Surely, the scene is ridiculous rather than imposing, and one is tempted to suggest, albeit with bated breath, that the _Spectator_ was indulging in a bit of good-natured exaggeration.

Exaggeration did we say?
The modern newspaper writer, who is always glad, when off duty, to call things by their plain names, would brand the notice of the "Distressed Mother" as a bare-faced puff.

And who could quarrel with his scepticism?
Actors are not in the habit of weeping over the reading of a play; they have little time for such briny luxury.
Yet in this very number of the _Spectator_ we have George Powell, who was cast for Orestes in Mr.Philips' tragedy, writing that the grief which he is required to portray will seem almost real enough to choke his utterance.

Here is what the hypocrite says: "Mr.SPECTATOR,--I am appointed to act a part in the new tragedy called 'The Distressed Mother.' It is the celebrated grief of Orestes which I am to personate; but I shall not act it as I ought, for I shall feel it too intimately to be able to utter it.

I was last night repeating a paragraph to myself, which I took to be an expression of rage, and in the middle of the sentence there was a stroke of self-pity which quite unmanned me.