rth American Review," particularly if you fill the literary
department as ably as you have the moral and political, to test which,
let me propound a question? If the reward of the good be the charm of
fiction, how do you account for the pleasure derived from tragedy,
where the good are overwhelmed with the evil?

_Mrs. G._ (_Smiling._) With great diffidence we reply to the query of
our learned friend. The force of tragedy consists in its depicting
evil so ruinous as to involve even the innocent in the catastrophe;
the pleasure is derived, we think, from the _failure_ of the
mischievous design, and the merited retribution which falls upon the
head of the plotters. In Romeo, "a scourge is laid upon the hate of
the Montagues and Capulets, by which all are punished;" Hamlet's
wicked uncle is justly served, drinking the poison tempered by
himself; and Iago pulls down ruin upon himself no less than upon
Cassio.

_Frank._ (_Bowing playfully_.) Your review meets my entire
approbation, inasmuch as it confirms my doctrine, that theatres always
give their verdict in favor of virtue.

_Mr. D._ "Casting out devils through Beelzebub."

_Mrs. G._ The artistic effect of every work of the imagination is
wrought upon what critics call the "sympathetic emotion of virtue,"
and the decisions of this faculty, so far as we understand them,
always correspond with what Christians believe concerning the "final
restitution of all things."

_Frank._ The theatre, then, ought to promote good morals--why does it
not?

_Mr. D._

"And many worthy men
Maintained it might be turned to good account,
And so perhaps it might, but never was."

_Mrs. G._ The "sympathetic emotion of virtue," not having an object,
never rises to passion, and therefore never produces action.
Philosophers tell us that a thought of virtue passing often through
the mind, without being wrought out into a fact, weakens the moral
sense; thus people may read the best of books, and witness the finest
exhibitions of moral beauty, and constantly retrograde in virtue. The
dissolute characters of players, who continually utter the loftiest
sentiments, and practice the lowest vices, are accounted for on this
principle; and we ought to judge the theatre as we do slavery, by its
demoralizing effect upon those engaged in it.

_Mr. F._ Do you mean to say, Rebecca, that slaveholding has the same
effect upon me that stage-playing has upon the actor?

_Mrs. G._ Well