to mention the regale of a sweet symphony from a sweep or two in the gallery—and occasionally a full piece, in which nasal, vocal, whistling, and thumping powers are admirably exerted and blended, that what want we of an orchestra? In your remarks on the actors, my dear friend, let me beg of you to be cautious. I would not for the world that you should degenerate into a critic. The critics, my dear Jonathan, are the very pests of society: they rob the actor of his reputation, the public of their amusement: they open the eyes of their readers to a full perception of the faults of our performers; they reduce our feelings to a state of miserable refinement, and destroy entirely all the enjoyments in which our coarser sensations delighted. I can remember the time when I could hardly keep my seat through laughing at the wretched buffoonery, the Merry Andrew tricks, and the unnatural grimaces played off by one of our theatric Jack Puddings! when I was struck with awful admiration at the roaring and ranting of a buskined hero; and hung with rapture on every word, while he was "tearing a passion to tatters-to very rags!" I remember the time when he, who could make the queerest mouth, roll his eyes and twist his body with the most hideous distortions, was surest to please. Alas! how changed the times, or rather how changed the tastes! I can now sit with the gravest countenance, and look without a smile on all such mimicry -their skipping, their squinting, their shrugging, their snuffling, delight not me; and as to their ranting and roaring, I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turned, than any such fustian efforts to obtain a shallow gallery applause. Now, though I confess these critics have reformed the manners of the actors, as well as the tastes of the audience, so that these absurdities are almost banished from the New-York stage, yet I think they have employed a most unwarrantable liberty. A critic, my dear sir, has no more right to expose the faults of an actor than he has to detect the deception of a juggler, or the impositions of a quack. All trades must live; and as long as the public are satisfied to admire the tricks of the juggler, to swallow the drugs of the quack, or to applaud the fustian of the actor, whoever attempts to undeceive them does but curtail the pleasures of the latter, and deprive the former of their bread. Odsbud! hath not an actor eyes, and shall he not wink? hath not an actor teeth, and shall he not grin? feet, and shall he not stamp? lungs, and shall he not roar? breast, and shall he not slap it? hair, and shall he not club it? Is he not fed with plaudits from the gods? delighted with thumpings from the groundlings? annoyed by hisses from the boxes? If you censure his follies, does he not complain? if you take away his bread, will he not starve? if you starve him, will he not die? and if you kill him, will not his wife and seven small infants, six at her back and one at her breast, rise up and cry vengeance against you? Ponder these things seriously, my friend Oldstyle, and you will agree with me that, as the actor is the most meritorious and faultless, so is the critic the most cruel and sanguinary character in the world, as I will show you more fully in my next. Your loving friend, ANDREW QUOz. We will conclude with Mr. Oldstyle's account of The Wheel of Truth, which is the most cruel cut of all upon his favourite, the portly gentleman, who performed Harlequin, or the Merry Andrew. We found the play already commenced. I was particularly delighted with the appearance and manners of one of the female performers. What ease, what grace, what elegance of deportment! This is not acting, Cousin Jack, said I; this is reality! After the play, this lady again came forward, and delivered a ludicrous epilogue. I was extremely sorry to find her step so far out of that graceful line of character in which she is calculated to shine, and I perceived by the countenances around me that the sentiment was universal. "Ah," said I, "how much she forgets what is due to her dignity! That charming countenance was never made to be so unworthily distorted, nor that graceful person and carriage to represent the awkward movements of hobbling decrepitude. Take this word of advice, fair lady, from an old man and a friend :-Never, if you wish to retain that character for elegance you so deservedly possess, never degrade yourself by assuming the part of a mimic." The curtain rose for the afterpiece. Out skipped a jolly Merry Andrew. Aha! said I, here is the Jack Pudding. I see he has forgot his broomstick and gridiron; he'll compensate for these wants, I suppose, by his wit and humour. But where is his master, the quack? He'll be here presently, said Jack Stylish; he's a queer old codger : his name's Puffaway; here's to be a rare roasting-match, and this quizzical-looking fellow turns the spit. The Merry Andrew now began to deal out his speeches with great rapidity; but, on a sudden, pulling off a black hood that covered his face, who should I recognise but my old acquaintance, the portly gentleman! I started back with astonishment. Sic transit gloria mundi ! exclaimed I, with a melancholy shake of the head. Here's a dreary but true picture of the vicissitudes of life: one night paraded in regal robes, surrounded with a splendid train of nobility, the next degraded to a poor Jack Pudding, and without even a gridiron to help himself! What think you of this, my friend Quoz ? said I; think you an actor has any right to sport with the feelings of his audience, by presenting them with such distressing contrasts? Quoz, who is of the melting mood, shook his head ruefully, and said nothing. I, however, saw the tear of sympathy tremble in his eye, and honoured him for his sensibility. The Merry Andrew went on with his part, and my pity increased as he progressed; when, all of a sudden, he exclaimed, "And as to Oldstyle, I wish him to Old Nick!" My blood mounted into my cheeks at this insolent mention of my name. And what think you of this, friend Quoz ?" exclaimed I, vehemently; "I presume this is one of your rights of actors!" I suppose we are now to have the stage a vehicle for lampoons and slanders: on which our fellow-citizens are to be caricatured by the clumsy hand of every dauber who can hold a brush! Let me tell you, Mr. Andrew Quoz, I have known the time when such insolence would have been hooted from the stage." After some persuasion, I resumed my seat, and attempted to listen patiently to the rest of the afterpiece; but I was so disgusted with the Merry Andrew, that, in spite of all his skipping and jumping, and turning on his heel, I could not yield him a smile. Among the other original characters of the dramatis personæ, we were presented with an ancient maiden, and entertained with jests and remarks from the buffoon and his associates, containing equal wit and novelty. But, jesting apart, I think these attempts to injure female happiness at once cruel and unmanly. I have ever been an enthusiast in my attachment to the fair sex; I have ever thought them possessed of the strongest claims on our admiration, our tenderness, and our protection. But when to these are added still stronger claims-when we see them aged and infirm, solitary and neglected, without a partner to support them down the descent of life-cold indeed must be that heart, and unmanly that spirit, that can point the shafts of ridicule at their defenceless bosoms-that can poison the few drops of comfort Heaven has poured into their cup. The form of my sister Dorothy presented itself to my imagina tion; her hair silvered by time, but her face unwrinkled by sorrow or care. She "hath borne her faculties so meekly" that age has marked traces on her forehead. Amiable sister of my heart! cried I, who hast jogged with me through so many years of existence, is this to be the recompense of all thy virtues! art thou, who never, in thought or deed, injured the feelings of another, to have thy own massacred by the jeering insults of those to whom thou shouldst look for honour and protection? Away with such despicable trumpery-such shallow, worn-out attempts to obtain applause from the unfeeling! I'll no more of it. Come along, friend Quoz: if we stay much longer, I suppose we shall find our courts of justice insulted, and attempts to ridicule the characters of private persons. Jack Stylish entreated me to stay, and see the addition the manager had made to his live stock, of an ass, a goose, and a monkey. Not I, said I; I'll see no more. I accordingly hobbled off with my friend Mr. Andrew Quoz, Jack declaring he would stay behind and see the end of the joke. On our way home I asked friend Quoz how he could justify such clumsy attempts at personal satire. He seemed, however, rather reserved in his answers, and informed me he would write his sentiments on the subject. The next morning Jack Stylish related to me the conclusion of the piece: how several actors went into a wheel, one after another, and, after a little grinding, were converted into asses, geese, and monkeys, except the Merry Andrew, who was found such a tough jockey that the wheel could not digest him, so he came out as much a Jack Pudding as ever. JONATHAN OLDSTYLE. A letter received from the manager about this time is of a character so different from the general tenor of this chapter, that we will reserve it for another, in which threats, and quarrels, and ill-will, shall have no part. CHAPTER XXVII. Letter from John Murray, jun., to William Dunlap, and the answer. 2d mo. 15th, 1803. IMPRESSED with sentiments of friendship, and influenced, I trust, from motives which are the offspring of a desire to promote the welfare of individuals, and the good of the community at large, I am induced to address thee on a subject in which I conceive thy happiness is not a little interested, as well as that of many others who may he more or less affected by thy conduct and example. Since I waited on thee in the case of a young man who had imprudently exposed himself, I have frequently been led to take a view of the pernicious effects resulting from theatrical exhibitions, and to lament that a person of thy understanding and sensibility should ever have been prevailed upon to become an active agent in promoting any kind of amusements which are calculated to weaken the moral principle and alienate the mind from the precepts and practices of Christian religion. I wish not to enlarge much on the subject, but apprehending it was my religious duty to impart a few thoughts to thee relative thereto, I have therefore taken the liberty to do it in this way; with a request that thou would accept a book, entitled, The Power of Religion on the Mind, as also a pamphlet containing the sentiments of some pious characters touching the evil tendency of stage-plays, &c. These I submit to thy perusal and serious consideration, and, with an unfeigned solicitude for thy present and future welfare, I subscribe myself, thy sincere friend, JOHN MURRAY, Jun. Mr. Murray, the brother of Lindley Murray, was not at this time a young man; the jun. was |