About a quarter of a century before Moore entered the school, Mr. Whyte had the teaching of young Sheridan, whom, curiously enough, he pronounced “an incorrigible dunce,” after a year’s instruction of the boy! A dunce he was, perhaps, at the methodical “branches,” taught in a methodic way by Mr. Whyte; but we venture to say quick enough, when the fit was on him, at the gay work of tinkering or acting plays, or pieces of plays—thus taking unconsciously the bias which had its results in the School for Scandal and the Duenna. As for Tommy Moore, he was always a spry, vivacious, black-eyed little chap, who took at once to the business of the boards, and recited and performed to the great satisfaction of his master. The latter, whenever he went to the houses of the nobility and gentry to get up plays, would usually take with him his smart show-actor—the precocious little Catholic boy, and give him parts to sustain in the representations. In this way the plebeian youngster was introduced—greatly to his pride and satisfaction—into the highest families of Dublin and its vicinity, where the circumstances of gayety and splendor, contrasting with the exclusions generally operating against those of his class and creed, heightened the zest with which he enjoyed his privileges, and thus early created those feelings and sentiments of pleasure and brilliancy which influenced his subsequent career in the world. From reciting and acting, the transition to writing verses was a very natural thing, and Moore showed himself as apt at rhyme as at every thing else. Indeed, like Pope and Ovid, “he lisped in numbers, for the numbers came.” He himself gives us from memory, part of a juvenile effusion on resuming school tasks after the business of the stage was over: Our Pantaloon, who did so aged look, Must now resume his youth, his tasks, his book, And Harlequin, who skipped, laughed, danced and died, Must now stand trembling at his master’s side. And he says: “I have thus been led back, step by step, from an early date to one still earlier, with the view of ascertaining, for those who may take any interest in literary biography, at what period I first showed an aptitude for the now common craft of verse-making, and the result is—so far back in childhood lies the epoch—that I am really unable to say at what age I first began to act, sing, and rhyme.” At the age of twelve he wrote a Masque, in which he adapted verses to Haydn’s “Spirit-Song,” and this was performed by himself, his sister, and some young friends in his father’s house in Aungier street. There have been few instances of a healthy precocity of mind beyond that of Thomas Moore.