ed on of Clytemnestra's
dressing (tho' I believe in Euripides) wd. appear ridiculous on
our stage: and the scenes of Memnon and Achilles are weak &
illwritten, tho' the entrance of Achilles at that juncture might
afford a spirited & interesting scene.

In these acts, as well as the two following, the conduct of the
fable is in general just: at least it is most wonderfully improved
since your first draught of the Tragedy: and yet the characters &
dialogue are so managed as to render the whole cold,
uninteresting, & totally destitute of that spirit essential to the
success of the Drama. The personages are all suffered to languish,
tho' in situations which require the utmost animation & force.
Clytemnestra & Iphigenia, though defective, are indeed better
sustained than the rest, but the consequence of the Atridae hardly
survives the first act, and Achilles never maintains any
consequence at all.

The same remark may in general be applied to the fifth act as to
the foregoing. The management of the catastrophe might perhaps
admit of alteration. The nature of the subject indeed renders it a
very nice point: tho' I think it would be very possible to give it
due warmth & interest, were the more arduous task accomplished of
perfecting the preceding parts of the Drama.

Believe me, Sir, that in this as well as in all my other Letters
to you, I have delivered my real sentiments, tho' it is not
without reluctance & regret on the present occasion. I had at
first some objections to the subject. These vanished; & in the
first draught there were here & there some touches which inclined
me to hope that the whole piece might be worked up by the same
hand. I am sorry to pronounce it has failed: but _Ponere Totum_ is
the great secret; and in our exhibitions a common Dauber, possest
of that happy knack, will often be attended with tolerable
success, and exult at the failure of a superior artist who has
only laboured particular parts.

I am, Sir, your most obedient humble servant,

G. Colman.

This letter, which must have left its recipient without further hope for
the production of his tragedy, is the last that remains.

Thomas Morrison died on July 20, 1778, and was buried beside his third
wife in the churchyard at Great Torrington. The inscription on the
tablet placed to his memory in the chu