delicate, of their famous English rival. Of Clairon, in _Iphigenie_,
he says "she is extremely great. Would to God you had one or two
like her. What a luxury to see you with one of such power in the same
interesting scene! But 'tis too much." Again he writes: "The French
comedy I seldom visit; they act scarce anything but tragedies; and the
Clairon is great, and Mdlle. Dumesmil in some parts still greater than
her. Yet I cannot bear preaching--I fancy I got a surfeit of it in my
younger days." And in a later letter:

"After a vile suspension of three weeks, we are beginning with
our comedies and operas. Yours I hear never flourished more; here
the comic actors were never so low; the tragedians hold up their
heads in all senses. I have known _one little man_ support the theatrical
world like a David Atlas upon his shoulders, but Preville can't
do half as much here, though Mad. Clairon stands by him and sets
her back to his. She is very great, however, and highly improved
since you saw her. She also supports her dignity at table, and has
her public day every Thursday, when she gives to eat (as they say
here) to all that are hungry and dry. You are much talked of here,
and much expected, as soon as the peace will let you. These two
last days you have happened to engross the whole conversation at
the great houses where I was at dinner. 'Tis the greatest problem
in nature in this meridian that one and the same man should possess
such tragic and comic powers, and in such an _equilibrio_ as to divide
the world for which of the two Nature intended him."

And while on this subject of the stage let us pause for a moment
to glance at an incident which connects Sterne with one of the most
famous of his French contemporaries. He has been asked "by a lady of
talent," he tells Garrick, "to read a tragedy, and conjecture if it
would do for you. 'Tis from the plan of Diderot; and, possibly, half
a translation of it: _The Natural Son, or the Triumph of Virtue_,
in five acts. It has too much sentiment in it (at least for me); the
speeches too long, and savour too much of preaching. This may be
a second reason it is not to my taste--'tis all love, love, love
throughout, without much separation in the characters. So I fear it
would not do for your stage, and perhaps for the very reason which
recommends it to a French one." It is curious to see the "adaptator
cerebrosuga" at work in those days as in these; th