The Camera Obscura seems to me a duodecimo abridgment of nature's folio, and affords to my bodily eye the same view of her actual appearance, her varied scenes of sky, and land, and hill, and dale, which the description of true and expressive character, or the development of human life, and the passions and feelings of man, by a masterly author, presents to my mental capacity, of the acting world in which I am placed. This being my opinion, I will proceed to notice in what manner there exists a likeness between the plan of my future productions and the instrument from which they are named. 1. The Camera Obscura takes a small and confined part from the vast creation around it, and this it presents separately and unconnectedly to our view. So in the following papers the reader may expect a solitary character or little group, selected for imitation or warning from the mass of human beings, of which he forms a part, or a particular subject or idea discussed separately and unconnectedly for the purpose of instruction or amusement. 2. Another property of the Camera Obscura, is, its reducing the magnitude of the different objects it represents, and giving its scenes on a small scale. From this I beg leave to observe, that I do not intend my descriptions to be long, or for one subject to occupy more than one paper, and that what I say, I shall say as briefly and concisely as I can. 3. I have frequently observed with what a silky fairy-like gloss the Camera Obscura decks all its objects, throwing over them a vividness of colour, that by no means destroys their natural effect, but merely adds to them a beauty peculiar to itself. I would, under this circumstance, remark, that I shall think myself justified in colouring my subjects more highly than our short-sighted gaze perceives them in this world, and using the power of imagination, and the aid of fiction's story, to embellish what I may say. I might in this manner drop many other observations as to the nature of my subject, did I not think that what I have said will give an idea of what I in future intend to say: I will beg leave, therefore, to proceed from the character of my productions, to my own individual case. Among the tribe of authors who climb the dangerous steep to the temple of fame, I cannot expect that my humble efforts will gain for me any honour or distinction. Jostled about in the motley multitude, my endeavours will be almost unnoticed and unknown; yet, if I can but amuse or instruct some traveller whom I may meet in my path, recommend virtue to some individual wavering between right and wrong, and banish the horrid visage of vice from some deluded mortal's view, or even soothe the brow of care, and impart relief to the melancholy, I shall feel myself amply rewarded. Authors of every class, and of every kind, are, in the present day, plentiful and abundant, and there is no scarcity of works in our land; yet from this it is not to be inferred that writing is either useless or unnecessary, and a hope may still be entertained, that the charms of novelty, or perhaps a better motive, may induce some one to gain knowledge and instruction from what may yet be written, and it is on such a hope that I would at present rely. In conclusion; I would again attempt to draw a useful lesson from the structure of the Camera Obscura, which I wish to apply to the reader. The portable one of which I am in possession, is one in which the object is reflected from a mirror on a piece of ground glass placed horizontally.There are two things to be observed in making use of an instrument of this kind, which I would 'particularly notice : 1. It is necessary to look straight down upon the glass, placing your eye perpendicularly with it: for by placing it level with the plane of the glass, or in any way except at a right angle with it, the effect of its scenery will be lost.-So I would advise the reader to look directly at the intention of what I would convey to him, not entertaining any sinister prejudices, or merely glancing at a detached part of my productions; remembering to keep his mind in a proper frame, whatever my matter may be: for fear he should mistake the evil surmises of his own thoughts, and the unprofitable condition of his heart, for evils to be found in my compositions. 2. It is also necessary, in order to have a proper view of the objects in to pay, and committing robbery to extricate himself from difficulty, he was taken into custody, tried by the laws of his country, and eventually transported for fourteen years.-I re the Camera Obscura of which I am speaking, to hide with your body all light, except that imparted by the instrument itself, and to shut out from your view all external objects. I would, consequently, in the final sen-member hearing my father describe tence of this tiresome introduction, humbly counsel my courteous reader, to put away from himself all jangling terms and merely critical discussions, and viewing me by my own light, attempt to gain instruction from me, as I am. No. II.-Misfortune. "The spider's most attenuated thread, Is cord, is cable to man's tender tie On earthly bliss;-it breaks at every breeze." YOUNG. Ir is a remark confirmed by actual experience, that vice generally carries with it its own punishment, and that in many, I may say in most instances, misery, disappointment, adversity, and wretchedness, are the awful followers in its train. But we are not by any means to infer from this, when we see adversity, and disappointment, and the outward appearance of misery and wretchedness, that we may invariably trace them to the actual sins of vicious character, for very frequently the cause of these effects is only known to the all-wise God, whose ways are inscrutable to man. To illustrate my point, I will relate a simple tale with which my immediate knowledge has furnished me, and which may perhaps interest and instruct. In the town of which I am a native, there lived, when I was a boy, a respectable man, who was justly esteemed by all who knew him, as a pious, honest, and praise-worthy character. Blessed with a wife in every respect suited to him, and having a promising family under his fostering care, he seemed to have a prospect of future comfort and joy in a happy old age; and, engaged in a profitable mercantile concern, his temporal affairs appeared equally prosperous with his domestic ones. But this prospect of peace lasted not long, and I have now to turn the view of my subject, and present to my reader the adverse side of my tale. His only son, at the age of nineteen, was sent to Oxford in order to receive the completion of his education; but imbibing bad habits, and pursuing a round of dissipation, he contracted debts which he was unable No. 61.-VOL. VI. (for he was intimate with the family) the agony of the parent at this melancholy event. On the day his son was tried, he shut himself out from the world, and was engaged in prayer to Almighty God, for blessing, help, and succour; and a short time before the young man was sent as an exile from his country, he visited him in the cell where he was confined. The poor father besought his rebellious child, with tears of parental affection, to give up for ever, the evil courses he had adopted; but his last advice was disregarded with sullen silence, and the son even reproached his sorrowing parent with having brought him to the state he was now in, by refusing to give him money according to his wishes. Oh! what a stroke to a kind and indulgent father! The next misfortune he experienced was the loss of all his worldly property, occasioned partly by unavoidable misfortunes in trade, and partly by the villanous conduct of his partner. After clearing himself from debt, (and let it be observed, that he was thus honest at the certain loss of all his temporal substance,) he left the town in which he had hitherto lived, and going to London, engaged himself as a clerk in a merchant's office. But his wife, being naturally of a weak constitution, and the sense of misfortune and the pressure of various troubles having rendered her still weaker, and being obliged, from her husband's confined circumstances, to engage in duties to which she had never before been accustomed, soon fell a victim to accumulated affliction, and died, leaving her husband with two daughters. The poor man still continued to work his tiresome way through disappointment and danger, till one day riding out on business, his horse precipitated him to the ground, and his thigh being fractured by the fall, and his body in many other places much injured; he was conveyed to a small house near the place where the accident had happened. There his two daughters carefully tended him, and supported themselves, as well as they could, by the labour of their hands, sitting up frequently the whole of the night, and invariably working in the day, when their duty to their sick parent permitted them. A course of labour like this, soon destroyed the younger of the daughters, who fell a premature sacrifice to duty and affection in the eighteenth year of her age. When in health and strength, she was a beautiful and lovely girl, but misfortune had effaced the bloom from her cheeks, and watchful toil had wasted her form, and reduced her, before death, to a mere skeleton. My father hearing of this last disaster, hastened immediately to the place where he heard they were. He arrived at the little house, I might say hovel, in which the remaining parent and child resided, on the evening of the day on which the deceased daughter was buried. Here he found all misery and wretchedness. The poor father seeing around him such evils, which he could not alleviate, had given way to melancholy forebodings, and was now in a state of delirium; and the inward condition of his mind working upon his outward frame, which was still suffering under the dreadful accident which had befallen him, soon ended his existence. His life was always exemplary, and a few intervals of sanity before his decease, proved that he died as he had lived a Christian. The fate of his remaining daughter I need not farther pursue, any more than by observing, that she at present lives as conductor of a respectable seminary. There is one circumstance more ĺ would relate, and then my tale is concluded. I was riding about three years ago, at the close of a summer's day, along a road little frequented, and passing by a deserted barn on the road side, I heard a deep groan, which seemed to proceed from it. I dismounted from my horse, and fastening him to a tree which grew near, I entered the barn to see what was the cause of the groans and sighs, which were still at intervals repeated. I found lying on the ground a man in the extreme of wretchedness, who seemed nearly expiring with wounds he had received, for his body was covered with gore, and the ground on which he lay was purpled with blood state he was in?-He exerted himself with a mighty effort, and ceasing the heart-rending moans which he had continued to utter ever since I entered, he faintly, and at intervals, said, "I am murdered—by my comrades:-my name is-James Pomfret." I started. It was the rebellious son of the poor man whose case I have just related,-the young man who had been transported, and of whom nothing had been heard. I stooped down to look at his face, for though a boy when he left home, I could recollect his features-but the spirit had for ever fled. This tale may teach a lesson to the young. It may shew them, that had the miserable mortal, whose awful death I have last recorded, been virtuous instead of vicious, and followed the ways of piety, instead of the ways of evil, he might, when adversity laid her heavy hand upon his family, have been their succour and their help, an honour to himself, and a praise to all with whom he was connected. It may teach them, that sin not only brings dishonour and disgrace upon ourselves, but misery and woe on our family and friends, as it hinders us from imparting comfort and blessing when they are needed. My tale may also teach patience and resignation to every one, from the knowledge that the ways of Jehovah are only known to himself, and that affliction and pain are not proofs of evil in the heart. (To be continued.) On the Immoral Tendency of the Stage: ANTITHEATRUM ; Being the substance of Two Speeches on the subject of the Moral Tendency of the Stage; delivered at the Joiner's Hall, Newcastleupon-Tyne, on Wednesdays, the 5th and 12th March, 1823; by the Rev. J. BROMLEY. Preface.-On the 19th of February, 1823, occurred one of the most awful events with which the town of Newcastle-upon-Tyne has been visited for many years. While a profane and scandalous play, called "Tom and Jerry," was performing at the theatre, some slight disorder took place in the gas apparatus: a fearful alarm spread through the audience; and in the rush to escape, seven persons were killed upon the spot, and many others were most seriously injured. As might naturally be expected, this afflictive event turned the attention of the public towards the theatre in an unusual manner. Its friends and admirers were led to more than ordinary exertions in its favour; while those who looked upon the stage as adverse to religion and morality, thought this a seasonable opportunity to raise a warning voice against its seductive and dangerous entertainments. recognized any STANDARD of morals, Yet some standard of morals there evidently must be; or the question must ever remain vague and indeterminate. Whether it be that of the savage, or that of the pagan, or that of the Turk, or that of the Jew, or that of the Infidel, or that of the Christian, every man's reason tells him that some standard there must be allowed. Gentlemen will of course take their choice of this variety, according to their several modes of thinking; but until I am advertised to the contrary, I have a right to suppose that the meeting has allowed that standard which has been adopted by our country, our constitution, and our laws-the standard of Christianity. To ask whether the exhibitions of the theatre can be . reconciled with that standard, is to ask a question which is already negatively answered in every breast. While the public feeling was in this excited state, the moral tendency of the stage was brought as a question before the "Newcastle Debating Society," from the secretary of which institution I received a most polite and respectful invitation to assist in the debate. As I considered it no dishonour to appear in any place, where I could be allowed to speak at any length upon a subject, which, in my apprehension, involved the moral practice, and consequently the present and eternal interests, of my fellow men, I accepted the invitation, and took a conspicuous part in the discus-formance we never saw, and it is prosion which ensued. The substance of what I delivered on the occasion, will be found in the following pages. It is necessary, however, to inform the reader, that the following speeches were delivered extempore; and although I have endeavoured to recolleet both the sentiment and expression, and to give them in the order in which they were first delivered, yet in all probability some discrepancies will be found between the speeches as here presented to the reader, and as first heard in public: for such discrepancies the usual allowances must be made; more than this, I hope will not be needful. "MR. CHAIRMAN,-In this assembly I am but a stranger, alike unknowing and unknown; and on that account perhaps some apology is due for obtruding myself upon the notice of your society. But as the making of apologies is a work which often occupies much time to little purpose, permit me to despatch it in brief, and to refer to the very important question now before the assembly, as my reason for appearing here. "The question as now read by your directions, does not appear to have "To judge concerning the moral tendency of the stage, it must be taken as it is, and not as it might be. A dramatic performance, chaste, pure, and virtuous, is perhaps within the range of possibility; but such a per bable we never shall see; and that this is the character of the drama of the present day, few, I should think, can have the hardihood to maintain. To reason therefore on the purities and utilities which might be given to the drama, is to reason on supposition and conjecture, in a question which concerns fact, i.e. to reason wrong. That lewd insinuations, immodest words, and more immodest actions, are admitted upon the stage;-that scenes are exhibited shocking to female delicacy, and pestiferous to the minds of youth; and that these things too often form the zest of the entertainment, and the glory of the performance, is as notorious as that the sun shines at noon-day. And it is to be feared that in this respect, the drama gets worse instead of better; for to see impiety in all its insolence, and obscenity without a blush, we must not have recourse to the Grecian Euripides or the Roman Terence, but to the Cain' of Lord Byron, to the Tom and Jerry,' of our own times. "Mr. Chairman, I lay it down as a principle not to be successfully disputed, that the tendency of every thing is immoral, which gives entertainment and delight to a spectacle of vice, The first impression made upon correct moral feeling, by the sight of immoral conduct, is an impression of pain and grief. The man of strict sobriety finds no pleasure in gazing upon the unseemly imbecilities of drunkenness; but, on the contrary, turns shocked and disgusted away. But on the stage, crimes of the deepest dye, intrigue, seduction, adultery, &c. are exhibited with such circumstances of music, poesy, scenery, and costume, as to administer pleasure instead of pain, delight instead of horror. It is to be feared that he who connects his pleasures with the exhibition of a crime, will too soon look upon the crime itself with indulgence and desire. "It is a principle, Mr. Chairman, if possible still more evident, that sound morality will never allow us to admire, patronize, and support in others, what we should consider disgraceful and immoral in ourselves or our families. On looking round upon this assembly, I perceive it to consist principally of young men ; and young men, as far as I can read their characters in their countenances, not destitute of sense or sensibility. Allow me, sir, to ask one of these gentlemen, how he would like to hear his own sister speak the language how he would like to see in her the gestures and actions-how he would like that sister to act a part in certain modern dramas? Would not he consider himself and his family dishonoured? would he not be ready to expire with regret? And on what principle of morality, I would further ask, nay, on what principle of humanity, can we admire a conduct in an indifferent person, which would so afflict us in a sister, and hire another to perform what we should look upon as ruinous to the character of a relative? "The immodesty, impurity, and profaneness of the modern drama, would never be endured, only that the auditors are kept in countenance by their numbers. A lady, who, in a polite and well-bred company, should speak, what the heroines of the stage pour forth in such abundance, would be avoided: I presume there is not a gentleman present, but what would call for his hat, and wish her a good evening. A man who in general society should attempt the liberties he takes with such impunity on the stage, 6 would be fled from, as a person dangerous to the possession and to the character of virtue. But because these nauseating exhibitions are beheld by the multitude, the shame of them is lost sight of; and every sentiment of propriety and accuracy is buried in the presence and applauses of a crowd. But an action which in itself is vulgar, ill-bred, profligate, and base, does not alter its nature, is not less vulgar and ill-bred, profligate, and base, because it is viewed by the multitude. It will be allowed to me, that whatever is adverse to science and philosophy, is hostile, at least indirectly, to the cause of true morals. Your learned secretary, in opening the debate, has aptly denominated the passionate devotee of the theatre, the stage-struck hero;' a character which must ever exemplify all the ignorance and imbecility of a neglected mind. Let such a character, one who has wasted his leisure evenings in the amusements of the theatre, and grown gray in admiration of the buskin'd tribe; let him be asked a question in astronomy, in geology, in optics, in chemistry, or in any science, and he will stare with all the vacancy of the uninformed. The moons of Jupiter, the stratification of the globe, the principles of the telescope, the powers and properties of airs, earths, &c. these, and every subject purely scientific, are, alas! what he does not understand. But ask his judgment on matters of the stage, and he can tell you that Mr. darts the dagger with dexterity; Miss curtsied with grace; Mrs. saluted with fervour; and Madam But I forbear; the presence of the ladies forbids this track to be further followed. "It is not only by wasting the time, and endangering the health, that the amusements of the theatre prevent the improvement of the mind; but more especially by a high and preternatural excitation of the passions. The Author of our being has given to the passions and appetites of our nature, sufficient energy in themselves, without the excitement of those artificial and violent stimuli, which are furnished by the stage; and when once the mind resigns itself to the attractions and indulgencies of the drama, study, diligence, and applica |