66 a spectator: "Pierced, even to the heart, by an unforeseen, as well as mortal "stroke, the miferable avenger of a just " quarrel, and the unhappy object of un" just severity, he remains motionless, " and his broken spirit yields to the blow " that destroys him." Il demeure immobile, et son ame abattue Try the foliloquy of Hamlet by the same test; and, without inserting the words " he said," which render it dramatic, the change will be impoffible. Try also the following lines from Virgil: they are taken from that celebrated and well-known passage, where Dido expresses to Anna the passion she had conceived for Æneas. Quis novus hic noftris successit sedibus hofpes? It may be observed in general, that, whenever a speech seems proper and intelligible ligible with the change of persons above mentioned, and without inserting some such words as, " he said," or, "he replied," it is narration, it is description; but can scarcely be called the language of passion. I am aware, that some passages, even in Shakespeare, may be opposed to this observation. When Macbeth returns from the affaffination of Duncan, Lady Macbeth tells him to carry back the daggers, and smear with blood the faces of the king's attendants, meaning to fasten upon them the fufpicion of the murder. Macbeth replies, I'll go no more; I am afraid to think what I have done; Is this the direct and natural expression of fear? If so, it bears hard against the foregoing remark. But let us reflect attentively. Fear is not the present paffion in the mind of Macbeth: A tranfient defire of another kind for a moment engages him, namely, the defire of giving Lady Macbeth a reason for not returning into the King's apartment. The man who tells you, "I am exceedingly angry, or exceedingly in love, and therefore I act in fuch or fuch a manner," does not in these words speak the language either of love or of anger, but of his defire of giving you a reason, or of his making an apology for his behaviour. You believe him, because you truft in his veracity, and because you fee corresponding evidence in his deportment; not that the words, "I am angry, or I am in love," independent of tones of voice, looks or gestures, express either love or anger. kind An objection of the following kind may also be advanced : "The excellence of dramatic writing confists in its imitating with truth and propriety the manners and paffions of mankind : If, therefore, a dramatic dramatic writer, capable of describing and of narrating with elegance and propriety, is nevertheless incapable of expreffing the language and sentiments of paffion, he fails in the fole end and purpose of his art, and of consequence can afford no pleasure. Contrary to this, many tragedies are seen and read with uncommon applause, and excite even the liveliest feelings; but which, if they were tried by the abovementioned standard, would be reckoned defective." To remove this objection, it may be observed, that those sympathetic emotions that interest us in the happiness and misery of others, and yield us the highest pleasure at theatrical entertainments, are, by the wife and beneficial institutions of nature, exceedingly apt to be excited: So apt, that if any concomitant circumstances, though of a different kind, whether melancholy or joyful, draw the mind from its usual state of in difference, and dispose it to a state of exC treme treme sensibility; the flightest incident or expreffion will call forth our sympathy. Now, in dramatic performances, there are many things to put the mind into a fufceptible and tender mood, and chiefly, elegance of expression, harmony of compofition, and delightful imagery. These working upon the mind, and being all concerned to impress us with the notion of certain events or circumstances very interefting to persons of certain qualities and dispositions, our imaginations are immediately stimulated and in action; we figure to ourselves the characters which the poet intends to exhibit; we take part in their interests, and enter into their passions as warmly as if they were naturally expressed. Thus it appears, that it is often with beings of our own formation that we lament or rejoice, imagining them to be the workmanship of another. And indeed this delusion will ever prevail with people of warm imaginations, if what the poet in |