dent is mostly
devoid of inherent dramatic force and therefore is such as must derive
its chief effect from the manner in which it is treated by the actors
who represent the piece. Nevertheless, the piece was found to be,
during its first three acts, an expressive, coherent, interesting play.
It tells its story clearly and entirely, not by narrative but by the
display of characters in their relations to each other. Its language,
flavoured here and there with the phraseology of the novel, is
consistently appropriate. The fourth and last act is feeble. Nobody can
sympathise with "the late remorse of love" in a nature so trivial as
that of Thornhill, and the incident of the reconciliation between Olivia
and her husband, therefore, goes for nothing. It is the beautiful
relation between the father and his daughter that animates the play. It
is paternal love that thrills its structure with light, warmth, colour,
sincerity, moral force, and human significance. Opinion may differ as to
the degree of skill with which Wills selected and employed the materials
of Goldsmith's story; but nobody can justly deny that he wrought for the
stage a practical dramatic exposition of the beauty and sanctity of the
holiest relation that is possible in human life; and to have done that
is to have done a noble thing.

Many persons appear to think that criticism falls short of its duty
unless it wounds and hurts. Goldsmith himself observed that fact. It
was in the story of _The Vicar of Wakefield_ that he made his playful
suggestion that a critic should always take care to say that the picture
would have been better if the painter had taken more pains. Wills
probably heard more than enough for his spiritual welfare about the
faults of his piece; yet there is really nothing weak in the play except
the conclusion. It is not easy to suggest, however, in what way the
fourth act could be strengthened, unless it were by a recasting and
renovation of the character of Squire Thornhill. But the victory was
gained, in spite of a feeble climax. Many persons also appear to think
that it is a sort of sacrilege to lay hands upon the sacred ark of a
classic creation. Dion Boucicault, perceiving this when he made a play
about _Clarissa Harlowe_, felt moved to deprecate anticipated public
resentment of the liberties that he had taken with Richardson's novel.
Yet it is difficult to see why the abundant details of that excellent
though protracted narrative should n