 should be at once both tragedy and comedy, that there did seem as little
chance of a decision, as any thing pursued by youth and zeal could hold out.
    On the tragic side were the Miss Bertrams, Henry Crawford, and Mr. Yates; on
the comic, Tom Bertram, not quite alone, because it was evident that Mary
Crawford's wishes, though politely kept back, inclined the same way; but his
determinateness and his power, seemed to make allies unnecessary; and
independent of this great irreconcileable difference, they wanted a piece
containing very few characters in the whole, but every character first-rate, and
three principal women. All the best plays were run over in vain. Neither Hamlet,
nor Macbeth, nor Othello, nor Douglas, nor the Gamester, presented any thing
that could satisfy even the tragedians; and the Rivals, the School for Scandal,
Wheel of Fortune, Heir at Law, and a long etcetera, were successively dismissed
with yet warmer objections. No piece could be proposed that did not supply
somebody with a difficulty, and on one side or the other it was a continual
repetition of, »Oh! no, that will never do. Let us have no ranting tragedies.
Too many characters - Not a tolerable woman's part in the play - Any thing but
that, my dear Tom. It would be impossible to fill it up - One could not expect
any body to take such a part - Nothing but buffoonery from beginning to end.
That might do, perhaps, but for the low parts - If I must give my opinion, I
have always thought it the most insipid play in the English language - I do not
wish to make objections, I shall be happy to be of any use, but I think we could
not choose worse.«
    Fanny looked on and listened, not unamused to observe the selfishness which,
more or less disguised, seemed to govern them all, and wondering how it would
end. For her own gratification she could have wished that something might be
acted, for she had never seen even half a play, but every thing of higher
consequence was against it.
    »This will never do,« said Tom Bertram at last. »We are wasting time most
abominably. Something must be fixed on. No matter what, so that something is
chosen. We must not be so nice. A few characters too many, must not frighten us.
We must double them. We must descend a little. If a part is insignificant, the
greater our credit in making any thing of it.
