Poetical justice is a matter upon which the most sagacious critics have insisted; and it cannot be denied that, in the ordinary exhibitions, which go by the name of "Punch and Judy," it is decidedly violated. One great object, as they contend, of dramatic poetry, ought to be to enforce a moral; and if we try the species of scenic representation now under our view by that test, we shall find it unquestionably deficient. It is nevertheless a point capable of dispute, whether people were ever made better or worse by theatrical performances; for instance, whether a single apprentice was ever deterred or reclaimed from vice by all the sombre repetitions of "George Barnwell," at Easter and Christmas. The old lawyer who used to send his clerks to witness every execution, with the admonition, "There, you rogues, go to school and improve,"[1] took a course which, from the reality of the sight, was likely to be beneficial: but everybody is aware that what is shown at the theatres is nothing but an attempt to impose; and the audience rather sets itself against the endeavour, than is impressed and corrected by the moral. What, in the cant of the profession, is called "illusion," we are satisfied never exists; and the actors are no more believed to be the characters they represent, than the painted trees and castles of the scenery are supposed to consist of rustling foliage and substantial stone. Dr. Johnson says somewhere, that the actor who for a moment could believe that he was Macbeth, and really perpetrated the murders, would deserve to be hanged; and, we may add, that the audience would deserve it too, as accessories,
