Here a gentleman from the pit interrupted him, by saying, "To-morrow is Sunday, Sir." This address threw, poor Walker into confusion: however, calling forth his scattered. spirits, and making a second bow, he very sententiously delivered himself in the following manner : "On Monday night next will be performed the historical play of King Henry the Eighth, containing the divorce of Anna Bulleyn, the marriage of Queen Catherine, and the death of Mrs. Bicknell, for the benefit of Cardinal Wolsey." T. H.

MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS.

To effect virtue for the sake of praise, never can be right; to deserve praise by practising virtue, must always be desirable: to regard the first chiefly as an auxiliary to the latter, is wise; and to employ it only as an engine of usefulness, is generous, noble, and glo

rious.

A life passed amidst the tumultuous dissipations of the world, even when unsullied by the commission of any positive crime, concludes, alas! very differently from that which has been spent in bowers of retirement, adorned by innocence, and rewarded by virtue.

The oak, which is generally considered as the king of trees, is that which arrives latest at perfection; and perhaps, in some sense, the same observation may be true with respect to mankind.

Pleasure is a game for which it will be in vain to try :—it must start before you, or you will never find it. T. H.

WHITSUNDAY.

The following is a curious extract from a sermon preached in 1612, by the Reverend John Squier, vicar, at Shoreditch.

"Our countrey and custome call this feast (Whitsunday) by another name than Pentecost; viz. Whitsunday, that is White-Sunday; the attribute white being annexed to the Sunday for four causes from the time of the yeare; from the custome of the time; from the mercy of God to man; and from the mercy of man to man. 1. The time is tempus albi solis, a season of singular sunshine, the sun having now the clearest or whitest lustre: the time is therefore termed White-Sunday. 2. The custom of the primitive time

was, that this was Dominica in albis; they used albis vestibus post baptismum: those who were baptized were accustomed to wear white garments about this time: the time therefore was called White-Sunday. 3. Through the mercy of God, the Holy Ghost came downe on man this day (a white, that is, a happy day for all Christians,) rightly called White-Sunday. 4. Then also was it the guise of the church (in thanksgiving for this great gift from God) to give a small gift to man, white loaves, by way of almes to the poore; and hence also it is termed WhiteSunday."

SHOREDITCH

S.

A good conscience is necessary to the true enjoyment of life; for though no man can have a conscience perfectly void of offence, whoever has violated it reluctantly, and repented as often as he has transgressed, may be said to have a good conscience: it is a treasure more to be desired than the treasures which are continually brought from the East, by men whom Providence suffers to become enormously rich, to shew that enormous riches are no decisive marks of its peculiar favour. How sweet are the slumbers of him who can lie down on his pillow, and review the transactions of every day without condemning himself!--A good conscience is the finest opiate: the whole Materia Medica cannot supply one half so efficacious and pleasant: and all the nabobs together, if they were to unite their fortunes in contribution, could not purchase a similar

LETTERS

FROM A FATHER TO HIS SON IN AN OFFICE UNDER GOVERNMENT.

LETTER VI.

MY DEAR G,

BEGIN to think that I have under

der, and suicide, fraught with all their most guilty combinations of crime and evasion, from among which not a single passage can be extracted that is worth the slightest exertion of the memory, or that, when recollected, improves either the understanding or the heart.

ment, in attempting to reason down in your mind the attachment which you indulge for theatrical amusements-1 will, however, suppose, that as far as I have gone in exposing that abuse of them into which many of your compeers have so rashly plunged, to the disgrace of their heads and the degradation of their hearts, I have succeeded in convincing you of its vulgarity and folly-But it is to be remembered by you, that I placed the reasonableness of your amusive relaxations upon the wise appropriation of your time.-We will set out then, G—, in my present letter, with something like a compting house estimate of profit and loss, and will strike the balance between the profit gained by giving-up five hours out of the twenty-four to a theatrical representation, and the loss incurred by withdrawing so large a proportion of the natural day from the cultivation of your mind by the acquirement of useful knowledge. You will observe, I have applied the epithet useful, in this instance, to knowledge, in contradistinction to that which you may expect to reap at a theatre. Here, perhaps, you will interrupt me, by reminding me, that my topic was amusement; and you will tell me, that you do not look for useful knowledge in your amusive pursuits.

I must conclude, then, that there is no improvement in such pursuits; and if so, 1 must insist upon it that they had better be let alone. However, I will allow, for argument's sake, that # he who frequents the theatres may take upon himself to quote in his own favour that half of the line-Miscuit utile dulci -yet I think, he cannot fairly do this unless the former half be the fact, “Omne tulit punctum."-You see I am willing to indulge your taste by quoting the motto upon many a playhouse pro> scenium. But for the life of me, G, I cannot see where the utile is to be found in throwing away five hours together upon an insipid spectacle, or still more insipid comedy or modern tragedy, spun out to five formidable acts of love, madness, murEurop. Mag. Fol LXXII. Scpt. 1817.

most important point gained, when our pleasures are of such a description as to blend themselves with our intellectual progress. Something like this bas been urged by those who are attached to theatrical entertainment-but it is probable that the plea is made more from an anxiety to find an excuse for a favourite amusement immoderately iudulged in, than with the consciousness of the gain being greater than the loss

for they who frequent the theatre, must feel that much time is wasted which might be more eligibly employed, and I should suspect them of doing it more to gratify a vacant mind thau to turn a vacant hour to the best account; indeed, I have seldom met any of these theatrical amateurs, who are not young men of vacant minds, pleased with trifles, and unequal to greater attainments: and those who are SO easily pleased, or rather so indolent in their choice of amusement, are usually found to be superficial in their studies, and desultory in the graver pursuits of life-not unfrequently flippant in conversation, weak in judgment, and impa tient of every serious call upon their attention.

Certain it is, that a mind, however capable of improvement in itself, must degenerate into insipiency, when it is thus constantly occupied in the coutemplation of objects unworthy of its powers-these powers also will be proportionately weakened by such an application of them, and when it becomes necessary to conform them to the higher obligations of life, they will shrink from the encounter.-Here I would remind you of the sentiment of one of your school authors, who was as well acquainted with the human mind as he was remarkable for the skill and energy with which he applied its intellectual efficiency." In my opinion," says he, "it is altogether impossible that those who are occupied in matters of trifling import and unworthy of their attention, should ever possess an elevated and vigorous turn of mind-for it must necessarily follow, that of whatever nature be the pursuits of men, such

Gg

will be their sentiments and inclina tions.*

One thing I must premise, before I enter more fully into the subject of this letter. I would not be under stood as objecting to your acquiring a knowledge of the British drama, which forms a material feature in the character of our national taste-I would only prevent you from mistaking the means of acquiring it. It may be made one object of your English reading, and so far will afford you a pleasing source of relaxation for your leisure hours; but it is a knowledge that is not to be obtained by throwing away those hours upon the dramatic productions of the present day, or in attending their representation. This is a waste of time against which I would strenuously object; and with whatever plea you may urge that the utile is sufficiently blended with the dulce to justify such an attendance, I must maintain my objection; and while I allow you all the force of your Horatian quotation, I do not admit of its appropriate application in this instance; for certainly it cannot be said of any one, Omne tulit punctum, while any valid objection remains.-How far my objections may be so considered by you, I shall not pretend to anticipate-I have but one object, that of giving you such advice as my experience warrants; and if I dare assert so much upon the ground which I have taken, I should go on and say, that you have in this instance but one duty to fulfil, that of following my admonition.-Now, G-, were the moral tendency of frequenting theatres the only question between us, I should not hesitate to decide against the babit; for I would be understood in this part of the subject as adverting to the frequency of the attendance, and the habitual fondness for such amusement which that frequency creates in young minds-for there is no morality to be learnt at a theatre, which may not as easily be acquired at home, and, I venture to add, much more effectually, without that distraction of the attention and erratic pro

* Εςι δ' οὐδέποτ' οἶμαι μέγα και νεανικόν φρόνημα λαβιά, μικρὰ καὶ φαῖλα πρατίονας· ὁποῖ ἄλλα γαρ ἂν τὰ επίτη δεύματα τῶν ἀνθρώπων ᾖ, τοιοῦτον ἀναίκη καὶ το φρόνημα ἔχειν,

Anμoso. Ore. B. 9.

pensity of the imagination which the glare, shew, and surrounding objects of a playhouse always produce-and I believe I speak the sentiments of nine persons out of ten who give themselves the trouble of thinking, when I pronounce at once against the possibility of moral impression being made of any lasting influence upon the mind of a young man by stage representations, while such numerous indecorous and indecent interruptions to this influence are permitted to exist, as at present degrade our theatres, for the shameless and avowed purpose of alluring our youth by their vicious excitements.

However, G, I will not stop to insist upon this argument: it is too true to be denied, and I fear the evil consequence is too common to be got rid of with a "pish," or a "perhaps."-Let us return to the "utile" of the stageIt is said, and has been very ably, though I think with some sophistry, maintained, that the stage has a corrective influence over the public mind, that it softens the manners and attacks the vices of a people through a medium which no other source of public instruction admits of; namely, personal representation. I have no objection to allow this, provided it can he proved at the same time, that the evidence appears in the character of society; for if it is to be called a useful medium, let its usefulness be made apparent. But does it appear in the present tone of the public mind, or in the aspect of its prominent features. Surely by this time, when so many ages have had this didactic volume to study is, when the best writers and the best actors may well be supposed to have impressed all its most powerful lessons upon the head and heart of the public, we may reasonably expect the proof in its most striking testimony. Well, then, where shall we look for it? in the purity of our young men ?—in the modesty of our young women?-in the self restraint of the more mature of both sexes?-in the sober-mindedness of the aged, and in the manners of all?-One glance at the general sentiment and deportment of those who rank among the play-going part of the world, will at once satisfy us, that our search would be fruitless. When was there more premature vice to be found among the young men than now?when less retiring delicacy among the young wonien?-when have we heard of

more flagrant trespasses against social virtue and when have we seen more folly in fashion, and more crime in conduct?

But you will ask, how happens it that the stage is only to be accused of this fruitless effort; why has not the pulpit succeeded better? for you will naturally contend, that if this be a just description, the latter more sanctified source of instruction might as well be inveighed against as the stage, if merely the effect is to be the criterion of its usefulness? The answer I must draw from your own premises. The theatre is a source of amusement-the pulpit one of graver consideration, and those who prefer the former to the latter, are most likely to furnish us with the examples of vitiated mind and heart to which I have alluded; and with such persons the lessons of the pulpit cannot be expected to prevail. I am, how ever, much disposed to think, that except furnishing the memory with a few passages for quotation, and some light topics for common-place talk, that the drama of the present day produces more harm than good. This you will say is a sweeping clause of condemna. tion which you cannot assent to, and in the phraseology of the day you may term it illiberal; but the proof of the liberality or illiberality of any sentiment is the truth of it. Now then let us bring some of the most popular plays to this test. What think you of the modern tragedies? I know not one that can with justice be applauded, as conveying that useful instruction for which you contend. The major part of them are extravagant in subject, improbable in incident, and distorted in style. We will select one from the rest; Bertram, for instance; this ought to serve your purpose as to public impression, for it had as continued a run as any tragedy that has been written for these fifty years. It will also serve mine, as an example of the public taste; and I really cannot qualify my rejection of it with one single allowance of its usefulness. Its characters are either weak or wicked. Its plot outrages all dramatic justice; and its style is inflated beyond even the ludicrous bombast. You will, perhaps, quote me half a hundred beautiful lines I thank you-but tell me, are they useful? They are pretty, doubtless, and poetically descriptive, but nothing more. And then the infamous suppo

sition on which the catastrophe of the heroine's madness and the hero's villainy turns, is too gross for the imagination to dwell upon. Much of the success of this favourite play depended upon Mr. Kean's acting, and all his powers were" written up to," as the saying is. The Apostate, you will say, had nothing of this meretricious character about it; may be so: but the speeches of the principal character seem to have been framed with the direct design of calumniating Christianity; or, at least, of casting the Christian profession into the shade of opprobrious misrepresentation; and this, I think, cannot be called a useful lesson in a Christian country. One or two of Massinger's plays have been revived, but not for the purpose of their utility, except to the funds of the theatre. The principal character in the Duke of Milan is a compound of every unamiable passion of the heart, sufficiently disguised by a pretended sensitiveness of honour and feeling to pervert that juster sense of both which a young mind ought to cherish, without any reservation whatever. It would be too much to take every mo dern effort of this kind for our discussion; but I am convinced, that out of the whole we should not be able to se lect more than one or two which deserve our unmixed commendation, as having a direct tendency to justify your idea of the useful. There are two tra gedies which, as they are grounded upon domestic scenes, may, perhaps, put in this claim to our adoption. I mean the Gamester and George Barnwell-at least they have generally been extolled as such. Of the former of these, notwithstanding, a very sagacious critic of these productions has given quite a different opinion. Mrs. Inchbald does not hesitate to declare, that no confirmed gamester is likely to be converted by it, and that the passion for play has not at all been diminished by its impression. I believe this to be the case, because gaming is more than a contingent foible; it is a criminal passion, which roots itself in the mind, and absorbs all the consciousness of the heart. The same may be said of George Barnwell, only with a different application; the desire of illicit gratification grows by indulgence, and subverts every honest principle of self denial. And whether this play was or not founded in fact, we have not seen the instance more rarely exempli fied; which speaks little for the usefab

ness of this play. True, indeed, the murderous means used by Barnwell may not have been applied to the same purpose, and under the same circumstances yet we are not to conclude that any wicked and dissipated young man, placed in an office of trust, who has formed similar vicious associations to that of Barnwell, has been deterred from such a perpetration, merely because he was conscious of its iniquity, but because it has not been necessary to his enjoy meats. Besides, the character of Milwood is so disgusting in representation, that it totally frustrates the purpose of the author; and every youth who hears her speak, wonders more at the folly of her victim, than shrinks from the probability of himself being so

ensnared.

I am still willing to grant, that both these plays may be seen without any bad effect; but I lament to add, that the experience of society will not justify me in asserting, that they have been useful in deterring the gamester or the Joung man from that criminal indulgence, the ruinous consequences of which they so well pourtray.

There is a story on your side of the question which I have often heard related, but never seen or heard attested; That a young apprentice, who had seen Mr. Garrick in George Barnwell, was so strongly influenced by the reproach es of his conscience, as to call upon that gentleman, and in the most pathe tic terms confessed to him that he had saved him from destruction, by his inimitable personation of that character; for that he was so deeply impressed with the interest which his acting had given to it, that he felt himself quite an altered man. I cannot take upou myself to deny the truth of this anecdote, but one thing I may presume upon, that if the play itself was the cause of the youth's conversion, it would have effected it as well in his closet as in a theatre; and if it was not the cause, it was the actor, and not the play, that was useful, aud as the crimes of robbery and murder must have been sufficiently evident in their atrocity to any mind endowed with the slightest portion of intelligence or reflection, it does not require the young man to go to the theatre to pick up the conviction; and I should make a very low estimate of his pirtuous struggles against such horrible designs, wire, having suffered himself to be overcome by vicious propensities,

could pretend to excuse himself by such an apology as this," had I seen my per petration previously represented on the stage, I should never have committed it." As to Shakspeare's Tragedies and his Historical Plays, if I were to hazard an opinion with respect to the "utile" of which we are speaking, I might perhaps be regarded as guilty of an unpardonable profanation in the eyes of nine play-goers out of ten; but I must run the risk of the unholy trespass, and declare that, in my conscience, I do not perceive their usefulness. That they are fraught with the finest imagery, the most sublime sentiments, and the most masterly delineations of the human heart, I am proud to join with every English classic in admitting; and I have no hesitation in asserting, that every Englishman, for the honour of his country, ought to read them, because the genius of Shakspeare soars far above that of any dramatic writer whom the world has produced.

The characters of Shakspeare are peculiarly his own, and, with his grasp of the passions, his insight into the heart of man in every condition, and with his discriminating powers of original deli. neation, he has moulded them as no man before or since could do;-but I question whether, with all this excellence, his plays may be deemed, in the strict sense of the word, useful. The knowledge which they convey is that of character only, and this is in no degree applicable to the personal experience of the auditors. His Dramalis Persona speak and act consistently enough with their individual relation to each other, but this relation forms a connection of circumstantial event which belongs entirely to other times. The ambition of Macbeth, the jealousy of Othello, the madness of Lear, and the subtilty of Richard, are all most admirably consonant with the subject of each of these exquisite tragedies; and the principles of each character are wonderfully preserved and distinguished in the sentiments and conduct of each. It is nevertheless certain, that the impressions upon the understanding and the feelings of the spectators, depend more upon the precision with which such principles are marked by the actor, than they arise out of any conviction which refers them to ourselves. It certainly is an accomplishment to understand Shakspeare and to taste his beauties, but it is the accomplishment of a well educated intel