their com- 

 pany he was lively and playful, and divested himself entirely of the 

 character of the philosopher. He was indeed always of a cheerful 

 disposition. If to literary acquirements a lady superadded personal 

 attractions, she was sure to interest Mr. Kirwan the more, for in- 

 difference to beauty was no part of his philosophy. Shortly after 

 Lady Morgan's appearance as a literary character, she received a 

 flattering token of Mr. Kirwan's approbation, which she thus de- 

 scribes in her usual volatile and lively manner: " A plain, dark, 

 old-fashioned chariot drove to the door, and up came a card thus 

 inscribed : — ' Mr. Kirwan, to pay his respects to the fair authoress 

 of the "Wild Irish Girl.' My stars !" she exclaims, " what a fuss! 

 The great Eichard Kirwan, the philosopher, the chemist, the comely, 

 the elegant, the celebrated ! I flew first to the harp to get up an atti- 



