received a patent to set up between London and Bath a stage-coach, which usually carries six inside passengers, and is drawn by four horses, should his patent exclude others from setting up other coaches as the increase of the two cities might require? Would any attention be paid to the Patentee, should he offer to build a machine capable of conveying forty passengers, and drawn by forty horses? The patent had been originally given under the supposition that the road would only support one stage-coach. In Paris, Vienna, and Berlin, there are a set of amateurs, called abonnés or habitués, who have silver tickets and whose constant attendance qualifies them as critics. On their decision depends the success of a new piece, and they have preserved the sacred fire from the days of Corneille and Racine. But who are the constant attenders at the London theatres (if attenders they can be called who pay no attention at all)? the Cyprian corps and their admirers; who come reeling from the tavern to return to the bagnio. These are the manager's friends and patrons, who support him through thick and thin, and enable him to insult the taste and understanding of the public with horses and elephants. To them it is indifferent whatever is performed, a tragedy, or a harlequinade, an oratorio, or a farce. Thus while the habitués in France have preserved the purity of the drama, the playgoers in England have corrupted it. Nor has the manager been ungrateful to his patrons and patronesses, for he has accommodated his friends in the lobby with sofas, at the same time that the audience in the boxes and pit are seated like schoolboys on benches. Thus it is clear that in enlarging the house he would not sacrifice any emolument to the comfort of the public. In the houses on the continent, the boxes are provided with chairs, and the seats in the pit divided into arm-seats, so that every spectator has a space allotted to him without the possibility of being crowded. Were the drama emancipa ted, every house would vie with its neighbour in comforts. It is alleged, that two great theatres are sufficient, because the English have not so much taste for the drama, as the French. In the reign of Elizabeth, the passion for the theatre was so excessive that the royal Bearward complained to the Queen, that the people took more delight in stage-playing than in bearbaiting: but when one recollects the distance of the playhouses, the uncertainty of finding a place, the possibility of being pushed and squeezed; nay, of being mobbed by some prostitute, or insulted by some bully, is it surprising that so many prefer clubs and gaming-houses to dramatic amusements, attended with so much inconvenience. Beside, the coach-hire, which from remote parts of the town is considerable, should be added to the entrance-money. Behold an additional proof, that two great theatres are not sufficient. The Box-keepers in all the other capitals are mere servants, who descend cap in hand to a carriage to receive the orders of any person wishing to engage a box, whereas in London the place of boxkeeper is a post of emolument, and the Dramatic Mirror, that informs us, that the Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan has assigned his property in Drury Lane to Mr. Thomas Sheridan, a gentleman of very brilliant talents, and who is highly esteemed by all ranks of people, assures us in the same page, that the boxkeeper of the said theatre, " is a very obliging gentleman, who is much respected by some of the most distinguished characters in this country for his moral demeanour, talents, and integrity." This officer is without doubt, deserving of these encomiums; but if the stage were free, the post would be beneath the acceptance of such a character. Boxkeepers receive christmas-boxes, presents of game, wine, rum, &c. and, to the astonishment of foreigners, people talk of having interest at the box-office. In the Morning Chronicle February 29, 1812, we find the following list of the present theatres of London, inserted there by one of the Drury-lane speculators, to mislead the public. Spectators. 1. Covent Garden, capable of containing 3000 2800 3500 3000 1600 1600 29,500 "Thus," adds this respectable partizan of the second, and opposer of a third, theatre speculation, "we have thirteen theatres in this undramatical town, capable of containing near thirty thousand spectators." By the like barefaced assertions of interested individuals, our good people are duped. Honest John Bull reads the sum total, and exclaims that there are theatres in plenty ! But was this speculator ignorant that the Lyceum is a temporary substitute for Drury Lane, and that the summer theatres only open when the winter theatres close, and that the two Italian houses only open twice in the week? He, however, has inspired me with the following argument. If the two great theatres have always been sufficiently full on the Opera nights, full for the convenience of the public, though not, perhaps, for the avarice of the managers; a third great theatre should be opened at least four nights in the week. Should the second Italian Opera not succeed, let not its failure be used as an argument against a greater number of English theatres. People go to the Opera because it is the fashion to see and to be seen there; and two operas must divide, instead of uniting, the first circles. But the spectators frequent the playhouse to see the drama; and provided his neighbours behave with propriety, the man of the first quality is content to sit entre Paul et Pierre. Though the second Italian Opera has little prospect of success, government acted wisely in permitting the attempt; and the competition has already brought back the people of the Haymarket to a sense of their duty. May we never hope to see the English drama at the Pantheon? Might it not be opened for the inhabitants of Marylebone at nine o'clock, and give one comedy or tragedy only? Three hours' attendance would suffice for moderate amateurs. There are probably even now theatres enough open, if they were all permitted to act rational plays. But it is absurd and equivocal to cite their number to the classical amateur, while the minor theatres are confined to burlettas, tumblers, and dancing dogs. In 1747, regular dramas were permitted to be performed at the playhouse in Goodman's fields, notwithstanding the patents of the two great theatres, and to the existence of this third theatre the public owed Garrick. Having received some slights from the managers of Drury lane and Covent Garden, he determined to try his theatrical abilities in Goodman's fields. He first appeared as Richard the third; his reputation was immediately established, and during the season that he performed there, all the fashionables, critics, connoisseurs, and amateurs, crowded a theatre which had been frequented only by the inhabitants of the city. In 1787, John Palmer was threatened by Messrs. Harris, Linley, and Colman, with a prosecution, should he act regular dramas on his newly erected Royalty theatre; and even when it was open for musical and pantomimical performances, an information was laid against Delpini for only crying out "Roast Beef," while acting the part of clown. Thus had another Garrick appeared forty years later, he would not have found the same resource in Goodman's fields, and his talents might have been buried for ever in obscurity. It is an undecided point, whether theatres improve the morality of a nation; the legislator, however, may be content if they contribute not to deprave it: but it is decided, that good plays might improve the national taste. Why, therefore, when a number of minor theatres are opened, are they prevented from acting the legitimate productions of the best dramatists? Is the legislature afraid of improving the taste of the people? The Surry theatre has, in the opinion of many judges, just the dimensions that a theatre ought to have, and even that of Tottenham Court Road, and the Sans-souci must be magnificent edifices compared to those, on which Shakespeare's works were first performed But in order to favor the monopolists, the minor theatres are confined to melo-dramas. All unjust regulations will be evaded. Even the lower classes of people have too much taste to relish the farrago of nonsense, to which the liberality of Mr. Harris and colleagues would confine them. Some plays of a higher order have been brought forward at the minor theatres; but at the end of a few sentences the harpsichord is sounded, to the surprise of the stranger, who perhaps conceives that the instrument has been touched by accident; and this mancuvre is practised, that the piece may come under the denomination of a melo-drama. While the managers of the |