comes to the downright pathetic; and yet he is even reproached by Cæfar for wanting the Vis Comica. All the other comic writers of antiquity aim only at rendering Folly or Vice ridiculous, but never exalt their characters into bufkined pomp, or make what Voltaire humouroufly calls a Tradefman's Tragedy.

Yet notwithstanding this weight of authority, and the univerfal practice of former ages, a new fpecies of dramatic compofition has been introduced under the name of Sentimental Comedy, in which the virtues of private life are exhibited, rather than the vices expofed; and the diftreffes rather than the faults of mankind make our intereft in the piece. Thefe Comedies have had of late great fuccefs, perhaps from their novelty, and alfo from their flattering every man in his favourite foible. In thefe plays almost all the characters are good, and exceedingly generous; they are lavish enough of their Tin money on the Stage; and though they want humour, have abundance of fentiment and feeling. If they happen to have faults or foibles, the fpectator is taught not only to pardon, but to applaud them, in confideration of the goodnefs of their hearts; fo that Folly, inftead of being ridiculed, is commended, and the Comedy aims at touching our paffions without the power of being truly pathetic. In this manner we are likely to lofe one great fource of entertainment on the Stage; for while the Comic Poet is invading the province of the Tragic Mufe, he leaves her lovely Sifter quite neglected. Of this however he is no way folicitous, as he measures his fame by his profits.

But it will be faid, that the Theatre is formed to amuse mankind, and that it matters little, if this end be answered, by what means it is obtained. If mankind find delight in weeping at Comedy, it

would

would be cruel to abridge them in that or any other innocent pleasure. If those pieces are denied the name of Comedies, yet call them by any other name, and if they are delightful, they are good. Their fuccefs, it will be faid, is a mark of their merit, and it is only abridging our happiness to deny us an inlet to Amusement.

Thefe objections however are rather fpecious than folid. It is true, that Amufement is a great object of the Theatre; and it will be allowed, that thefe Sentimental Pieces do often amufe us: but the question is, whether the True Comedy would not amufe us more? The queftion is, whether a character fupported throughout a piece with its ridicule. ftill attending, would not give us more delight than this fpecies of baftard Tragedy, which only is applauded because it is new?

A friend of mine, who was fitting unmoved at one of thefe Sentimental Pieces, was afked how he could be fo indifferent. "Why, truly," fays he,

as the Hero is but a Tradefman, it is indifferent "to me whether he be turned out of his counting"houfe on Fish-ftreet Hill, fince he will still have *enough left to open fhop in St. Giles's."

The other objection is as ill-grounded; for though we fhould give these pieces another name, it will not mend their efficacy. It will continue a kind of mulife production, with all the defects of its oppofite parents, and marked with fterility. If we are permitted to make Comedy weep, we have an equal right to make Tragedy laugh, and to fet down in blank verfe the jefts and repartees of all the attendants in a funeral proceffion.

But there is one argument in favour of Sentimental Comedy which will keep it on the stage, in fpite of all that can be faid against it. It is of all others the most eafily written. Thofe abilities, that can

hammer

hammer out a novel, are fully fufficient for the production of a Sentimental Comedy. It is only fufficient to raise the characters a little; to deck out the hero with a ribband, or give the heroine a Title: then to put an infipid dialogue, without character or humour, into their mouths, give them mighty good hearts, very fine cloaths, furnish a new set of fcenes, make a pathetic fcene or two, with a sprinkling of tender melancholy converfation through the whole, and there is no doubt but all the ladies will cry, and all the gentlemen applaud.

Humour at present seems to be departing from the ftage; and it will foon happen that our comic players will have nothing left for it but a fine coat and a fong. It depends upon the audience, whether they will actually drive thofe poor merry creatures from the stage, or fit at a play as gloomy as at the tabernacle. It is not eafy to recover an art when once loft; and it will be but a juft punishment, that when, by our being too faftidious, we have banished humour from the ftage, we fhould ourselves be deprived of the art of laughing.

As I fee you are fond of gallantry, and feem willing to fet young people together as foon as you can, I cannot help lending my affiftance to your endea vours, as I am greatly concerned in the attempt, You must know, Sir, that I am landlady of one of the most noted inns on the road to Scotland, and have feldom lefs than eight or ten couples a-week, who go down rapturous lovers, and return man and wife.

If there be in this world an agreeable fituation, it must be that, in which a young couple find themfelves; when juft let loofe from confinement, and whirling off to the Land of Promife. When the poft-chaife is driving off, and the blinds are drawn up, fure nothing can equal it. And yet, I do not know how, what with the fears of being purfued, or the wishes for greater happiness, not one of my cuftomers but feems gloomy and out of temper. The gentlemen are all fullen, and the ladies difcontented.

But if it be fo going down, how is it with them coming back? Having been for a fortnight together, they are then mighty good company to be fure. It is then the young lady's indifcretion ftares her in the face, and the gentleman himself finds that much is to be done before the money comes in.

For my own part, fir, I was married in the usual way; all my friends were at the wedding; I was conducted with great ceremony from the table to the bed; and I do not find that it any ways diminished my happiness with my husband, while, poor man, he continued with me. For my part I am entirely for doing things in the old family way; I hate your new-fashioned manners, and never loved an outlandifh marriage in my life.

As I have had numbers call at my houfe, you may be fure I was not idle in enquiring who they were, and how they did in the world after they left me. I cannot fay that I ever heard much good come of them; and of an hiftory of twenty-five, that I noted down in my ledger, I do not know a fingle couple, that would not have been full as happy if they had gone the plain way to work, and afked the confent of their parents. To convince you of it, I will mention the names of a few, and refer the reft to fome fitter opportunity.

Imprimis, Mifs Jenny Haftings went down to Scotland with a tailor, who to be fure for a tai

lor

lor was a very agreeable fort of a man. But I do not know how, he did not take proper measure of the young lady's difpofition: they quarrelled at my houfe on their return; fo the left him for a cornet of dragoons, and he went back to his fhop-board. Mifs Rachel Runfort went off with a grenadier. They spent all their money going down; fo that he carried her down in a poft-chaife, and coming back the helped to carry his knapsack.

Mifs Racket went down with her lover in their own phaeton; but upon their return, being very fond of driving, fhe would be every now and then for holding the whip. This bred a difpute; and before they were a fortnight together, fhe felt that he could exercise the whip on somebody else besides the horfes.

Mifs Meekly, though all compliance to the will of her lover, could never reconcile him to the change of his fituation. It feems, he married her fuppofing the had a large fortune; but being deceived in their expectations, they parted: and they now keep feparate garrets in Rosemary-lane.

The next couple, of whom I have any account, actually lived together in great harmony and uncloying kindnefs for no lefs than a month; but the lady, who was a little in years, having parted with her fortune to her deareft life, he left her to make love to that better part of her which he valued more.

The next pair confifted of an Irish fortune-hunter, and one of the prettieft modefteft ladies that ever my eyes beheld. As he was a well-looking gentleman all dreft in lace, and as fhe feemed very fond of him, I thought they were bleft for life. Yet I was quickly mistaken. The lady was no better than a common woman of the town, and he was no better than a fharper; fo they agreed upon a mutual divorce: he now dreffes at the York Ball, and the is