nature altogether, and feed our appetite for novelty upon imaginary beings.

To art then, in fome form or other, we all refort for a remedy of the tædium vite; and national tastes are chiefly characterised by the mode and degree in which it is employed. It is in the arts termed imitative, that differences in these respects are most remarkable. It might have been supposed, that, referring to nature for their archetypes, they could vary only in the greater or lefs perfection of their imitation. But as this has not been the case, it is evident that these arts must have fome additional object. In fact, they are not, in general, exact copies of nature. Their purpose is to heighten her, to disguise her, to alter her, perhaps for the worse, but at any rate to produce novelty. Nature fupplies the form and feature, but art contributes the drefs and air. It is in vain to attempt upon general principles to determine the proportion each fhould preferve in the combination. For whether the end be to please

intended to give

F 2

please or to move, to flatter the imagination, or excite the paffions, the fuccefs of the means will greatly depend upon manners, habits, and perhaps phyfical diverfities, in refpect to which no one people can be a rule to another. But I have dwelt too long upon general ideas-let us come to examples.

The drama is of all the efforts of art that which approaches the nearest to nature. It has every advantage conjoined, which the others poffefs fingly; and indeed in fome circumftances almoft ceases to be a representation, but is the thing itself. Yet how differently have different nations conducted their dramatic fpectacles, and how manifeftly have they intended variation from nature, where copying it would have been obvious and eafy. The Greeks, as you well know, wrote all their plays in measure, and pronounced them in recitative with the accompaniment of mu fic, and with regulated gefticulation. They covered the stage with a chorus, which was made privy to the most fecret transactions,

and

and interrupted the dialogue by odes of the most elevated poetry. All this was certainly deviating far enough from reality; yet never were the powers of the stage over the paffions more confpicuous than in Greece, and never were a people more enthusiastically fond of theatrical exhibitions. In all these points the Romans exactly copied them. Modern nations have in different degrees followed the ancient models. All have adopted verfe as the vehicle of tragedy, and moft, of comedy. They have, at least in the interludes, affociated dance and mufic. But the Italians, in their operas, have employed throughout the fame artifices of recitative, fong, and measured action, that were used by the ancients. A true-bred Eng'lishman laughs at all this, or yawns. Some of our firft wits have not difdained to point their ridicule against heroes ftabbing themselves in cadence, and lovers expiring with a quaver. But a fenfible Italian furely does not want to be told that this is not nature. He looks for nature in

the story, the paffions and the fentiments; but by allying it with the charms of exquifite mufic and graceful gefture, he feels that he obtains fomething more, without lofing any thing. It may, indeed, require time and exercise to acquire a true relish for fuch exhibitions, and fashion may have induced many to affect at these spectacles a pleasure which they do not feel, especially when the language of the piece is a foreign one. But I think we cannot, without grofs prejudice, doubt that they are capable of exciting genuine raptures, and that, in perfons whose sense of propriety is as juft and delicate as our own. You know that in this matter I may claim an unprejudiced opinion, at least on the fide for which I am pleading, fince my own tastes are perfectly home-bred, and my conviction of the power of fuch arts is founded more on the teftimony of others, than on my own experience. I confefs, that I was inclined to laugh at the idea of heroic dancing, till a friend of mine, a judicious unaffected country gentleman,

tleman, who had been to fee Veftris in a ferious opera, affured me, that he had received from his action fenfations of dignity, grace, and pathos, furpaffing any thing of which he had before formed a conception.

What is tragedy among ourselves? Is it not a dialogue in verfe, intermixed with all the decorations of poetry?—and is this nature? I am aware that English blank verfe may be fo pronounced, as to be no verse at all; and this fuppofed improvement was introduced on our stage by Garrick, whofe idea of perfect recitation was that of imitating natural fpeech as nearly as poffible. In highly impaffioned parts, and especially where fhort and broken fentences copy the real language of emotion, this mode certainly gave him an advantage in exciting the sympathy of a common audience.. But where the writer was, and meant to be, poetical, I cannot but think that a recitation with the ore rotundo of Booth and Barry, in which a mufical flow was given to sentences by means