ceeded that for some time I gave it up for lost;
and to follow their blows, in the publick papers of the next day it
was attack'd and triumph'd over as a dead and damn'd piece: a swinging
criticism was made upon it in general invective terms, for they
disdain'd to trouble the world with particulars; their sentence, it
seems, was proof enough of its deserving the fate it had met with.
But this damn'd play was, notwithstanding, acted twenty-eight nights
together, and left off at a receipt of upwards of a hundred and forty
pounds; which happened to be more than in fifty years before could be
then said of any one play whatsoever."

The play was saved, and no one contributed more importantly to that
result than did Mistress Oldfield. Her acting as the heroine, Lady
Townley, was pronounced superb, and though she had now drifted into
middle-age--was she not over forty?--Nance still seemed, on the stage
at least, the incarnation of youth and grace. Is there not a certain
English actress, now living (one, by-the-way, who plays Nance Oldfield
and suggests her as well) who defies the inroads of time with equal
carelessness.[A]

[Footnote A: In the wearing of her person she (Oldfield) was
particularly fortunate; her figure was always improving to her
thirty-sixth year, but her excellence in acting was never at a stand.
And Lady Townley, one of her last new parts, was a proof that she was
still able to do more, if more could have been done for her.--GENEST.]

Lady Townley is nothing more or less than a glorified, matured edition
of Lady Betty Modish, and, therefore, a very charming woman. Charming,
at least, on the boards of a theatre, if not upon the floor of a real
drawing-room. For she has a love of pleasure which can hardly be
called domestic, and her unfortunate husband, who would see more of
her, is tempted to ask, in the very first scene of the play: "Why did
I marry?" "While she admits no lover," Lord Townley soliloquises [for
my lady is at least virtuous] "she thinks it a greater merit still, in
her chastity, not to care for her husband; and while she herself is
solacing in one continual round of cards and good company, he, poor
wretch, is left at large to take care of his own contentment. 'Tis
time, indeed, some care were taken, and speedily there shall be. Yet
let me not be rash. Perhaps this disappointment of my heart may
make me too impatient; and some tempers, when reproach'd, grow more
untractable."

And when Lad