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tryman he may. The mythologies of all ages and nations have been raked up, and the evil spirits with which they abound re-produced upon the stage. It is really fearful to look upon a dead wall, covered with play-bills, and read the dreadful announcements for the evening's amusements, rendered terribly distinct by ominous red and sombre black type of gigantic stature. Some of the managers ground their claims to public patronage and support on the immense expense they have been at in order to do justice to the views of the interior of the infernal regions ; and one spirited lessee has actually constructed a false or double stage, which, at the termination of the piece, sinks down with the particular fiend and victim of the evening, amid cataracts of flame spouting forth from the side-wings. The enacting of demons has become a regular branch of theatrical business ; and Mr. O. Smith, a man with an unamiable countenance, and a voice horrifically hoarse, is as distinguished in this line as Kean in tragedy, or Liston in comedy. “ The prince of darkness is a gentleman,” says Shakspeare, but two-thirds of his representatives in London make him out little better than an illiterate scoundrel. It is rather too bad on the most serious occasions, to hear the father of all evil transposing his v's and w's, and leaving out his h’s, in the true
ther Carey's chickens, a shoal of porpoises, a shark, and a whale, you have seen about all that is to be seen. At first, like other landsmen, I was very desirous to see a whale ;" but I soon found that, according to the laws of optics, a porpoise alongside of the ship was just as large and as good a sight as a whale half a mile off, which is about as near as they generally venture; while all you mostly see of the rascally sharks is a fin, or the ridge of a brown back peeping above the water. The eye tires of even the finest prospect; but here you are compelled to gaze day after day on water and sky, and all that can be said of the latter is, that it is very blue and that there is a great quantity of it.
It may be thought from this that I am no friend or admirer of the sea; but few like it more than I do on the land, the only place, I believe, where people really fall in love with it. Nothing can be finer than to live in a highly cultivated tract of country merely separated from the sea-coast by a high range of sand-hills. The change in the scenery is so instantaneous, and so complete—so very different, yet both so surpassingly beautiful, for few things can excel, in picturesque effect, a bold and animated line of coast. How freshening it is in the summer time, after roaming through orchards, meadows,
and cornfields, to cross the barren sand-bills and find yourself on the lone sea-beach, with no human being within sight or hearing. How pleasant to roam to some favorite spot and there lie and watch the clear sparkling tide come rolling in over the smooth sand, forcing its way swiftly up a bundred tiny channels—to dream over again all the wild legends of the mighty element before youthe storm the battle and the wreck, and the hairbreadth escapes
of those who have been cast away upon it-to be lulled to slumber by the murmur of the slight waves breaking upon the shore, and making most sweet yet drowsy music in your ear-this is delightful; and I have even enough of the hardihood of boyhood to love it in its rougher moods-on a raw and gusty November day, when the seagull comes screaming to the cliffs for shelter, when the wave bursts in thunder at your feet, and the thick fog is whirled from the water like smoke by the tempest—on such a day there is something far from unpleasant in standing on terra firma and watching its manquyres. Besides, it is such a glorious preparative for a warm, comfortable fireside and a hearty supper-but from passing any length of time on it in ships, or other smaller vessels called, for unknown reasons, pleasure-boats,
evidently shows that the view of the place of punishment before him has not made any iinpression on the mind of the speaker in regard to his own ulterior prospects.
If the stage at present actually shows “the very age and body of the time, its form and pressure," the millenium is much further off than many people suppose.
"I must speak in a passion, and I will do it in King Cymbyses' vein."-Shakspeare.
If Socrates, or any other sensible ancient, could be resuscitated, and have half-a-dozen flaming rhapsodies on the benefits and blessings of the “ press," put into his hands, what a glorious and mighty change would he suppose had taken place in the ordering of public affairs, since the time when the Athenian rabble were led by the nose by every noisy demagogue who chose to spout nonsense to them in their market-places. How the good man's heart would be filled with rejoicing as he read glowing descriptions of the tremendous capabilities of this mighty engine, wielded solely for the benefit of mankind, and of its unwearied exertions to disseminatė useful information and correct knowledge of political events to the meanest citizen of the state! He would suppose, that with this almost