the opposite side of the house. She never afterwards happened to look to that quarter where I was seated.

6

Still, however, I was not quite discouraged, and, on an accidental change of places in our box, contrived to place myself at the end of the bench next her Ladyship's, so that there was only a piece of thin board between us. At the end of the act, I ventured to ask her how she did, and to express my happiness at seeing her in town, adding, that I had called the day before, but had found her particularly engaged. Why, yes,' said she, Miss Homespun, I am always extremely hurried in town, and have time only to receive a very few visits; but I will be glad if you will come some morning and breakfast with me-but not to-morrow, for there is a morning concert; nor next day, for I have a musical party at home. In short, you may come some morning next week, when the hurry will be over, • and, if I am not gone out of town, I will be happy 'to see you.' I don't know what answer I should have made; but she did not give me an opportunity; for, a gentleman, in a green uniform coming into the box, she immediately made room for him to sit between us. He, after a broad stare full in my face, turned his back my way, and sat in that posture all the rest of the evening.

I am not so silly, Mr. MIRROR, but I can understand the meaning of all this. My Lady, it seems, is contented to have some humble friends in the country, whom she does not think worthy of her notice in town; but I am determined to shew her, that I have a prouder spirit than she imagines, and shall not go near her, either in town or country. What is more, my father shan't vote for her friend at next election, if I can help it.

What vexes me beyond every thing else is, that I

had been often telling my aunt and her daughters of the intimate footing I was on with Lady

and what a violent friendship we had for each other; and so, from envy, perhaps, they used to nick-name me the Countess, and Lady Leonora. Now that they have got this story of the mantua-maker and the play-house (for I was so angry I could not conceal it), I am ashamed to hear the name of a lady of quality mentioned, even if it be only in a book from the circulating library. Do write a paper, Sir, against pride and haughtiness, and people forgetting their country friends and acquaintance, and you will very much oblige

Yours, &c.

ELIZABETH HOMESPUN.

P. S. My uncle's partner, the young gentleman I mentioned above, takes my part when my cousins joke upon intimates with great folks: I think he is a much genteeler and better bred man than I took him for at first.

Z

N° 54. SATURDAY, JULY 31, 1779.

AMONG the letters of my Correspondents, I have been favoured with several containing observations on the conduct and success of my paper. Of these, some recommend subjects of criticism as of a kind that has been extremely popular in similar periodical publications, and on which, according to them, I

have dwelt too little. Others complain, that the critical papers I have published were written in a style and manner too abstruse and technical for the bulk of my readers, and desire me to remember, that in a performance addressed to the world, only the language of the world should be used.

I was last night in a company where a piece of conversation-criticism took place, which, as the speakers were well-bred persons of both sexes, was necessarily of the familiar kind. As an endeavour, therefore, to please both the above-mentioned Correspondents, I shall set down, as nearly as I can récollect, the discourse of the company. It turned on the tragedy of Zara, at the representation of which all of them had been present a few evenings ago. what an æra

It is remarkable,' said Mr.

He ac

of our

of improvement in the French drama may be mark⚫ed from the writings of M. de Voltaire. The cold and tedious declamation of the former French tragedians he had taste enough to see was not the language of passion, and genius enough to execute his pieces in a different manner. He retained the " eloquence of Corneille, and the tenderness of Racine; but he never suffered the first to swell into bombast, nor the other to sink into languor. companied them with the force and energy Shakespeare, whom he had the boldness to follow;' ◄—and the meanness to decry,' said the lady of the house. He has been unjust to Shakespeare, I con• fess,' replied Sir H- (who had been a considerable time abroad, and has brought somewhat more than the language and dress of our neighbours); yet I think I have observed our partiality for that exalted poet carry us as unreasonable lengths on the other side. When we ascribe to Shakespeare • innumerable beauties, we do him but justice; but, when we will not allow that he has faults, we

give him a degree of praise to which no writer is entitled, and which he, of all men, expected the least. It was impossible that, writing in ⚫ the situation he did, he should have escaped inac'curacies; suffice it to say, they always arose from ⚫ the exuberance of fancy, not the sterility of dull⚫ness.'

• There is much truth in what you say,' answered Mr. ; but Voltaire was unjust when, not satisfied with pointing out blemishes in Shakespeare, ⚫he censured a whole nation as barbarous for admiring his works. He must, himself, have felt the ⚫ excellence of a poet, whom, in this very tragedy of • Zara, he has not disdained to imitate, and to imi⚫tate very closely too. The speech of Orasmane (or Osman, as the English translation calls him), begin⚫ning,

J'aurois d'un oeil serene, d'un front inalterable,

is almost a literal copy of the complaint of • Othello:

-Had it rain'd

All sorts of curses on me, &c.

which is, perhaps,

6

the reason why our translator has omitted it. I do not pretend to justify • Voltaire,' returned Sir H- -; yet it must be ⚫ remembered, in alleviation, that the French have formed a sort of national taste in their theatre, correct, perhaps, almost to coldness. In Britain, I am afraid we are apt to err on the other side; to mistake rhapsody for fire, and to applaud a • forced metaphor for a bold one. I do not cite Dryden, Lee, or the other poets of their age; for • that might be thought unfair; but, even in the

present state of the English stage, is not my idea warranted by the practice of poets, and the applause of the audience? A poet of this country, who, in other passages, has often touched the tender feelings with a masterly hand, gives to the hero of one of his latest tragedies, the following speech:

Had I a voice like Etna when it roars,

For in my breast is pent as fierce a fire,
I'd speak in flames.

• That a man, in the fervour and hurry of composi ⚫tion, should set down such an idea, is nothing; that it should be pardoned by the audience, is little; but that it should always produce a clap, is strange • indeed!'

;

And is there nothing like this in French trage• dies?' said the Lady of the house 'for there is, • I think, abundance of it in some of our late imita• tions of them.'-Nay, in the translation of Zayre, • Madam,' returned the Baronet, Hill has sometimes departed from the original, to substitute a swelling and elaborate diction. He forgets the plain saldierly character of the Sultan's favourite Orasmin, • when he makes him say,

-Silent and dark

Th' unbreathing world is hush'd, as if it heard
And listen'd to your sorrows.

The original is simple description ;

Tout dort, tout est tranquille, et l'ombre de la nuit,

And when the slave, in the 4th act, brings the fatal letter to the Sultan, and mentions the circumstances of its interception, the translator makes Osman stay to utter a sentiment, which is always