[Illustration: M]Mercy on us, what a code of morality--what a
conglomeration of plots (political, social, and domestic)--what an
exemplar of vice punished and virtue rewarded--is the "Newgate Calendar!"
and Newgate itself! what tales might it not relate, if its stones could
speak, had its fetters the gift of tongues!
But these need not be so gifted: the proprietor of the Victoria Theatre
supplies the deficiency: the dramatic edition of Old-Bailey experience he
is bringing out on each successive Monday, will soon be complete; and when
it is, juvenile Jack Sheppards and incipient Turpins may complete their
education at the moderate charge of sixpence per week. The
"intellectualization of the people" must not be neglected: the gallery of
the Victoria invites to its instructive benches the young, whose wicked
parents have neglected their education--the ignorant, who know nothing of
the science of highway robbery, or the more delicate operations of picking
pockets. National education is the sole aim of the sole lessee--money is
no object; but errand-boys and apprentices _must_ take their Monday
night's lessons, even if they rob the till. By this means an endless chain
of subjects will be woven, of which the Victoria itself supplies the
links; the "Newgate Calendar" will never be exhausted, and the cause of
morality and melodrama continue to run a triumphant career!
The leaf of the "Newgate Calendar" torn out last Monday for the
delectation and instruction of the Victoria audience, was the "Life and
Death of James Dawson," a gentleman rebel, who was very properly hanged in
1746.
The arrangement of incidents in this piece was evidently an appeal to the
ingenuity of the audience--our own penetration failed, however, in
unravelling the plot. There was a drunken, gaming, dissipated student of
St. John's, Cambridge--a friend in a slouched hat and an immense pair of
jack-boots, and a lady who delicately invites her lover (the hero) "to a
private interview and a cold collation." There is something about a
five-hundred-pound note and a gambling-table--a heavy throw of the dice,
and a heavier speech on the vices of gaming, by a likeness of the portrait
of Dr. Dilworth that adorns the spelling-books. The hero rushes off in a
state of distraction, and is followed by the jack-boots in pursuit; the
enormous strides of which leave the pursued but little chance, though he
has got a good start.
At another time two gentlemen appear in kilts, who pass their time in a
long dialogue, the purport of which we were unable to catch, for they were
conversing in stage-Scotch. A man then comes forward bearing a clever
resemblance to the figure-head of a snuff-shop, and after a few words with
about a dozen companions, the entire body proceed to fight a battle; which
is immediately done behind the scenes, by four pistols, a crash, and the
double-drummer, whose combined efforts present us with a representation
of--as the bills kindly inform us--the "Battle of Culloden!" The hero is
taken prisoner; but the villain is shot, and his jack-boots are cut off in
their prime.
James Dawson is not despatched so quickly; he takes a great deal of
dying,--the whole of the third act being occupied by that inevitable
operation. Newgate--a "stock" scene at this theatre--an execution, a lady
in black and a state of derangement, a muffled drum, and a "view of
Kennington Common," terminate the life of "James Dawson," who, we had the
consolation to observe, from the apathy of the audience, will not be put
to the trouble of dying for more than half-a-dozen nights longer.
Before the "Syncretic Society" publishes its next octavo on the state of
the Drama, it should send a deputation to the Victoria. There they will
observe the written and acted drama in the lowest stage it is possible for
even their imaginations to conceive. Even "Martinuzzi" will bear
comparison with the "Life and Death of James Dawson."