order in the internal conftitution: fuch misfortunes always fuggest moral inftruction; and by fuch misfortunes only, can terror be excited for our improvement. Thus Ariftotle's four propofitions above mentioned, relate folely to tragedies of the moral kind. Those of the pathetic kind, are not confined within fo narrow limits: fubjects fitted for the theatre, are not in fuch plenty, as to make us reject innocent misfortunes which roufe our fympathy, though they inculcate no moral, With refpect to fubjects of this kind, it may indeed be a doubtful queftion, whether the conclufion ought not always to be fortunate. Where a perfon of integrity is reprefented as fuffering to the end under misfortunes purely accidental, we depart discontented, and with fome obfcure fense of injustice: for feldom is man fo fubmif five to Providence, as not to revolt against the tyranny and vexations, of blind chance; he will be inclined to fay, This ought not to be. I give for an example the Romeo and Juliet of Shakespear, where the fatal catastrophe is occafioned by Friar Laurence's coming to the monument a minute too late. We are vexed at the unlucky chance, and go away diffatisfied. Such impreffions, which ought not to be cherished, are a fufficient reafon for excluding stories of that kind from the theatre. The misfortunes of a vir tuous perfon, arifing from neceffary causes, or from a chain of unavoidable circumftances, will,' I am apt to think, be confidered in a different light chance affords always a gloomy profpect, and in every inftance gives an impreffion of anarchy and mifrule: a regular chain, on the contrary, of causes and effects, directed by the general laws of nature, never fails to fuggest the hand of Providence; to which we fubmit without refentment, being confcious that fubmiffion is our duty. For that reafon, we are not disgusted with the distresses of Voltaire's Mariamne, though redoubled on her till the moment of her death, without the leaft fault or failing on her part: her misfortunes are owing to a caufe extremely natural, and not unfrequent, the jealousy of a barbarous husband. The fate of Defdemona in the Moor of Venice, affects us in the fame manner. We are not so easily reconciled to the fate of Cordelia in King Lear: the causes of her misfortune are by no means fo evident, as to exclude the gloomy notion of chance. In fhort, a perfect character fuffering under misfortunes, is qualified for being the subject of a pathetic tragedy, provided chance be excluded. Nor is a perfect character altogether inconsistent with a moral tragedy; it may fuccessfully be introduced as an under-part, fuppofing the chief place to be filled with an imperfect character from which a moral can be drawn. This is the cafe of Defdemona and Mariamne juft now mentioned; and it is the See elays on the principles of morality, edit. 2. p. 291. cafe cafe of Monimia and Belvidera, in Otway's two tragedies, The Orphan, and Venice preferv'd. I had an early opportunity to unfold a curious doctrine, That fable operates on our paffions, by representing its events as paffing in our fight, and by deluding us into a conviction of reality *. Hence, in epic and dramatic compositions, it is of importance to employ means of every fort that may promote the delufion, fuch as the borrowing from history some noted event, with the addition of circumftances that may answer the author's purpose: the principal facts are known to be true; and we are disposed to extend our belief to every circumstance. But in chusing a subject that makes a figure in hiftory, greater precaution is neceffary than where the whole is a fiction. In the latter cafe there is full scope for invention: the author is under no restraint other than that the characters and incidents be just copies of nature. But where the story is founded on truth, no circumstances must be added, but fuch as connect naturally with what are known to be true; history may be supplied, but muft not be contradicted: further, the subject chosen must be distant in time, or at least in place; for the familiarity of perfons and events nearly connected with us, ought by all means to be avoided. Familiarity ought more especially to be avoided in an epic poem, the peculiar character of • Chap. 2. part 1.sect. 6. which is dignity and elevation: modern manners make but a poor figure in fuch a poem *. After Voltaire, no writer, it is probable, will think of rearing an epic poem upon a recent event in the hiftory of his own country. But an event of this kind is perhaps not altogether unqualified for tragedy: it was admitted in Greece; and Shakespear has employ'd it fuccefsfully in feveral of his pieces. One advantage it poffeffes above fiction, that of more readily engaging our belief, which tends above any other particular to raise our sympathy. The scene of comedy is generally laid at home: familiarity is no objection; and we are peculiarly fenfible of the ridicule of our own manners. After a proper fubject is chofen, the dividing it into parts requires fome art. The conclufion of a book in an epic poem, or of an act in a play, cannot be altogether arbitrary; nor be intended for fo flight a purpose as to make the parts of equal length. The fuppofed paufe at the end of every book, and the real paufe at the end of every act, ought always to coincide with fome paufe * I would not from this obfervation be thought to undervalue modern manners. The roughness, plainnefs, and impetuofity of ancient manners, may show better in an epic poem, without be ing better fitted for fociety. But without regard to this circumftance, it is the familiarity of modern manners that unqualifies them for a lofty fubject. The dignity of our prefent manners, will be better understood in future ages, when they have become ancient. in the action. In this refpect, a dramatic or epic poem ought to resemble a fentence or period in language, divided into members that are distinguished from each other by proper pauses; or it ought to resemble a piece of mufic, having a full close at the end, preceded by imperfect closes that contribute to the melody. Every act in a dramatic poem ought therefore to close with fome incident that makes a paufe in the action; for otherwise there can be no pretext for interrupting the reprefentation: it would be abfurd to break off in the very heat of action; against which every one would exclaim: the abfurdity ftill remains, though the action relents, if it be not actually fufpended for fome time. This rule is alfo applicable to an epic poem: though there, a deviation from the rule is lefs remarkable; because it is in the reader's power to hide the abfurdity, by proceeding inftantly to another book. The firft book of the Paradife Loft, ends without any regular clofe, perfect or imperfect: it breaks off abruptly, where Satan, feated on his throne, is prepared to make a speech to the convocated hoft of the fall'n angels; and the fecond book begins with the fpeech. Milton feems to have copied the Eneid, of which the two first books are divided much in the fame manner. Neither is there any proper pause at the end of the fifth book of the Eneid. There is no proper pause at the end of the feventh book of Paradife Loft, nor at the end of the eleventh, |