vocal machines, like them, by the help of a prompter, say things as much to the benefit of the audience, and almost as properly their own.  The licence of a Terrae-Filius[440] is refined to the well-bred satire of Punchinello.  Now, Cousin Bickerstaff, though Punch has neither a French nightcap, nor long pockets, yet you must own him to be a pretty fellow, a ‘very’ pretty fellow:  nay, since he seldom leaves the company, without calling, ‘Son of a whore,’ demanding satisfaction, and duelling, he must be owned a smart fellow too.  Yet, by some indecencies towards the ladies, he seems to be of a third character, distinct from any you have yet touched upon.  A young gentleman who sat next me (for I had the curiosity of seeing this entertainment), in a tufted gown, red stockings, and long wig (which I pronounce to be tantamount to red heels and a dangling cane[441]) was enraged when Punchinello disturbed a soft love-scene with his ribaldry.  You would oblige us mightily by laying down some rules for adjusting the extravagant behaviour of this Almanzor[442] of the play, and by writing a treatise on this sort of dramatic poetry, so much favoured, and so little understood, by the learned world.  From its being conveyed in a cart after the Thespian manner, all the parts being recited by one person, as the custom was before AEschylus, and the behaviour of Punch as if he had won the goal, you may possibly deduce its antiquity, and settle the chronology, as well as some of our modern critics.  In its natural transitions, from mournful to merry; as, from the hanging of a lover, to dancing upon the rope; from the stalking of a ghost, to a lady’s presenting you with a jig; you may discover such a decorum, as is not to be found elsewhere than in our tragi-comedies.  But I forget myself; it is not for me to dictate:  I thought fit, dear cousin, to give you these hints, to show you that the Beadlestaffs don’t walk before men of letters to no purpose; and that though we do but hold up the train of arts and sciences, yet like other pages, we are now and then let into our ladies’ secrets.  I am,

“Your most

“Affectionate Kinsman,

“BENJAMIN BEADLESTAFF.

“From Mother Gourdon’s, at Hedington,[443] near Oxon, June 18.”

From my own Apartment, July 22.

I am got hither safe, but never spent time with so little satisfaction as this evening; for you must know, I was five hours with three Merry, and two Honest Fellows.  The former sang catches; and the latter even died with laughing at the noise they made.  “Well,” says Tom Belfrey, “you scholars, Mr. Bickerstaff, are the worst company in the world.”  “Ay,” says his opposite, “you are dull to-night; prithee be merry.”  With that I huzzaed, and took a jump across the table, then came clever upon my legs, and fell a-laughing.  “Let Mr. Bickerstaff alone,” says one of the Honest Fellows, “when he’s in a good humour, he’s as good company as any man in England.”