They are brought up to our view by the “Old Mortalities” of every generation; and the selfsame enthusiastic feeling which prompted them to remember coming ages urges us to fulfil our destiny in this. It would be curious to us in this generation, if it were possible, to raise up the curtain of the mouldering past and bring to view “the things that were,”—paint the lowly dwellings of our ancestors, the simplicity and primitive qualities of their minds, and the stern moral rectitude of their even lives. All this would contrast fearfully with what we are now, not only as regards our temporal but our spiritual state. If we differ from our good old friends of the eighteenth century, it is on the subject of the drama and the strange notion they had of its immoral tendency; for we never could imagine that the choicest gems from the British poets—conveyed to us through the medium of the stage—could have any other effect than to exalt the mind, expand the intellect, and open to the view the rich and inexhaustible mental wealth of the mimic world. It would be curious, we say, if it were possible to describe that state of society which could exist without _music_, _poetry_, and _painting_,—a state of society no doubt perfectly moral, strictly pure, but rather stiffly starched with the old-fashioned notions of propriety and the right of enjoyment. At that period, dancing was prohibited, and a fencing-master from Paris almost hunted down for attempting to teach the art in this city. It is true, a few wax figures and Punch and Judy made their appearance on some holidays; but they soon _melted_ away before the heat of puritanical sunshine.