SNEER. I think it wants incident.

SIR F. Good God! you surprise me! wants incident?
SNEER. Yes; I own I think the incidents are too few.

SIR F. Good God! Believe me, Mr. Sneer, there is no person for whose judgment I have a more implicit deference; but I protest to you, Mr. Sueer, I am only apprehensive that the incidents are too crowded.-My dear Dangle, how does it strike you?

DAN. Really, I can't agree with my friend Sneer. I think the plot quite sufficient and the four first acts by many degrees the best I ever read or saw in my life. If I might venture to suggest anything, it is that the interest rather falls off in the fifth.

SIR F. Rises, I believe you men, sir.

DAN. No; I don't, upon my word.

SIR F. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul; it certainly don't fall off, I assure you; no, no, it don't fall off.

DAN. Now, Mrs. Dangle, didn't you say it struck you in the same light?

MRS. D. No, indeed, I did not. I did not see a fault in any part of the play from the beginning to the end.

SIR F. Upon my soul, the women are the best judges after all!

MRS. D. Or if I made any objection, I am sure it was to nothing in the piece; but that I was afraid it was, on the whole, a little too long.

SIR F. Pray, madam, do you speak as to duration of time; or do you mean that the story is tediously spun out?

MRS. D. O lud! no. I speak only with reference to the usual length of acting plays.

SIR F. Then I am very happy-very happy indeed; because the play is a short play, a remarkably short play. I should not venture to differ with a lady on a point of taste; but on these occasions the watch, you know, is the critic.

MRS. D. Then, I suppose it must have been Mr. Dangle's drawling manner of reading it to me.

SIR F. Oh, if Mr. Dangle read it, that's quite another affair; but I assure you, Mrs. Dangle, the first evening you can spare me three hours and a half, I'll undertake to read you the whole from beginning to end, with the prologue and epilogue, and allow time for the music between the acts.

MRS. D. I hope to see it on the stage next.

[Exit.

DAN. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get rid as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you do of ours.

SIR F. The newspapers! sir, they are the most villainous, licentious, abominable, infernal-not that I ever read them; no, I make it a rule never to look into a newspaper.

DAN. You are quite right; for it certainly must hurt an anthor of delicate feelings to see the liberties they take.

SIR F. No; quite the contrary; their abuse is, in fact, the best panegyric; I like it of all things. An author's reputation is only in danger from their support. SNEER. Why, that's true; and that attack, now, on you the other day

SIR F. What? where?

DAN. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday; it was completely ill-natured, to be sure.

SIR F. Oh, so much the better: ha, ha, ha! I wouldn't have it otherwise.

DAN. Certainly, it is only to be laughed at, for

SIR F. You don't happen to recollect what the fellow said, do you?
SNEER. Pray, Dangle; Sir Fretful seems a little anxious-

SIR F. O lud, no! anxious? not I, not the least-I-but one may as well hear,

you know.

DAN. Sneer, do you recollect? Make out something.
SNEER. I will. [To Dangle.] Yes, yes, 1 remember perfectly.

[A side.

SIR F. Well, and pray now-not that it signifies-what might the gentleman say? SNEER. Why, he roundly asserts tha you have not the slightest invention or original genius whatever, though you are the greatest traduccr of all other authors living.

SIR F. Ha, ha, ha! very good!

SNEER. That as to comedy, you have not one idea of your own, he believes, even in your commonplace-book, where stray jokes and pilfered witticisms are kept with as much method as the ledger of the Lost and Stolen Office.

SIR F. Ha, ha, ha! very pleasant!

SNEER. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have the skill even to steal with taste; but that you glean from the refuse of obscure volumes, where more judicious plagiarists have been before you; so that the body of your work is a composition of dregs and sediments, like a bad tavern's worst wine.

SIR F. Ha, ha!

SNEER. In your more serious efforts, he says, your bombast would be less intolerable if the thoughts were ever suited to the expressions; but the homeliness of the sentiment stares through the fantastic encumbrance of its fine language, like a clown in one of the new uniforms.

SIR F. Ha, ha!

SNEER. That your occasional tropes and flowers suit the general coarseness of your style, as tambour sprigs would a ground of linsey-woolsey; while your imitations of Shakspeare resemble the mimicry of Falstaff's page, and are about as near the standard of the original.

SIR F. Ha!

SNEER. In short, that even the finest passages you steal are of no service to you; for the poverty of your own language prevents their assimilating, so that they lie on the surface like lumps of marl on a barren moor, encumbering what it is not in their power to fertilise.

SIR F. [After great agitation.] Now, another person would be vexed at this.
SNEER. Oh, but I wouldn't have told you, only to divert you.

SIR F. I know it. I am diverted-ha, ha, ha! Not the least invention! ha, ha, ha! very good, very good!

SNEER. Yes; no genius! ha, ha, ha!

DAN. A severe rogue, ha, ha, ha!-but you are quite right, Sir Fretful, never to read such nonsense.

SIR F. To be sure; for if there is anything to one's praise, it is a foolish vanity to be gratified at it; and if it is abuse, why, one is always sure to hear of it from one d-d good-natured friend or another!

Anatomy of Character.—From 'The School for Scandal.'

MARIA enters to LADY SNEERWELL and JOSEPH SURFACE.

LADY SNEERWELL. Maria, my dear, how do you do? What's the matter? MARIA. Oh, there is that disagreeable lover of mine, Sir Benjamin Backbite, has just called at my guardian's with his odious uncle, Crabtree; so I slipt out, and ran hither to avoid them.

LADY S. Is that all?

JOSEPH SURFACE. If my brother Charles had been of the party, madam, perhaps you would not have been so much alarmed.

LADY S. Nay, now you are severe; for I dare swear the truth of the matter is, Maria heard you were here. But, my dear, what has Sir Benjamin done that you should avoid him so?

MARIA. Oh, he has done nothing-but 'tis for what he has said: his conversation is a perpetual libel on all his acquaintance.

JOSEPH S. Ay, and the worst of it is, there is no advantage in not knowing him -for he'll abuse a stranger just as soon as his best friend; and his uncle Crabtree 's as bad.

LADY S. Nay, but we should make allowance. Sir Benjamin is a wit and a poet. MARIA. For my part, I own, madam, wit loses its respect with me when I see it in company with malice.-What do you think, Mr. Surface?

JOSEPH S. Certainly madam; to smile at the jest which plants a thorn in another's breast is to become a principal in the mischief.

LADY S. Pshaw!-there's no possibility of being witty without a little ill-nature: the malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick.-What's your opinion, Mr. Surface?

JOSEPH S. To be sure, madam; that conversation where the spirit of raillery is suppressed, will ever appear tedious and insipid.

MARIA. Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may be allowable; but in a man, I am sure it is always contemptible. We have pride, envy, rivalship, and a thousand little motives to depreciate each other; but the male slanderer must have the cowardice of a woman before he can traduce one.

Enter SERVANT.

SERVANT. Madam, Mrs. Candour is below, and if your ladyship's at leisure, will leave her carriage.

LADY S. Beg her to walk in. [Exit Servant.]-Now, Maria, however, here is a character to your taste; for though Mrs. Candour is a little talkative, everybody allows her to be the best-natured and best sort of woman.

MARIA. Yes-with a very gross affectation of good-nature and benevolence, she does more mischief than the direct malice of old Crabtree.

JOSEPH S. I' faith, that's true, Lady Sneerwell; whenever I hear the current running against the characters of my friends, I never think them in such danger as when Candour undertakes their defence.

LADY S. Hush!-here she is!

Enter MRS. CANDOUR.

MRS. CANDOUR. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how have you been this century ?-Mr. Surface, what news do you hear?-though indeed it is no matter, for I think one hears nothing else but scandal.

JOSEPH S. Just so, indeed, ma'am.

MRS. C. O Maria! child-What! is the whole affair off between you and Charles ? His extravagance, I presume-the town talks of nothing else.

MARIA. I am very sorry, ma'am, the town has so little to do.

MRS. C. True, true, child: but there's no stopping people's tongues. I own I was hurt to hear it, as I indeed was to learn, from the same quarter, that your guardian, Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, have not agreed lately as well as could be wished.

MARIA. Tis strangely impertinent for people to busy themselves so.

MRS. C. Very true, child: but what's to be done? People will talk-there's no preventing it. Why, it was but yesterday I was told that Miss Gadabout had eloped with Sir Filligree Fiirt. But there's no minding what one hears; though, to be sure, I had this from very good authority.

MARIA. Such reports are highly scandalous.

MRS. C. So they are, child-shameful, shameful! But the world is so censorious, no character escapes. Well, now, who would have suspected your friend, Miss Prim, of an indiscretion? Yet, such is the ill-nature of people, that they say her uncle stopt her last week, just as she was stepping into the York mail with her dancing

master.

MARIA. I'll answer for 't there are no grounds for that report.

MRS. C. Ah, no foundation in the world, I dare swear; no more, probably, than for the story circulated last month of Mrs. Festino's affair with Colonel Cassino; though, to be sure, that matter was never rightly cleared up.

JOSEPH S. The license of invention some people take is monstrous indeed.

MARIA. 'Tis so-but, in my opinion, those who report such things are equally culpable.

MRS. C. To be sure they are; tale-bearers are as bad as the tale-makers-'tis an old observation, and a very true one. But what's to be done, as I said before? how will you prevent people from talking? To-day, Mrs. Clackitt assured me Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon were at last become mere man and wife, like the rest of their acquaintance. No, no! tale-bearers, as I said before, are just as bad as the talemakers.

JOSEPH S. Ah, Mrs. Candour, if everybody had your forbearance and goodnature!

MRS. C. I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to hear people attacked behind their backs; and when ugly circumstances come out against our acquaintance, I own I always love to think the best. By the bye, I hope 'tis not true that your brother is absolutely ruined?

JOSEPH S. I am afraid his circumstances are very bad indeed, ma'am.

MRS. C. Ah! I heard so-but you must tell him to keep up his spirits; everybody

almost is in the same way-Lord Spindle, Sir Thomas Splint, Captain Quinze, and Mr. Nickit-all up, I hear, within this week; so, if Charles is undone, he'll find half of his acquaintance ruined to; and that, you know, is a consolation. JOSEPH S. Doubtless, ma'am-a very great one.

Enter SERVANT.

SERV. Mr. Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite.

[Exit Servant.

LADY S. So, Maria, you see your lover pursues you; positively you shan't escape. Enter CRABTREE and SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE.

CRABTBEE. Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand -Mrs. Candour, I don't believe you are acquainted with my nephew, Sir Benjamin Backbite. Egad! ma'am, he has a pretty wit, and is a pretty poet too.-Isn't he, Lady Sneerwell?

SIR BENJAMIN. O fie, uncle!

CRAB. Nay, egad! it's true; I back him at a rebus or a charade against the best rhymer in the kingdom. Has your ladyship heard the epigram he wrote last week on Lady Frizzle's feather catching fire ?-Do. Benjamin, repeat it, or the charade you made last night extempore at Mrs. Drowzie's conversazione. Come now: your first is the name of a fish, your second a great naval commander, and

SIR B. Uncle, now-prithee

CRAB. I' faith, ma'am, 'twould surprise you to hear how ready he is at all these sort of things.

LADY S. I wonder, Sir Benjamin, you never publish anything.

SIR B. To say truth, ma'am, 'tis very vulgar to print; and as my little productions are mostly satires and lampoons on particular people, I find they circulate more by giving copies in confidence to the friends of the parties. However, I have some love elegies, which, when favoured with this lady's smiles, I mean to give the public. [Pointing to Maria.]

CRAB. 'Fore heaven, ma'am, they'll immortalize you! You will be handed down to posterity, like Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's Sacharissa.

SIR B. [To Maria.] Yes, madam, I think you will like them, when you shall see them on a beautiful quarto page, where a neat rivulet of text shall murmur through a meadow of margin. 'Fore gad, they will be the most elegant things of their kind! CRAB. But ladies, that's true-have you heard the news?

MRS. C. What, sir, do you mean the report of―

CRAB. No, ma'am, that's not it-Miss Nicely is going to be married to her own footman.

MRS. C. Impossible!

CRAB. Ask Sir Benjamin.

SIR B. "Tis very true, ma'am; everything is fixed, and the wedding liveries bespoke.

CRAB. Yes; and they do say there were pressing reasons for it.

LADY S. Why I have heard something of this before.

MRS. C. It can't be; and I wonder any one should believe such a story of so prudent a lady as Miss Nicely.

SIR B. O lud! ma'am, that's the very reason 'twas believed at once. She has always been so cautious and so reserved, that everybody was sure there was some reason for it at bottom.

MRS. C. Why, to be sure, a tale of scandal is as fatal to the credit of a prudent lady of her stamp as a fever is generally to those of the strongest constitutions. But there is a sort of puny sickly reputation that is always ailing, yet will outlive the robuster characters of a hundred prudes.

SIR B. True, madam, there are valetudinarians in reputation as well as constitution; who, being conscious of their weak part, avoid the least breath of air, and supply their want of stamina by care and circumspection.

MRS. C. Well, but this may be all a mistake. You know, Sir Benjamin, very trifling circumstances often give rise to the most injurious tales. CRAB. That they do, I'll be sworn, ma'am.

true that your uncle, Sir Oliver, is coming home? JOSEPH S. Not that I know of, indeed, sir.

O lud! Mr. Surface, pray, it is

CRAB. He has been in the East Indies a long time. You can scarcely remember

him, I believe. Sad comfort, whenever he returns, to hear how your brother has gone on.

JOSEPH S. Charles has been imprudent, sir, to be sure; but I hope no busy people have already prejudiced Sir Ol ver against him. He may reform.

SIR B. To be sule he may for my part, I never believed him to be so utterly void of principle as people say; and though he has lost all his friends, I am told nobody is better spoken of by the Jews.

CRAB. That's true, egad! nephew. If the Old Jewry was a ward, I believe Charles would be an alderman; no man more popular there! I hear he pays as many annuities as the Irish tontine; and that, whenever he is sick, they have prayers for the recovery of his health in all the synagogues.

SIR B. Yet no man lives in greater splendour. They tell me, when he entertains his friends, he will sit down to dinner with a dozen of his own securities; have a score of tradesmen waiting in the antechamber, and an officer behind every guest's chair.

JOSEPH S. This may be entertainment to you, gentlemen; but you pay very little regard to the feelings of a brother.

MARIA [Aside ] Their malice is intolerable. [Aloud] Lady Sneerwell, I must wish you a good morning: I'm not very well.

MRS. C. O dear! she changes colour very much.

[Exit Maria.

LADY S. Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her: she may want your assistance. MRS. C. That I will, with all my soul, ma'am. Poor dear girl, who knows what her situation may be! [Exit Mrs. Candour. Towards the close of the century, plays translated from the German were introduced. Amidst much false and exaggerated sentiment, they appealed to the stronger sympathies of our nature, and drew crowded audiences to the theatres. One of the first of these plays was 'The Stranger,' said to be translated by Benjamin Thompson; but the greater part of it as it was acted was the production of Sheridan. It is a drama of domestic life, not very moral or beneficial in its tendencies-for it is calculated to palliate our detestation of adultery—yet abounding in scenes of tenderness and surprise, well adapted to produce effect on the stage. The principal characters were acted by Kemble and Mrs. Siddons, and when it was brought out in the season of 1797-98, it was received with immense applause. In 1799, Sheridan adapted another of Kotzebue's plays, 'Pizarro,' which experienced still greater success. In the former drama, the German author had violated the proprieties of our moral code, by making an injured husband take back his guilty though penitent wife; and in Pizarro' he has invested a fallen female with tenderness, compassion, and heroism. The obtrusion of such a character as a prominent figure in the scene was at least indelicate; but, in the hands of Mrs. Siddons, the taint was scarcely perceived, and Sheridan had softened down the most objectionable parts.

The play was produced with all the aids of splendid scenery, music, and fine acting, and these, together with its displays of generous and heroic feeling on the part of Roll, and of parental affection in Alonzo and Cora, were calculated to lead captive an English audience. 'Its subject was also new and peculiarly fortunate. brought the adventures of the most romantic kingdom of Christendom-Spain-into picturesque combination with the simplicity and superstitions of the transatlantic world; and gave the imagination a

It