scribed. He has found, too, a like treatise of one Heraclius. They are very much in the manner of Salmon's works. Raspe writes in English, much above ill, and speaks it as readily as French; and he proves that Vasari, on bad or no information, was the first who ascribed the invention of oil painting to Van Eyck an hundred years after his death. Raspe is poor, and I shall try to get subscriptions to enable him to print his work, which is sensible, clear, and unpretending.

Pray read a little book' no bigger than a silver penny, called a Christmas-box, for me-yes, for me. It is a story that is no story, or scarce one; it is a sort of imitation of Voltaire, and yet perfectly original. There is nature, character, simplicity, and carelessness throughout; observation without pretensions, and, I believe, a good deal of truth in some of the incidents, that I take to have happened. My vanity may have interested me too much, though I see it as a thing not likely to please; but if you read it twice, which its brevity will easily allow, I think you will see real merit in it, especially when you know the author is young.

1890. TO THE REV. WILLIAM MASON.

Jan. 22, 1780.

I LIKE much your Essay on the Celestinette, which I have this minute received. Proceed, and say all that timid critics would be afraid to say. Show all the blunders and faults of the old masters, and prove that there can be no music, but by exploding prejudices, and by restoring ancient harmony.

I cannot write more now, for one of my fingers, which has long been a quarry of chalkstones, and has been and is terribly inflamed with this last fit, has burst, and is so sore that I can scarce hold the pen. I muster all the resolution and spirits I can, but the latter often sink with the prospect I have before me of increasing pain and infirmity. To talk of prospect is seeming to reckon on old age as a permanency; but in the light I see it with its probable comcomitants, be assured I do not brood with luxury over that chance!

Kirgate I cannot employ, for he is gone to Strawberry to print some verses of Mr. Miller;―oui, véritablement, of Mr. Charles Miller, and very pretty they are. I shall send them to you, though not as an adequate recompense.

1 The Miniature Picture by Lady Craven.-CUNNINGHAM.

1891. TO ROBERT JEPHSON, ESQ.

Berkeley Square, Jan. 25, 1780.

It was but yesterday, Sir, that I received the favour of your letter, and this morning I sent, according to your permission, to Mr. Sheridan the elder to desire the manuscript of your tragedy; for as I am but just recovering of a fit of the gout, which I had severely for above two months, I was not able to bear the fatigue of company at home; nor could I have had the pleasure of attending to the piece so much as I wished to do, if I had invited ladies to hear it, to whom I must have been doing the honours.

I have read your play once, Sir, rapidly, though alone, and therefore cannot yet be very particular on the details; but I can say already, with great truth, that you have made a great deal more than I thought possible out of the skeleton of a story; and have arranged it so artfully, that unless I am deceived by being too familiar with it, it will be very intelligible to the audience, even if they have not read the original fable; and you have had the address to make it coherent, without the marvellous, though so much depended on that part. In short, you have put my extravagant materials in an alembic, and drawn off only what was rational.

Your diction is very beautiful, often poetic, and yet what I admire, very simple and natural; and when necessary, rapid, concise, and sublime.

If I did not distrust my own self-love, I should say that I think it must be a very interesting piece and yet I might say so without vanity, so much of the disposition of the scenes is your own. I do not yet know, Sir, what alterations you propose to make; nor do I perceive where the second and fourth acts want amendment. The first in your manuscript is imperfect. If I wished for any correction, it would be to shorten the scene in the fourth act between the Countess, Adelaide, and Austin, which rather delays the impatience of the audience for the 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 Theodore fall into a transport of rage and despair, immediately

The Count of Narbonne,' founded on Walpole's Castle of Otranto. CUNNINGHAM.

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, &c. too often, which I doubt are not classic terminations for nobility, nicety, &c., 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 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 connections. I was still more concerned, Sir, to hear of your unhappy accident, though the bad consequences are past.

1892. TO ROBERT JEPHSON, ESQ.

Berkeley Square, Jan. 27, 1780.

I HAVE returned your tragedy, Sir, to Mr. Sheridan, after having read it again, and without wishing any more alterations than the few I hinted before. There may be some few incorrectnesses, but none of much consequence.

I must again applaud your art and judgment, Sir, in having made so rational a play out of my wild tale; and where you have changed the arrangement of the incidents, you have applied them to great advantage. The characters of the mother and daughter you have rendered more natural by giving jealousy to the mother, and more passion to the daughter. In short, you have both honoured and improved my outlines: my vanity is content, and truth enjoins me to do justice. Bishop Warburton, in his additional notes to Pope's Works, which I saw in print in his bookseller's hands, though they have not yet been published, observed that the plan of 'The Castle of Otranto' was regularly a drama': an intention I am sure I do not pretend to have conceived; nor, indeed, can I venture to affirm that I had any intention at all but to amuse myself-no, not even a plan, till some pages were written. You, Sir, have realised his idea, and yet I believe the Bishop would be surprised to see how well you have succeeded. One cannot be quite ashamed of one's follies, if genius condescends to adopt, and put them to a sensible use. Miss Aikin flattered me even by stooping to tread in my eccentric steps.

1 "We have been lately entertained with what I will venture to call, a masterpiece in the Fable; and of a new species likewise. The piece I mean is The Castle of Otranto.' The scene is laid in Gothic chivalry; where a beautiful imagination, supported by strength of judgment, has enabled the author to go beyond his subject, and effect the full purpose of the ancient tragedy; that is, to purge the passions by pity and terror, in colouring as great and harmonious as in any of the best dramatic writers." Warburton. (Note to Pope's 'Imit. of Horace,' Book 2, Ep. 1, v. 146.) Compare vol. i. p. lxxii.-CUNNINGHAM.

Her Fragment,' though but a specimen, showed her talent for imprinting terror. I cannot compliment the author of the Old English Baron,' professedly written in imitation, but as a corrective of The Castle of Otranto.' It was totally void of imagination and interest; had scarce any incidents; and, though it condemned the marvellous, admitted a ghost. I suppose the author thought a tame ghost might come within the laws of probability. You alone, Sir, have kept within nature, and made superstition supply the place of phenomenon, yet acting as the agent of divine justice a beautiful use of bigotry.

I was mistaken in thinking the end of the first act deficient. The leaves stuck together, and, there intervening two or three blank pages between the first and second acts, I examined no farther, but concluded the former imperfect, which on the second reading I found it was not.

I imagine, Sir, that the theatres of Dublin cannot have fewer good performers than those of London; may I ask why you prefer Your own directions and instructions would be of great advantage to your play; especially if you suspect antitragic prejudices in the managers. You, too, would be the best judge at the rehearsal of what might be improvements. Managers will take liberties, and often curtail necessary speeches, so as to produce nonsense. Methinks it is unkind to send a child, of which you have so much reason to be proud, to a Foundling Hospital.

1893. TO THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY.

Berkeley Square, Jan. 29, 1780.

THE weather-cock Marquis has taken his part, or rather his leave, and resigned his key on Thursday. But there was a more extraordinary phenomenon in the closet the same day. Lord George Gordon asked an audience, was admitted, and incontinently began reading his Irish pamphlet, and the King had the patience to hear him do so for above an hour, till it was so dark that the lecturer could not see. His Majesty then desired to be excused, and said he would finish the piece himself. "Well!" said the lunatic apostle, "but you must give me your honour that you will read it out." The King promised, but was forced to pledge his honour. It puts

1 Compare Letter to Mason, 8th April, 1778.-CUNNINGHAM.