out, and forcibly recommended to those savage sons of uncultivated nature, who have few opportunities, and would have no inclination for instruction, if it did not present itself under the form of a delightful amusement. The human heart in general, whether it beats in the bosom of him who has been improved by education or of the neglected child of poverty, is taught to exercise some of its most amiable propensities by the indulgence of commiseration in scenes of fancied woe. Were the Theatre under certain regulations, a man might go to it as he goes to church to learn his duty, and it might justly be honoured with the appellation, which it has often assumed, and be called the School of Virtue.

There are certainly a thousand tragedies of more classical merit, but few better calculated to save the numerous and important classes of the plebeian order from wallowing in vice, theft, intemperance, and wretchedness of every kind than the tragedy of George Barnwell. Common and illiterate minds cannot follow the high flights of sublime poetry, nor understand the beauties of blank verse; but the language of Lillo in this humble tale is level to the lowest degree of intellect. It must, indeed, give pleasure to every friend of unassuming merit, to find the due tribute of applause paid to the modest Lillo by one of the best of all modern judges, the Critic and Philosopher of Salisbury. He, whose taste was formed on the purest models, and corrected by the strictest rules, has not hesitated to place the Fatal Curiosity in the very first rank of dramatic compositions. And George Barnwell, however it may be affectedly despised by the silly votaries of fashion, who abominate it as low, deserves no less to be esteemed for its moral excellence than the other for its classical. It has, perhaps, saved as many from an ignominious end as the Beggar's Opera has hastened to it. That any moralist, or

man of observation, can entertain a doubt concerning the effect, on the upper gallery, of a play in which thieves and harlots are represented as amiable and innocent characters, and all the rest of society as rogues, evinces, in this instance, an ignorance of human nature. The representation of the Beggar's Opera is not only an outrage on civilized 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, allured to the Theatre by the Beggar's Opera. In a few hours he undergoes a perfect metamorphosis. 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, and have undoubtedly rescued many a wretch, who was deaf to a parent's voice and a preacher's, admonition, from the dominion of an evil spirit.

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

VOL. III.

D

has entered into all the feelings of a Shakspeare, an Otway, a Rowe, an Addison, may be said to have assimilated with their souls, and snatched a sacred spark, which cannot fail to kindle something in himself resembling the etherial 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, was 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, animating, 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 where opulence and fashion take their place, will find many a painted and powdered figure of both sexes, which appears to view a Lear, a Shore, a Hamlet, and a Harlequin, with the same heavy eye; nor shows one emotion, except it be of laughter, while nature is most powerfully attracting 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 fine bred lady," would be sincerely affected by any thing said or done by the low creatures on the stage?"

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 Mr. or Mrs. such a one's coat, gown, cap, shoe, leg, or hand, but 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, feeling, morality, and religion.

The addition of a ludicrous epilogue, a farce, pantomine entertainment, and of dances between the acts, has often been lamented as destructive of the 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 children and schoolboys. 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 mark should be effaced by harlequins and buffoons. It must be remembered that I am speaking only 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 attends the theatre merely as a critic in acting, instead of an interested partaker in the scenes which pass in review.

In times, when manly minds are necessary to save a sinking empire and retard the decline of a degenerating people, every mode of improving the hearts of the community at large, in the serious and severer virtues, ought to be applied with avidity.. 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 great man, by which epithet I mean, in this place, a titled and 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 thoughout Pit, Box, and Gallery.

No. CXXIV.

On the Influence of Politics, as a Subject of Conversation, on the State of Literature.

IT is a mark of the social and public spirit of this nation, that there is scarcely a member of it who does not bestow a very considerable portion of his