a very agreeable raillery upon himself, that if
his name should be known, the ill-natured world might call him "the ass
in the lion's skin." This gentleman's temper is made out of such a happy
mixture of the mild and the choleric, that he outdoes both his
predecessors, and has drawn together greater audiences than have been
known in the memory of man.

I must not conclude my narrative without taking notice of a groundless
report that has been raised to a gentleman's disadvantage, of whom I must
declare myself an admirer; namely, that Signior Nicolini and the lion
have been seen sitting peaceably by one another, and smoking a pipe
together behind the scenes; by which their common enemies would insinuate
that it is but a sham combat which they represent upon the stage: but
upon inquiry I find, that if any such correspondence has passed between
them, it was not till the combat was over, when the lion was to be looked
upon as dead according to the received rules of the drama. Besides, this
is what is practised every day in Westminster Hall, where nothing is more
usual than to see a couple of lawyers, who have been tearing each other
to pieces in the court, embracing one another as soon as they are out of
it.

I would not be thought in any part of this relation to reflect upon
Signior Nicolini, who, in acting this part, only complies with the
wretched taste of his audience: he knows very well that the lion has many
more admirers than himself; as they say of the famous equestrian statue
on the Pont-Neuf at Paris, that more people go to see the horse than the
king who sits upon it. On the contrary, it gives me a just indignation
to see a person whose action gives new majesty to kings, resolution to
heroes, and softness to lovers, thus sinking from the greatness of his
behaviour, and degraded into the character of the London Prentice. I
have often wished that our tragedians would copy after this great master
in action. Could they make the same use of their arms and legs, and
inform their faces with as significant looks and passions, how glorious
would an English tragedy appear with that action which is capable of
giving a dignity to the forced thoughts, cold conceits, and unnatural
expressions of an Italian opera! In the meantime, I have related this
combat of the lion to show what are at present the reigning
entertainments of the politer part of Great Britain.

Audiences have often been reproached by writers for the c