Puzzled with mazes and perplex'd with errors,
Our understanding traces them in vain--
Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search. Nor sees
With how much art the windings turn,
Nor where the regular confusion ends."--_Addison._
[Illustration: JAMES GODWIN.
W. L. THOMAS.
THE MOTHER'S HOPES BLASTED.
Vol. ii. page 179.]
When I entered the room, I found her reclining on a sofa, and in
tears, her three daughters weeping apart. Though I knew not the
cause of their distress, I felt at once that some great calamity had
befallen them. My presence seemed to revive their grief, for when
they beheld me, there was a spontaneous burst of anguish. At length,
when nature had given vent to her feelings, and recovered a portion
of that strength which had been consumed by the violence of grief,
the sufferer informed me that her son had brought upon them a deluge
of sorrow. Without going into particulars, she requested me to read
the following letter, which was lying on the table:--
"MY DEAR MOTHER,--Apprehensive that you may be alarmed by the
abruptness of my departure from home, I write to inform you
that I am well; and when I reach the place of my destination,
I will send you my address. I now regret the course I have
taken, but this will not bring back my departed reputation,
nor heal the wound which I have inflicted on your peace. Had
I taken your advice, and kept myself from evil companions and
vain amusements, I had still been a virtuous and happy man--your
comforter, and the support of the family; but I disregarded your
lessons, and became a regular attender of the theatre, to the
fatal attractions of which, I am convinced, I now owe my ruin.
From the theatre, it was but one step to the tavern and the
gaming table. To gratify my passion for the latter, I embezzled
my masters' property, and am now a wretched fugitive from the
pursuit of justice. Remember me very kindly to my sisters, and
tell them never to enter a theatre, for it is to my attendance
at that place of dissipation, that I attribute my first
deviation from the right path.--Your undutiful, yet affectionate
son,
W. HARVEY."
"Oh! my poor William," exclaimed his mother, "oh! that I should ever
have lived to see this day! Our disgrace is all over the town this
morning. Look at this, too," she continued, producing a hand-bill
offering a reward of £50 for the apprehension of William Harvey,
absconded.
After perusing these, I expressed my heartfelt sympathy with the
family, and tried to soothe their feelings and offer words of
comfort; but what comfort could I impart in such circumstances! In
answer to my inquiries, I drew from her, amidst sobs and tears, an
account of her son, and the causes which had produced the fatal
transformation in his character. It was to the following effect:--At
the decease of his father, he was removed from school, and placed
in the counting-house of Messrs. ----, extensive merchants in the
town. Being a lad of strong natural powers and quick perceptions,
active and industrious in his disposition, he soon made himself very
useful, and within the space of three years, had so established
himself in the esteem and respect of his employers, as to be
promoted to a post of responsibility and trust. He was distinguished
from most young men of his age, by the soundness of his judgment,
and the sobriety of his habits, and so devotedly attached to
his mother and his sisters, that he made the promotion of their
happiness his constant study. In the morning he went to the duties
of his station with cheerfulness; and in the evening, when the toils
of the day were ended, he either retired to his own room, to read
the amusing or instructive page, or passed it away in their society.
He would often admit, when conversing with his pious mother,
the necessity of personal religion, yet he thought some distant
futurity a more convenient season for attending to it than the
present time; and hence the strong impressions which he occasionally
received, when engaged in the public exercises of devotion, were
soon obliterated by the tumultuous anxieties of commercial life.
But when about the age of eighteen, he began to feel the necessity
of personal religion; and though he did not suffer its interesting
and important inquiries to divert his attention from his secular
pursuits, yet he was convinced that it was no less his duty to be
"fervent in spirit, serving the Lord," than diligent in his business.
His mother witnessed this moral renovation of his character with
peculiar delight; and soon had the pleasure of hearing him lead the
devotions of the family both morning and evening. For the space
of two years, he was equally distinguished for his diligence in
business and his fervour of devotion, till at length he fell into
the company of a young man who ultimately effected his ruin. This
young man was the son of a wealthy citizen, as accomplished in
manners as he was corrupt in principles; and though he made no
profession of religion, yet he affected to treat it with great
respect, and thus more effectually gained an ascendency over young
Harvey. Their first acquaintance soon ripened into the maturity
of an ardent friendship; and notwithstanding the dissimilarity
of their opinions, they became almost inseparable companions.
Each felt anxious to gain the other over to his own course, and
adopted what he conceived to be the most likely method; but it soon
became apparent, that evil communications more speedily corrupt
the virtuous, than good communications reclaim the vicious. One
of the earliest symptoms of this corruption of principle, was his
becoming an occasional frequenter of the theatre, a place which,
hitherto, the pious admonitions of his mother had prevented him from
entering. Then came abandonment of his home, and of the society of
its inmates, after the business of the day had terminated, which
broke in upon the devotional order of the family, and often led
to inquiries and remonstrances which were natural, but painful.
These gentle and affectionate remonstrances at first had a powerful
effect, and he was induced to return to his former habits; but
in process of time, they were either heard with indifference, or
resented, and he who had officiated at the family altar, in a
humble and apparently contrite spirit, informed his mother that he
should in future decline engaging in such a responsible office. She
besought him in the most urgent and imploring manner, to rescind
his avowed determination, and once more break away from that fatal
charm, which was seducing him from the path of righteousness and
peace; but she could not succeed. He was resolute and decided; and
after this time rarely returned home till very late at night.
"I have sat alone," said his mother, "watching for his return,
till one, two, three, and even four in the morning; and when I
have opened the door, he more often abused me for my kindness,
than apologized for his misconduct. Having spent his midnight
hours in dissipation, he consumed those of the morning in sleep;
and sometimes did not get to business much before noon. Though he
foresaw what might be the consequences of his folly and impiety, yet
no arguments were sufficient to induce him to change his course.
He grew worse and worse, till at length he disappeared two days
ago, and I heard nothing of him till yesterday, when I received
the letter which has thrown us all into such misery. This trial,
which would have been a severe one under any circumstances, is to
me peculiarly poignant; as it brings to my remembrance my sins. It
is now just seven years since the Almighty appeared to be taking
him from me, and such was the heavenly frame of his mind, that he
was not unwilling to go. Had he died then, I should have wept over
his grave, but I should have had the prospect of meeting him in
a better world. Or if I had felt resigned to the will of God, he
might have been restored to me in mercy, as was Isaac, when the
angel of the Lord forbade his venerable father to slay the sacrifice
which he had so willingly bound, and placed on the altar; but I was
rebellious. I prayed for his life, because I thought it essential to
my happiness; and his life has been spared; but alas, he is become
the destroyer of our peace. It is now, Sir, only two years since he
began to turn his attention to religious subjects, and to lead the
devotions of our family; and though, like most parents, I rejoiced
with trembling, yet hope preponderated, and I thought he would have
been my support and comfort in my old age; but alas, the vision of
bliss has disappeared, and I am left to desolation and despair."
Here she paused to weep, and then resumed her tale of sorrow. "I
watched his gradual departure from the ways of righteousness with
much anxiety, and made many efforts to reclaim him; and though he
yielded at first to my solicitations, and made many solemn promises,
yet he broke them all, and gave himself up to the company of the
wicked. _The stage has been his ruin._ Till he entered the ill-fated
theatre, which throws out its unhallowed attractions to beguile and
captivate the thoughtless and the gay, he was one of the best of
sons, and one of the kindest of brothers, fond of home, and devoted
to his mercantile duties; but after he had acquired a taste for
its scenes and its performances, he became undutiful to me, unkind
to his sisters, indolent and extravagant, unwilling to submit to
the control of authority or of reason, and determined to follow
the devices and desires of his own heart, even though he should
plunge us all in ruin. It was in the theatre that he fell into bad
company--it was there he lost his strength to resist temptation;
and being once overcome, he surrendered himself, a willing captive
to the service of iniquity. Ill-fated place! There many a virtuous
youth has become the victim of sin! and there my William fell, and
in his fall he has destroyed my happiness for life. Where he is
gone, I know not, nor do I know what destiny awaits him; but this
I know, from bitter experience, that the theatre will corrupt the
most virtuous; and while it professes to afford only amusement and
instruction, it often becomes the destroyer of personal honour and
of social happiness."
I retired from this scene, my mind loaded with anxiety on behalf
of the unfortunate family, deeply regretting that it was not in
my power to afford them any effectual relief. I could not reclaim
the infatuated youth, nor yet repair the moral injury which the
attractions of the theatre had brought upon the honour and peace of
their household. I was grieved by their tale of sorrow; but it did
not surprise me, as I had met with too many proofs of the debasing
tendency of theatrical amusements, to be astonished by such a
narrative.
I had an engagement to spend the evening of the day on which the
above conversation took place, at the house of a friend, who had
invited me to meet a gentleman from London, an acquaintance of his,
who was then paying him a visit. On arriving there I found a small
party assembled. In the course of the evening, after a desultory
conversation on various matters, we found ourselves involved in a
close, though not angry debate. The circumstance which led to this
spirited discussion, was a reference to a recent verdict which had
been given against a celebrated comedian, for a crime which never
can be visited with too much severity, as it tends not only to the
corruption of public morals, but the destruction of private and
domestic happiness.
"It is of importance," said Mr. Proctor, the gentleman at whose
house we were spending the evening, "that they who lash the vices
of the age, and who hold them up to scorn and contempt, should be
virtuous themselves, or they will do more injury by their example,
than they will do good by their professional labours."
"Very true, Sir," replied a Mr. Talbot, one of the party, who was
a great admirer of the drama, "but we must not expect to find the
perfection of human nature in a profession which is exposed to so
many and such powerful temptations!"
"The perfection of human nature!" exclaimed Mr. Proctor's London
friend, Mr. Falkland, "perhaps it would be impossible to find a
class of men, in any single profession, in which we shall find so
little virtue and so much vice as in the theatrical profession."
_Mr. Talbot._--"But, Sir, do you really mean to say, that the
stage never exhibits, in the private character of its performers,
the beauty and consistency of virtue? Surely you are not so
uncharitable!"
_Mr. Falkland._--"I will not say that every one who appears on the
stage is immoral, in the broad acceptation of that term; but I mean
to say that the great majority are more depraved in their tastes,
habits, and conduct, than the general average of society. This is
a fact which I presume no one will attempt to deny, who possesses
an accurate knowledge of the character of the performers at our
theatres."
_Mr. Talbot._--"There is, I admit, too much truth in what you now
say; and how will you account for it?"
_Mr. Falkland._--"To account for it is not difficult--the moral
tendency of their profession is a sufficient reason; and that we may
have the most palpable and unequivocal evidence of its nature, it
is allowed by Providence to operate in the first place and to the
fullest extent on the morals and character of the persons who are
engaged in it."
_Mr. Talbot._--"There, Sir, I am at issue with you; for I maintain
that the moral tendency of theatrical amusements is favourable to
the cultivation and growth of private and public virtue; and though
some who are touched with the puritanical spirit of the age, may
assert the contrary, yet I think they will not be able to prove it."
_Mr. Falkland._--"Then, Sir, if the moral tendency of theatrical
amusements be favourable to the cultivation and growth of private
and public virtue, will you be kind enough to say, how it comes to
pass that the very persons who are employed to conduct them, are, in
general, the most profligate members of society?"
_Mr. Talbot._--"Why, Sir, they are profligate before they enter the
profession."
_Mr. Falkland._--"But can't men of high-toned virtue be induced
to enter a profession, which is intended to promote the moral
improvement of the age--to make us wiser and better?"
_Mr. Talbot._--"Very few. The majority are persons of talent, who go
'_through all the vagabondry of life_,' and then offer themselves to
the stage as a _dernier_ resort."
_Mr. Falkland._--"They first become profligate, and then betake
themselves to the stage, as a forlorn hope!"
_Mr. Talbot._--"They are profligate before they enter on the stage,
which is an evil every virtuous man must deplore."
_Mr. Falkland._--"And _remain_ profligate after they are on."
_Mr. Talbot._--"Too many."
_Mr. Falkland._--"The majority, Sir."
_Mr. Talbot._--"Perhaps so."
_Mr. Falkland._--"Then, Sir, if the tendency of their profession be
favourable to the cultivation and growth of virtue, how is it that
it does not reclaim these profligate players? How is it that it does
not scatter the seeds of virtue among them, and raise it to a high
state of culture?"
_Mr. Talbot._--"Why, Sir, are there not many who wear the gown
immoral?"
_Mr. Falkland._--"I fear there are, Sir."
_Mr. Talbot._--"And yet, I presume, you will admit, that the moral
tendency of the clerical profession and duties is favourable to the
cultivation and growth of private and public virtue."
_Mr. Falkland._--"Most certainly, Sir."
_Mr. Talbot._--"Then, how comes it to pass, if it be so, that these
men still remain immoral?"
_Mr. Falkland._--"Permit me to say, that the introduction of this
question is no satisfactory reply to my argument. Answer that in the
first place, and then you are at liberty to propose what queries
you think proper. If the tendency of the theatrical profession be
favourable to the cultivation and growth of virtue, how is it that
it does not reclaim these profligate players? This is the question
under debate, and let us keep to it. We may ramble after we have
settled it."
_Mr. Talbot._--"Why, Sir, there are two reasons which may be
assigned--their extreme profligacy before they enter their
profession; and the numerous and powerful temptations to which they
are exposed after they have engaged in it."
_Mr. Falkland._--"Then, Sir, theatrical amusements will not reclaim
extreme profligacy, nor produce virtue where it is most needed?"
_Mr. Talbot._--"Perhaps not."
_Mr. Falkland._--"Then, Sir, you require a stock of virtue to insert
your graft on, or you do not calculate on raising any good fruit?"
_Mr. Talbot._--"Exactly so, Sir."
_Mr. Falkland._--"Then, as men of high-toned virtue, with few
exceptions, cannot be induced to engage in the theatrical
profession; and as it is found incapable of reclaiming the
profligate, we can never expect to find a preponderance of virtue
amongst the members of that profession; and, consequently, we are
reduced to the necessity of admitting this astounding fact--the men
who are employed to chastise the vices of the age, and to cultivate
its virtues, are, with few exceptions, the most profligate in their
manners!"
_Mr. Talbot._--"But, Sir, will you make no allowance for men and
women who are necessarily exposed to so many temptations in the
discharge of the duties of their profession?"
_Mr. Falkland._--"Why, Sir, what peculiar temptations to vice ought
to stand connected with the duties of a profession which is intended
to promote private and public virtue?"
_Mr. Talbot._--"Why, you know they often appear, when on the
stage, in a rank far above the level of their condition, which may
imperceptibly induce them to cherish those habits of extravagance
in private life, for which they are so notorious. But the most
fatal temptation to which they are exposed, is the too familiar
intercourse which necessarily takes place between the actors and
actresses on the stage, which cannot be avoided, unless the most
popular plays are suppressed; and would it not betray an ignorance
of human nature, to expect that this circumstance should produce no
injurious effect on their moral character?"
_Mr. Falkland._--"Certainly. You reason very properly. You have
given a faithful, just, and true account of an evil which is
generally admitted. But, in accounting for this evil, have you not
made a concession which invalidates the correctness of your general
position, that the tendency of theatrical amusements is to promote
the cultivation and growth of private and public morals?"
_Mr. Talbot._--"No, Sir, I have merely assigned the causes of that
general profligacy of manners which prevails amongst players, as a
reason why you should be more indulgent towards them; and why you
should not expect the perfection of virtue to grow in such near
contact with the most fascinating temptations."
_Mr. Falkland._--"I know full well what you intended to do, and also
what you have done. May I be permitted now, to place your leading
assertion, and your last concession, in one sentence?"
_Mr. Talbot._--"Yes, provided you do it fairly."
_Mr. Falkland._--"I will attempt it. The tendency of theatrical
amusements is to promote the cultivation and growth of private and
public virtue; but the actors and actresses, who are employed in
this good work, are necessarily placed in a position which destroys
their own virtue, and brings on amongst them a general profligacy
of manners. That is, their representation of vice and vicious
characters on the stage often leads to immoral practices in their
private conduct. Does not this prove that the tendency of their
professional duties is injurious to their own morals?"
_Mr. Talbot._--"Have I not admitted it, Sir?"
_Mr. Falkland._--"Yes, and proved it, at the extreme hazard of
endangering your own proposition, that the stage is favourable to
the interests of _private_ virtue."
_Mr. Talbot._--"But, Sir, are there not many who wear the gown, and
who make much higher pretensions to virtue than players do, who,
after they have given their public lectures on morality, will retire
and sin in secret. Now, permit me to ask, if the sanctimonious
hypocrite is not a more odious character than the profligate player?"
_Mr. Falkland._--"I regret, Sir, that you should overstep the bounds
of the question under discussion, to attack the clerical profession;
but lest you should imagine that you are occupying a position from
which no fair argument can displace you, I will for once attempt to
follow you. I admit, then, for the sake of the argument, that there
are some who make higher pretensions to private virtue than the
actors and actresses of our theatres, who, after delivering their
public lectures on morality, retire and sin in secret; but will the
vices of one class of men justify the vices of another? If some of
the clergy are corrupt, will the fact of their corruption diminish
the magnitude of the players' vices? Why you have introduced this
charge against the clergy into the discussion I cannot say, as
it has nothing to do with the question at issue, which is the
necessary connection between a player's profligacy of manners and
the duties of his profession. That is, that the very performance
of his duties, when he is engaged in promoting the morality of the
public, has a tendency to produce a corruption of his own morals.
But you can bring no such charge against the moral tendency of the
clerical duties. A clergyman is not compelled, in the discharge
of his functions, to give utterance to any expressions, or to
perform any actions, which have even a remote tendency to vitiate
his taste or corrupt his morals; so that if he should turn out a
bad man, you must look for the cause of it, not, as in the case
of the stage-player, in any impure and contaminating influence of
his profession, but in the depravity of his nature. If he become
immoral, he acts an inconsistent part, offers an insult to the
sentiments of the virtuous part of mankind, and loses his place
in society--as a man who is a disgrace to his profession, whose
example is in direct opposition to the acknowledged tendency of
his ministerial functions. But as a pure moral character is not
necessary to qualify a man to appear on the stage, no one feels at
liberty to charge a theatrical performer with inconsistency, even
if he should become notorious for swearing, gaming, drunkenness, or
debauchery. He may revel in these vices, and yet appear before an
audience with as much confidence of affording them gratification by
his performances as he would feel if he were a man of the purest
moral excellence. It is true, that if publicly convicted of some
flagrant offence, and held up, through the medium of the press,
as the base wretch who violates the sanctity of friendship, the
admirers of the drama will express a virtuous indignation, and
wish him to perform a sort of quarantine before he again makes his
appearance before them; yet they will never regard it as a lasting
disqualification for his professional duties."
_Mr. Talbot._--"Well, Sir, after all the attacks which you have
made on the character of theatrical performers, and the defence
which you have set up in favour of the clergy, I maintain that
the sanctimonious hypocrite who retires from the pulpit, where
he has delivered his grave moral lectures, to sin in secret, is
a more pernicious character than the most profligate player that
ever disgraced his profession. For do not the vices of the clergy
shake our confidence in the truth of religion, which you know is
never done by the vices of the stage; and is not their example, in
consequence of their more powerful influence over the public mind,
more destructive to the morals of society?"