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considerable, but he possesses an economical mind. You refused the young man, and it is not my fault if
Agathe. You know very well, that at any time I am sure of having Mr. Ledoux.
Jaquemin. I believe it will be more wisely done to rest contented with him. As to Pauline, would such a match suit her taste, when settled beforehand, with equal fortunes, no strange adventures, no obstacles to conquer; she requires something more uncommon, more romantic, some sudden burst of sympathy, and a handsome but pennyless youth to raise him to affluence.
Pauline. A single moment may suffice to awaken that powerful sympathy.
Jaquemin. Yes; but I am a strange sort of a guardian, exactly the contrary of what you see in plays and romances; I think myself too old to fall in love with my ward, am too honest to keep her fortune, and too good natured not to obey her will; as to Ursule, I have no right over her, and Therese is too young.
Therese. Never mind me, dear father, I am more open than you, you conceal your secret, and I will reveal mine, my choice is made. Jaquemin. Indeed! and who is the happy object.
Therese. You are well acquainted with him, and favour him with your love, though you scolded him pretty well and often enough when he was here. Before he returned to college we vowed eternal love.
Jaquemin. Oh! my nephew; I should be very sorry to oppose such a reasonable passion; it is lucky we have time enough to think of it!
Therese. Provide for my eldest, I will wait. Jaquemin. Louise is the only one whom in my opinion, he would suit: she is eighteen, good, handsome, and like her mother, who watched over her education, not too learned nor too igno- || rant; it is she who instructed her sister, and directs the internal concerns of my house with economy and prudence; and I am sure the praises I bestow upon her are too just not to be re-echoed by every one present.
Ursule. You are very right, Mr. Jaquemin. Therese. Yes, my dear father, because she is neither envious, wicked, nor a coquette, my sister fancies such characters are not in existence; and whilst I exercise my talents for raillery upon others, she assists and advises them without flattering or deriding their weaknesses. With me alone she is sometimes severe, but it is quite natural, I am like her own daughter.
Jaquemin. How happy I should be to settle her according to her deserts.
Louise. Since my most tender infancy I have been so accustomed to love and obey you, that 1 have no other will than yours. Whatever husNo. XVI. Vol. II.
You may be sure that he must pay the most marked attentions before I But hear me patiently; we may say, without being vain, that we are all handsome enough, it is probable that more than one will fall in love with him; as for I will avoid it; but, at all events, let me, not love destroy the friendship which till now has joined us together. Let us always be frank and open; and if it be the will of fate to make us rivals, let us still remain faithful friends.
Pauline. Admirable! thy words, Ursule, fill my soul with enthusiasm; it seems as though Miss Howe was herself addressing me.
Agathe. I heartily agree with you; and am determined to turn my old suitor, Mr. Ledoux, off this day.
Louise. Beware not to act too rashly, my dear Agathe, you know not this Sainville; he may, perhaps, have the same defects as those whom you have refused.
Agathe (aside). I repent severely not having passed over the defects of men before these little girls grew up to womanhood.
Therese. You have taken a fine resolution, provided you could keep it; I depend upon Louise, but there are very few women capable of such self-denial.
Ursule. As for me, I am sure I shall keep my word, and promise to give my companions a true account of the state of my heart.
Agathe. I promise the same.
Pauline. I swear I will unfold all my thoughts. Therese. Permit me not to enter this confederacy; but first, according to my father's determination, Louise has more right to Mr. Sainville than either of you.
Ursule. Very true.
Agathe (low to Ursule). What do you say now? Ursule (low to Agathe). Never mind; it is only to flatter her.
Pauline (low to Ursule). What! do you espouse her cause?
Ursule (low to Pauline.) Can you think I would hesitate between you both? (aloud) Yonder comes Mr. Ledoux, Agathe's favoured lover.
Enter Mr. LEDOUX, with a nosegay in his hand.
Ledoux. Ladies, I wish you a good morning. (To Agathe.) Will you permit me to present you
Agathe. Lillies and narcissus! Oh, what a strong smell! I cannot bear it. Give them to Ursule.
Ursule I am not fond of flowers, Sir; but neighbour.
Pauline likes them very much.
Therese (aside). Poor man! how he is bowled about!
Ledoux (to Pauline). Shall I?
Therese (pointing to Ursule). This is a neigh
bour of ours.
Corsignac. Who would not shame the, family, You, fair maid, who welcomed me so kindly, are Mr. Jaquemin's daughter.
Louise. And this is my sister, Sir.
Corsignas. Here are therefore the two charming wards; this gentleman is probably an uncle; perhaps the father of the handsome
Ledoux. Her father, Sir.
Theresa. You are mistaken, he is a young man of this country.
Corsignac. Indeed! a young man!
Ledoux. No, Sir; I have no pretensions to youth.
Corsignac. I saw Mr. Jaquemin very often during his abode at Paris; a very pleasant man, a good father, and a kind guardian; we often walked together, and he spoke of his four girls with such warmth, that I, who in general believe that praise is exaggerated, wished to ascertain with my own eyes the truth of his assertions.I come, behold, and admire you, and find already that his most enthusiastic descriptions were far from equalling the reality (To Louise.) What innocence, what modesty in her looks! (To Therese.) What archness in her smile! (To Pauline.) What a sentimental and romantic countenance! (To Agathe.) What noble pride in these right eyes!
Ledoux. This man will delay my marriage, I am afraid.
On the opening of the piece, Mr. Sickle, a' rich Gloucestershire farmer, arrives in London, and at the inn encounters an old friend, Mr. Briers, a hop-merchant in the Borough, to whom he recounts the motive of his visit to the metropolis, from which we learn that he has married a second wife, a young woman, whose vanity and ill-temper have banished his son and daughter,
and in search of whom he has undertaken his present journey. The farmer conceives he has some clue to the retreat of his danghter, as she was brought up with her foster sister Lady Mary Import, who is now married and resides in London. Briers promises to assist him in his search, and offers every friendly interference. Mrs. Sickle, who is of a romantic turn, supposing her husband to have journied into Westmoreland, takes this opportunity of visiting London, under the protection of young Willow, a platonic Cicisbeo; but arriving at the same inn, she is surprised by her husband, and left fainting in the arms of her pretended friend, while the farmer flies the scene, doubtful of the evidence of sight. The farmer's son, Edward, has found an asylum in the service of Sir George Dapple, an extravagant young man of fashion, whose affairs are in the hands of Jews, brokers, and money-lenders; while Jane, his daughter, incets the protection of her generous foster-sister. Sir Sampson Import, a banker and a city knight, has entered into a second marriage with the daughter of a ruined peer, without a portion-a woman of benevolent mind and polished manners. The old knight, proud of his admiration, and, by opening his doors to men of choice, wishes her to be the object of universál fashionable levity, gives frequent opportunity for calumniating report. The farmer's wife is removed by young Willow, from the inn to a private lodging, where he throws off the mask of friendship, and assumes the professed lover. Deceived in the confidence she had placed in him, and indignant at his advances, she flies the house, and rushes into the street, imploring protection, which she receives from the very step-son whom
her conduct had driven from his father's habitation. In this dilemma she is encountered by an Hibernian Serjeant, who had just returned from the house of Sir Sampson, whither he was dispatched on the business of his Captain, nephew to the knight. Jack Melange, a generous eccentric, offers pecuniary assistance, which is rejected by Mrs. Sickle; in which he is surprised by Briers, of whose daughter Melange is a professed admirer. Briers misconstrues the motives of Melange, and enters the house in search of Willow, determined to demand satisfaction for the injuries of the farmer. Mrs. Sickle, here accepts the good offices of the Serjean', who conducts her to the house of Sir Sampson, where she is most honourably secreted and protected by Lady Mary; from which circumstance several embarrassments arise, to the injury of this generous woman's fame, which ultimately involves Captain Import in a duel with Melange and Sir G. Dapple; but chance placing the two latter parties in the power of Lady Mary, she prevents their meeting until proper explanation restores them to their former friendly intercourse. Mr. Bouvere, the partner of Sir Sampson, proves to be the younger brother of Lady Mary, who, on his return from the Indies, had adopted that mode of observing his sister's conduct, on which (the affinity unknown to her) he often ventured to comment with an asperity displeasing to her feelings. The piece concludes with the rescue of Sir George's estate by the generous interference of Melange, with a conviction of the purity and honour of Lady Mary; the marriage of Jane and Captain Import, of Melange and Maria; and the reconciliation of the Farmer and his Wife. Throughout the play there are several episodical characters and situations. The general design of the piece is to shew the inconvenience and distress that often arises from matches of unequal years; and that the best actions cannot insure us the good opinion of the world, if accompanied by a careless levity of conduct.
It is with sincere regret that we cannot speak so favourably of this play as we could have wished. It is, in truth, not worthy of the talents and reputation of Mr. Cherry.
The general contrivance of this play is extremely defective; the fable does not subsist in any unity or singleness of action, but is composed
of a variety of incidents, heaped together without much grace or order,-and which, whilst they keep the fable perpetually on the move, have no tendency to confine it within the due and orderly stages of a regular action; like a ship in a calın, there is plenty of motion, but no progress.
Mr. Cherry seems to have fallen upon a wrong idea with respect to fable. It is not made by an abundance of incidents, but by a few, strictly belonging to, and supporting it, in some main, and (as often as can be) single action. The vehicle being once settled in its due stages and proper speed, should not be hurried beyond it. After a certain degree of velocity has been obtained, it is not by clapping two supernumerary horses to a carriage, that you accelerate its pro
The characters are much too numerous in this play. There is quite a mob of dramatic personæ, without discrimination of character, or nicety of selection. The language, however, is occasionally entitled to great praise; and is better than what we expect to meet with in most modern plays.
ON Thursday the 16th, was presented a new Ballet, entitled The Ogre an ! Little Thumb. It is from the common Storehouse of our modern dramatists, the "Tales of Mother Bunch," and is chiefly founded on the old fable of the Seven League Boots. Puerilities of this kind have no other merit, than as they become the vehicles of splendid scenes, and ingenious machinery. The Public, for some time past, have been contented to be pleased with them, and the Managers have found their justification in the profits attending these spectacles. Unfortunately, however, the caprice of the town is not always lasting; and on Thursday night this little Ballet encountered a severe opposition, and, in the theatrical phrase, was next door to damnation. Some alterations have been made since, and it is now performed with more success.