press being thus deserted by those, who might naturally be expected to support it, falls to the care of a set of illiterate hirelings, in whose hands it is no wonder if the language is every day mangled, and should at last be utterly destroyed. Writing is well known to be as much a trade as any handicraft whatever; and every man who can vamp up any thing for present sale, though void of sense or syntax, is listed by the bookseller as an author. But allowing all our present writers to be men of parts and learning, (as there are doubtless some who may be reckoned so) is it probable that they should exert their abilities to the utmost, when they do not write for fame, like the ancients, but as a means of subsistence? If Herodotus and Livy had sold their histories at so much a sheet, and all the other Greek and Latin classics had written in the same circumstances with many modern authors, they would hardly have merited all that applause they se justly receive at present. The plays of Sophocles and Euripides might perhaps not have been much better than modern tragedies; Virgil might have got a dinner by half a dozen town eclogues; and Horace have wrote birth-day odes, or now and then a lampoon on the company at the Baix.

A false modesty is another great cause of the few publications by men of eminence and learning. However equal to the task, they have not sufficient confidence to venture to the press, but are rather guilty of wilful injustice to themselves and to the public. They are also ashamed of appearing among the common herd of authors. But the press, though it is often abused, should by no means be accounted scandalous or dishonourable. Though a learned and ingenious writer might not chuse to be mustered in the same roll with ......... or Mr. Town, yet we have an Hooke, a Browne, an Akenside, and many others, in whose company it will be an honour to appear. I would not

VOL. II.

willingly suppose, that they are afraid to hazard the characters they now maintain, of being men of learning and abilities; for while we only take these things for granted, their reputations are but weakly established. To rescue our native language from the hands of ignorants and mercenaries, is a task worthy those, who are accounted ornaments of our seats of learning; and it is surely more than common ingratitude in those, who eat the bread of literature, to refuse their utmost endeavours to support it.

No. XLIII. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 21.

Spectaret populum ludis attentius ipsis,

Ut sibi præbentem mimo spectacula plura,

HOR.

Pit, box and gallery I with joy survey,
And more observe the audience than the play.

A FEW years ago an ingenious player gave notice in the bill of his benefit night, that the Prologue should be spoken by the Pit, which he contrived to have represented on the stage. Another time he drew in the whole house to act as chorus to a new farce; and I remember that in the last rebellion, the loyal acclamations of "God save the King," might have been heard from Drury-Lane to Charing-Cross. Upon these and many other occasions the audience has been known to enter into the immediate business of the drama; and, to say the truth, I never go into any theatre, without looking on the spectators as playing a part almost as much as the actors themselves. All the company from the stage-box to the upper-gallery,

know their cues very well, and perform their parts with great spirit. I began the season with a few animadversions on the chief faults, to which our performers are liable. To-day I shall beg leave to say a word or two to the audience, as my reflections on the theatre would otherwise be incomplete. On this occasion I expect the thanks of the managers: and would recommend it to them to put my thirty-fourth number into a frame and glass, and hang it up in the green room, for the benefit of the players; and to dispose three or four thousand of the present number into the several part of the house, as Bayes dispersed papers to insinuate the plot of his piece into the boxes.

The first part of the audience, that demands our attention, is so nearly allied to the actors, that they always appear on the same level with them: but while the performers endeavour to carry on the business of the play, these gentlemen behind the scenes serve only to hinder and disturb it. There is no part of the house, from which a play can be seen to so little advantage as from the stage; yet this situation is very convenient on many other considerations, of more consequence to a fine gentleman. It looks particular: it is the best place to shew a handsome person, or an elegant suit of cloaths: a bow from the stage to a beauty in the box is most likely to attract our notice; and a pretty fellow may perhaps with tolerable management get the credit of an intrigue with some of the actresses. But notwithstanding all these advantages accruing to our fine gentlemen, I could heartily wish they would leave a clear stage to the performers; or at least that none should be admitted behind the scenes, but such as would submit to be of

some use there. As these gentlemen are ready drest, they might help to swell the retinue of a monarch, join the engagement in a tragedy battle, or do any other little office that might occur in the play, which

requires but little sense and no memory. But if they have not any genius for acting, and are still desirous of retaining their post by the side-scenes, they should be obliged to take a musket, bayonet, pouch, and the rest of the accoutrements, and stand on guard quietly and decently with the soldiers.

The boxes are often filled with persons, who do not come to the theatre out of any regard to Shakspeare or Garrick, but, like the fine lady in Lethe, "because every body is there." As these people cannot be expected to mind the play themselves, we can only desire them not call off the attention of others; nor interrupt the dialogue on the stage by a louder conversation of their own. The silent courtship of the eyes, ogles, nods, glances, and courtsies from one box to another, may be allowed them the same as at church; but nothing more, except at coronations, funeral processions and pantomimes. Here I cannot help recommending it to the gentlemen who draw the the pen from under their right ears about seven o'clock, clap on a bag-wig and sword, and drop into the boxes at end of the third act, to take their half crown's worth with as much decency as possible; as well as the bloods, who reel from the taverns about Covent-Garden near that time, and tumble drunk into the boxes. Before I quit this part of the house, I must take notice of that division of the upper-boxes, properly distinguished by the name of the Flesh-market. There is frequently as much art used to make the flesh exhibited here look wholesome, and (as Tim says in the farce)" all over red and white like the inside of a "shoulder of mutton," as there is by the butchers to make their veal look white; and it is as often rank carrion and fly-blown. If these ladies would appear in any other quarter of the house, I would only beg of them, and those who come to market, to drive their bargains with as little noise as possible: but I have

lately observed with some concern, that these women begin to appear in the lower boxes, to the destruction of all order, and great confusion of all modest ladies. It is to be hoped, that some of their friends will advise them not to pretend to appear there, any more than at Court: for it is as absurd to endeavour the removal of their market into the front and side boxes, as it would be in the butchers of St. James's Market to attempt fixing the shambles in St. James's Square.

I must now desire the reader to descend with me, among laced hats and capuchins, into the pit. The pit is the grand court of criticism; and in the centre of it is collected that awful body, distinguished by the title of The Town. Hence are issued the irrevocable decrees; and here final sentence is pronounced on plays and players. This court has often been very severe in its decisions, and has been known to declare many old plays barbarously murdered, and most of our modern ones felo de se: but it must not be dissembled, that many a cause of great consequence has been denied a fair hearing. Parties and private cabals have often been formed to thwart the progress of merit, or to espouse ignorance and dulness: for it is not wonderful, that the parliament of criticism, like all others, should be liable to corruption. In this assembly Mr. Town was first nominated critic and censorgeneral: but considering the notorious bribery now prevailing, I think proper to declare, (in imitation of Tom in the Conscious Lovers) that I never took a single order for my vote in all my life.

Those who pay their two shillings at the door of the middle gallery, seem to frequent the theatre purely for the sake of seeing the play: though these peaceful regions are sometimes disturbed by the incursions of rattling ladies of pleasure, sometimes contain persons of fashion in disguise, and sometimes critics in ambush.. The greatest fault I have to object to those who