SCENE III.-EDWARD BELFORD'S Apartment.

EDWARD BELFORD, FLUSH, DR. AIMWELL, LAMBERT.

Flush. Genius, sir, is like the air-it may fill immensity-but a wall of paper may confine it.

E. Bel. But it is then most admirable, when it soars unconscious of its elevation. Then do we inferior men pursue its flight with our applause, and if it falls, sir, we croud round it, to smooth its ruffled plumes, bind up its bruises, and prepare it for a still bolder effort.

Flush. You have read my tragedy, Mr. Belford.

E. Bel. You must allow me to speak impartially.

Flush. It was with that hope-I will say, it was under that express condition I brought it you an impartial friend with such infinite taste is so great a treasure! at all events, there is no doubt I think of its success upon the stage.

E. Bel. So I should hope for you have devoted yourself most zealously to the taste of the times-you appear not to have regarded the writing but the plot, which is indeed so intricate and involved, that all your poetic efforts are buried under the attention necessary to unravel your scheme. All is surprize from beginning to end-your actors will be in one continual start Then you depend too much upon deco

rations-had your scenes been laid where splendor naturally attaches to them, you had been fortunate-but to force in unnecessary processions, to be perpetually changing from town to country, and from day to night, to confound your dialogue by your multiplicity of scenes and speakers, is false and wrong in itself, and a miserable subservience to a vitiated age. I own, though I do not implicitly admire the French tragedy

Flush. The French tragedy? I am not surprized you should disapprove of mine-If ever I wrote a tragedy to be compared with one of Racine's, I should deem it the greatest disgrace that could befall me.

E. Bel. Indeed? and yet you would avoid being unintelligibly bombastic or disgustingly familiar-though you would not raise the storm of the passions, you would agitate them by a gentle swell, gradually rising with the development of the plot, and continuing till the fall of the curtain. Is not this, think you, as much as we in this latter age should aspire to.

Flush. I appeal to the people-(Aside) Give me a house filled with critics that nature made.

Aim. (Aside to Lamb.) When he has given Mr. Flush his opinion upon his tragedy—which, between you and me, is a vile production-out of all rule-sometimes in the clouds, and sometimes creeping,

E. Bel. (to Aim.) I have read your work, Dr. Aimwell.

Aim. And may I ask your opinion? I have nothing of the sensibility of an author about me—trust me, sir—I am no poet-not I, a few rhymes occasionally for the women-only speak out, sir, its the greatest favor you can do me. E. Bel. You are not offended, Mr. Flush. Flush. I shall never be able to repay my obligations to you.-(Aside) the people, the people shall be my judges-none of your closet critics for me.

Aim. Pray, sir, let me hear your opinionand let me only beg of you not to flatter me.

E. Bel. To say the truth, sir, I do not like a desultory book-when I see a subject stated in a title page, I expect to find that subject discussed by itself, without the introduction of unnecessary matter.

Aim. But surely, sir, no important matter can be deemed unnecessary whenever and wherever introduced.

E. Bel. I speak only from my own feelings -I like reading to a point-according to your system there is no work you might not swell to any extent-like the learned Italian father, who being employed by the Neapolitan court to write upon the subject of Herculaneum, produced two folios by way of preface.

Aim. An idle, superficial young man this, after all.

E. Bel. You have written a great work-a little of every thing, and something of the person whose name appears in your title pagethere is a kind of literary hypocrisy in such works as these-under the sanction of a great name, you bring before the public much that has no connexion with it-this manufacture of books is tedious, and when sheltered by a venerable authority like that you have chosen, I am not sure it does not shock our feelings as a kind of fraud upon the illustrious dead-But I must entreat you pardon me.

Aim. My dear sir-the booksellers in Paternoster-row don't agree with this flimsy wellbred criticism.-(Aside) My dear most excellent friend, how much I am indebted to you.

E. Bel. Your history, Mr. Lambert, seems to me to have something of the same fault as Dr. Aimwell's biography-I would not have a mere dull detail of facts, but then you should seldom indulge in dissertation, and even your observations should be short-your characters are drawn too hastily-your work is neither history, biography, nor a collection of essays, but it has some of the characteristics of each of these works-the weight of legitimate history, I suspect, would have reduced your work from ten to five volumes.

Enter BELFORD, EVERARD, O'NEALE.

Bel. As I suspected, as I suspected-the very

set-your would-be authors, for they deserve. not the name--Edward, here are your old friends, the honorable Mr. Everard,

E. Bel. Everard, your most obedient-

O'Neale

O'Neale. Death-man-you welcome us with a smile that is like a blossom in March, afraid of peeping out, lest it should be nipt by the frost. I did not keep you long, Mr. Belford, I hope the truth is, just as I was turning the corner of the street, who should I meet but my old friend Ranger-he made me step into the milliner's shop opposite your window, Belford, where we found old Lady Pentweasle, who must be in her seventieth year at least, choosing a head-dress that was made for sixteen, and trying to put on a simper that might become it, and as if all things were reversed, there was her relation, Miss Lovell, shrouding her youthful beauty in a veil that should have covered only wrinkles and ill-humour--but bless me here are three gentlemen I did not

$ee.

Lamb. (to Aim.) Will you stay to be pestered by this fellow.

Aim. He gives no dinners-and as for his life, it won't furnish materials for a duodecimo.

Aside.

Flush. His soul proud science never taught

Aside.

to stray." E. Bel. I shall see you at dinner, gentlemen,