and though portions of both reappeared in the little comedy called Taste, it is manifest that in this, as in every similar piece of direct satire (the Orators for example), what we now read as Foote's is but the faint reflection of what he actually uttered. The allusions in the correspondence of the time, the singular personal hostility he had already provoked, the mixed deference, fear, and popularity which thus early attended him, are not to be explained simply by the accident of a coarse personality here and there in his imitations; but by the fact that he undisguisedly appeared before the public as a Satirist, that the entire groundwork of his entertainment was Satire, and that his confessed aim from the first was the ridicule of what was ridiculous, in whatever walk of society he might find it. No doubt a distinction existed between his regular published pieces, and these earlier ones which he never sent to the press; for though living characters were hit off in both, the context which has preserved the one was such as to render the other perishable. When you can only read through the help of allusions that have all passed away, the attempt to read would be useless labour. In this Auction of Pictures, he laughed at the Westminster justice, Sir Thomas de Veil, who had made himself the too ready instrument of the actors in opposing his first entertainment; he ridiculed Mr. Cock the fashionable auctioneer, and he satirised the extravagances of Orator Henley; but all this was as temporary in itself as the witty and versatile comment that set it forth, and both have descended to oblivion. When, however, in his more regular productions, he took higher aim; when he ridiculed the cant of methodism, denounced the mischiefs of quackery, or exposed the impostures of law; when, himself the companion of men of rank and large possessions, he attacked the vulgarity of rank-andmoney-worship, and did not spare the knavery or false pretensions of either birth or wealth, his satire, even when applied to persons, had the claim to become impersonal through time; and to remain as a warning to vice

and folly, long after the vicious and the foolish should be forgotten.

Yet in this we would not assume any absolute decision of a question beset with delicate and difficult considerations. In the most apparently justifiable instances of individual satire, there is at best a violation involved which perhaps no individual amendment, or even general benefit, may compensate; and the question must always remain whether he who assumes, is entitled to exert, a censorship over morals and manners. But in Foote's case, as in every other, it is right to state the matter fairly; and however mistaken the belief may have been in him (as he had afterwards bitter reason to feel), he seems clearly to have believed himself within the just limits of Comedy, even in "taking off" mere folly and absurdities without vice, as long as his imitations of them should be faithful, as long as the singularities themselves should be sufficiently prominent and known, and, where caused by natural infirmities, should have been thrust forward with an indecent obtrusiveness which the very sense of infirmity ought to have restrained. To this, we shall perhaps do him no injustice if we add what once fell from the lips of even so great a genius as Molière. "I am manager of a

theatre as well as author. I must make some money, "as well as correct and instruct; and I am necessarily "sometimes induced to consult the profit and interest "of my company, at the expense of my own fame as an "author."

As an author, however, Foote's first published piece now awaits us. It was played, with the title of The Knights, when the run of the Auction had somewhat abated; and it lives still among his writings, as it deserves to do. It is the first sprightly running of a wit, which to the last retained its sparkle and clearness. Its flow of dialogue is exquisitely neat, natural, and easy; in expression terse and characteristic always, and in tone exactly suited to its purpose. With neither the flippancy and pertness of mere farce, nor yet the elaboration and refine

ment of comedy, it hits with happy effect the medium between the two. It is just the writing that developes character, and is there content to stop. There is a story, but extremely slight, and only cared for till the characters are completely shown. For these exclusively, you perceive at once, the piece has been written; and nothing is added that can possibly be spared. One knight, a country quidnunc, has the most insatiable thirst for news, with not the remotest comprehension of politics; and the other, a wealthy miser, has a taste as insatiable for stale stories, with no other entertainment for his friends. And though confined within the compass of two acts, of which the scene is laid in a little inn in Herefordshire, with such elaborate skill in the dialogue is the full-length of each presented, and with an effect so thoroughly real, that mere general description would do scanty justice to it, and we must try a personal introduction.

Sir Penurious Trifle is a miser, and Sir John Cutler and his transmigrated stockings were but a feeble type of him. Of his head and his daughter's, for instance, the barber has the growth once a-year for shaving the knight once a-fortnight; his shoes are made with the leather of a coach of his grandfather's; his male servant is footman, groom, carter, coachman, and tailor; and his maid employs in plain work for the neighbours her leisure hours, which Sir Penurious takes care, as her labour is for his emolument, shall be as many as possible, by himself joining with his daughter in scouring the rooms and making the beds. This being his moral character, his intellectual is of a piece, being all made up and borrowed; and the last man he is with, must afford him matter for the next he goes to. Above all things he thanks you for a story. Throw him out that, and, no matter whether savoury or insipid, down it goes with him, and up again to the first person he meets. You meet him and remark that he looks well. "Aye, aye, stout enough," he replies, "stout enough, brother knight! hearty as an oak; hey, Dick? Gad, now I talk of an oak, I'll tell you a story of an

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oak; it will make you die with laughing."

The story is long; but would you like to hear its close, as he heard it himself in a coffee-house in Bath, where he once extravagantly breakfasted?

"Lord Tom told us the story; made us die with laughing; it cost me eightpence, though I had a breakfast at home: so, you knight, when Noll died, Monk there, you, afterwards Albemarle, in the north, brought him back: so you, the Cavaliers, you have heard of them? they were friends to the Stuarts, what did they do, 'Gad, you Dick, but they put up Charles in a sign, the royal oak, you have seen such signs at country ale-houses: so, 'Gad, you, what does a puritan do, the puritans were friends to Noll, but he puts up the sign of an owl in the ivy-bush, and underneath he writes, "This is not the royal oak:' you have seen writings under signs, you knight: upon this, says the royalists, 'Gad, this must not be so, you, what do they do, but, 'Gad, they prosecuted the poor puritan; but they made him change his sign, though: and, you Dick, how d'ye think he changed? 'Gad, he puts up the royal oak, and underneath he writes, "This is not 'the owl in the ivy-bush.' It made us all die with laughing."

His companion, Sir Gregory Gazette, the other knight, is a country politician, thoroughly miserable when he can get neither the Gloucester Journal, nor the Worcester Courant, nor the Northampton Mercury, nor the Chester Mercury; but with longing glances always cast towards London. Let a mutual friend introduce to him a stranger, and the quidnunc rides impatiently over the first sentence of salutation: "Sir, I am proud to-Well, Sir, what "news? You come from-pray, Sir, are you a parliament "man?" "Not I indeed, Sir." "Good-lack, maybe "belong to the law?" "Nor that." "Oh, then in some "of the offices; the Treasury or the Exchequer ?" "Neither, Sir." "Lack-a-day! that's wonderful!' Any wonder he will accept as a common fact, but over any and every common fact he cries wonderful! He is played upon with the information that there are in London one hundred and fifty newspapers printed in a week.

"Good now, good now!" he exclaims. reckon; full as an egg; nothing but news!

"And all full, I Well, well, I shall

go to London one of these days. A hundred and fifty! Wonderful! And, pray now, which do you reckon the best? Who gives us the best account of the King of Spain, and the Queen of Hungary, and those great folks?-Come you," he suggests to his new friend, " you could give us a little news if you would; come now!-snug!—nobody by!-Good now, do. Come, ever so little."

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His clear notions on political affairs, and the profundity of his discretion, will appear from his reception of a hint which is thrown out to him of a treaty with the Pope. "With the Pope! Wonderful! Good now, good now! how, how?" Well, he is told, we are to yield him up a large tract of the Terra Incognita, together with both the Needles, the Scilly-Rocks, and Lizard-Point, on condition that the Pretender has the government, and the Bishop of Greenland succeeds to St. Peter's chair. That might seem, at first sight, to be not altogether an advantageous arrangement; but the Bishop, being a Protestant, no sooner finds himself possessed of the pontificals, than he issues out a bull commanding all Roman Catholics to be of his religion; they, deeming the Pope infallible, follow his directions; and then, Sir Gregory, his wellinformed friend, triumphantly concludes, We are all of one mind!

"Good lack, good lack! rare news, rare news, rare news! Ten millions of thanks, Mr. Hartop. But might not I just hint this to Mr. Soakum, our vicar? 'twould rejoice his heart. Oh fie! by no means. Only a line-a little hint-do now. Well, it is so difficult to refuse Sir Gregory anything. Ten thousand thanks! now! The Pope-wonderful! I'll minute it down-both the Needles? Ay, both. Good, now, I'll minute it-the LizardPoint-both the Needles-Scilly-Rocks-Bishop of GreenlandSt. Peter's Chair-Why, then, when this is finished, we may chance to attack the Great Turk, and have holy-wars again, Mr. Hartop? That is part of the scheme. Ah! good now! you see I have a head! politics have been my study many a day. Ah! if I had been in London to improve by the newspapers!"

That is Sir Gregory Gazette, who has no higher favour to ask of you, than, Good now, could not you make