finesse of the actor's art, will make amends for the essential unfitness of an entertainment to the mental and moral condition of the people who are bidden to enjoy it. This adaptation is primary. In any large community there will be a few, a small public, sufficiently foreign in taste, morbid in feeling, intense and unbalanced in emotion, passionate in temperament, to demand plays like "Madeline Morel,” “ Alixe,” “The Baroness," "La Femme du Feu," but the great mass of the community are simply offended by them, and forsake them. The opera-bouffe would be a perfect amusement, but for the omnipresent vileness of the libretto. The vivacity, the brilliancy, the change, the springiness of the music, the grace of the ballet, the exquisite nonsense, the wild rollicking gayety, combine to fascinate the simple and please the cultivated; but the undercurrent of coarseness spoils it all. It may not outrage uncultivated Parisians. Of course it does not, for it is a child of Paris; but it only adds another anxiety to thoughtful Americans. It is no amusement for us, nor would it be, if it were made accessible to the thinnest purse, and rendered in a speech that all could understand. Americans can be amused by nothing that is loose or licentious.

I claim no higher function for the theatre than to amuse. As the world goes, that is a function high enough for a reasonable ambition. They who speak

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of the theatre as a great moral power in society, who dwell enthusiastically on its deep responsibilities, and urge fidelity to them on all players and managers, who assert that the theatre should do its part, along with the pulpit, to instruct and improve mankind, to set forth just views of human life, hold up noble ideals of excellence, exhibit beautiful models of character; they who claim that the stage should be a school of culture in art, and of education in philosophy, probably exaggerate its importance. I am willing to rest its claims to support simply on its power to amuse, healthily and sweetly, by feeding the desire for mental delight, by opening the fountains of mirth, touching the springs of humor, awakening the dormant, latent, crushed, overlaid, or down-trodden capacities for innocent enjoyment, by presenting to each class of people the special kind of illusion, the particular dream-land or fairy-land, where they can lose the poignant sense of care in the contemplation of such an ideal world as is above them and not too remote. Let it be granted that it is not the actor's business to philosophize or to preach, to expound social theories, or defend popular causes, to take sides in political or religious controversies, but simply to amuse in a way to counteract the pressure or strain of ordinary existence; let it be conceded that he is not a censor or a prophet, but a minister of recreation ;

that whether his department be tragedy or comedy, the stately drama of Shakespeare or the wild antics of the buffoon, he is to fascinate and beguile world-worn people of their sorrow; still, on this interpretation, which some will esteem a very mean one, he must consult the moral condition and needs of the people he would entertain.

We will not demand of managers that they shall undertake what, from the nature of things, they cannot perform. Theirs is a profession, and, like all professions, has limits that cannot be overpassed. They must meet the public demand. If they attempt to furnish what the public do not demand, they will have no public. They must consult the popular taste, otherwise they will not only lose money, but will fail to make an impression on the common mind. They will neither instruct nor entertain. The stage reflects the public, or should aim to. In states where the theatres were under control and patronage of the government, they could be made instruments for representing such forms of institution and character as the government wished to encourage. But here, where the people support the theatre, they will pay only for what they enjoy; and the providers of enjoyment must consult their wishes. This is understood. But there are worthy and unworthy ways of doing this. There are gross wishes and pure wishes,

demands of appetite and demands of taste, demands of passion and demands of sentiment; if the public must be taken as they are, they can at all events be taken at their best, and a severe reprimand should be visited on those who take them at their worst. The duty of entertaining is quite as serious, in its way, as the duty of instructing, and must be held to as strict an accountability. The public can no better afford to be debauched in their play, than misled in their study, or cajoled in their worship.

Complaints of the decline of the drama do not affect us seriously. The neglect of the heroic drama is a necessity, for the heroic element in modern life no longer struts on a stage, declaiming pompous platitudes, but hides modestly away in the dwellings of humble people. The days of the stately tragedy are numbered, for life is already tragic enough; the overwrought people would rather laugh than cry. Hamlet and Othello move through scenes of gorgeous spectacular beauty which enchant the eye, and prevent the sadness their fate would produce. Romeo and Juliet suffer and die amid splendors that divert the mind from their woes. All this is merely an accommodation to modern times and people, of the drama of a past age; not a decline, but a readjustment. The lords and gentry of England in the time of Queen Elizabeth could afford to be diverted by scenes of ter

ror and tales of woe, but we cannot afford it; and only an exquisite artifice that will satisfy cultivated minds, only a refinement of beauty that will give delight to those that do not care to be amused, justifies the representation of plays that sadden more than they refresh.

From what has been said, it may be inferred that the condition of our public amusements is far from being satisfactory. They are not often objectionable in morals. They are seldom reprehensible in taste. Their general tendency is to greater refinement. Undoubtedly they supply, in a measure, the wants of a great many people. Many a burden of care is nightly thrown off, many a pent-up beart is nightly relieved, many a spell of despondency is nightly broken, many a sunless bosom is nightly cheered, many a pestilent accumulation of vapors is nightly dissipated by the merry songs, the pleasing pantomime, the droll burlesque, the harmless fun, the graceful comedy, the scenic enchantment, that are offered by the numerous places of entertainment in the metropolis. There are actors and managers-I will not name them here-who are public benefactors, and richly earn the plaudits. and the gifts they receive; for they are instrumental in rescuing hundreds of people from the depths of gloom and misanthropy. Adam Smith accounted for the fame that singers and players enjoy, and for the