and every beauty heightened. How mortifying, to feel myfelf at the fame moment his flave, and an object of perfect indifference to him!" Mrs. Rack. How are you certain that was the cafe? Did you expect him to kneel down before the lawyer, his clerks, and your father, to make oath of your beauty?

Letit. No; but he fhould have look'd as if a fudden ray had pierced him; he fhould have been breathlefs! fpeechless! for, oh! Caroline, all this was I.

• Mrs. Rack. I am forry you was fuch a fool. Can you expect a man, who has courted, and been courted, by half the fine women in Europe, to feel like a girl from a boarding-fchool? He is the prettiest fellow you have feen, and in courfe bewilders your imagination; but he has feen a million of pretty women, child, before he faw you; and his first feelings have been over long ago.

Letit. Your raillery diftreffes me; but I will touch his heart, or never be his wife.

Mrs. Rack. Abfurd and romantic! If you have no reason to believe his heart pre-engaged, be fatisfied; if he is a man of honour, you'll have nothing to complain of.

Letit. Nothing to complain of! Heav'ns! fhall I marry the man I adore, with fuch an expectation as that?

Mrs. Rack. And when you have fretted yourfelf pale, my dear, you'll have mended your expectation greatly.

Letit. (paufing.) Yet I have one hope. If there is any power whofe peculiar care is faithful love, that power I invoke to aid me.

Enter Mr. Hardy.

Hardy. Well, now; wasn't I right? Aye, Letty! Aye, Coufin Racket! wasn't I right? I knew 'twould be fo. He was all agog to fee her before he went abroad; and, if he had, he'd have thought no more of her face, may be, than his own.

Mrs. Rack. May be, not half fo much.

Hardy. Aye, may be fo:-but I fee into things; exactly as I forefaw, to-day he fell defperately in love with the wench, he he! he!

Letit. Indeed, Sir! how did you perceive it?

Hardy. That's a pretty question! How do I perceive every thing? How did I foresee the fall of corn, and the rife of taxes? How did I know, that if we quarrelled with America, Norway deals would be dearer? How did I foretel that a war would fink the funds? How did I forewarn Parfon Homily, that if he didn't some way or other contrive to get more votes than Rubrick, he'd lofe the lectureship? How did I- But what the devil makes you fo dull, Letitia? I thought to have found you popping about as brifk as the jacks of your harpsichord.

• Letit. Surely, Sir, 'tis a very ferious occafion.

Hardy. Pho, pho! girls fhould never be grave before marriage. How did you feel, Coufin, beforehand ? Aye!

Mrs. Rack. Feel, why exceedingly full of cares.
Hardy. Did you?

• Mrs. Rack. I could not fleep for thinking of my coach, my liveries, and my chairmen; the tafte of clothes I thould be prefented in,

distracted

diftracted me for a week; and whether I should be married in white or lilac, gave me the most cruel anxiety.

* Letit. And is it poffible that you felt no other care ?

Hardy. And pray, of what fort may your cares be, Mrs. Letitia ? I begin to forefee now that you have taken a diflike to Doricourt. Letit. Indeed, Sir, I have not.

Hardy. Then what's all this melancholy about? A'n't you going to be married? and, what's more, to a fenfible man? and, what's more to a young girl, to a handsome man? And what's all this melancholy for, I fay?

Mrs. Rack. Why, because he is handsome and fenfible, and be caufe fhe's over head and ears in love with him; all which, it seems, your foreknowledge had not told you a word of.

Letit. Fye, Caroline!

Hardy. Well, come, do you tell me what's the matter then? If you don't like him, hang the figning and fealing, he fha'n't have ye; and yet I can't fay that neither; for you know that eftate, that coft his father and me upwards of fourfcore thousand pounds, must go all to him if you won't have him if he won't have you, indeed, 'twill be all yours. All that's clear, engrofs'd upon parchment, and the poor dear man fet his hand to it whilst he was a-dying." Ah!" faid I, "I fore"fee you'll never live to fee 'em come together; but their first sön fhall be chriftened Jeremiah after you, that I promife you."-But come, I fay, what is the matter? Don't you like him?

Letit. I fear, Sir-if I muft fpeak-I fear I was lefs agreeable in Mr. Doricourt's eyes, than he appeared in mine.

Hardy. There you are mistaken; for I asked him, and he told me he liked you vaftly. Don't you think he must have taken a fancy to her?

Mrs. Rack. Why really I think fo, as I was not by.

Letit. My dear Sir, I am convinced he has not; but if there is spirit or invention in woman, he shall.

Hardy. Right, Girl; go to your toilette

Letit. It is not my toilette that can ferve me: but a plan has ftruck me, if you will not oppofe it, which flatters me with brilliant fuccefs.

Hardy. Oppofe it! not I indeed! What is it?

Letit. Why, Sir-it may feem a little paradoxical; but, as he does not like me enough, I want him to like me ftill lefs, and will at our next interview endeavour to heighten his indifference into diflike. Hardy. Who the devil could have forefeen that?

Mrs. Rack. Heaven and earth! Letitia, are you ferious?

Letit. As ferious as the most important bufinefs of my life demands.

Mrs. Rack. Why endeavour to make him dislike you?

Letit. Becaufe 'tis much eafier to convert a fentiment into its oppofite, than to transform indifference into tender passion.

Mrs. Rack. That may be good philofophy; but I am afraid you'll

find it a bad maxim.

Letit. I have the strongest confidence in it. I am infpired with unufual fpirits, and on this hazard willingly flake my chance for happiness. I am impatient to begin my measures. [Exit Letitia. REV. April 1782.

U

In the next interview, wherein Letitia endeavours to heighten Doricourt's indifference into diflike, the fucceeds in her purpose ; which is what we can hardly fay for the Author: fince that interview exhibits little more than a vapid imitation of the ideot behaviour of Maria in The Citizen. The Author indeed feems to fink under the idea of imitation; and rifes proportionably, as it were by rebound, when the proceeds to exhibit her heroine, in all her attractions, at the masquerade. Mrs. Cowley is then triumphant, as well as Mifs Hardy; and we will transcribe the paffage, as we cannot lay a more favourable fpecimen of the comedy before our Readers:

• Doricourt and Letitia come forward.

'Dor. By Heavens! I never was charm'd till now.-English beauty-French vivacity-wit-elegance. Your name, my Angel!-tell me your name, though you perfift in concealing your face.

Let. My name has a fpell in it.

Dor. I thought fo; it must be Charming.

Let. But if reveal'd, the charm is broke.
Dor. I'll answer for its force.

Let. Suppose it Harriet, or Charlotte, or Maria, or—

Dor. Hang Harriet, and Charlotte, and Maria-the name your

Father gave ye!

Lei. That can't be worth knowing, 'tis fo tranfient a thing.

Dor. How, tranfient?

Let. Heav'n forbid my name should be lafting till I am married. Dor. Married! The chains of Matrimony are too heavy and vulgar for such a spirit as yours.-The flowery wreaths of Cupid are the only bands you should wear.

Let. They are the lighteft, I believe: but 'tis poffible to wear thofe of marriage gracefully.-Throw 'em loosely round, and twist 'em in a True-Lover's Knot for the Bofom.

Dor. An Angel! But what will you be when a Wife?

Let. A Woman.-If my hufband should prove a Churl, a Fool, or a Tyrant, I'd break his heart, ruin his fortune, elope with the first pretty Fellow that afk'd me- and return the contempt of the world with fcorn, whilft my feelings prey'd upon my life.

• Dor. Amazing! [Afide] What if you lov'd him, and he were worthy of your love?

Let. Why, then I'd be any thing-and all!-Grave, gay, capricious the foul of whim, the fpirit of variety-live with him in the eye of fashion, or in the fhade of retirement-change my country, my fex,-fealt with him in an Elquimaux hut, or a Perfan pavilion -join him in the victorious war-dance on the borders of Lake Ontario, or fleep to the foft breathings of the flute in the cinnamon groves of Ceylon-dig with him in the mines of Golgonda, or enter the dangerous precincts of the Mogul's Seraglio-cheat him of his wifhes, and overturn his empire, to reitore the Hufband of my Heart to the bleffings of Liberty and Love.

Dor. Delightful wildnefs! Oh, to catch thee, and hold thee for ever in this little cage! [Attempting to clasp her.

Let.

Let. Hold, Sir! Though Cupid muft give the bait that tempts me to the fnare, 'tis Hymen muft fpread the net to catch me.

⚫ Dor. 'Tis in vain to affume airs of coldness-Fate has ordain'd you mine.

Let. How do you know?

• Dor. I feel it here. I never met with a woman fo perfectly to my tafte; and I won't believe it form'd you fo, on purpose to tantalize me.

• Let. This moment is worth my whole existence.

• Dor. Come, thew me your face, and rivet my chains. Let. To-morrow you shall be satisfied.

• Dor. To-morrow! and not to-night?

• Let. No.

• Dor. Where then fhall I wait on you to-morrow?

you?

[Afide.

-Where fee

Let. You fhall fee me in an hour when you least expect me.

• Dor. Why all this mystery?

Let. I like to be myfterious. At prefent be content to know that I am a Woman of Family and Fortune. Adieu!

• Enter Hardy.

• Har. Adieu! Then I am come at the fag end. [Afide.] • Dor. Let me fee you to your carriage.

Let. As you value knowing me, ftir not a fep. If I am fol low'd, you never fee me more.

[Exit.'

Most of the fable, that relates to Lætitia's ftratagem, is conducted with adroitnefs, elegance, and vivacity; but there is unfortunately grafted on it, after the manner of our late comedies, an underplot, which divides the intereft, and interrupts the current of the story. The idea of the character of Sir George Touchwood, with the little circumftance of his jealous cruelty to the bird, is, if we recollect, taken from the Contes Moraux of Marmontel; but, borrowed or original, the interests of Sir George and his Lady might have been more advantageously difplayed, and had better have been made the ground of a separate drama, than thus interwoven with the adventures of Mifs Hardy.

In regard to the manners and dialogue, though the play contains many lively traits of character, as well as lucky hits of wit and humour, yet they do not feem to proceed from a perfon familiarly acquainted with the habits of high life, or the converfation of men; the representations of both which the Author feems to have gathered from novels and news-papers, rather than to have transcribed them from the book of Nature. Some of the dialogue is indeed in a style that we never before met with in any writings, or any converfation. I could (fays Sir George Touchwood) weep over that purity, exposed to the fullying breath of fashion, and the ton, in whofe latitudinary vortex chaftity herself can scarcely move unfpotted!'

The characters are not all difcriminated. Thofe of the He roine, Doricourt, and Hardy, are pre-eminent. On the whole, the Comedy of The Belle's Stratagem approaches much nearer to dramatic excellence, than any other piece yet produced by Mrs. Cowley.

C.

ART. XI. Scottish Ballads. Small 8vo. 2s. 6d. fewed. Nichols. 1781.

ESIDES a corrected edition of fuch tragic Ballads as are

BES

to be met with in former collections, this publication contains four others, that have hitherto been preferved only by tradition, and a fecond Part or continuation of the beautiful fragment of Hardyknute. For the recovery of this laft the Editor acknowledges himself indebted to the memory of a Lady. The Public will recollect that it was to fomething more than to the memory of a Lady they were indebted for the former Part *. Our Editor, however, fturdily denies the poffibility of Mrs. Wardlaw, or, indeed, any one of modern times, having that fhare in its production which Dr. Percy, and all competent and impartial judges, have hitherto fuppofed, That fhe did not refufe the name,' fays he, of being the original composer is a ftrange argument: would not the firft poet of Europe think it added to his reputation?" We are as ready as the Editor to think it would but it implies a strange opinion of the spirit and honefty of fuch poet, to fuppofe he would fubmit to be indebted for his reputation to a lye. But even though the antiquity of the former Part refted upon the most immoveable bafis, we fhould have had many doubts refpecting the authenticity of this; which, though not without merit, is evidently the production of a very inferior hand.

As the Reader may perhaps wish to have fome fpecimen of thefe reliques of traditional poetry, we fhall lay before them the following; which, however, as far as its antiquity is concerned, must be taken upon the faith of the Editor.

THE DEATH OF MENTEITH.

Shrilly fhrick'd the raging wind,
And rudelie blew the blait ;

We awfum blink, throuch the dark ha,
The fpeidy lichtning paft.

* See Reliques of ancient English Poetry, Vol. II. p. 87. See alfo the fame work, Vol. III. p. 98. 1. 109, where the Reader will find in the ballad of Child Maurice, or as it is, perhaps, improperly filed, Gill Maurice, a stanza and half which the prefent Editor has omitted, as the interpolation of a modern and very inferior hand; but furely without reafon.

• O hear