of late but too good reason to believe, that my loving spouse has actually formed a plot against my life. Exercise, sir, and change of air, have been the pretence for frequent expeditions to the country, with one or two friends, which she calls parties of pleasure, but which I have generally found to end in some cursed disaster, which has gone near to be my death. I have been twice caught in a thunder-storm on horse-back, thrice in a hurricane upon the water four times broke down in a carriage, and the last time compelled to ride ten miles in the night air upon a hard trotting coach-horse. I understand it is now resolved, by the advice of the family-physician abovementioned, to set out in a few days hence upon a tour through the north of England, and in our way to make trial of the mineral waters of Buxton, Matlock, or Harrowgate. What may be the issue of this expedition is hid in the womb of fate. The design of it, however, is sufficiently apparent; and I cannot help regarding it as intended for my coup de grace. If I survive it, you may once again hear from me; if not, you may perhaps bestow a tear on the memory of the ill-fated

JEREMIAH DY-SOON.

No. 25. SATURDAY, JULY 23, 1785.

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE LOUNGER.

SIR,

THOUGH I presume, from your account of yourself, that you occasionally visit the theatre, and go there like your friend Colonel Caustic, to see the plays as

well as the company; I do not observe that you have yet favoured us with any remarks on the entertainments of the stage. This I regard in a manner as part of your duty. Whatever has so powerful an effect in forming the manners as the theatre, falls properly within the department of one who wishes to mark their progress. Even as a mere amusement, that which occupies so great a space in the time of the idle should attract the notice of the Lounger. The field, you know, sir, is wide; for even in the best of our English pieces there is great room for improve ment, and much to be found fault with. The Fair Penitent, for example, which stands high in the list, is in many respects imperfect, if not reprehensible; which censure that I may justify (as also to take a share in the labour which I exhort you to), let me attempt to show wherein it is that the piece is chiefly defective.

For this purpose, we must first direct our attention to the characters; which are by no means such as to support or promote the interest of the situation. The heroine herself is very far from being an amiable or unexceptionable lady. Her slight pre tensions to the title of Penitent have often been remarked; and indeed the whole style of her character, exclusive of the objections that lie against it in a moral view, is of that fierce, unbending, and unfeminine sort, which we cannot easily pity in misfortune or forgive in error. For the weakness and the guilt of her love, she has not that apology which some unfortunate females derive from the bewitching qualities of their seducers. The object of her passion is a vain, a profligate, and undisguised libertine, whose treatment of her had been so utterly base and unmanly, as even to make her dread that the secret of her favours might not be safely lodged with him. The fineness of his form' is the only attractive qua

lity we perceive about him; a motive to love which sinks the lady equally in our estimation of her virtue, and in our opinion of her understanding.

If such is the impression that Calista makes on her first appearance, her conduct in the course of the piece by no means removes it. Her behaviour to Horatio, when he intimates his suspicions of her guilty correspondence, and holds up to her her own letter in support of the charge, is the very height of effrontery; as indeed the attempt which follows, to turn the sword of her injured husband against the bosom of his best friend, because he had detected her falsehood, is a stroke of wickedness (for it deserves no gentler name), hich deprives her of all title to sympathy. We remain accordingly, till the beginning of the fifth act, almost indifferent about her fate; or perhaps we rather enjoy her difficulties and embarrassments. Then, indeed, after her shame has been divulged; when the object of her guilty flame is now no more; when she is set before us, forsaken of every friend, and without prospect of peace but in the grave; when now the stormy passions that had transported her, having subsided, are followed by settled sorrow; and her haughty soul, bowed down by misfortunes, at length submits to own that she had done amiss, to intreat forgiveness, and to be grateful for a little tenderness:-in these circumstances our tears begin to take her part, as they would that of any object, however undeserving, reduced to so wretched a situation, and throwing herself entirely on our pity. The scene between her and Altamont, where she makes confession of her own demerit, and prays for a companion to him more deserving of his virtues, is interesting: and still more so that which precedes it between her and Sciolto; which is indeed by far the best in the play. We should mistake, however, in attributing its effect to

our interest in Calista; for the venerable good old man has by much the greatest share in it; whose affection for his child, contending with his rigid sense. of honour, forms a spectacle that draws at once our admiration and our love. Sciolto, indeed, is the most interesting, as well as most respectable person of the drama; his situation, his character, and his feelings, equally inspire our reverence for his virtue, and our pity for his misfortunes.

If the character of Calista offend us by its fierceness, that of Altamont disgusts us by its insignificance. Of him we know little more than this, which is far from being enough, that he is an ardent admirer of Calista. We are told indeed by the other persons of the piece, that he is ' an excellent young man,* and inherits all his father's virtues. But these encomiums by his friends make him no favourite with the spectator, who knows nothing of his father, and is attached only by what he himself sees, and observes, and finds reason for; not by what he hears related, or is desired to believe. Now, what of Alta¬ mont is presented is boyish, silly, and extravagant; we neither sympathise with his joy for the acquisition, nor in his despair for the loss of a mistress who receives his adoration with such indifference, and yields him her hand with such unwillingness. We feel the meanness as well as indelicacy of his situation, and are tempted to despise him for accepting a bride on such mortifying conditions.

When love, as in the case of Altamont, is the only prominent part of a character, its object should be rendered worthy of its ardour. Neither for Altamont's affection for Calista, nor Calista's for Lothario, has the poet furnished such an apology. The first is mean, though it may be honest; the last is nearly as contemptible, and much less pure; here it is silly, there it is criminal.

Horatio's character is of a better stamp: but he is not a principal in the action. At the same time, the behaviour of this 'far-famed friend of noble Altamont is not in every instance just what we expect of him; especially in the first meeting between him and that unfortunate youth, after the full discovery of Calista's guilt: on which occasion, instead of considering the bitter disappointment his young friend had met with, and preventing him by an unsolicited forgiveness, which is what we look for from the calm and generous temper of Horatio; he abuses and reviles him with all the sharpness of an enemy, and can hardly be won to forget his offence.

There is one other person of the drama, whom we had almost forgot to take notice of; a lady too; La+ vinia, the spouse of Horatio; a very deserving person doubtless, as well as her brother Altamont, but withal extremely insipid; and so much the less allowed for, that she is quite unnecessary; her presence serving only to introduce two dull scenes of conjugal endearment between her and her husband.

The conduct of the piece, though by no means so exceptionable as the manners, is not without a fault. We may observe of many English plays, and some of these among the best in the language, Mr. Home's Douglas, for example, that they are languid towards the conclusion, owing to the inability of the poet to suspend the unravelling of his story; or, as the poet will tell us, owing to the arbitrary rule which prescribes, that a tragedy shall not consist of fewer acts than five; to comply with which, he is obliged either to continue the story beyond its natural and proper term, or else to swell the piece with artificial scenes, that contribute little to heighten our interest, or to advance the action. The embarrassment of this rule has been felt by the author of the Fair Penitent. After the death of Lothario, which happens as early