the use of paint, and paint produces wrinkles; so that a fine lady shall look like a hag at twenty-three. But as, in some measure, they never appear young, so it may be equally asserted, that they actually think themselves never old; a gentle miss shall prepare for new conquests at sixty, shall hobble a rigadoon when she can scarcely walk out without a crutch; she shall affect the girl, play her fan and her eyes, and talk of sentiments, bleeding hearts, and expiring for love, when actually dying with age. Like a departing philosopher, she attempts to make her last moments the most brilliant of her life.

Their civility to strangers is what they are chiefly proud of; and to confess sincerely, their beggars are the very politest beggars I ever knew: in other places, a traveller is addressed with a piteous whine, or a sturdy solemnity, but a French beggar shall ask your charity with a very genteel bow, and thank you for it with a smile and shrug.

Another instance of this people's breeding I must not forget. An Englishman would not speak his native language in a company of foreigners, where he was sure that none understood him ; a travelling Hottentot himself would be silent if acquainted only with the language of his country; but a Frenchman shall talk to whether you understand his language or not; never troubling his head whether you have learned French, still he keeps up the conversation, fixes his eye full in your face, and asks a thousand questions, which he answers himself, for want of a more satisfactory reply.

you

But their civility to foreigners is not half so great as their admiration of themselves. Every thing that belongs to them and their nation is great, magnificent beyond expression, quite romantic! every garden is a paradise, every hovel a palace, and every woman an angel. They shut their eyes close, throw their mouths wide open, and cry out in rapture: Sacre! what beauty! O Ciel!

what taste! mort de ma vie ! what grandeur! was ever any people like ourselves! we are the nation of men, and all the rest no better than two-legged barbarians."

I fancy the French would make the best cooks in the world, if they had but meat; as it is, they can dress you out five different dishes from a nettle top, seven from a dock leaf, and twice as many from a frog's haunches; these eat prettily enough when one is a little used to them, are easy of digestion, and seldom overload the stomach with crudities. They seldom dine under seven hot dishes: it is true, indeed, with all this magnificence, they seldom spread a cloth before the guests; but in that I cannot be angry with them; since those who have no linen on their backs, may be very well excused for wanting it upon their tables.

Even religion itself loses its solemnity among them. Upon their roads, at about every five miles' distance, you see an image of the Virgin Mary, dressed up in grim head-cloths, painted cheeks, and an old red petticoat; before her a lamp is often kept burning, at which, with the saint's permission, I have frequently lighted my pipe. Instead of the Virgin, you are sometimes presented with a crucifix, at other times with a wooden Saviour, fitted out in complete garniture, with sponge, spear, nails, pincers, hammer, beeswax, and vinegar-bottle. Some of those images, I have been told, came down from heaven; if so, in heaven they have but bungling workmen.

In passing through their towns, you frequently see the men sitting at the doors knitting stockings, while the care of cultivating the ground and pruning the vines falls to the women. This is, perhaps, the reason why the fair sex are granted some peculiar privileges in this country; particularly, when they can get horses, of riding without a side-saddle.

But I begin to think you may find this description pert and dull enough; perhaps it is so, yet in general it is the manner in

which the French usually describe foreigners; and it is but just to force a part of that ridicule back upon them, which they at tempt to lavish on others. Adieu.

LETTER LXXIX.

THE PREPARATIONS OF BOTH THEATRES FOR A WINTER CAMPAIGN.

From the same.

The two theatres, which serve to amuse the citizens here, are again opened for the winter. The mimetic troops, different from those of the state, begin their campaign when all the others quit the field; and, at a time when the Europeans cease to destroy each other in reality, they are entertained with mock battles upon the stage.

The dancing-master once more shakes his quivering feet; the carpenter prepares his paradise of pasteboard; the hero resolves to cover his forehead with brass, and the heroine begins to scour her copper tail, preparative to future operations; in short, all are in motion, from the theatrical letter-carrier in yellow clothes, to Alexander the Great that stands on a stool.

Both houses have already commenced hostilities. War, open war, and no quarter received or given! Two singing women, like heralds, have begun the contest: the whole town is divided on this solemn occasion; one has the finest pipe, the other the finest manner; one curtsies to the ground, the other salutes the audience with a smile; one comes on with modesty which asks, the other with boldness which extorts applause; one wears powder, the other has none; one has the longest waist, but the other appears most easy; all, all is important and serious; the town as yet perseveres in its neutrality; a cause of such moment de

mands the most mature deliberation; they continue to exhibit, and it is very possible the contest may continue to please to the end of the season.' *

But the generals of either army, have, as I am told, several reinforcements to lend occasional assistance. If they produce a pair of diamond buckles at one house, we have a pair of eyebrows that can match them at the other. If we outdo them in our attitude, they can overcome us by a shrug; if we can bring more children on the stage, they can bring more guards in red clothes,

* [At this time Beard, one of the best English singers that ever was heard, who had married the daughter of Rich, the proprietor of Covent Garden, stepped pretty forward in the musical management of that theatre. This circumstance induced Garrick, in September, 1760, to oppose Lowe and Mrs. Vincent as Macheath and Polly, in the Beggar's Opera, to Beard and Miss Brent. The contest, however, operated greatly against Drury Lane. Beard, at the head of his phalanx, was irresistible; and certainly at no period has the real excellence and true character of English music been so well understood, or so highly relished.-(See Dibdin's Hist. of the Stage, vol. v. p. 128.) In the "Rosciad," which came out in the following March, the two Pollies are thus panegyrized:

"Lo! Vincent comes-with simple grace arrayed,

She laughs at paltry arts, and scorns parade.
Nature through her is by reflection shown,
Whilst Gay once more knows Polly for his own.
Talk not to me of diffidence and fear-

I see it all, but must forgive it here.

Defects like these which modest terrors cause,
From impudence itself extort applause,
Candor and reason still take virtue's part;
We love e'en foibles in so good a heart.
Let Tommy Arne, with usual pomp of style,
Whose chief, whose only merit's to compile,
Publish proposals, laws for taste prescribe,
And chant the praise of an Italian tribe ;
Let him reverse kind Nature's first decrees,
And teach e'en Brent a method not to please;

But never shall a truly British age
Bear a vile race of eunuchs on the stage,
The boasted work's called national in vain,

If one Italian voice pollutes the strain.
Where tyrants rule, and slaves with joy obey,
Let slavish minstrels pour th' enervate lay,
To Britons far more noble pleasures spring,
In native notes whilst Beard and Vincent sing."]

who strut and shoulder their swords to the astonishment of every

spectator.

They tell me here, that people frequent the theatre in order to be instructed as well as amused. I smile to hear the assertion. If I ever go to one of their play-houses, what with trumpets, hallooing behind the stage, and bawling upon it, I am quite dizzy before the performance is over. If I enter the house with any sentiments in my head, I am sure to have none going away; the whole mind being filled with a dead march, a funeral procession, a cat-call, a jig, or a tempest.*

There is, perhaps, nothing more easy than to write properly for the English theatre. I am amazed that none are apprenticed to the trade. The author, when well acquainted with the value of thunder and lightning, when versed in all the mystery of sceneshifting, and trap-doors; when skilled in the proper periods to introduce a wire-walker, or a waterfall; when instructed in every actor's peculiar talent, and capable of adapting his speeches to the supposed excellence; when thus instructed, he knows all that can give a modern audience pleasure. One player shines in an exclamation, another in a groan, a third in a horror, a fourth in a start, a fifth in a smile, a sixth faints, and a seventh fidgets round the stage with peculiar vivacity; that piece, therefore, will succeed best, where each has a proper opportunity of shining: the actor's business is not so much to adapt himself to the poet, as the poet's to adapt himself to the actor.

*["O! ne'er may folly seize the throne of taste,
Nor dulness lay the realms of genius waste,
No bouncing crackers ape the thund'rer's fire,
No tumbler float upon the bended wire!
More natural uses to the stage belong,
Than tumblers, monsters, pantomime, or song.
For other purpose was that spot designed;
To purge the passions, and reform the mind,
To give to nature all the force of art,

And, while it charms the ear, to mend the heart."
Lloyd's Actor, Nov. 1760.]