seen some love scenes in the play ridiculously acted, and heard them censured by those whose judgments she respects, and especially because she is very justly displeased with all the bombast stuff Imagination puts into them: she will, against her senses, believe there is scarce a single line about it in the whole drama: and there you may see her striking out for spurious passages that have warmed the noblest hearts with generous sentiments, and gained a just applause from Socrates and Plato themselves, two of the finest actors I ever had. This is, however, an error on the right side. Happy for you, young actress, if you never fall into a worse! She may indeed miss saying an agreeable thing, but she will never say an absurd one.

"Look yonder, and you will see more dangerous and more ridiculous mistakes. That group of young actors, just entering on the stage, who cannot possibly have beheld more than half a scene, pretend already, in a decisive way, to give their judgment of the whole; they do not so much as wait for their cue (which years and discretion ought to give them), but thrust forward into the middle of the action. Some of them, displeased with the decorations of their part of the theatre, are busied in hurrying the tinsel ornaments from the other corners of it, where they were much more becomingly placed. That man yonder, who ought to be acting the part of a hero, is so taken up with adjusting his dress, that he never once seems to think of the green room, where all these robes must soon be laid aside.

"Look yonder, look yonder! This is a pitiable sight indeed. Behold that woman, exquisitely handsome still, though much past the bloom of youth, and formed to shine in any part; but so unhappily attached to that she has just left, that her head is absolutely turned behind her; so unwilling is she to lose sight of her beloved gaieties.

"In another place you may see persons, who, sensible that the splendid dresses of the theatre are only lent them for a time, disdain, with a sullen ill judged pride, to put them on at all, and so disgrace the parts that were allotted them for their own advantage.

"Alas! what a different prompter has that actor got! He was designed to represent a character of generosity, and, for that purpose, furnished with a large treasure of counters, which it was his business to dispose of in the most graceful manner to those actors engaged in the same scene with him. Instead of this, that old fellow, Interest, who stands at his elbow, has prompted him to put the whole bag into his pocket, as if the counters themselves were of real value; whereas, the moment he sets his foot off the stage, or is hurried down through some of those trap doors that are every moment opening round him, these tinsel pieces are no longer current. To conceal, in some measure, the falseness of this behaviour, he is forced to leave out a hundred fine passages, intended to grace his character, and to occasion unnumbered chasms and inconsistencies, which not only make him hissed, but the very scheme of the drama murmured at.

Yet still he persists; and see! just now, when he ought to be gracefully treading the stage with a superior air, he is stooping down to pick up some more counters that happen to be fallen upon the dirty floor, made dirty on purpose for the disgrace of those who choose to grovel there.

"You can scarcely have an idea," added my instructress," how infinitely the harmony of the whole piece is interrupted by the misuse which these wrong headed actors make of its mere decorations. The part you have to act, child, is a very small one; but, remember, it is infinitely superior to every such attachment. Fix your attention upon its meaning, not its ornaments: let your manner be just and unaffected; your air cheerful and disengaged: never pretend to look beyond the present page: and, above all, trust the great Author of the Drama with his own glorious work; and never think to mend what is above your understanding, by minute criticisms that are below it."

MISS TALBOT.

HAPPINESS:
An Allegory.

JUPITER, when he made man, brought with him from heaven a nymph called Felicia, or Happiness, to be his companion. The better to engage them to each other, he furnished man with those passions and affections which were to feed the mind with perpetual wishes, with a guide, called Reason, to restrain their violence; and to the

nymph he gave immortal beauty, together with a certain degree of coyness, which is always sure to engage pursuit and endear possession.

But as if some other power had a malicious design to set this pair at variance, notwithstanding the seeming desire of Jupiter to unite them. Felicia became insensible to every thing but virtue, while the passions of man generally hurried him to a pursuit of her by the means of vice. With this difference in their natures, it was impossible for them to agree; and in a short time they became almost strangers to each other. Reason would have gone over to the side of Felicia, but some particular passion always opposed him; for, what was almost incredible, though Reason was a sufficient match for the whole body of Passions united, he was sure to be subdued, if singly encountered.

Jupiter laughed at the folly of man, and gave him woman. But as her frame was too delicately composed to endure the perpetual strife of Reason and the Passions, he confined the former to man, and gave up woman to the government of the latter without control.

Felicia, upon this new creation, grew again acquainted with man. She made him a visit of a month, and, at his entreaty, would have settled with him for ever, if the jealousy of woman had not driven her from his roof.

From this time the nymph has led a wandering life, without any settled habitation. As the world grew peopled, she paid her visits to every corner of it; but though millions pretended to love her, not a single mortal had constancy to

deserve her. Ceremony drove her from court, Avarice from the city, and Want from the cottage. Her delight, however, was in the last of these places, and there it was that she was most frequently to be found.

Jupiter saw with pity the wanderings of Felicia, and in a fortunate hour caused a mortal to be born, whose name was Bonario, or Goodness. He endowed him with all the graces of mind and body; and at an age when the soul becomes sensible of desires, he breathed into him a passion for the beautiful Felicia. Bonario had frequently seen her in his early visits to Wisdom and Devotion; but as lightness of belief, and an overfondness of mankind were failings inseparable to him, he often suffered himself to be led astray from Felicia, till Reflection, the common friend of both, would set him right, and reconduct him to her company.

Though Felicia was a virgin of some thousand years old, her coyness was rather found to increase than to diminish. This, perhaps, to mortal old maids may be matter of wonder; but the true reason was, that the beauty of Felicia was incapable of decay. From hence it was that the fickleness of Bonario made her less and less easy of access. Yet such was his frailty, that he continually suffered himself to be enticed from her, till at last she totally withdrew herself. Reflection came now only to upbraid him. Her words, however, were of service, as by showing how he had lost Felicia, they gave him hopes that a contrary behaviour might, in time, regain her.

The loss of happiness instructs us how to value