ever profeffion, (for we have them of all profeffions), who, without minding others, or entering into their views of things, are continually obtruding themselves upon the converfation, and their own concerns, and the fentiments and language peculiar to their own trades and fraternities. This behaviour, though under the name of plain-dealing it may arrogate a fuperiority to artificial rules, is generally the effect of pride, ignorance, or ftupidity, or rather of all the three in conjunction. A modeft man, who fympathetically attends to the condition and fentiments of others, will of his own accord make thofe allowances in their favour, which he wishes to be made in his own; and will think it as much his duty to promote their happinefs, as he thinks it theirs to promote his. And fuch a man is well principled in equity, as well as in good-breeding: and though, from an imperfect knowledge of forms, or from his having had but few opportunities to put them in practice, his manner may not be fo graceful, or fo eafy, as could be wifhed, he will never give offence to any perfon of penetration and good-nature.

With feelings which we do not approve, or not have experienced, we are not apt to fympathife. The diftrefs of the mifer when his hoard is stolen, of the fop when he foils his fine jubilee cloaths, of the vaunting coxcomb when his lies are detected, of the unnatural parent when his daughter escapes

with a deferving lover, is more likely to move laughter than compaffion. At Sparta, every father had the privilege of correcting any child; he who had experience of paternal tenderness being fuppofed incapable of wounding a parent's fenfibility by unjuft or rigorous chaftifement. When the Cardinal of Milan would expoftulate with the Lady Conftance upon her violent forrow for the lofs of her child, fhe answers, but without deigning to addrefs her answer to one who fhe knew could be no competent judge of her cafe, "He fpeaks to me who never had a fon *." The Greeks and Romans were as eminent for public fpirit, and for parental affection, as we; but, for a reafon elsewhere affigned †, knew little of that romantic love between unmarried perfons, which modern manners and novels have a tendency to infpire. Accordingly the diftrefs in their tragedies often arofe from patriotifin, and from the conjugal and filial charities, but not from the romantic paffion whereof we now speak. But there are few English tragedies, and ftill fewer French, wherein fome love-affair is not connected with the plot. This always raises our fympathy; but would not have been fo interesting to the Greeks or Romans, because they

King John, act 3. fcene 3.

Effay on Laughter, chap. 4.

were not much acquainted with the refinements of this paffion.

Sympathy, as the means of conveying certain feelings from one breast to another, might be made a powerful inftrument of moral discipline, if poets, and other writers of fable, were careful to call forth our fenfibility towards thofe emotions only that favour virtue, and invigorate the human mind. Fictions, that breathe the fpirit of patriotism or valour; that make us fympathife with the parental, conjugal, or filial charities; that recommend misfortune to our pity, or expofe crimes to our abhorrence, may certainly be useful in a moral view, by cherishing paffions, that, while they improve the heart, can hardly be indulged to excefs. But thofe dreadful tales, that only give anguish to the reader, can never do any good they fatigue, enervate, and overwhelm the foul: and when the calamities they defcribe are made to fall upon the innocent, our moral principles are in fome danger of a temporary depravation from the perufal, whatever refemblance the fable may be fuppofed to bear to the events of real life. Some late authors of fiction feem to have thought it incumbent upon them, not only to touch the heart, but to tear it in pieces. They heap "misfortune on misfortune, "grief on grief," without end, and without mercy which difcompofes the reader too much to give him either pleasure or improveVOL. II.

C c

ment;

ment; and is contrary to the practice of the wifer ancients, whofe most pathetic scenes were generally short.

in

It is faid, that at the first representation of the Furies of Efchylus, the horror of the fpectacle was fo great, that several women mifcarried; which was indeed pathos with a vengeance. But though the truth of that story fhould be queftioned, it admits of no doubt, that objects of grief and horror too much enlarged on by the poet or novelist may do more harm than good, and give more pain than pleasure, to the mind of the reader. Surely this must be contrary to the effential rules of art, whether we confider poetry as intended to please that it may ftruct, or to inftruct that it may the more effectually pleafe. And fuppofing the real evils of life to be as various and important as is commonly believed, we must be thought to confult our own interest very abfurdly, if we feek to torment ourselves with imaginary misfortune. Horace infinuates, that the ancient Satyric Drama (a fort of burlesque tragi-comedy) was contrived for the entertainment of the more diforderly part of the audience *; and our critics affure us, that the modern farce is addreffed to the upper gallery, where, it is fuppofed, there is no great relifh for the sublime graces of the Tragic Muse. Yet I be

Hor, Ar. Poet. verf. 221.

lieve thefe little pieces, if confiftent with deeency, will be found neither unpleasant nor unprofitable even to the most learned fpectator. A man, especially if advanced in years, would not chufe to go home with that gloom upon his mind which an affecting tragedy is intended to diffufe: and if the play has conveyed any found inftruction, there is no risk of its being diffipated by a little innocent mirth.

Upon the fame principle, I confefs, that I am not offended with those comic fcenes wherewith our great Dramatic Poet has occafionally thought proper to diverfify his tragedies. Such a licence will at least be allowed to be more pardonable in him, than it would be in other Tragic poets. They must make their way to the heart, as an army does to a strong fortification, by flow and regular approaches; because they cannot, like Shakespeare, take it at once, and by ftorm. In their pieces, therefore, a mixture of comedy might have as bad an effect, as if befiegers were to retire from the outworks they had gained, and leave the enemy at leisure to fortify them a fecond time. But Shakespeare penetrates the heart by a fingle effort, and can make us as fad in the prefent fcene, as if we had not been merry in the former. With fuch powers as he poffeffed in the pathetic, if he had made his tragedies uniformly mournful or terrible from beginning to end, no perfon of fenfibility Cc 2 would