BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. 115
EPISTLE FROM MISS MARIA BELINDA BOGLE, AT EDINBURGH, TO HER FRIEND,
MISS LAVINIA LEETCH, AT GLASGOW.
I HEAR with deep sorrow, my beautiful Leetcli,
In vain to come here you your father beseech ;
I say in all places, and say it most truly,
His heart is as hard as the heart of Priuli;
’Tis composed of black flint, or of Aberdeen granite,
But smother your rage-’twould be folly to fan it.
Each evening the playhouse exhibits a mob,
And the right of admission’s turn’d into a job.
By five the whole pit used to fill with subscribers,
And those who had money enough to be bribers.
But the public took fire, and began a loud jar,
And I thought we’d have had a Siddonian war.
The Committees met, and the lawyers’ hot mettle
Began very soon both to cool and to settle ;
Of public resentment to blunt the keen edge,
In a coop they commented that sixty they’d wedge ;
And the coop’s now SO crarum’d, it will ficarce hold a mouse,
And the rest of the Pit’s turn’d R true public-house.
With porter and pathos, with whisky and whining,
They qnickly all look as if long they’d been dining ;
Their shrub and their sighs court our noses and earn,
And their twopenny blends in libation with tears :
The god of good liquor with fervour they woo,
And before the fifth act they are “a’ greeting fou.”
Though my mnse to write satire’s relactant and loth,
This custom, I think, savours strong of the Goth.
As for Siddons herself, her features so tragic
Have caught the whole town with the force of their magic :
Her action is varied, her voice is extensive,
Her eye very fine, but somewhat too pensive.
In the terrible trials of Beverley’s wife
She rose not above the dull level of life.
She was greatly too simple to strike very deep,
And I thonght more than once to have fallen asleep.
Her sorrows in Shore were so soft and so still,
That my heart lay as snug as a thief in a mill :
I hove never as yet been much overcome
With distress that’s so gentle, and grief that’s SO dumb ;
And, to tell the plain truth, I have not seen any
They get, like the tumble of Yaks in Mundane ;
For acting should certainly rise above nature,
Rut indeed now and then she’s a wonderful crenture.-
When Zara’s revenge burst in storms from the tongue,
With rage and reproach all the ample roof rung,-
Isubella, too, rose all superior to sadness,
Aud our hearts were well harrow’d with horror and madness.
From all sides of the house, hark the cry how it swells !
While the boxes are torn with most heart-piercing yells,-
The Misses all faint, it becomes them 80 vastly,
And their cheeks are 80 red, that they never look ghastly :
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