when the propriety of this amusement is contested; then, but not till then, they abstract it, with some difficulty, from the rest of the piece, by way of vindication; shifting the defence to a plea to which they have no claim, as those who indulge in extravagant dress tell you, it is good for trade.

The piquant amusement which stamps the character of the stage forbids any solemn recognition of religious considerations. Tragi-comedy is condemned by the rules of dramatic writing, because with the strong tide of one sort of feeling, that of its opposite is met in a manner too abrupt and violent, to the distressing confusion of both. Transferring the principle to the moral view of plays, it answers equally to good taste and experience, that the solemnities of religion should not be mixed up with loose recreations, such as light music, &c. It follows, that the moral sentiments of the theatre can never be presented in a genuine light, and as fixed upon a true basis. They are not drawn from the pure fountains of the sacred Scriptures, and are, therefore, mixed up with much of dangerous error in relation to the principles of morals; and, supposing them to be unimpeachably sound, yet the points to which they approximate are comparatively few, and those by no means of the first importance. Nor are they sanctioned, and riveted upon the heart and conscience, by any serious and direct recognition of Divine authority, and of the awful tribunals and appointments of eternity. Indeed, moral sentiments are not to be found at all in many long acts of the most popular productions. I speak generally. The exceptions are, however, so extremely few, that though, collectively, they might impose upon the mind by their absolute extent, yet given in their relative proportions, as parts of an immense whole, they would diminish almost into nothingness.

Are we not, also, in much danger of omitting to discriminate between morality and that which is merely intellectual? The ancients sometimes used the terms "good" and "bad" in a wider sense than was correct, or safe, as to morals; reckoning wisdom and eloquence among the virtues, and what was trifling and mean, among the vices. Who can help smiling at the moral virtue of walking with stateliness along the streets of Rome ?* A little of the same inaccuracy has crept into our own language,

* See Cicero De Off. lib. i. 36.

especially as used by ignorant and vicious men when speaking under the influence of strong prejudice, either for or against the subject of their observations. "Such a gentleman," observes St. Francis of Sales,* "is said to have many virtues and perfections; for he dances gracefully, he plays well at all sorts of games, he dresses fashionably, he sings delightfully, speaks eloquently, and looks well. It is thus that mountebanks esteem those in their way the most virtuous, who are the greatest buffoons."

Where is the morality of Shakspeare's beautiful description of Dover Cliff; and of an infinity of other passages in the same great author? His intellectual beauties are great and numerous, but the pure moral of his works, when sifted from the mass, will be reduced within a very narrow compass; nor is this at all surprising, if, as Dr. Johnson thinks, "he wrote without any moral purpose." The indiscriminate perusal, therefore, of such mixed productions, by young persons, unadmonished and uninstructed, as to the difficult and dangerous path which leads through this enchanted ground, must be attended with such hazard as no Christian parent would wish to put in the way of a beloved child.

And is not superior instruction to be obtained elsewhere, without the great moral risk and danger which all parties agree to be connected with the theatre ? Is it wise to take the dangerous side in a doubtful case of great importance ? Is not this to march up to the verge of the precipice? But the good things are usually lost in the preponderance of the evil things, and in the amusing effect of the whole. Again: Those who plead these good things forget to balance them with another kind of instruction, with which they are often found in artful combination;—the instruction, by precept or example, how to manage an intrigue, to subvert the authority and elude the vigilance of a parent, to cheat a creditor, or to hatch some conspiracy against a magistrate or a sovereign. The amazing talent and dexterity with which these projects are conducted, through the invention of the poet, are not often equalled in the history of real corruption. And to teach the younger part of an audience the art of expressing the passions, is often dangerous, were it only from the principle, that a facility in

* See Philothea, chap. xvii.

such kind of expression re-acts with strengthening power on the passions themselves. The question, then, is, whether the virtuous part of plays in general is such as to counteract their native tendency, or turn them to advantage?

Indeed, the good things of a play, it is to be feared, are frequently, in a moral view, the worst; as they identify themselves with the whole tissue of the piece, and lend the authority of truth and sanctity to error and iniquity. At the close of a drama, which has entertained the audience with living pictures of vice, some fine moral is suggested, which, like satan as an angel of light, sheds a deceptive radiance over all that has preceded, and bribes the conscience of the unwary; who are now very willing to believe, that they have been most virtuously employed, instead of seeking nothing but their own gratification. Still, the common observation is, "There are many good things in plays." Granted. But where is the argument? So there are genius and morality in Don Juan, and the writings of Lord Rochester; yet who will say this justifies the publication of such trash?

Lastly: A profound principle of dramatic operation lies in the ideal character of the whole; the truth of history, which dwells on such instances as are particular and defective, being rejected; and the abstract of nature being adopted, to furnish pictures of far nobler properties and dimensions than can be seen in the world of reality. This the drama has in common with the other arts of imitation. The principle is important, when legitimately applied, and gives to the mind the conscious proof of its own eternal destination, where alone it can find objects vast as its loftiest desires. The colossal statue, the pyramid, and every other instance of imaginative grandeur give a swell to the soul, and accustom it to expansion; thus equally imparting to it vigour and refinement.

In the drama, however, the principle is carried to excess; the entire subject, and scene, and action, being raised so high above ordinary life as to prove too much for human weakness, producing an intoxication of the mind which often leaves behind it vacuity, imbecility, a contempt for the common allotments of Providence, and an extreme disinclination to the plainer and self-denying duties of social relationship. Hence, if the imagination should have been pre-disposed to extravagance, certain ruin is the conscquence. A person of this description, after leaving the theatre,

feels a mighty inclination to transact business on the high ground of dramatic existence, and to buy and sell in blank

verse.

The principle has its bounds, like every other source of pleasure and improvement. Again I recur to the scale, and observe, that a much more extended accumulation of imaginative existence may be advantageously presented to us in writing, than would be at all safe and proper in an artificial realization before a promiscuous audience; where, at least, in many instances, neither the level of the intellect, nor the state of the moral principle, could sustain the overwhelming weight of the general impression. The truth is, in dramatic characters, the moral evil is drawn out into such dimensions, is so frequently the subject of the action, and yet receives so much of interest from nobler qualities, that the auditor becomes more familiarized with vice than is safe and proper; and when opportunity shall tempt, he scorns to be confined within the bounds of vulgar life; his love must be romantic, his resentment must be dreadful, his ambition must be Roman.

The popularity of the drama leads to monstrous abuses of the ideal property in question; multitudes of writers being brought into operation, who are nearly destitute of the genius, and of the knowledge of mankind, which are necessary to a just conception of character. Hence poetic taste is outraged, and morals endangered, with a frequency that cannot fail to produce the most fatal results. It is not so with other arts. If, for instance, the works of the sculptor show not something of the true ideal and perfection of his art, men of cultivated minds, instead of purchasing his statues, will utterly discourage him. But any thing in the form of a play will be applauded, provided it be stimulating; whatever be the nature or tendency of the interest excited. The stage abounds, in consequence, with dramatic characters constructed as by perfect chance, and with a wildness of combination in regard to moral properties, which sets truth, and consistency, and good effect at absolute defiance. This is a fruitful source of that most dangerous display of character, already noticed, in which great virtues are seen to associate with the worst of principles, and sometimes with their opposite vices; leaving the false impression on the ignorant and unwary, that with such vices one may still properly assume the designation of a good man. On this subject, the uninformed reader may be satisfied, by selecting almost any chief character of the drama, and applying to it the authoritative

doctrine of Christian morality. The very touch of this doctrine, I presume, will be like that of Ithuriel's spear.

IV. OF THE EFFECTS OF THE STAGE ON THE MORALS OF SOCIETY.

THE recorded quantity of crime which flows from the native tendency, or, if the reader think it more correct,-from the abuse of the stage, is very great. That, however, which is daily witnessed, but not published to the world, must make a still more painful impression on the actual observer. But with the addition of what must be rationally presumed to pass unseen by the virtuous inhabitants of a country, the whole must be prodigious; must present a most appalling mass of evidence to prove, that, apart from all abstracted reasonings, the system, practically considered, cannot sustain the semblance of a solid vindication.

Having offered arguments arising from the nature of the drama, may I be allowed, before I mention facts, to produce two striking pictures, coalescing with those facts and arguments, and traced by the pencil of a master? Notwithstanding the fancy which some may suppose to be thrown into the composition, they will, if I am not much mistaken, be recognised as generally accurate, (and my purpose needs no more,) in presenting the similitude of the real subject. They will, perhaps, have the greater weight, because extracted from an article, in which the reasonings on both sides are dispassionately balanced by two conflicting interlocutors, between whom the president of the council, at the close, cannot settle the dispute, but makes the free confession, that he finds himself unable to decide the controversy.* The opposite opponent does not dispute the facts of the case. He says, "All this is much to be regretted: But how is it to be stopped ?"

"Let us imagine," observes the writer, "a troop of comedians entering a country town in England, in which, sober, quiet, and industrious habits have hitherto prevailed. Let us imagine the modern Thespis arrived in his cart. His very arrival is the signal for irregularity and confusion. Let us suppose, that he has obtained permission from the worshipful the mayor to exhibit his performances for a week. In that one week there will be more mischief done, more heads turned, and more obscenity committed, than in all the rest of the year. In that short time will be sown

*See "Council of Ten," vol. ii. No. 5.