sublime in his speeches! Where shall we find his equal?

When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes
First reared the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose:
Each change of many-coloured life he drew;
Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new.
Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting time toiled after him in vain.
His powerful strokes presiding Truth impressed,
And unresisted Passion stormed the breast.

JOHNSON.

Prologue spoken by Garrick at the opening of Drury Lane.

Let those who would close our theatres reflect what a change was made in the character of the people in Puritan times, by whom a fierce war was proclaimed against all the decent ornaments of life, and its rational gratifications. Are we surprised that the people grew sour and morose, that their passions, which could not find vent in innocent and intellectual pleasures, were turned to deeds of blood; and that the age was degenerating rapidly into barbarism, while the people were not a whit happier, or the better for the change? Would any person, but a Methodist or a madman, proscribe that which has called forth the divine conceptions of Eschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, of Shakspeare, Ben Jonson, Massinger, Beaumont and Fletcher-of Racine, Corneille and Molière? that has had their fine characters gifted with life and energy by a Garrick, a Kemble, a Siddons, and a Kean?

We may be told that theatres are calculated to do

harm as well as good-but so is the art of printing, and many other inventions. God has set apart one day in the week for Himself, and has allotted the other six for purposes merely human. Moderate and timely relaxation from the duties of life is a want inherent in human nature and if theatrical exhibitions rouse in us a love for what is good, and a contempt for what is mean, surely it is a much more profitable employment to witness them occasionally, than to spend the evening in idle dissipation.

money

It is time now to ask-What effect have modern theatricals on the minds of the people? We have observed the injurious consequences of the frequency of these spectacles on many of the French aristocracy. We cannot but think that much more time and is spent on theatres in this country, than need be. Hence those who visit them frequently contract a kind of theatre-mania, and think and talk of nothing else but the play they saw last night, or that which they will see to-night. Hence some of our Schoolfellows affect an intimate acquaintance with the green-room; and when we return to Eton from the holidays, we are pestered with details of the new opera, or the new farce. He too is thought a very superior being among his country school-fellows, who can discuss acting and actors, and boast that he knows Macready, and so forth. The greatest bore of this genus is one who at all times, and on the most trivial occasions, is ready to launch an appropriate quotation from the new farce, at your head-delighting in it more, if you be not one of the initiated; and

is always spouting some sublime nonsense in your ears, when you want to do your verses. This may be very absurd, but experience teaches us that it is so; and we infer that our theatrical school-fellows are merely the representatives of a class.

Impune ergò mihi recitaverit ille togatas,

Hic elegos? &c. &c.

We believe that in George the Third's reign the theatre was open just half as often as it is now, at all events it was always closed on Saturdays; becauseas we wish modern belles would consider-one who has been absorbed in exciting and fatiguing amusement over-night, can hardly be fit for the quiet and retirement of Sunday. All Lent, too, the theatres were closed-and this at a time when the royal family and the leading aristocracy frequented them— when fashion, though not quite à Paris, led the English by the nose almost as much as she does now. Why have we accommodated ourselves to the habits of our French neighbours in these respects?

Moreover, is it not a pity that the Italian Opera should entirely have usurped the place of Shakspeare, and-we hope Albert Smith is not one of our readers -the legitimate drama? If, as the English flatter themselves, Shakspeare is a popular author; if his plays are as much studied, as each place where he lived, which he visited or wrote about, is diligently

* We learn from the newspapers that Mr. Macready has signified his intention of retiring from the stage at an early period, "not from old age or infirmities, but from the deplorable state of the National Drama.

preserved, why is he all but excluded from the modern theatres? How is it that no play of Shakspeare's can be tried on the stage, without being mutilated and modernized, (i. e. made as unlike Shakspeare's nature as possible) by the managers, who must needs foist in their own rubbish, in order, forsooth, that the very tasteful audience may not damn it for barbarism? How is it, that when our country is so rich in dramatic talent, our élite must betake themselves every night to the Italian Opera? Because it is more expensive? We think so. Applicable indeed is Johnson's description of the declining stage, after the reign of Charles II., when the first description of operas was introduced!

"Crushed by rules, and weakened as refined,
For years the power of tragedy declined;
From bard to bard the frigid caution crept,
Till Declamation roared while Passion slept.
Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread;
Philosophy remained, though Nature fled;
But forced at length her ancient reign to quit,
She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of wit;
Exulting Folly hailed the joyful day,

And Pantomime and song confirmed her sway."

Certainly these follies have the plea of antiquity on their side; Horace complained in the same way of the Roman aristocracy of his day;

Equitis quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas
Omnis ad incertos oculos et gaudia vana.

Tanto cum strepitu ludi spectantur, et artes
Divitiæque peregrinæ, &c. &c.

We do not wish to undervalue the opera, but we put it to all sensible play-goers, whether it would not shew better taste to encourage the drama of our own country oftener; whether they would not find it more profitable, not to say more conducive to morality, which is not much improved by the skilful evolutions of modern danseuses.

Shakspearianus.

THE PRINCESS; A MEDLEY:

By ALFRED TENNYSON, London, 1847, 12mo. pp. 161.

In a former number we expressed a hope that Tennyson would one day give to the world some poem more worthy of his genius-some more sustained effort, which might take a higher rank in English literature, at least with regard to the importance of its subject, than the collection of merely fugitive pieces on which his reputation then rested. His former poems gave indications of a colouring, power, and a play of imagination, which had not yet been fully tested; and we were led to think, in common, we believe, with the majority of his readers, that far more was to be expected from one who had made so promising a beginning. Our anticipations on that score have been realized by the appearance of the work before us; in regard to which, we will preface our observations by remarking, that if it does not materially enhance the already high reputation of