or narrow-minded Puritans. To a 'well-conducted and moral stage,' recommending virtue and discountenancing vice, he was in no ways hostile ; though it may be doubted whether any theatre could successfully be conducted precisely in accordance with his canons of virtue and propriety. He is indignant at making fun of Mohammed or the heathen gods; to speak of a hackney-coachman as Jehu is a heavy piece of profaneness;' to say playfully that if 'marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves them two fools,' is unpardonable. Swearing in any case is 'playing with edge tools. To go to Heaven in jest is the way to go to Hell in earnest.' Unquestionably he at times sees offences where none were intended and none committed. But he had very ample justification for his main charges; and in spite of pedantry, overstatement, and lack of proportion, the Short View was a noble protest against evil, and was only less effective than it deserved to be. It should be remembered that Collier was not the first to make such a protest from amongst the ranks of those who were not Puritans. Thirty-four years earlier Flecknoe, bred a Jesuit and himself a dramatist, had earned the hatred and contempt of Dryden by a severe impeachment in prose and in verse of the immorality of the contemporary stage (see Vol. I. page 784). And Blackmore had in 1695 commented on the same subject in the preface to his Prince Arthur.

But Collier ransacked Plautus and Terence, Sophocles and Euripides, to prove that the classical tragedy-nay, classical comedy-was more pure and reverent than that of professed Christians of the Reformed Church; that Seneca and even Aristophanes were less blameworthy than the playwrights of his own time. Plautus where he is most a poet is generally least a buffoon ;' even Terence's 'strumpets are better behaved than our women of quality of the English stage.' 'A very indifferent Religion well believed will go a great way.' Shakespeare 'is too guilty to make an evidence' on modesty; 'the English stage has been always out of order,' but Ben Jonson and Beaumont and Fletcher were careful and considerate compared with their successors. Corneille and Molière might teach their English compeers decency and decorum. Collier does not explicitly attack all theatrical entertainments as such; he admits that a play may have a moral purpose. But with evident satisfaction and full approval he cites a long catena of denunciations of the stage in every shape and form from the earliest Christian councils, by way of the Fathers Clemens Alexandrinus, Tertullian, Cyprian, Augustine, and Jerome, down to the contemporary Catholic Church in Spain and France; and gives in full, in French and in English, a mandate of the Bishop of Arras in 1695 saying that the Church has always abominated stage plays, and disapproved the scandalous profession of actors, who, though not formally expelled by formal excommunication, are and ought to be refused admission to the sacraments.

Hence it seems clear that Collier's argument hardly goes as far as his dislike to the stage; that he regards no stage as fit for Christians; and that plays approved by him would hardly have had a strong chance of popularity either in England in the seventeenth century, or anywhere else at any date. This dramatic critic with a mission sometimes writes with admirable point, and occasionally ventures on quite non-ethical criticisms; thus in one place, ridiculing the piling up of tautological words and phrases, he says, 'This Litter of Epithets makes the Poem look like a Bitch overstock'd with Puppies, and sucks the Sence almost to Skin and Bone.' When it is convenient for his argument, he insists on the unities of time, place, and action. Thus Vanbrugh's Relapse appears 'a Heap of Irregularities. There is neither Propriety in the Name nor Contrivance in the Plot, nor Decorum in the Characters. 'Tis a thorough Contradiction to Nature, and impossible in Time and Place.'

Collier continued to preach to a congregation of Nonjurors, and was consecrated bishop in 1713. He upheld the 'usages,' and laid himself open to a charge of holding Romish views. Of his forty-two books and pamphlets, those on the stage alone are still remembered. His largest works were the Great Historical, Geographical, Genealogical, and Poetical Dictionary (4 vols. folio, 1701-21, based on the encyclopædic work of Moreri, and not improved), and An Ecclesiastical History of Great Britain (a work of really great learning, 2 vols. folio, 1708-14; new ed. by Lathbury, with Life, 1852).

From the 'Short View.'

The business of plays is to recommend virtue and discountenance vice; to shew the uncertainty of humane greatness, the suddain turns of fate, and the unhappy conclusions of violence and injustice: 'tis to expose the singularities of pride and fancy, to make folly and falsehood contemptible, and to bring every thing that is ill under infamy and neglect. This design has been oddly pursued by the English stage. Our poets write with a different view, and are gone into an other interest. 'Tis true, were their intentions fair, they might be serviceable to this purpose. They have in a great measure the springs of thought and inclination in their power. Show, musick, action, and rhetorick are moving entertainments; and rightly employ'd would be very significant. But force and motion are things indifferent, and the use lies chiefly in the application. These advantages are now in the enemies hand and under a very dangerous management. Like cannon seized they are pointed the wrong way, and by the strength of the defence the mischief is made the greater. That this complaint is not unreasonable I shall endeavour to prove by shewing the misbehaviour of the stage with respect to morality and religion. Their liberties in the following particulars are intolerable, viz. their smuttiness of expression; their swearing, prophaneness, and lewd application of Scripture; their abuse of the clergy; their making their top characters libertines, and giving them success in their debauchery. This charge, with some other irregularities, I shall make good against the stage, and shew both the

novelty and scandal of the practice. And first, I shall begin with the rankness and indecency of their language.

In treating of this head, I hope the reader does not expect that I should set down chapter and page, and give him the citations at length. To do this would be a very unacceptable and foreign employment. Indeed the passages, many of them, are in no condition to be handled: he that is desirous to see these flowers let him do it in their own soil: 'tis my business rather to kill the root than transplant it. But that the poets may not complain of injustice, I shall point to the infection at a distance, and refer in general to play and person.

Now among the curiosities of this kind we may reckon Mrs Pinchwife, Horner, and Lady Fidget in the Country Wife; Widow Blackacre and Olivia in the Plain Dealer. These, tho' not all the exceptionable characters, are the most remarkable. I'm sorry the author should stoop his wit thus low, and use his understanding so unkindly. Some people appear coarse and slovenly out of poverty: they can't well go to the charge of sense. They are offensive like beggars for want of necessaries. But this is none of the Plain Dealer's case; he can afford his muse a better dress when he pleases. But then the rule is, where the motive is the less the fault is the greater. To proceed. Jacinta, Elvira, Dalinda, and Lady Plyant, in the Mock Astrologer, Spanish Friar, Love Triumphant and Double Dealer, forget themselves extreamly and almost all the characters in the Old Batchelour are foul and nauseous. Love for Love and the Relapse strike sometimes upon this sand, and so likewise does Don Sebastian.

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I grant the abuse of a thing is no argument against the use of it. However, young people particularly should not entertain themselves with a lewd picture; especially when 'tis drawn by a masterly hand. For such a liberty may probably raise those passions which can neither be discharged without trouble, nor satisfyed without a crime : 'tis not safe for a man to trust his virtue too far, for fear it should give him the slip! But the danger of such an entertainment is but part of the objection: 'tis all scandal and meanness into the bargain: it does in effect degrade human nature, sinks reason into appetite, and breaks down the distinctions between man and beast. Goats and monkeys, if they could speak, would express their brutality in such language as this.

To argue the matter more at large.

Smuttiness is a fault in behaviour as well as in religion. 'Tis a very coarse diversion, the entertainment of those who are generally least both in sense and station. The looser part of the mob have no true relish of decency and honour, and want education and thought to furnish out a gentile conversation. Barrenness of fancy makes them often take up with those scandalous liberties. A vitious imagination may blot a great deal of paper at this rate with ease enough: and 'tis possible convenience may sometimes invite to the expedient. The modern poets seem to use smut as the old ones did machines, to relieve a fainting invention. When Pegasus is jaded and would stand still, he is apt like other tits to run into every puddle.

Obscenity in any company is a rustick uncreditable talent; but among women 'tis particularly rude. Such talk would be very affrontive in conversation, and not endur'd by any lady of reputation. Whence then comes it to pass that those liberties which disoblige so much in conversation should entertain upon the stage? Do the

women leave all the regards to decency and conscience behind them when they come to the play-house? Or does the place transform their inclinations, and turn their former aversions into pleasure? Or were their pretences to sobriety elsewhere nothing but hypocrisy and grimace? Such suppositions as these are all satyr and invective: they are rude imputations upon the whole sex. To treat the ladies with such stuff is no better than taking their money to abuse them. It supposes their imagination vitious, and their memories ill furnish'd: that they are practised in the language of the stews, and pleas'd with the scenes of brutishness. When at the same time the customs of education and the laws of decency are so very cautious and reserv'd in regard to women: I say so very reserv'd, that 'tis almost a fault for them to understand they are ill used. They can't discover their disgust without disadvantage, nor blush without disservice to their modesty. To appear with any skill in such cant looks as if they had fallen upon il conversation, or managed their curiosity amiss. In a word, he that treats the ladies with such discourse must conclude either that they like it, or they do not. To suppose the first is a gross reflection upon their virtue. And as for the latter case, it entertains them with their own aversion; which is ill nature, and ill manners enough in all conscience. And in this particular custom and conscience, the forms of breeding and the maxims of religion are on the same side. In other instances vice is often too fashionable; but here a man can't be a sinner without being a clown.

In this respect the stage is faulty to a scandalous degree of nauseousness and aggravation. For

Such raptures Are these the

1st. The poets make women speak smuttily. Of this the places before mention'd are sufficient evidence and if there was occasion they might be multiplyed to a much greater number: indeed the comedies are seldom clear of these blemishes: and sometimes you have them in tragedy. For instance. The Orphans Monimia makes a very improper description; and the royal Leonora in the Spanish Friar runs a strange length in the history of love. And do princesses use to make their reports with such fulsom freedoms? Certainly this Leonora was the first queen of her family. are too lascivious for Joan of Naples. tender things Mr Dryden says the ladies call on him for? I suppose he means the ladies that are too modest to show their faces in the pit. This entertainment can be fairly design'd for none but such. Indeed it hits their palate exactly. It regales their lewdness, graces their character, and keeps up their spirits for their vocation: now to bring women under such misbehaviour is violence to their native modesty, and a mispresentation of their For modesty, as Mr Rapin observes, is the character of women. To represent them without this quality is to make monsters of them and throw them out of their kind. Euripides, who was no negligent observer of humane nature, is always careful of this decorum. Thus Phædra when possess'd with an infamous passion, takes all imaginable pains to conceal it. She is as regular and reserv'd in her language as the most virtuous matron. 'Tis true, the force of shame and desire, the scandal of satisfying and the difficulty of parting with her inclinations, disorder her to distraction. However, her frensy is not lewd; she keeps her modesty even after she has lost her wits. Had Shakespear secur'd this point for his young virgin Ophelia, the play had been better contriv'd. Since he was resolv'd to drown the lady like a kitten, he

sex.

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should have set her a swimming a little sooner. Το keep her alive only to sully her reputation and discover the rankness of her breath was very cruel. But it may be said the freedoms of distraction go for nothing, a feaver has no faults, and a man non compos may kill without murther. It may be so: but then such people ought to be kept in dark rooms and without company. To shew them or let them loose is somewhat unreasonable. But after all, the modern stage seems to depend upon this expedient. Women are sometimes represented silly and sometimes mad, to enlarge their liberty and screen their impudence from censure: this politick contrivance we have in Marcella, Hoyden, and Miss Prue. However, it amounts to this confession; that women when they have their understandings about them ought to converse otherwise. In fine, modesty is the distinguishing vertue of that sex, and serves both for ornament and defence modesty was design'd by Providence as a guard to virtue; and that it might be always at hand, 'tis wrought into the mechanism of the body. 'Tis likewise proportion'd to the occasions of life, and strongest in youth when passion is so too. 'Tis a quality as true to innocence, as the sences are to health; whatever is ungrateful to the first, is prejudicial to the latter. The enemy no sooner approaches, but the blood rises in opposition, and looks defyance to an indecency. It supplys the room of reasoning and collection: intuitive knowledge can scarcely make a quicker impression; and what then can be a surer guide to the unexperienced? It teaches by suddain instinct and aversion; this is both a ready and a powerful method of instruction. The tumult of the blood and spirits and the uneasiness of the sensation are of singular use. They serve to awaken reason and prevent surprize. Thus the distinctions of good and evil are refresh'd, and the temptation kept at proper distance.

2ly. They represent their single ladies, and persons of condition, under these disorders of liberty. This makes the irregularity still more monstrous and a greater contradiction to nature and probability: but rather than not be vitious, they will venture to spoil a character. This mismanagement we have partly seen already. Jacinta and Belinda are farther proof. And the Double Dealer is particularly remarkable. There are but four ladies in this play, and three of the biggest of them are whores. A great compliment to quality to tell them there is not above a quarter of them honest! This was not the Roman breeding, Terence and Plautus his strumpets were little people; but of this more hereafter.

3ly. They have oftentimes not so much as the poor refuge of a double meaning to fly to. So that you are under a necessity either of taking ribaldry or nonsence. And when the sentence has two handles, the worst is generally turn'd to the audience. The matter is so contrived that the smut and scum of the thought now rises uppermost, and like a picture drawn to sight, looks always upon the company.

4ly. And which is still more extraordinary: the prologues and epilogues are sometimes scandalous to the last degree.

What is more frequent then their wishes of Hell, and confusion, devils and diseases, all the plagues of this world, and the next, to each other? And as for swearing; 'tis used by all persons, and upon all occasions: by heroes and paltroons; by gentlemen and clowns: love and quarrels, success and disappointment, temper and

passion, must be varnish'd, and set off with oaths. At some times, and with some poets, swearing is no ordinary relief. It stands up in the room of sense, gives spirit to a flat expression, and makes a period musical and round. In short, 'tis almost all the rhetorick and reason some people are masters of: the manner of performance is different. Some times they mince the matter, change the letter, and keep the sense, as if they had a mind to steal a swearing, and break the commandment without sin. At another time the oaths are clipt, but not so much within the ring, but that the image and superscription are visible. These expedients, I conceive, are more for variety than conscience: for when the fit comes on them, they make no difficulty of swearing at length. Instances of all these kinds may be met with in the Old Batchelour, Double Dealer, and Love for Love.

The poets are of all people most to blame. They want even the plea of bullies and sharpers. There's no rencounters, no starts of passion, no suddain acci dents to discompose them. They swear in solitude and cool blood, under thought and deliberation, for busi ness, and for exercise: this is a terrible circumstance; it makes all malice prepence, and enflames the guilt and the reckoning.

A woman will start at a soldiers oath, almost as much as at the report of his pistol: and therefore a well bred man will no more swear than fight in the company of ladies.

The Country Wife and The Plain Dealer are both by Wycherley; The Old Bachelor, The Double Dealer, and Love for Love by Congreve; The Mock Astrologer, The Spanish Friar, Lou Triumphant, and Don Sebastian by Dryden; The Orphan by Otway; and The Relapse by Vanbrugh.

William Penn (1644-1718), son of an English admiral, is notable as Quaker author and as founder of the state of Pennsylvania. He was born in his father's house on Tower Hill in London. In his fifteenth year, while a student at Oxford. he embraced the doctrines of the Society of Friends; he was sent down from Christ Church, and sent abroad by his father to travel on the Continent. He returned at the end of two years, accomplished in all the graces of the fine gentleman and courtier; but soon the plague broke out in London, and the 'modish' youth's serious impressions were renewed. He ceased to frequent the court and to visit his gay friends, employing himself in the study of divinity. His father conceived that it was time he should again interfere. An estate in Ireland had been presented to the admiral by the king; it required superintendence, and William Penn was despatched to Dublin, furnished with letters to the Viceroy, the Duke of Ormonde. Again the cloud passed off; Penn was a favourite in all circles, and he even served for a short time as a volunteer officer in the army.

But in the city of Cork he one day went to hear a sermon by the same Quaker preacher he had heard in Oxford. The effect was irresistible: Penn became a Quaker for life. Having assisted in expelling a soldier from the meeting, he was imprisoned; and on his return to England he not unnaturally found his father bitterly incensed against his Quaker views. He began to

preach and write in defence of the new creed, his first manifesto being The Truth Exalted (1668); and this was immediately followed by The Sandy Foundation Shaken, in which he expressly set himself to refute from Scripture those 'so generally believed and applauded doctrines, viz. the Trinity of distinct and separate persons in the unity of essence,' 'the vulgar doctrine of Satisfaction being dependent on the second person of the Trinity,' and 'the Justification of impure persons by an imputative righteousness.' Attacks like this on the commonly received doctrines of the Trinity, the Atonement, and Justification by Faith explain the suspicion and abhorrence with which the early Quakers were regarded by all orthodox communions and sects; and for publishing this treatise without license Penn was committed to the Tower. Imprisonment only increased his ardour. During a confinement of eight months in 1668-69 he produced several treatises, the best of which, No Cross, no Crown, enjoyed great popularity. Shortly after his release he was again taken up and tried by the City authorities. The jury sympathised with the persecuted apostle of peace, and would return no harsher verdict than 'Guilty of speaking in Gracechurch Street.' They were browbeat by the insolent court, and kept two days and nights without food, fire, or light; but they would not yield, and their final verdict was 'Not Guilty.' Penn and the jury were all thrown into Newgate. On an appeal to the Court of Common Pleas, Penn triumphed, but he was imprisoned six months for refusing the oath of allegiance.

In 1670 Admiral Penn died, reconciled to his son, whom he left sole executor of his will. The admiral's estate was worth £1500 a year, and he had claims on the Government amounting to about £15,000. In consideration of these unliquidated but acknowledged claims, Charles II. granted to William Penn--who longed to establish a Christian democracy across the Atlantic-a vast territory on the banks of the Delaware in North America. Penn was constituted sole proprietor and governor. He proposed to call his colony Silvania, as being covered with woods. The king is said to have suggested that, in compliment to the admiral, Penn should be prefixed, and in the charter the colony was named Pennsilvania. Articles for the settlement and government of the new state were drawn up by Penn, with the assistance, it was said (on insufficient grounds), of Algernon Sidney. They were liberal and comprehensive, allowing the utmost civil and religious freedom to the colonists. The governor sailed to America in 1682, and entered into a treaty of peace and friendship with the native tribes, which was religiously observed. The signing of this treaty under an elm-tree, the Indian king being attended by his sachems or warriors, and Penn accompanied by a large body of his pilgrim-followers, is one of those picturesque passages in history on which poets and painters delight to dwell; but unluckily it seems certain that

these Lenni Lenape Indians had, as disarmed subjects of the Five Nations,' no right to convey to Penn any property in the soil, which was not theirs. The governor, having constituted his council or legislative assembly, laid out his capital city of Philadelphia, and governed the colony wisely for two years, with full tolerance for all that was not by Puritanism regarded as wicked (card-playing, play-going, &c. being of course strictly forbidden as 'evil sports and games'). Murder alone was treated as a capital offence. The colonial dictator returned to England in 1684.

For the next four years and a half, till the abdication of James II., Penn appears in the novel character of a court favourite. He attended Whitehall almost daily, his house was crowded with visitors, and in consequence of his supposed influence with the king he might, as he himself says, have amassed great riches. He procured the release of about twelve hundred Quaker brethren imprisoned for refusing to take the oath of allegiance or to attend church. So he was accused of being a Jesuit in disguise, and of holding correspondence with the court of Rome. Even Tillotson was led to believe this calumny, but was convinced by Penn of the entire falsehood of the charge. Lord Macaulay revived some of the accusations against Penn, and represented him as conniving at the intolerance and corruption of the court. The specific cases adduced rest on doubtful evidence; but evidently Penn, misled by a little selfimportance, and childishly hopeful of the great things to be expected from James, had mixed himself up too much with the proceedings of the court, yet could not prevent all acts of cruelty and extortion. Mr W. E. Forster was held to have proved that

certain doubtful communications had nothing to do with the Quaker leader, but perhaps with another Mr Pen or Penne; and the most peaceful Friends, like Whittier, could not quite forgive Macaulay for adhering to what they regarded as his calumnious opinions. The uniform tenor of Penn's life was After generous, self-sacrificing, and beneficent. the Revolution Penn's formal intimacy with James caused him to be regarded as a dișaffected person, and led to various troubles; but he still continued to preach and write in support of his favourite doctrines. Having once more gone out to America in 1699, where his 'Great Law' or constitution had proved unworkable and had to be much altered, he did something to mitigate the evils of slavery, but held negro slaves himself; and he did his best for the improvement of his colony till 1701, when he finally returned to England. His latter days were embittered by personal griefs and losses, he was thrown for nine months into the Fleet through financial embarrassment, and his mental vigour was prostrated by disease. He died in 1718.

Besides the works already mentioned, and many other doctrinal tracts, controversial pamphlets, and political arguments, Penn wrote Some Fruits of Solitude in Reflections and Maxims relating to the Conduct of Human Life, and Fruits of a Father's Love, being his Advice to his Children (posthumously published). Of the Fruits of Solitude R. L. Stevenson wrote, in forwarding a copy to a friend : 'If ever in all my human conduct I have done a better thing to any fellow-creature than handing on to you this sweet and wholesome work, I know I shall hear of it on the last day.' To George Fox's Journal, which was published in 1694, Penn prefixed A Brief Account of the Rise and Progress of the People called Quakers. The style of Penn's works is often rugged, but his command of thought and language is copious, and his enthusiasm renders him forcible and impressive. The first of the subjoined specimens, against 'the racket made about blood and families,' is from his No Cross, no Crown.

Against Pride of Birth.

That people are generally proud of their persons is too visible and troublesome, especially if they have any pretence either to blood or beauty; the one has raised many quarrels among men, and the other among women, and men too often for their sakes and at their excitements. But to the first: what a pother has this noble blood made in the world, antiquity of name or family, whose father or mother, great-grandfather or great-grandmother, was best descended or allied? what stock or what clan they came of? what coat of arms they gave? which had of right the precedence? But methinks nothing of man's folly has less show of reason to palliate it.

For first, what matter is it of whom any one is descended that is not of ill-fame? since 'tis his own virtue that must raise, or vice depress him. An ancestor's character is no excuse to a man's ill actions, but an aggravation of his degeneracy; and since virtue comes not by generation, I neither am the better nor the worse for my forefather to be sure, not in God's account; nor should

it be in man's. No body would endure injuries the easier, or reject favours the more, for coming by the hand of a man well or ill descended. I confess it were greater honour to have had no blots, and with an hereditary estate to have had a lineal descent of worth: but that was never found; no, not in the most blessed of families upon earth; I mean Abraham's. To be descended of wealth and titles fills no man's head with brains, or heart with truth; those qualities come from an higher cause. 'Tis vanity then, and most condemnable pride, for a man of bulk and character to despise another of less size in the world and of meaner alliance, for want of them; because the latter may have the merit, where the former has only the effects of it in an ancestor; and though the one be great by means of a forefather, the other is so too, but 'tis by his own; then, pray, which is the bravest man of the two?

'Oh,' says the person proud of blood, 'it was never a good world since we have had so many upstart gentle

men!' But what should others have said of that man's ancestor, when he started first up into the knowledge of the world? For he and all men and families, ay and all states and kingdoms too, have had their upstarts, that is their beginnings. This is like being the True Church because old, not because good; for families to be noble by being old and not by being virtuous. No such matter: it must be age in virtue, or else virtue before age; for otherwise a man should be noble by means of his predecessor, and yet the predecessor less noble than he, because he was the acquirer; which is a paradox that will puzzle all their heraldry to explain. Strange! that they should be more noble than their ancestor that got their nobility for them! But if this be absurd, as it is, then the upstart is the noble man; the man that got it by his virtue and those only are intitled to his honour that are imitators of his virtue; the rest may bear his name from his blood, but that is all. If virtue then give nobility, which heathens themselves agree, then families are no longer truly noble than they are virtuous. And it virtue go not by blood, but by the qualifications of the descendants, it follows, blood is excluded; else blood would bar virtue, and no man that wanted the one should be allowed the benefit of the other; which were to stint and bound nobility for want of antiquity, and make virtue useless. No, let blood and name go together; but pray, let nobility and virtue keep company, for they are nearest of kin. . .

But methinks it should suffice to say, our own eyes see that men of blood, out of their gear and trapping, without their feathers and finery, have no more marks of honour by nature stamped upon them than their inferior neighbours. Nay, themselves being judges, they will frankly tell us they feel all those passions in their blood that make them like other men, if not further from the virtue that truly dignifies. The lamentable ignorance and debauchery that now rages among too many of our greater sort of folks, is too clear and casting an evidence in the point and pray tell me, of what blood are they come?

Howbeit, when I have said all this, I intend not by debasing one false quality to make insolent another that is not true. I would not be thought to set the churl] upon the present gentleman's shoulder: by no means; his rudeness will not mend the matter. But what I have writ is to give aim to all where true nobility dwells, that every one may arrive at it by the ways of virtue