quite finished in his town education till he has eat ox cheek in a cellar in St. Giles's, where the knives, forks, and spoons, are chained to the table, for fear of being stolen; or till he has beat the rounds of Covent Garden, broke a dozen windows or two, seen the gardeners bring in their vegetable treasures at four o'clock in the morning, knocked down the watchman, and then paid visit to the watch-house for the remainder of the night, or rather morning; nor would he be at all qualified to converse with the modest and hopeful youth of the age, except he had been carried before the Sitting Alderman: indeed, till he has performed these exploits, he can hardly venture to open his mouth in the improving company, who consider these little adventures as requisites to the knowledge of the world.---I speak from experience, for I was once silly and weak enough myself to be induced to entertain the same ill-founded opinion. Since I have advanced in life, however, I have, to my surprise, found that hundreds who had never been at any place of public. amusement, and had never broke a window, or knocked down a watchman, or been carried before the Lord Mayor for a midnight brawl, knew as much, and a great deal more, of the world, than I did---had taken better care of their health, characters, and purses---had succeeded better in life, and were in every respect better qualified than myself for business, and more valued and esteemed

esteemed by their friends; at least by those kind of friends whose respect and esteem are worth the acquiring.

It really is not necessary to the health, happiness, information, or even amusement, of youth, that they should frequent public places; nor, if it were, would the disadvantages be at all counterbalanced by the benefit they would reap from the permission to do it.---Even if they go into good company to these places, they have eyes and ears; nor can the virtue of their companions prevent their's from being assailed, wounded, and, perhaps, undermined, though by gradual and imperceptible degrees.---This of itself is a sufficient argument for keeping youth as much as possible out of the way of these promiscuous assemblies, if there were no others of still stronger weight and force.

The proper pursuit of the young is not pleasure, but business; and to forward themselves in life, by a steady and diligent application to their profession, ought, next to their duties to God, to be their principal aim. ---The enjoyment of ease and moderate pleasures is reserved more properly for the meridian of life, when, by industry, they have secured to themselves the means of purchasing them without the risque of injury to others, with whose money they are entrusted.

Of pleasure you are permitted, ingenuous youth to taste with moderation; but beware of

what

what species it is, in what quantity, and in what company you enjoy it.---Self-denial, and abstinence from pleasure, have by many been accounted the greatest of pleasures; but, then, that is a pleasure of the mind, and not a sensual one; ---and, though it may seem problematical, I believe it is, nevertheless, true, that those who have fewest wants, and are least given to worldly pleasure, approach nearest to the nature of the Adorable Creator, the Pattern of Supremé Perfection and Excellence.

I shall not enter here into the detail of those allurements and temptations to vice and unlawful pleasure with which our public gardens, of all descriptions, abound, by the permitted admittance of the most abandoned of the female sex, and the licentious manner in which they are suffered to conduct themselves in the presence of the virtuous of their own sex, and the as yet uncorrupted of the other---nor of that nakedness of dress, which, it is to be owned, they are but too much countenanced in, by the supposed virtuous and modest of their own, on which subject I believe men, in general, have but one opinion.

The suppression of that infamous haunt of vice and iniquity, the Dog and Duck---the Apollo Gardens, and some other public resorts of the same contaminating tendency, sufficiently proves that the legislature beheld with abhorrence the prevailing bad effects they had upon the morals

of

of youth, and the consequent injury they did to society; nor can there be a more powerful argument than this, against suffering youth to frequent any place of public amusement which might lead to the corruption of their minds, or the weakening their native ingenuous principles, till age and experience have so confirmed them in good habits, that the effects of allurement would be lost.

It has long been a matter of argument, whether the PLAY-HOUSE tends to corrupt or benefit youth: my opinion is, that if you purge the lobby of the riotous and debauched, and the boxes of prostitutes; regulate the dresses and alluring attitudes of the female performers, and keep youth from behind the scenes, they run no risque of being contaminated, but very much the reverse; for I consider the stage as an epitome of the world, and that more moral instruction, attended with deeper impressions upon the heart, is to be acquired there, than by books or conversation, from the apparent reality of the parts which are acted before them, and in which the talents of the performers are often so ably exerted, as to leave even grown persons almost in doubt, at times, whether the scene passing before them is real or fictitious, as their tears and laughter, their blood-chilling horrors, and astonishing emotions of surprise, will frequently testify.

Fear not, then, ingenuous youth! armed with your native innocence and uncorrupted heart, to

visit the scene where the immortal Shakespeare yet speaks, though dead---where, produced "from his : airy magazines of nothing, he exhibits bodily forms: and shapes, and, for your instruction, gives them a local habitation and a name :" whether celestial Ariel gently waves his silver wand, or monstrous Caliban bends beneath his ponderous load, you will still admire the poet's art: but when Othello rages. o'er the scene, and Desdemona weeps; or Hamlet's ghost, with measured step, moves round the stage, while Denmark's Prince, with trembling nerves and faltering voice, conjures his royal father's answer; when conscience-struck Macbeth, with horror, views the blood-stained sword; or Barnwell, by the treacherous Millwood's arts allured, intends his uncle's death---be it your care to draw instruction from the passing scene, and, while you weep or feel, resolve, and keep to your resolves.

But, while you put performers to their proper use on the stage, and entertain yourself with their talents and humour, put yourself out of the reach of their familiarities and impertinence, by making it a point never to go behind the scenes; for the creatures that are to be found there are but so many birds of prey, that will hover round you only to devour you; full of fawning and flattery to gain your favour, and, perhaps, insolently ridi

culing you the moment your back is turned.

I would