moment, from the scene before us to other contemplations, but the emotions which we feel during these intervals of abstraction from the passing scene, are excited by the contemplations which engage our attention, and not by what passes on the stage, of which we must be perfectly regardless during these intellectual reveries; for the human mind is so constituted, that it cannot employ itself in the contemplation of two distinct subjects at the same moment.

No doubt, Schlegel himself frequently and insensibly glided into these reveries; and so, I believe, do all philosophic minds; but we are not all philosophers; and I believe the bulk of the audience attend only to what passes before them, and seldom revert to such abstract meditations as they suggest to a contemplative mind. Philosophers frequently err in ascribing their own thoughts and feelings to others; for though the intellectual and sentient faculties are originally constituted the same in all men, or, at least, differ only in degrees of energy; it is still certain, that particular pursuits and habits will insensibly induce peculiarities of thought and feeling; and, consequently, that the presence of the same object will suggest a different train of ideas and associations to people engaged in different pursuits, provided these pursuits require a particular application of mind. He who thinks little, will view an object just as it presents itself to him, without

reference to any other; but he who thinks much, will view it in reference to those subjects of contemplation which generally engage his attention. If some extraordinary phenomenon be presented to a peasant, his attention is wholly arrested by the object itself, while a philosopher hardly looks upon it, when his imagination begins to rove at large over the whole circle of nature, to discover something analogous to it, so that while his eyes are fixed on the object, his mind is, perhaps, traversing the most distant regions upon earth; or, if he find any thing in the object, that associates with celestial alliances, the expansive circle of the heavens becomes the wide theatre of his contemplations.

But do not Tragic Scenes excite innumerable feelings and reflections, besides those mentioned by Schlegel? Is not the baseness of human nature as closely allied to them as its dignity? And does not every new distress render its contrivers and abettors as disgraceful as it renders him by whom it is endured with fortitude, dignified and exalted? It is certain, then, that the baseness of human nature is as closely interwoven in the texture of tragedy as its dignity, and, consequently, as liable to become the subject of our reflections. If it should be said, that the evil characters in a tragedy are not those from whom the pleasure is derived, I reply, that tragedy cannot exist where

A

perfect innocence and virtue alone are represented. Such a representation has no charm, excites no sympathy, communicates no pleasure. It is the imperfection and frailty, not the perfection and dignity, of human nature, that interests us most. We perceive, that the perfect man stands in no need of our assistance; and therefore we refuse to sympathize with him; we look upon him as a being different from ourselves, a being who claims a superiority over us, which we are unwilling to allow. Our pride takes the alarm, and spurning his society, we seek a communion with kindred spirits. Pares cum paribus facile congregantur. If we remove, then, all appearance of frailty and imperfection from the stage, we shall have no tragedy at all. Neither are the traces of a higher order of things more strongly impressed on the progress of tragic events, than the absence of those traces, and the apparent want of this order. We can find no trace of a superintending providence in many tragedies, as Shakspeare's Romeo and Juliet, and Lord Byron's Tragedy of the Two Foscari; and we are therefore apt to infer, that no such providence exists. This impression will always communicate itself to the mind, whenever a great and virtuous character continues to be persecuted to the last, and dies unable to avenge his wrongs.

There are many reflections, then, as obviously

suggested by Tragic Scenes, as those assigned by Schlegel; and why attribute our satisfaction to the one rather than to the other?

It will be easy, however, to put these sources of Tragic Pleasure to the test; for if the dignity of human nature, and the overruling Providence by which human affairs are directed, be the true source of this Pleasure, it follows, that the most interesting tragedy is that in which all the characters are dignified, and in which they prove ultimately successful; for it is only in ultimate success we can discover the traces of an overruling Providence. Such a tragedy, however, so far from being interesting, would not be tolerated on the stage, as nothing could exceed its insipidity. The interest which we take in the misfortunes of virtuous characters, would become totally extinct, if their misfortunes were not brought upon them, either by their own folly, or the machinations of evil characters; so that the baseness of human nature is as necessary to create interest as its dignity. A critic in the "Lounger," objects to the tragedy of "The Fair Penitent," that the heroine is very far from being an amiable and unexceptionable lady'; upon which Mr. Knight justly remarks, that "if she had been either the one or the other, this critic would never have had an opportunity either of applauding, or of censuring her, as the play would have scarcely survived a first representation, and

certainly not have lasted to a second generation."*

Granting, however, that a feeling of the dignity of human nature gives us more particular pleasure than any other feelings suggested by tragic scenes, it still remains to be accounted for, how this feeling continues throughout the play to affect the mind, if, according to Schlegel himself, the mind can attend only to the scene before it, and enter into no other reflections. The scene before it frequently represents the depravity of human nature, and, consequently, excites only feelings of this depravity. Perhaps it may be said, that the mind can have feelings of the dignity of human nature, and of a superintending Providence, without ever withdrawing its attention from the play, or making either the direct object of its reflections. This Schlegel denies, and therefore cannot avail himself of such an argument; but, granting for a moment that we may have such feelings, it must also be granted, that we may have feelings of the calmness and serenity of our own situation, contrasted with the distresses to which the characters exhibited before us are exposed. The fact is, that we can have feelings of this contrast, and likewise of the dignity of human nature, and of a superintending Providence, without ever reflecting on either, or thinking that they are the sources whence our feelings are derived.

* Principles of Taste, page 344-5.