placed. It is chiefly in the pathetic parts that the difficulty and importance of this rule are greatest. We go to a tragedy, expecting to be moved; and if the poet cannot reach the heart, he has no tragic merit, and we return cold and disappointed from the performance.

To paint and to excite passion strongly, are prerogatives of genius. They require not only ardent sensibility, but the power of entering deeply into characters. It is here that candidates for the drama are least successful. A man under the agitation of passion makes known his feelings in the glowing language of sensibility. He does not coolly describe what his feelings are; yet this sort of secondary description tragic poets often give us, instead of the primary and native language of passion. Thus, in Addison's Cato, when Lucia confesses to Portius her love for him, but swears that she will never marry him, Portius, instead of giving way to the language of grief and astonishment, only describes his feelings;

Fix'd in astonishment, I gaze upon thee,
Like one just blasted by a stroke from heaven,
Who pants for breath, and stiffens yet alive
In dreadful looks; a monument of wrath.

This might have proceeded from a bystander, or an indifferent person; but it is altogether improper in the mouth of Portius. Similar to this descriptive language are the unnatural and forced thoughts which tragic poets sometimes employ, to exaggerate the feelings of persons whom they wish to paint as strongly moved. Thus, when Jane Shore, on meeting her husband in distress and finding that he had forgiven her, calls on the rains to give her their drops, and to the springs to lend her their streams, that she may have a constant supply of tears; we see plainly that it is not Jane Shore that speaks, but the poet himself, who is straining his fancy, and spurring up his genius, to say something uncommonly strong and lively.

The language of passion is always plain and simple. It abounds, indeed, in figures that express a disturbed and impetuous state of mind, but never employs any for parade and embellishment. Thoughts suggested by passion are natural and obvious, and not the offspring of refinement, subtility, and wit. Passion neither reasons, speculates, nor declaims; its language is short, broken and interrupted. The French tragedians deal too much in refinement and declamation. The Greek tragedians adhere most to nature, and are most pathetic. This, too, is the great excellency of Shakespeare. He exhibits the true language of nature and passion.

Moral sentiments and reflections ought not to recur very frequently in tragedy. When unseasonably crowded, they lose their effect, and couvey an air of pedantry. When introduced with propriety, they give dignity to the composition. Cardinal Wolsey's soliloquy on his fall, is a fine instance of the felicity with which they may be employed. Much of the merit of Addison's Cato depends on that moral turn of thought which distinguishes it.

The style and versification of tragedy should be free, easy, and varied. English blank verse is happily suited to this species of composition. It has sufficient majesty, and can descend to the simple and familiar: it adunits a happy variety of cadence, and is free from the constraint and monotony of rhyme. Of the French tragedies, it is a great misfortune that they are always in rhyme. For it fetters the freedom of the tragic dialogue, fills it with a languid monotony, and is fatal to the power of passion.

With regard to those splendid comparisons in rhyme, and those strings of couplets, with which it was some time ago fashionable to conclude the acts of a tragedy, and sometimes the most interesting scenes, they are now laid aside, and regarded not only as childish ornaments, but as perfect barbarisms.

GREEK TRAGEDY.

THE plot of Greek tragedy, was exceedingly simple; the incidents few; and the conduct very exact with regard to the unities of action, time and place. Machinery, or the invention of gods, was employed; and, what was very faulty, the final unravelling was sometimes made to turn upon it. Love, one or two instances excepted, was never admitted into Greek tragedy. A vein of morality and religion always runs through it; but they employed less than the moderns the combat of the passions. Their plots were all taken from the ancient traditionary stories of their own nation.

Eschylus, the father of Greek tragedy, exhibits both the beauties and defects of an early original wri ter. He is bold, nervous, and animated; but very obscure, and difficult to be understood. His style is highly metaphorical, and often harsh and tumid. He abounds in martial ideas and descriptions, has much fire and elevation, and little tenderness. He also delights in the marvellous.

The most masterly of the Greek tragedians is Sophocles. He is the most correct in the conduct of his subjects: the most just and sublime in his sentiments. In descriptive talents he is also eminent. Euripides is accounted more tender than Sophocles; be is fuller of moral sentiment; but he is less correct in the conduct of his plays. His expositions of his subjects are less artful; and the songs of his chorus, though very poetic, are less connected with the prin cipal action, than those of Sophocles. Both of them, however have high merit as tragic poets. Their style is elegant and beautiful; and their sentiments, for the most part, just. They speak with the voice of nature; and, in the midst of simplicity, they are touching and interesting.

Theatrical representation on the stages of Greece and Rome was, in many respects, very singular, and

widely different from that of modern times. The songs of the chorus were accompanied by instrumental music; and the dialogue part had a modulation of its own, and might be set to notes. It has also been thought, that on the Roman stage the pronouncing and gesticulating parts were sometimes divided, and performed by different actors. The actors in tragedy wore a long robe; they were raised upon cothurni, and played in masks; these masks were painted; and the actor by turning the different profiles, exhibited different emotions to the auditors. This contrivance however, was attended by many disadvantages.

FRENCH TRAGEDY.

In the compositions of some French dramatic writers, tragedy has appeared with great lustre; partic. ularly Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire. They have improved upon the ancients, by introducing more incidents, a greater variety of passions, and a fuller display of characters. Like the ancients they excel in regularity of conduct; and their style is poetical and elegant. But, to an English taste, they want strength and passion, and are too declamatory and refined. They seem afraid of being too tragic; and it was the opinion of Voltaire, that, to the perfection of tragedy, it is necessary to unite the vehemence and action of the English theatre with the correctness and decorum of the French.

Corneille, the father of French tragedy, is distinguished by majesty of sentiment, and a fruitful imagination. His genius was rich, but more turned to epic than the tragic vein. He is magnificent and splen⚫ did, rather than touching and tender. He is full of declamation, impetuous and extravagant.

In tragedy, Racine is superior to Corneille. He wants, indeed, the copiousness of Corneille; but he is free from his bombast, and excels him greatly in tenderness. The beauty of his language and versifi

cation is uncommon; and he has managed his ryhmes with superior advantage.

Voltaire is not inferior to his predecessors in the drama; and in one article he has outdone them, the delicate and interesting situations he has introduced. Here lies his chief strength. Like his predecessors, however, he is sometimes deficient in force, and sometimes too declamatory. His characters, notwithstanding, are drawn with spirit, his events are striking, and his sentiments elevated.

ENGLISH TRAGEDY.

Ir has often been remarked of tragedy in Great Britain, that it is more ardent than that of France, but more irregular and incorrect. It has, therefore, ex. celled in the soul of tragedy. For the pathetic must be allowed to be the chief excellence of the tragic

muse.

The first object on the English theatre is the great Shakespeare. In extent and force of genius, both for tragedy and comedy, he is unrivalled. But at the same time, it is genius shooting wild, deficient in taste, not always chaste, and unassisted by art and knowledge, Criticism has been exhausted in commentaries upon him; yet to this day it is undecided, whether his beauties or defects be greatest. In his writings there are admirable scenes and passages without number; but there is not one of his plays which can be pronounced a good one. Beside extreme irregularities in conduct, and grotesque mixtures of the serious and comic, we are frequently disturbed by unnatural thoughts, harsh expressions, and a certain obscure bombast and play upon words. These faults are however, compensated by two of the greatest excellencies a tragic poet can possess, his lively and diversified painting of character, and his strong and natural expressions of passion. On these two virtues his merit