, the timidity and selfishness which
signed the capitulation of Venice. How important, then, to gain
possession of so mighty a lever for moving the general mind, and
counteracting the selfishness which is degrading society, as the
enthusiasm of the theatre affords; and instead of permitting it to fall
into the hands of vice, to become the handmaid of licentiousness, to
turn its vast powers to the rousing of elevated sentiments, the
strengthening of virtuous resolutions, the nourishing of generous
emotions! Whoever succeeds in this, whether author, actor, or actress,
is a friend to the best interests of humanity, and is to be ranked with
the benefactors of the human race.

Nor be it said that the theatre has been now irrevocably turned, in this
country, to frivolous or contemptible representations, or that dancing
and singing have for ever banished the tragic muse from the stage.
Facts--well known and universally acknowledged facts, prove the reverse.
How strong soever the desire for excitement or physical enjoyment may
be, the passion for heart-stirring incident, the _besoin_ of strong
emotions, the thirst for tragic event, is still stronger. Look at the
Parisian stage--what a concatenation of murders, suicides,
conflagrations, massacres, and horrors of every description, have there
grown up with the spread of the romantic drama in the lesser theatres!
That shows how strong is the passion for tragic excitement in highly
civilized and long corrupt society. Enter any of our courts of law, when
any trial for murder or any other serious crime is going
forward--observe how unwearied is the attention of all classes, and
_especially the lowest_; with what patience they will sit for days and
nights together, to watch the proceedings; mark the deathlike silence
which pervades the hall, when any important part of the evidence is
delivered, or the verdict of the jury is returned. Observe the mighty
throng which attends a public execution. The writer once was present,
when an hundred and fifty thousand persons assembled in one spot to
witness the expiation of their guilt by two murderers on the
scaffold.[M] When the mournful procession set out for the place of
punishment, four miles distant, not a sound was to be heard from the
innumerable spectators who lined the streets; the clang of the horses'
hoofs on the pavement was audible among two hundred thousand persons.
When it returned with the dead bodies, the clang of voices, the pe