catastrophe, and does not contribute to it, but by the mother’s orders to the daughter at the end of the scene to repair to the great church.  In the last scene I should wish to have Theordore fall into a transport of rage and despair immediately on the death of Adelaide, and be carried off by Austin’s orders; for I doubt the interval is too long for him to faint after Narbonne’s speech.  The fainting, fit, I think, might be better applied to the Countess; it does not seem requisite that she should die, but the audience might be left in suspense about her.

My last observations will be very trifling indeed, Sir; but I think you use nobleness, niceness, etc. too often, which I doubt are not classic terminations for nobility, nicety, etc. though I allow that nobility will not always express nobleness.  My children’s timeless deaths can scarce be said for untimely; nor should I choose to employ children’s as a plural genitive case, which I think the s at the end cannot imply.  “Hearted preference” is very bold for preference taken to heart.  Raymond, in the last scene says—­

“Show me thy wound—­oh, hell! ’tis through her heart!”

This line is quite unnecessary, and infers an obedience in displaying her wound which would be shocking; besides, as there is often a buffoon in an audience at a new tragedy, it might be received dangerously.  The word “Jehovah” will certainly not be suffered on the stage.

In casting the parts I conclude Mrs. Yates, as women never cease to like acting young parts, would prefer that of Adelaide, though the Countess is more suitable to her age; and it is foolish to see her representing the daughter of women fifteen or twenty years younger.  As my bad health seldom allows of my going to the theatre, I never saw Mr. Henderson but once.  His person and style should recommend him to the parts of Raymond or Austin.  Smith, I suppose, would expect to be Theodore; but Lewis is younger, handsomer, and, I think, a better actor; but you are in the right, Sir, in having no favourable idea of our stage at present.

I am sorry, Sir, that neither my talents nor health allow me to offer to supply you with Prologue and Epilogue.  Poetry never was my natural turn; and what little propensity I had to it, is totally extinguished by age and pain.  It is honour enough to me to have furnished the canons of your tragedy; I should disgrace it by attempting to supply adventitious ornaments.  The clumsiness of the seams would betray my gouty fingers.  I shall take the liberty of reading your play once more before I return it.  It will be extraordinary indeed if it is not accepted, but I cannot doubt but it will be, and very successful; though it will be great pity but you should have some zealous friend to attend to it, and who is able to bustle, and see justice done to it by the managers.  I lament that such a superannuated being as myself is not only totally incapable Of that office, but that I am utterly’ unacquainted -with the managers, and now too retired to form new Connexions.  I was still more concerned, Sir, to hear of your unhappy accident, though the bad consequences are past.