r.

[Footnote A: Mrs. Abington, one of the most graceful and spirited
actresses of the eighteenth century, was born in 1731, shortly after
the death of Oldfield. She had the honour of being the original Lady
Teazle, a part which she rehearsed under the direction of Sheridan,
and she enjoyed the further distinction of being detested by Garrick.
The latter said of her: "She is below the thought of any honest man or
woman."]

The same welcome anomaly is noticed now, when the actresses who play
the women of the "hupper circles" with the greatest delicacy and
keenness of touch are frequently the products of the lower or middle
class. On the other hand, the _dame de societe_ who trips lightly from
the drawing-room to the stage, amid the blare of trumpets and the
excitement of her friends, usually fails to make a mark. To be sure,
several of them have made marks--very black ones.

Now let us turn the pages of the "Careless Husband," as we scan them
in Lowndes's "British Theatre," and see if we cannot extract some
amusement therefrom. The scene opens in the lodgings of Sir Charles
Easy, who, like many other dramatic personages of the eighteenth
century, has a name that signifies his character. Easy, Sir Charles is
in every sense of the word, particularly easy as to morals, for the
possession of a lovely wife does not prevent him from prosecuting an
amour with a woman of quality, Lady Graveairs, or having a vulgar
intrigue with the maid of his own spouse. In fine, he is a right
amiable gentleman, according to the curious standards of long ago; a
very prince of good fellows, who in these days would pass for a cad.

We are hardly begun with the comedy before we are introduced to this
paragon, who enters just after Lady Easy and the maid, Edging, have
discovered fresh proofs of his flirtation with Lady Graveairs. Charles
is inclined to be philosophical in a blase, tired way, and he says:
"How like children do we judge of happiness! When I was stinted in my
fortune almost everything was a pleasure to me, because most things
then being out of my reach, I had always the pleasure of hoping for
'em; now fortune's in my hand she's as insipid as an old acquaintance.
It's mighty silly, faith, just the same thing by my wife, too; I am
told she's extremely handsome [as though the sad devil didn't know
it], nay, and have heard a great many people say she is certainly the
best woman in the world--why, I don't know but she may, yet I could