ENDYMION THE EXILE.

LETTER XXVII.

My last exhibited the English stage in a state of warfare: it is now my intention to give you some notion of it in times of peace. One of the most popular topics with the critics here, is the degeneracy of English comedy; but from all that I have observed, it is quite good enough for those who witness its exhibition. I will even go a step further if the word degeneracy is to be taken in its moral sense, and to signify a depar. ture from virtue, then do I flatly deny the charge, for at what era were the virtues ever scattered over the boards half so plentifully? These Aristotles of the sabbath should consider the purposes to which the day whereon they write is dedicated, and should pardon the decayed wit of poor comedy, in consideration of her flourishing morality. Then again they have an ill-natured way of dividing the stage into ancient and modern, placing in the former class the productions of about two 'centuries, and in the latter those of about twice ten years. They then pick out about half a dozen great guns from their ancient depôt, which they forthwith place in three columns, and fire away point-blank at the poor moderns, who have of course nothing but puns and popguns, wherewith to return the compliment-no wonder their battery is silenced! Now this, Amibrose, is unfair play. Epoch against epoch communibus annis might do; but two hundred years against twenty! Oh monstrous! And yet this is endured, nay, enjoyed by a nation, which piques itself upon seeing all fair in boxing! It is certain if you bruise the writers of two centuries into a mass, you may extract an essential oil of comedy of poignant fla vour and it is also certain that if you collect (provided you can find them) all the plays, which have appeared since the year 1790, and bray them in a mortar, you would find amidst a heap of loyalty and sentiment, wit enough to make one dish of a very tolerable taste. If the old writers had most wit, the

modern have most virtue. If the head be but intelligent, the heart may be depraved as it will, was the creed of the wicked wits in the time of good Queen Anne: if the heart be in the right place, the head may wander, is the prevailing dictum în the reign of George the Third. What sad wicked fellows are the fine gentlemen of Farquhar and Congreve, compared to those who assume that title among the moderns. They seem ed to consider themselves born to drink, fight, and intrigue at pleasure, provided in so doing they pleased their auditors. It must be admitted that all they said, and all they did, was natural enough: but human nature, we are told, on grave authority, is radically corrupt, and so convinced are the moderns of this, that they seldom exhibit it at all, aware that common politeness requires us to keep what is disagreeable, out of sight. Then again the terrible want of feeling, which is to be met with in old writers, must be revolting to every sensitive mind. Ben the sailor, in CONGREVE's Love for Love, when reproached for being undutiful and graceless to his father, answers: "Then why was he graceless first? If I am unduti, ful and graceless, why did he beget me so? myself." So much for his filial reverence; and now for a specimen of fraternal affection.

I did not beget

"Ben, How does brother Dick and brother Val?

Sir Sampson. Dick! body o' me! Dick has been dead these two years. I wrote you word when you were at Leghorn. Ben. Mess: that's true: marry I had forgot! Dick's' dead as you say."

Now, my dear friend, putting the want of feeling exhibited in these passages out of the question, how obvious is their want of policy! A writer of these times would not have been fool enough to miss so glorious an opportunity of descanting on respect to him who gave us birth, the sult tears of an English sailor, swob the spray, eye-pumps at work, &c. &c. to the great emolument of the actor, and proportionate edification of the gallery. The whole play, if cast on the mould now in fashion, would have assumed a different complexion. Its wicked wit would have been purged away, and nothing but

the pure ore of virtue would have remained. Valentine would not have been dissolute from want of grace, nor* Jeremy pert from want of wages. Scandal would never have thought the young wife of an old star-gazer, lawful game.. -Ben would have been a loyal and generous tar, and Miss Prue a very manageable and well-behaved young lady. I was conversing lately at the Piazza Coffee-House with a ce lebrated comedian, who had appeared the night before as a gay young nobleman in a new comedy. The general equality of dress among the English was mentioned by the actor, ast detrimental to the stage, from the difficulty of giving a marked distinction to the different ranks of life. "I was myself an instance of that last night," said he; " I played a nobleman, but my dress was that of a merchant's clerk." " But why not wear a star?" said I. "My dear sir," answered the performer, "of what use would that be? It could not have been seen." "Not seen," I replied, "what should con ceal it?" "My right hand, sir," he retorted. "The character is called gay; but from the first act, even unto the fifth, he talks of his honour and his feelings according to the mode now in vogue. Now, sir, it is impossible to talk of honour and feelings, without spreading your right hand upon your left breast; and then what would become of my poor star? shorn of his beams,' egad, by my palm, four fingers and thumb! The audience would have compared me to Milton's Death, spreading his lean paw over the firmament, the blasted stars that look'd wan.'' The London clergy rail against the emp tiness of the churches till their sounding boards rattle in sympathy, without reflecting upon the obvious cause. The theatres have taken their trade out of their hands. When men can get as much religion and morality as they please, and a warm theatre, why should they go to a cold church in quest of those commodities? Well may the Rev. ROWLAND HILL call a play-house the Devil's hot-bed. It is so, but our modern bards have made it too hot to hold him.

An English poet, second only to the inimitable BOILEAU, a wit a feather,” but “ an honest man the noblest

calls "<

work of God." This feather wit nodded in plentiful plu.. mage around the brows of FARQUHAR, VANERUGH, and Coм GREVE, but such a foppish ornament is properly disregarded by their more sober successors. Your honest man, now-a-days, insinuates a portion of himself into every man John of the dramatis persone, making old men liberal, young ones chaste, valets faithful, daughters dutiful, bailiffs bountiful, credat Judæus,' Israelites benevolent! Oh harlequin, harlequin, thou friend of my early youth, why conceal thy sable visage from the audience till the finish of the play Though unseen by mortal eye thou art surely in the house by half past six, ere the prompter tinkles his opening bell, and these moral metamorphoses are indebted to thee and to thy Ovidian graces for their existence.

BAILIFFS AND BAIL.

Ah! quamvis tibi punctum spondeat omne

VICKARY GIBBS, subsiste: timenda vel optima lis est.

THE tricks of sheriff's' officers would occupy a volume. The attorney has too intimate a connection with them, and when they happen to confederate, miserable indeed is the situation of the defendant. The sheriff himself in the present day, possesses infinitely too much power-he is appointed by the interest of the crown, and, if so dishonourably disposed, can have a jury of men, whose sentiments are congenial with his With regard to the under-sheriff, it is declared by statute of Henry V. c. 4, that none shall practise as an attorney, while in office; yet this statute is shamefully evaded by their practising in the names of their agents in town.

own.

After arrest the next object of consideration is bail, which offers a wide field for observation, as it is now managed. By a once venerated law, it is provided that excessive bail shall not be required, and though what excessive bail is be not de

fined, we may safely pronounce it to be that, which a man cannot procure. Englishmen then boast of their laws, which, provide that no man shall be imprisoned for life-But, where is the difference between being sentenced to imprisonment for life, and loss of liberty till bail is found, which the man has no power to obtain? The harsher sentence would be the more candid of the two.

The restrictions on bailiffs are, according to the statute, very rigorous; and the bailiff, as it might naturally be expected, often refuses compliance with an act that so ill suits his convenience. He permits the prisoner, indeed, to chuse what lock-up-house he pleases; but if it be one the bailiff dislikes, he will prove vexatious to him in procuring bail, by keeping. out of his way, and other cross purposes, always in his power. If the defendant cannot procure bail by the return of the writ, he is carried to gaol, and is not rarely arrested purposely so near the return of the writ, as to render it impossible to procure bail to the sheriff, in which case he must go to prison, where he may, if the writ be returnable the last day of Term, lie during the whole vacation. The writ having been returnable, the sheriff can no longer take bail for defendant's appearance, which is understood to be putting in bail above; till he can do this, he must lie in prison. It must be done before a judge, and though he may be able, through the exertions of his friends, to procure bail,. yet should the judges be absent at the assizes, or on any other account, or being in town should refuse to take the bail, which has sometimes happened when plaintiff's attorney would not consent, the defendant must remain in prison till Termtime.

The reason too ought to be enquired, why, in civil actions, bail is demanded for double the sum. The unwarrantable li. berties taken by counsel with respectable characters, who offer themselves to the courts as bail, have been so long suf fered to prevail, that men of character will no longer come in the courts to give bail-this circumstance, added to the above demand, makes the practice rigidly exact security on behalf of