bygone performances of the theatre, since the
first days of barbaric acting in a cart, assuredly the performances at
Piran Round would be those which, without hesitation, we should select
from all others to call back to life.

The end of the play, too--how picturesque, how striking all the
circumstances attending it must have been! Oh that we could hear again
the merry old English tune piped by the minstrels, and see the merry old
English dancing of the audience to the music! Then, think of the
separation and the return home of the populace, at sunset; the fishing
people strolling off towards the seashore; the miners walking away
farther inland; the agricultural labourers spreading in all directions,
wherever cottages and farm-houses were visible in the far distance over
the moor. And then the darkness coming on, and the moon rising over the
amphitheatre, so silent and empty, save at one corner, where the poor
worn-out actors are bivouacking gipsy-like in their tents, cooking
supper over the fire that flames up red in the moonlight, and talking
languidly over the fatigues and the triumphs of the play. What a moral
and what a beauty in the quiet night view of the old amphitheatre, after
the sight that it must have presented during the noise, the bustle, and
the magnificence of the day!

Shall we dream over our old play any longer? Shall we delay a moment
more, ere we proceed on our journey, to compare the modern with the
ancient drama in Cornwall, as we have already compared the theatre of
Redruth with the theatre of Piran Round? If we set them fairly against
one another as we now know them, would it be rash to determine which
burnt purest--the new light that flared brilliantly in our eyes when we
last saw it, or the old light that just flickered in the socket for an
instant, as we tried to trim it afresh? Or, if we rather inquire which
audience had the advantage of witnessing the worthiest performance,
should we hesitate to decide at once? Between the people at Redruth, and
the people at Piran Round, there was certainly a curious resemblance in
one respect--they failed alike to discern the barbarisms and absurdities
of the plays represented before them; but were they also equally
uninstructed by what they beheld? Which was likeliest to send them away
with something worth thinking of, and worth remembering--the drama about
knaves and fools, at the modern theatre, or the drama about Scripture
History at the ancient? Let