It appears that no part of human life, which may be subject to ridicule, is exempted from comedy; for whenever men run into the absurd, whether high or low, they may be the subject of satire, and consequently of comedy. Indeed some characters, as kings, are exempted through decency; others might be too insignificant. Some are of opinion, that persons in better life are so polished that their true characters, and the real bent of their humour, cannot appear. For my own part I cannot give entire credit to this remark; for, in the first place, I believe that good breeding is not so universal or strong, in any part of life, as to overrule the real characters and strong passions of such men as would be proper objects of the drama.. 2dly, It is not the ordinary common-place discourse of assemblies that is to be represented in comedy. The parties are to be put in situations in which their passions are roused, and their real characters called forth; and if their situations are judiciously adapted to their characters, there is no doubt but they will appear in all their force, choose what situation of life you please. Let the politest man alive game, and feel at loss; let this be his character; and his . Sic in MS. to. politeness will never hide it, nay, it will put it forward with greater violence, and make a more forcible contrast. But genteel comedy puts these characters, not in their passionate, but in their genteel, light; makes eleSic in MS. to. gant cold conversation, and virtuous personages. Such sort of pictures disagreeable.

Virtue and politeness not proper for comedy, for they have

too much or no movement.

They are not good in tragedy, much less here.

The greater virtues, fortitude, justice, and the like, too' serious and sublime.

It is not every story, every character, every incident, but those only which answer their end.-Painting of artificial things not good; a thing being useful does not therefore make it most pleasing in picture.-Natural manners good and bad sentiment. In common affairs and common life virtuous sentiments are not even the character of virtuous men; we cannot bear these sentiments but, when they are pressed out as it were by great exigencies, and a certain contention, which is above the general style of comedy. *

*

*

The first character of propriety the Law-Suit possesses in

an eminent degree. The plot of the play is an iniquitous suit; there can be no fitter persons to be concerned in the active part of it than low, necessitous lawyers of bad character and profligates of desperate fortune. On the other hand, in the passive part, if an honest and virtuous man had been made the object of their designs, or a weak man of good intentions, every successful step they should take against him ought rather to fill the audience with horror than pleasure and mirth; and if in the conclusion their plots should be baffled, even this would come too late to prevent that ill impression; but in the Law-Suit this is admirably avoided; for the character chosen is a rich, avaricious usurer. The pecuniary distresses of such a person can never be looked upon with horror; and if he should be even handled unjustly, we always wait his delivery with patience.

Now, with regard to the display of the character, which is the essential part of the plot, nothing can be more finely imagined than to draw a miser in law. If you draw him inclined to love, and marriage, you depart from the height of his character in some measure, as Moliere has done. Expenses of this kind he may easily avoid. If you draw him in law, to advance brings expense; to draw back brings expense; and the character is tortured and brought out at every moment.

A sort of notion has prevailed, that a comedy might subsist without humour. It is an idle disquisition, whether a story in private life, represented in dialogues, may not be carried on with some degree of merit without humour. It may, unquestionably; but what shines chiefly in comedy, the painting the manners of life, must be in a great measure wanting. A character, which has nothing extravagant, wrong, or singular in it, can affect but very little; and this is what makes Aristotle draw the great line of distinction between tragedy and comedy. Ἐν αὐτῇ δὲ τῇ διαφορᾷ καὶ ἡ τραγῳδία, &c. Arist. Poet. ch. 11.

There is not a more absurd mistake, than that whatever may not unnaturally happen in an action is of course to be admitted into every painting of it. In nature, the great and the little, the serious and the ludicrous, things the most disproportionate the one to the other, are frequently huddled together in much confusion. And what then? It is the

business of art first to choose some determinate end and purpose, and then to select those parts of nature, and those only, which conduce to that end, avoiding, with most religious exactness, the intermixture of anything which would contradict it. Else the whole idea of propriety, that is, the only distinction between the just and chimerical, in the arts would be utterly lost. A hero eats, drinks, and sleeps like other men; but to introduce such scenes on the stage, because they are natural, would be ridiculous. And why? because they have nothing to do with the end for which the play is written. The design of a piece might be utterly destroyed by the most natural incidents in the world. Boileau has somewhere criticised, with what surely is a very just severity, on Ariosto, for introducing a ludicrous tale from his host to one of the principal persons of his poem, though the story has great merit in its way. Indeed that famous piece is so monstrous and extravagant in all its parts, that one is not parti cularly shocked with this indecorum. But, as Boileau has observed, if Virgil had introduced Æneas listening to a bawdy story from his host, what an episode had this formed in that divine poem! Suppose, instead of Æneas, he had represented the impious Mezentius as entertaining himself in that manner, such a thing would not have been without probability, but it would have clashed with the very first principles of taste, and, I would say, of common sense.

I have heard of a celebrated picture of the Last Supper; and, if I do not mistake, it is said to be the work of some of the Flemish masters; in this picture all the personages are drawn in a manner suitable to the solemnity of the occasion; but the painter has filled the void under the table with a dog gnawing bones. Who does not see the possibility of such an incident, and at the same time the absurdity of introducing it on such an occasion? Innumerable such cases might be stated; it is not the incompatibility or agreeableness of incidents, characters, or sentiments with the probable in fact, but with propriety in design, that admits or excludes them from a place in any composition. We may as well urge, that stones, sand, clay, and metals lie in a certain manner in the earth, as a reason for building with these materials, and in that manner, as for writing according to the accidental disposition of characters in nature. I have, I am afraid, been

longer than it might seem necessary in refuting such a notion; but such authority can only be opposed by a good deal of reason.

We are not to forget, that a play is, or ought to be, a very short composition; that if one passion or disposition is to be wrought up with tolerable success, I believe it is as much as can in any reason be expected. If there be scenes of distress, and scenes of humour, they must either be in a double or single plot. If there be a double plot, there are in fact two. If they be in checkered scenes of serious and comic, you are obliged continually to break both the thread of the story and the continuity of the passion; if in the same scene, as Mrs. V. seems to recommend, it is needless to observe how absurd the mixture must be, and how little adapted to answer the genuine end of any passion. It is odd to observe the progress of bad taste; for this mixed passion being universally proscribed in the regions of tragedy, it has taken refuge and shelter in comedy, where it seems firmly established, though no reason can be assigned why we may not laugh in the one as well as weep in the other. The true reason of this mixture is to be sought for in the manners which are prevalent amongst a people; it has become very fashionable to affect delicacy, tenderness of heart, and fine feeling, and to shun all imputation of rusticity. Much mirth is very foreign to this character; they have introduced therefore a sort of neutral writing.

Now as to characters, they have dealt in them as in the passions. There are none but lords and footmen. One objection to characters in high life is, that almost all wants, and a thousand happy circumstances arising from them, being removed from it, their whole mode of life is too artificial, and not so fit for painting. And the contrary opinion has arisen from a mistake, that whatever has merit in the reality necessarily must have it in the representation. I have observed that persons, and especially women, in lower life, and of no breeding, are fond of such representations. It seems like introducing them into good company, and the honour compensates the dulness of the entertainment.

Fashionable manners being fluctuating is another reason for not choosing them-sensible comedy-talking sense a dul thing—

AN ESSAY

TOWARDS

AN ABRIDGMENT OF THE ENGLISH HISTORY.

IN THREE BOOKS.

BOOK I.-CHAPTER I.

CAUSES OF THE CONNEXION BETWEEN THE ROMANS AND BRITONS.CÆSAR'S. TWO INVASIONS OF BRITAIN.

In order to obtain a clear notion of the state of Europe before the universal prevalence of the Roman power, the whole region is to be divided into two principal parts, which we shall call northern and southern Europe. The northern part is everywhere separated from the southern by immense and continued chains of mountains. From Greece it is divided by Mount Hamus; from Spain by the Pyrenees; from Italy by the Alps. This division is not made by an arbitrary or casual distribution of countries. The limits are marked out by nature, and in these early ages were yet further distinguished by a considerable difference in the manners and usages of the nations they divided. If we turn our eyes to the northward of these boundaries, a vast mass of solid continent lies before us, stretched out from the remotest shore of Tartary quite to the Atlantic ocean. A line drawn through this extent from east to west would pass over the greatest body of unbroken land that is anywhere known upon the globe. This tract, in a course of some degrees to the northward, is not interrupted by any sea; neither are the mountains so disposed as to form any considerable obstacle to hostile incursions. Originally it was all inhabited but by one sort of people, known by one common denomination of Scythians. As the several tribes of this comprehensive name lay in many parts greatly exposed, and as by their situation and customs they were much inclined to attack, and by both