are, I believe, omitted in the representation; but the very plot is based upon the want of morality, and our feelings are enlisted in favour of characters, such as Jaffier and Pierre, weak and treacherous, furious and revengeful. Nothing could be easier than to analyze others of Garrick's favourite parts, as Ranger, and Loveless, Belmont, Don Felix, Sir John Brute, and many besides, and to inquire whether morality could be advanced in any possible way by such representations. But, I fear, the examination would be considered a very unprofitable waste of time.

If we come to more modern days, I think, it will be found that the case is not much improved. The Stranger is a play in much vogue, and warm sympathy is excited, by a clever actress, in favour of Mrs. Haller; whether this is for the benefit of public morals, cannot, I presume, admit of a question. Let us open Bertram, a tragedy, undoubtedly a work of genius, but what horrid and revolting scenes it discloses : a villain and a ruffian in every sense, decency and honour outraged by him in every page! The only advantage it can boast over similar productions of more ancient times is, that the ear is saved the pain of being insulted by licentious language. And read its epilogue, written by the Honourable George Lamb, and let any one, then, have the hardihood to maintain that the English stage can make any pretensions to serve the cause of morality. And yet this play "has been applauded to the very echo," in the powerful acting of Kean, and never fails to have a prodigious run, as often as an actor can be met, with ability equal to undertake the difficult part of Bertram. But it is superfluous to add more: we need but take up any number of the Times, and see the style of things that are brought forward in catering to the public taste. I do not say that this is altogether the fault of the players; we know their old apology, which carries some reason with it

"They who live to please, must please to live."

It argues, however, the kind of gratification which the taste of the nation requires to be administered to it and it further proves, that wherever we are to look for a school of discipline to check a depraved taste, we are not to expect it from the stage; that whatever the stage may do to countenance and abet immorality and vice, it is utterly vain and absurd to regard it as a school of morals.

Much is said, at the present day, in favour of theatrical entertainments: they are countenanced in the most exalted quarter: fashion and popularity are all on their side: the highest and the lowest are found among their votaries. The legitimate drama, the opera, the interlude, the low farce, the pantomime, the amphitheatre, the mysteries of the dance, have all their ardent partisans. To speak, or to write against them, is regarded as want of taste or defect of judgment. At the risk, however, of incurring the dreadful penalty of being called a Vandal and a Goth, I shall not be deterred from giving my opinion fearlessly on such a subject. The applauses of the great are frequently very far from fixing the stamp of truth and desert on the causes they advocate, or the pursuits to which they give the sanction of their rank and influence. It should ever be remembered that, in the example of the great, there is no guarantee for the safety and innocence of imitation: if this should be admitted, every vice under the sun would from time to time be sanctioned. Those who haunt the theatre will find reason, it is to be hoped, to lament some time in their life the great loss of time they have incurred, which might have been, as they will then perhaps be willing to acknowledge, spent to better purpose. To some the expense is a mere trifle, not worth a consideration; to many it must be a thing of moment, and abstracted from necessary claims. I allude to this point but cursorily; but I cannot pass over the enormous cost at which most of these temples of fashion, particularly the opera, are maintained; it must startle all but the

initiated. The insolvency of one of the patentees during the last few months made an exposè of the details of the management and expense of such a concern, for which, I admit, my simplicity was totally unprepared. At a certain time of every year, the foreign steam-boats come laden with a freightage intended to astonish and enrapture the London world; their train might vie with that of an ambassador; and, in compensation of their valuable labours, they sail away again from grateful and prosperous England, carrying with them some of her superfluous thousands, enough to set up a petty prince.

But the matter of expense is of no importance, compared to another consideration-that of the mental dissipation which a love of theatrical amusements engenders. A frequenter of the play-house has seldom strength of mind to resist its fascinations. Even Dr. Johnson, grave and dignified as he was, has given the testimony of his own feelings as to the danger of its allurements. The glare of lights, the dresses and decorations, the lateness of the hour, the very nature of the entertainment, the enchanted air of the place, and many concomitants, within and without the theatre, which I must pass over in silence, are ready ministrants of vice in its assaults upon the citadel of virtue. The virtuous resolution of the morning is too often undermined and overthrown by the seductive amusement of the evening. Accordingly, we find that those concerned in the good conduct of others do not shut their eyes to the effects of the theatre. A parent must have very relaxed notions of morality to feel satisfied with a play-going son and the banker or merchant does not consider it a good recommendation in the choice of a clerk, that he should be used to the atmosphere of the theatre.

To treat the matter in a religious point of view is, I think, almost unnecessary. To undertake to prove that the habit of play-going is incompatible with the pure and holy spirit of Christianity, is trying to establish,

with grave arguments, an axiom, the truth of which, it appears to me, cannot be called in question. It seems the most superfluous task imaginable-a kind of sciomachy-a raising up a phantom for the sake of demolishing it. What! a religious man fond of the theatre! The common consent of all men of piety has been invariably given against the stage. There has been a miserable attempt to obtain a sort of sanction for plays, from the circumstance of St. Paul quoting a verse, as is supposed, from a Greek play, in one of his Epistles; but if he has done so, let it be considered what are the words he has quoted, and whether any line could possibly be used more severely applicable to the present

purpose:

"Evil communications corrupt good manners."

Could

St. Paul and the theatre, or opera-house! there be imagined two more discordant terms, a more heterogeneous association? No if he had lived in these days, is it not likely that "his spirit would have been stirred in him," as among the polished Athenians and Corinthians of old, to denounce these spots and blemishes, and stains upon our social world, and to proclaim to all without distinction, with apostolic authority

"They who live in pleasure are dead while they live?"

CHAPTER VIII.

ON THE EFFECTS OF RESIDENCE IN FRANCE ON THE ENGLISH, AS REGARDS MORALS AND RELIGION.

I AM acquainted with an English family, who, for the sake of the education of their children, chose their residence for some years in France. My observation led me to reflect, that, if the young people were gainers, as they imagined, in some branches of polite education, they were losers, and to no inconsiderable degree, in others that are infinitely more important. The tone of morals and religion is not by any means as vigorous and healthy in England, as reason dictates, and Scripture commands; but it is health, compared to the moral sickness that pervades France. The desecration of the Sabbath in France is carried to a frightful extent; and wherever the Sabbath is habitually profaned, it is observable, that the tide of immorality and licentiousness flows in, unchecked and uncontrolled.

I remarked a declension of religious feeling in my friend's family, a frivolity of action, and a lightness of conversation concerning the most serious subjects, which gave me much uneasiness, and which I traced at once to their new residence. At home, if not really religious, they had a respect for religion, a desire to comply with its outward requirements, at least an unfeigned horror of any ridicule or scoffing at serious subjects. I saw them abroad, after the absence of a year or two, and I was much grieved at the change. They were fine, intelligent young persons, and just at that time of life when everything around makes an impression, and the character begins to assume its inclination to good or evil. It

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