LETTER LIII.

Mrs. B to Lady Davers.

MY GOOD LADY,-You command me to acquaint you with the proceedings between Mr. Murray and Miss Nancy Darnford And Miss Polly makes it very easy for me to obey you in this particular, and in very few words; for she says everything was adjusted before she came away, and the ceremony, she believes, may be performed by this time. She rejoices that she was out of the way of it: For she says, Love is so awkward a thing to Mr. Murray, and good humour so uncommon a one to Miss Nancy, that she hopes she shall never see such another courtship.

Mr. B teases Miss Darnford that she is a little piqued (and that she showed it by a satirical fling or two in a former letter to me), that her humble servant took her at her word: And yet he acknowledges that he believes she despises him; and indeed Mr. Murray has shown that he deserves to be despised by her.

She says nothing has piqued her in the whole affair, but the triumph it gave to that ill-natured girl, as she justly calls her sister, who has insulted her unmercifully on that account; and yet with so low and mean a spite, that she has been vexed at herself to show the least concern on the occasion. But ungenerous teasing is an intolerable thing, as she says, and, often repeated, will vex a mind naturally above it. Had it, says she, come from anybody else, I should not have heeded it; but how can one despise a sister?

We have been at the playhouse several times; and give me leave to say, madam (for I have now read as well as seen several), that I think the stage, by proper regulations, might be made a profitable amusement. But nothing more convinces one of the truth of the common observation, that the best things, corrupted, prove the worst, than these repre

sentations. The terror and compunction for evil deeds, the compassion for a just distress, and the general beneficence which those lively exhibitions are so capable of raising in the human mind, might be of great service, when directed to right ends, and induced by proper motives: Particularly where the actions which the catastrophe is designed to punish are not set in such advantageous lights as shall destroy the end of the moral, and make the vice that ought to be censured, imitable; where instruction is kept in view all the way; and where vice is punished, and virtue rewarded.

But give me leave to say, that I think there is hardly one play I have seen or read hitherto, but has too much of love in it, as that passion is generally treated. How unnatural in some, how inflaming in others, are the descriptions of it! -In most, rather rant and fury, like the loves of the fiercer brute animals, as Virgil, translated by Dryden, describes them, than the soft, sighing, fearfully hopeful murmurs, that swell the bosoms of our gentler sex; and the respectful, timorous, submissive complainings of the other, when the truth of the passion humanises, as one may say, their more rugged hearts.

In particular, what strange indelicates do these writers of tragedy often make of our sex! They don't enter into the passion at all, if I have any notion of it: But when the authors want to paint it strongly (at least in those plays I have seen and read), their aim seems to be to raise a whirlwind, as I may say, which sweeps down reason, religion, and decency; and carries every laudable duty away before it; so that all the example can serve to show, is, how a disappointed lover may rage and storm, resent and

revenge.

The play I first saw was the tragedy of The Distressed Mother, and a great many beautiful things I think there are in it: But half of it is a tempestuous, cruel, ungoverned rant of passion, and ends in cruelty, bloodshed, and desolation, which the truth of story not warranting, as Mr. B― tells me, makes it the more pity that the original

author (for it is a French play translated, you know, madam) had not conducted it, since it was in his choice, with less terror, and with greater propriety to the passions intended to be raised, and actually raised in many places.

I need not tell your ladyship what the story is; and yet it is necessary, as you demand my opinion, that I should give a little sketch of it. It is this, then: 'Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles, is betrothed to Hermione, the daughter ' of Menelaus; but Hector's widow, Andromache, with 'Astyanax, her son by Hector, in the division of the 'Trojan captives, falls to the lot of Pyrrhus, who slighting Hermione (actually sent to his court, and in his court, waiting his good pleasure to espouse her), falls in love ' with Andromache. Orestes, the son of Agamemnon, in 'love with Hermione, is sent ambassador from the other 'Greek princes, to demand the life of Astyanax, for fear 'the poor infant should become another Hector, and avenge his father's death; a most improbable, unprincely, ' and basehearted fear; as Pyrrhus himself represents it. Pyrrhus, in hopes to gain the mother's love, which he 'seeks on honourable terms, offers to break with all his 'allies, rather than give up the child; but finding her ' resolved on widowhood, determines to sacrifice the child, and to marry Hermione. This creates a fine distress in 'Andromache, between a laudable purpose to continue the 'widow of so great and so deserving a prince, and her ' desire to preserve the life of her son by that beloved hero; ' and at last, overcome by maternal tenderness, finding no ' other way, she resolves to marry Pyrrhus, and yet to destroy herself after the marriage ceremony had entitled 'her son to her new husband's protection: (A very strange, ' and not very certain expedient to answer her view!) and so to die the widow of Hector, though she gave her hand to Pyrrhus, and vowed herself his at the altar, and of consequence had a still less power over her own life than 'before. Hermione, a high-spirited lady, raging in her 'love to Pyrrhus, and for the slight and disappointment she

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'met with, obliges Orestes, on promise of giving her heart ' and hand to him, to murder Pyrrhus at the altar, while the ceremony of marriage with Andromache is perform'ing. He causes this to be done. When done, he applies to Hermione, expecting her applause, who then violently upbraids him for having obeyed her; and flying towards 'the temple, meets the body of Pyrrhus, and stabs herself ( upon it.

Upon this, Orestes runs mad, and it is said to be the 'finest mad scene in any English play.-Andromache ' remains queen; her son lives; and being diverted from 'her own bloody purpose, she has nothing to do, but to 'give orders for the funeral of Pyrrhus, and to bring her son in triumph from a prison to a palace.'

This is, in brief, the story. Now, madam, since you expect it from me, I will tell you, in my artless way, what I think not quite so pretty, and what is great and beautiful in this play; which upon the whole, however, I was much pleased with, and should have been more, had there been less terror in it, and more probability, as I presume to say, in some of its parts; and had not the softest passion in nature been treated as such a flaming thing, as cannot be a worthy example to female minds.

And first, I could not but observe, that the plea of the princes of Greece for the murder of Astyanax, a helpless infant, to procure which, and for nothing else, they send one of the chief princes of Greece ambassador to Pyrrhus, is a very poor one, and most easily answered.-For thus Orestes says, among other very pompous things:

Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?

The Greeks remember his high-brandished sword,
That filled their states with widows and with orphans,

For which they call for vengeance on his son.

Who knows what he may one day prove?——

And in another place:

Troy may again revive, and a new Hector
Rise in Astyanax.

And in another place:

Sir, call to mind th' unrivalled strength of Troy,
Her walls, her bulwarks, and her gates of brass,
Her kings, her heroes, and embattled armies.

What tragedy pomp is this! How poor the plea, from princes and heroes, when it is so easily answered by Pyrrhus, in this manner!

I call them all to mind; and see them all
Confused in dust; all mixed in one wide ruin;
All but a child, and he in bondage held.
What vengeance can we fear from such a Troy?

And a little before:

Let dastard souls be timorously wise :

But tell them, Pyrrhus knows not how to form
Far-fancied ills, and dangers out of sight.

And still with greater contempt:

-I thought your kings were met

On more important councils. When I heard
The name of their ambassador, I hoped
Some glorious enterprise was taking birth.

Is Agamemnon's son despatched for this?

And do the Grecian chiefs, renowned in war,
A race of heroes, join in close debate,
To plot an infant's death?

But what if this very Pyrrhus, after twenty humane and generous things which the poet makes him say, shows that all this right thinking is only owing to his passion for the mother? And as soon as she gives him to understand she is resolved to remain Hector's widow, he determines to give way to the embassy and threats of the Grecian princes, which he had so justly despised, and to destroy the infant. But first tells her,

'Tis true, Hermione was sent to share
My throne and bed-