attempting to color it. This is not natural. In the Pompey of Corneille,* Photine counsels a wicked action in the plainest terms without disguise. In the tragedy of Esther,† Haman acknowledges, without disguise, his cruelty, insolence, and pride. And there is another example of the same kind in the Agamemnon of Seneca. In the tragedy of Athalie,§ Mathan, in cool blood, relates to his friend many black crimes he had been guilty of, to satisfy his ambition. In Congreve's Double-dealer, Maskwell, instead of disguising or coloring his crimes, values himself upon them in a soliloquy: Cynthia, let thy beauty gild my crimes; and whatsoever I commit of treachery or deceit, shall be imputed to me as a merit.Treachery! what treachery? Love cancels all the bonds of friendship, and sets men right upon their first foundations. ACT II. Sc. 8. In French plays, love, instead of being hid or disguised, is treated as a serious concern, and of greater importance than fortune, family, or dignity. The reason is, that, in the capital of France, love, by the easiness of intercourse, has dwindled down from a real passion to be a connexion that is regulated entirely by the mode or fashion.|| This may in some measure excuse their writers, but will never make their plays be relished among foreigners. The last class comprehends sentiments that are unnatural, as being suited to neither character nor passion. When the fable is of human affairs, every event, every incident, and every circumstance, ought to be natural, otherwise the imitation is imperfect. But an imperfect imitation is a venial fault, compared with that of running cross to nature. In the Hippolytus of *Act. I. Sc. 1. † Act II. Sc. 1. { Act III. Sc. 3. at the close. Beginning of Act II. A certain author says humorously, "Les mots mêmes d'amour et d'amant sont bannis de l'intime société des deux sexes, et relegués avec ceux de chaine et de flamme dans les Romans qu'on ne lit plus." And where nature is once banished, a fair field is open to every fantastic imi. tation, even the most extravagant. Euripides,* Hippolytus, wishing for another self in his own situation, "How much," says he, "should I be touched with his misfortune!" as if it were natural to grieve more for the misfortunes of another than for one's own. In Moliere's L'Avare,† Harpagon, being robbed of his money, seizes himself by the arm, mistaking it for that of the robber. This is so absurd as scarce to provoke a smile, if it be not at the author. Of inconsistent sentiments the following are examples: Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible, JULIUS CESAR.-ACT II. Sc. 2. Me miserable! which way shall I fly PARADISE LOST.-BOOK IV. The following passages are pure rant. Coriolanus, speaking to his mother, What is this? Your knees to me? to your corrected son? CORIOLANUS.-Act V. Sc. 3. Danger knows full well, Cæsar. Almahide. I JULIUS CESAR.-ACT II. Sc. 2. This day gave my faith to him, he his to me. Almanzor. Good Heav'n, thy book of fate before me lay, But to tear out the journal of this day. * Act IV. Sc. 5. † Act IV. Sc. 7. L Or if the order of the world below, Will not the gap of one whole day allow, Give me that minute when she made that vow; That minute ev'n the happy from their bliss might give, Would like divided waters join again. CONQUEST OF GRENADA.-ACT III. Ventidius. But you, ere love misled your wandering eyes, Were, sure, the chief and best of human race, Fram'd in the very pride and boast of Nature, So perfect, that the gods who form'd you, wonder'd Has mended our design. DRYDEN, ALL FOR LOVE.-Act I. Not to talk of the impiety of this sentiment, it is ludicrous instead of being lofty. The famous epitaph on Raphael is no less absurd than any of the foregoing passages. It is thus imitated by Pope, in his epitaph on Sir Godfrey Kneller: Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie Her works; and dying, fears herself might die. Such is the force of imitation; for Pope of himself would never have been guilty of a thought so extravagant. So much upon sentiments: the language proper for expressing them, comes next in order. REVIEW. What is a sentiment? What is necessary to a just representation of any passion? What character does Lord Kames give of Shakspeare? What is the example given of violent and perturbed passion?— of sentiments arising from remorse and despair? What is the author's criticism on the tragedy of Cinna?-on Sertorius? How do passions operate? What does climax best express? Give examples. To what are the first feelings of resentment directed? How does Corneille violate the rule which results from this? To what are the first feelings of grief directed? Where does Quintus Curtius disregard this? How is it disregarded in Jane Shore? Give examples of vibrating passions. What is the intention of Nature with respect to passions? What rule results hence? How does one instigate the commission of a great crime? What is the finest picture of this kind? Give examples of overstrained sentiments-of sentiments below the tone of passion. Give examples of sentiments that agree not with the tone of the passion. What fault is found with the quotation from Pope?—from Paradise Lost? Give examples of sentiments too artificial for a serious passion. What is Corneille's observation?-is it just? What is the second class of sentiments? Give some examples of the descriptive manner of painting passions. What is the criticism on the passage from Venice Preserved?— on Lady Macbeth's speech? What are the other examples of this fault? CHAPTER XVII. Language of Passion. AMONG the particulars that compose the social part of our nature, a propensity to communicate our opinions, our emotions, and every thing that affects us, is remarkable. Bad fortune and injustice affect us greatly; and of these we are so prone to complain, that if we have no friend nor acquaintance to take part in our sufferings, we sometimes utter our complaints aloud, even where there are none to listen. This propensity operates not in every state of mind. A man immoderately grieved, afflicts himself, rejecting all consolation: immoderate grief is mute: complaining is struggling for consolation : It is the wretch's comfort still to have Some small reserve of near and inward woe, Some unsuspected hoard of inward grief, Which they unseen may wail, and weep, and mourn, MOURNING BRIDE.-ACT I. Sc. 1. When grief subsides, it then finds a tongue: we complain, because complaining disburdens the mind of its distress. Surprise and terror are silent passions: they agitate the mind so violently as for a time to suspend the exercise of its faculties, and among others the faculty of speech. Love and revenge, when immoderate, are not more loquacious than immoderate grief. When moderate, they set the tongue free, and moderate grief becomes loquacious: moderate love, when unsuccessful, complains; when successful, it is full of joy, expressed by words and gestures. No passion has any long uninterrupted existence; thence language suggested by passion is unequal, interrupted: and during an uninterrupted fit of passion, we only express in words the more capital sentiments. In familiar conversation, one who vents every single thought, is justly branded with the character of loquacity; because sensible people express no thoughts but what make some figure: in the same manner, we are only disposed to express the strongest pulses of passion, especially when it returns with impetuosity after interruption. The sentiments ought to be tuned to the passion, and the language to both. Elevated sentiments require elevated language: tender sentiments, words that are soft and flowing; when the mind is depressed, the sentiments are expressed in words that are humble, not low. Words being connected with the ideas they re-` present, the greatest harmony is required between them to express an humble sentiment in high-sounding words, is disagreeable by a discordant mixture of |