an ignorance of human nature.

The representation of the Beggar's Opera, is not only an outrage on civilised society, but an extreme act of cruelty to those wretched boys and girls, who have been allured to the paths of destruction, by viewing them thus strewed with artificial flowers. Take away the disgrace, the shame, and the first fine sensibilities of timid vice, and you remove a restraint, the force of whose operation neither precepts nor laws.can ever supply. Suppose a country lad, with all his native modesty about him, but possessing great natural sharpness, allured to the theatre by the Beggar's Opera. In a few hours he undergoes a perfect metaphorphosis. He thinks himself illuminated, and despises the honest old folks at home, who have hitherto confined him, as he supposes, in childish ignorance. His perverted ambition takes an unfortunate turn; and if he arrives not at the honour of dying like a Macheath, he will at least endeavour to deserve it. Such, I am well assured, is often a true case; but even the miserable creatures, who are far gone in the paths which lead through villany to ruin, may be called back by the melancholy tale of poor George Barnwell. There are many other tragedies in the English language which convey admirable morals to the lower classes as well as the higher, and have undoubtedly rescued many a wretch, who was deaf to a parent's voice, and a preacher's admonition, from the dominion of their evil passions and habits.

But, indeed, there is no class of the people, however refined and polished, which may not receive such benefits from a well-written tragedy, as scarcely any other mode of instruction can afford. He who has entered into all the feelings of a Shakespeare, an Otway, or a Rowe, may be said to have assimilated with their souls, and snatched a sacred spark, which cannot fail to kindle something in himself resembling the ethereal fire of true genius. His nature will be improved, and a species of wisdom and elevation of spirit, which was in vain sought for in academic groves, may at last be imbibed in the theatres. Philosophy may catch a

. warmth of the drama, which is capable of advancing it to nobler heights than she would otherwise have attained. Socrates, whose benevolence and wisdom

appeared to have something of divinity, became the voluntary assistant of Euripides in the composition of his tragedies; and undoubtedly was of opinion, that he taught philosophy to instruct the herd of mankind in the most effectual manner, when he introduced her to their notice in the buskin.

Instructive, entertaining, annimating, and ennobling, as is the spirit of the tragic muse, is it not wonderful that many can slight its efficacy, or view its fine productions on the stage with perfect insensibility? Yet,

he who surveys the seats in the theatre, will find many who appear to view a Lear, a Shore, a Hamlet, and a harlequin, with the same heavy eye; nor show one emotion, except it be of laughter, while nature is most powerfully drawing streams from the sacred fountain of tears, wherever it has not been closed by affectation, by a natural or an acquired stupidity. It seems, indeed, to be a part of the contemptible vanity, which characterizes the age, to laugh at public spectacles when others are serious, and to be serious when others laugh. “ Who, indeed,” says the affected votary of fashion,“would be sincerely affected by any thing said or done by the low creatures on the stage, or enjoyed by the vulgar people in the pit and gallery ?"

Some spectators, on the other hand, lose all the effect of the piece by attending to the identical men and women who act, rather than to the characters which they represent. They also admire a favourite performer's coat, gown, cap, shoe, leg, or hand, but

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forget the hero and the heroine, the poet and the poem.

The taste for ridicule, which greatly prevails in a mean, selfish, debauched, and trifling age, contributes to prevent the genuine effect of tragedy. Great laughers are seldom susceptible of deep or serious impressions. While the dead lie scattered on the stage, and every thing is presented to the view which ought to excite pity and terror, the joker dissipates the sweet sorrow of sympathy by the introduction of a ludicrous idea. Ridicule, indeed, seems to become a weapon in the hands of the wicked, destructive of taste and feeling, as well as of morality and religion.

The addition of a ludicrous epilogue, a farce, a pantomine entertainment, and of dances between the acts, has often been lamented as destructive of the moral effects of the finest tragedy. It is true, that they who live to please, must please in order to live; and therefore the players and their managers are not culpable. They must not only provide manly amusements for men, but childish diversions for silly triflers, for children, and for school-boys. These entertainments have, indeed, often that ingenuity and drollery in them, which

may, at a proper season, relax the most rigid philosophy. I censure not the things themselves, but the time of their introduction. After the soul has been deeply impressed with serious and virtuous sentiments, it is surely lamentable that every stamp should be effaced by harlequins and buffoons. It must be remembered, that I am speaking of the moral effects of the drama; and I believe every one will agree, that these would be more successfully produced if the entertainment, as it is called by way of eminence, preceded the tragedy. The spectator would then retire to his pillow with his fancy full of fine poetic images, and his heart glowing with every elevated idea of moral rectitude. But now his feelings are so trifled with and tantalized, that at last he grows callous to the tenderest pathos, and frequents the theatre merely as a critic in acting, instead of an interested partaker in the scenes which pass in review, and which were calculated to impress a love of every virtue and an abhorrence of all kinds of vice.

Every mode of improving the hearts of the community at large in the serious and severer virtues ought to be applied with diligence. The theatre opens a fine school for the accomplishment of this end; and it would certainly contribute greatly to accelerate the general improvement, if there were less singing, dancing, and buffoonery, and more tragedy. But some fashionable man must set the example of admiring it, or else all the muses themselves might rack their inventions in composing the melancholy tale, with no other effect 'than that of diffusing sleep or smiles among the higher orders.

It is remarkable, that soon after this paper was published, tragedy became fashionable. The fashion, however, was but transient; it wanted the support of court favour; and poor Tragedy was laughed off from the stage by Farce.

No. CXXII. ON THE INFLUENCE OF POLITICS, AS A SUBJECT OF CON

VERSATION, ON THE STATE OF LITERATURE. It is a mark of the social and public spirit of this

a nation, that there is scarcely a member of it who does not bestow a very considerable portion of his time and thoughts in studying its political welfare, its interest, and its honour. Though this general taste for politics, from the highest to the lowest orders of the people, has afforded subjects for comic ridicule; yet I cannot help considering it both as a proof of uncommon

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liberality, and as one of the firmest supports of civil liberty. It kindles and keeps alive an ardent love of freedom. It has hitherto preserved that glorious gift of God from the rude hand of tyranny, and tends, perhaps more than any other cause, to communicate the noble fire of true patriotism to the bosoms of posterity. While we watch vigilantly over every political measure, and communicate an alarm through the empire with a speed almost equal to the shock of electricity, there will be no danger that a king should establish despotism, even though he were to invade the rights of his people at the head of a standing army. There would be many a Leonidas to stand at the gates of Thermopylæ.

But as zeal without knowledge is subversive of the purpose which it means to promote; it becomes a true friend to his country, to endeavour to unite with the love of liberty the love of knowledge. It unfortunately happens, that political subjects are of so warm and animating a nature, that they not only appear to interest in a very high degree, but to engross the attention. The newspapers, corrupt as they now are, with only one or two exceptions, form the whole library of the politician ; the coffee-house is his school : and he prefers an acrimonious pamphlet, for or against the ministry, to all that was ever written by a Homer, or discovered by a Newton.

To be a competent judge either of political measures or events, it is necessary to possess an enlightened understanding, and the liberal spirit of philosophy ; it is necessary to have read history, and to have formed right ideas of the nature of man and of civil society. But I know not how it happens, the most ignorant and passionate are apt to be the most decisive in delivering their sentiments on the very complicated subjects of political controversy. 'A'man whose edu