The Drama of Uncle Tom's Cabin again—Effect of its Performance on the Lewd and Abandoned—A Brief History of its Authorship and "Run"—A Prediction—"Hot Corn" and the Home of Industry—Hopeful Indications of the Times.

NEW YORK, August 20th, 1853.

To the Editor of the National Era:

  In your editorial call of attention to my last letter, you speak pleasedly, as well you might, of "Uncle Tom among the Bowery boys." Soon you may add, "the Era among the Bowery boys." My description of the performance of the drama at the National Theatre will have had the feat, probably, of introducing the National Era to the attention of a new class of readers, some of whom did not even know of its existence before. On Thursday, as soon as I got my copy, I carried it to Mr. Purdy, the manager. He read it with deep interest, when I informed him that the paper in which it appeared was the one which first introduced "Uncle Tom" and "Eva" to the millions who are now being stirred by their pathos; and that the fact that he was powerfully, though perhaps unintentionally, aiding the Anti-Slavery reform, was, through it, made known to twenty-eight thousand subscribers, and at least to a hundred thousand readers. He expressed himself highly delighted, and avowed his purpose to give an extract from my letter in some of his future bills. He insisted upon my coming again that very evening. I did so, taking my position in one of the private boxes, where I could see every part of the house, and thus study the effect of the play upon the various classes of persons who were crowding it from third tier to pit. There I had hoped to remain sufficiently composed to also study certain of the characters, particularly that of St. Clare, which interested me deeply in the book, as it does in the drama. But I was altogether disappointed of my purpose. Harrowing agony of soul, alternating with tearful joy and irrepressible laughter, overwhelmed me almost as before, rendering criticism impossible.

  Of the effect on the audience, I shall have some observations to make in a future letter; and I will meanwhile prepare myself therefore, by paying my third visit to a New York theatre. At present I will only say that lust seems to find but a poor mart in the third tier. The attendance of the abandoned is evidently becoming thinner, while that of the virtuous, and even the "refined," is rapidly increasing. Of the harlots, a part were bathed in tears and oblivious to all baser purposes; while others, who could manage to throw off the moral influence of the piece, seemed to find but few men sufficiently free from sympathy with the performance to appreciate their attractions.

  Perhaps I could not cite any other fact which would give, in so few words, so just a conception of the morale of this marvellous performance as the weeping of these harlots, for whom it has a deep lesson in Cassy's confession to Evaline, and in Uncle Tom's protestation, that being wicked, was the thing which was to be considered, the how or why of which will not avail for the securement of the heavenly state; for, however debateable Mrs. Stowe's philosophy may be as to the poor, forced slave, whose very soul, as Legree truly says, the "master" owns to all intents and purposes, they can see that their excuses for continuing in a life of sensuality are not as plausible as Cassy's, howsoever proper to be taken into account in our too often harsh judgments upon their life of sin and shame. I should, for this reason, regret to find this class of the audience missing from the National, only to flock to other places of mere amusement, where there are no such solemn lessons for them to learn from reflections of their own bitter experiences.

  I cannot pass from the train of thought which now calls for an audience, without suggesting that those whose official and positional opportunities to do something for the class of fallen ones just referred to, are so culpably neglected ought to catch a lesson from the history of Topsy, in whose career is so forcibly portrayed the power of a living and active sympathy towards one who formerly thought of herself as an uncared for, and despised, and hopeless "nothing." I have been betrayed so much farther in my reflections upon the effect of this drama than I designed, or had room for, that I shall barely be able to state the outline of its history. It is the production of George L. Aiken a resident of Boston, I believe, a young man and a young writer. It was first produced at Troy, New York, in a museum, of which Mr. Howard, the "St. Clare" of the piece and the father of its darling little "Eva," is one of the proprietors. There it was performed one hundred times. Next it had a run of thirty-six nights at Albany, and already has been played the same number of times in this city, where it bids fair to absorb the entire season. And here, I will make that prediction, that you shall yet have a chance to take your turn at weeping over and encoring it in Washington, after it shall have been played in the slaveholding city of Baltimore. Give it half an hour to strike the pretty "even balance" which it does between Southern despotism and Northern inconsistency, aided by interspersings of its inimitable and irresistible drolleries, and I will agree to take the risk of the malice of the most pro-slavery audience it could attract there, for the rest of the three and a half sultry hours which its thrilling scenes appear to condense into one. Verily, I say unto you, Uncle Tom's heavenly mission is only just begun. . . .

INDICATOR.