** “The Reasons of Mr. Joseph Hains, the Player's, Conversion and Reconversion. Being the Third and Last Part to the Dialogue of Mr. Bays. London: Printed for Richard Baldwin, near the Black Bull in the Old Baily, 1690.” This tract is intended as a skit upon Dryden, whose easy “conversion and reconversion” are satirised in a very laughable manner. In 1689, Haynes spoke his “Recantation Prologue upon his first appearance on the stage after his return from Rome,” in the character of a theatrical penitent! John Davies ridicules the coxcombs of his day, that it engrossed the whole of their meal-times in talk of plays, and censuring of players. “As good play as work for nought, some say, But players get much good by nought but play.” 'Signor Giusippe,'” (he was now Count Haynes!) “says one, 'when will you help me to string my lute? Signor Giusippe,' says another, 'shall we see you at night in the grotto behind the Duke's palace?' 'Signor Giusippe,' says a third, 'when will you teach me the last new song you made for the Prince of Tuscany?' and so, i' faith they Giusipped me, till I had sworn at least to a dozen assignations.” His waggery was amusing to all who were not the butts of it. He once kept a merchant that had a laced-band which reached from shoulder to shoulder, two good hours in a coffee-house near the Exchange, while he explained the meaning of chevaux de frize; telling him there were horses in Frize-land that were bullet-proof! At another time he parleyed with a grocer a full quarter of an hour in the street, inquiring which was the near est way from Fleet Street to the Sun Tavern in Piccadilly; whether down the Strand, and so by Charing Cross; or through Lincoln's Inn Fields and Covent-Garden? though the simpleton declared his spouse sent him post-haste for a doctor, and--for all that Joe knew--made him lose an heir-apparent to “some dozen pounds of raisins, as many silver apostle spoons, Stow's London, and Speed's Chronicle.” His astonished father-confessor, while listening to his sham catalogue of frightful enormities, looked as death-like as a frolicsome party of indigo porters in a dark cellar, by the melancholy light of burnt brandy! “For,” said the penitent wag, “last Wednesday I stole a consecrated bell from one of St. Anthony's holy pigs, and coined it into copper farthings! Such a day I pinned a fox's tail on a monk's cowl; and passing by an old gentlewoman sitting in her elbow-chair by the door, reading '_The Spiritual Carduus-posset for a Sinner's Belly-Ache_,” (this, saving our noble comedian's presence, is more after the fashion of Rabbi Busy, than Friar Peter!) “I abstracted her spectacles from off her venerable purple nose, and converted them to the profane use of lighting my tobacco by the sunshine.”