! over the surface; for if it were put in the drain, it would Where the clay is not sufficiently tenacious, the bottom The best materials for large main drains, where they can In draining fields it is usual to make the outlets of the drains in the ditch which bounds them. The fewer outlets there are, the less chance there is of their being choked they should fall into the ditch at 2 ft. from the bottom, and a wooden trunk or one of stone should be laid so that the water may be discharged without carrying the soil from the side of the ditch. If there is water in the ditch, it should be kept below the mouth of the drain. The outlets of all drains should be repeatedly examined, to keep them clear; for wherever water remains in a drain, it will soon deThe drains should be so arranged or turned, that the outlet shall meet the ditch at an obtuse angle towards the lower part where the water runs to. A drain brought at right angles into a ditch must necessarily soon be choked by the deposition of sand and earth at its range or choke it. mouth. As the draining of wet clay soils is the only means by which they can be rendered profitable as arable land, and the expense is great, various instruments and ploughs have been contrived to diminish manual labour and expedite the work. Of these one of the simplest is the common moleplough, which in very stiff clay makes a small hollow drain, from 1 ft. to 18 in. below the surface, by forcing a pointed iron cylinder horizontally through the ground. It makes a cut through the clay, and leaves a cylindrical channel, through which the water which enters by the slit is carried off. It requires great power to draw it, and can only be used when the clay is moist. In meadows it is extremely useful, and there it need not go more than a foot under the sod. Five to ten acres of grass land may easily be drained by it in a day. It is very apt, however, to be filled in dry weather by the soil falling in; and the animals from which it derives its name often do much damage to it by using it in their subterraneous workings. But a draining plough has been invented, which, assisted by numerous labourers, greatly accelerates the operation of forming drains, by cutting them out in a regular manner, when they are immediately finished with the usual tools and filled up. It has done wonders in some of the wet stiff soils in Sussex, and is much to be recommended in all wet and heavy clays. In stony land it cannot well be used. The subsoil plough, introduced to public notice by Mr. Smith of Deanston, may be considered in some measure as a drain ing plough, for it loosens the subsoil, so that a few main drains are sufficient to carry off all the superfluous moisture; and it has besides the effect of not carrying off more than what is superfluous. By means of judicious drains and the use of the subsoil plough, the stiffest and wettest land may in time become the most fertile. The tools used in draining are few and simple. Spades, with tapering blades of different sizes, are required to dig the drains of the proper width, and the sides at a proper angle. Hollow spades are used in very stiff clay. When the drain begins to be very narrow near the bottom, scoops are used, of different sizes, which are fixed to handles at various angles, more conveniently to clear the bottom and lay it smooth to the exact width of the tiles, if these are used; for the more firmly the tiles are kept in their places by the solid sides of the drain, the less likely they are to be moved. (Elkington, Stephens, Johnstone, Donaldson, Young, Marshall.) DRAKE, SIR FRANCIS, was born in or about the year 1546, in an humble cottage on the banks of the Tavy, in Devonshire. His father, who was a poor and obscure yeoman, had twelve sons, of whom Francis was the eldest. According to Camden, who derived his information from Drake himself, Francis Russel, afterwards earl of Bedford, stood as his godfather, and John Hawkins, a distinguished navigator, defrayed the slight expenses of his short school education. In the days of persecution under Queen Mary, his father, who was known in his neighbourhood as a zealous protestant and a man of some acquirements, fled from Devonshire into Kent, where Drake was brought up; 'God dividing the honour,' says Fuller, betwixt two counties, that the one might have his birth and the other his education.' Under Elizabeth his father obtained an appointment among the seamen in the king's navy to read prayers to them;' and soon afterwards was ordained deacon, and made vicar of Upnor church on the Medway, a little below Chatham, where the royal fleet usually anchored. Francis thus grew up among sailors; and while he was yet very young, his father, by reason of his poverty, apprenticed him to a neighbour, the master of a bark, who carried on a coasting trade, and sometimes made voyages to Zeeland and France. This master kept Drake close to his work, and pains, with patience in his youth,' says Fuller, knit the joints of his soul, and made them more solid and compact.' When his master died, having no children of his own, he bequeathed to young Drake the bark and its equipments. With this he continued in the old trade, and had got together some little money, and was in the fair way of becoming a thriving man, when his ima gination was inflamed by the exploits of his protector Haw kins in the New World; and suddenly selling his ship, he repaired to Plymouth, and embarked himself and his for tunes in that commander's last and unfortunate adventure to the Spanish Main. In this disastrous expedition Drake lost all the money he had in the world, and suffered not a his superior and his friend in the hour of need. He, howlittle in character; for he disobeyed orders, and deserted ever, showed skilful seamanship, and brought the vessel he commanded-the Judith, a small bark of 50 tons-safely home. A chaplain belonging to the fleet comforted Drake with the assurance that, as he had been treacherously used by the Spaniards, he might lawfully recover in value upon the king of Spain, and repair his losses upon him whenever and wherever he could. Fuller says, The case was clear in sea divinity; and few are such infidels as not to believe doctrines which make for their profit. Whereupon Drake, though a poor private man, undertook to revenge on so mighty a monarch, who, not contented that the sun riseth and setteth in his dominions, may seem to desire to make all his own where he shineth.' Being readily joined by a number of sea adventurers, who mustered among them money enough to fit out a vessel, Drake made two or three voyages to the West Indies, to gain intelligence and learn also got some store of money there, by playing the seaman the navigation of those parts; but Camden adds, that he and the pirate.' In 1570 he obtained a regular commission from Queen Elizabeth, and cruised to some purpose in the West Indies. In 1572 he sailed again for the Spanish Main, with the Pasha, of 70 tons, and the Swan, of 25 tons, the united crews of which amounted to 73 men and boys. He was joined off the coast of South America by another bark, from the Isle of Wight, with 38 men; and with this himself measure as a drag So that a few m perfluous moisture ying off more th ious drains and t wettest land y 1 simple. Spos re required to sides at a p stiff clay. W he bottom, s xed to hander the botter tiles, if these pt in their pla ikely they are Tone, Donale or about t is of the Tan r and obscur as the elder ormation f arl of Bedf a distingusta is short s Queen May Good as a # ents, fed a ight up: G two ca her his da insignificant force he took and plundered the town of After some extraordinary adventures, Drake returned to Drake being employed in the interval in the service of the queen in Ireland, was forestalled in the honour of being the first Englishman to sail on the Pacific by one John Oxenham, who had served under him as common sailor and cook; but as this man merely floated a pinnace' on the South Sea, and was taken by the Spaniards and executed as a pirate, he could scarcely be an object of envy. In 1577, under the secret sanction of Queen Elizabeth, DRA islands, and on the coast of South America, where Cartha gena and other towns were taken and plundered. In the course of this expedition Drake visited the English colony in Virginia, which had been recently planted by Raleigh, and finding the colonists in great distress, he took them on board and brought them home with him. It is said that tobacco was first brought into England by the men who returned from Virginia with Drake. In 1587, when formidable preparations were making in the Spanish ports for the invasion of England, Elizabeth appointed Drake to the command of a fleet equipped for the purpose of destroying the enemy's ships in their own harbours. This force did not exceed thirty sail, and only four were of the Navy Royal, the rest, with the exception of two yachts belonging to the Queen, being furnished by merchant adventurers. In the port of Cadiz, the first place he attacked, he found sixty ships and many vessels of inferior size, all protected by land batteries. Drake entered the roads on the morning of the 19th April, and he burnt, sunk, or took thirty ships, some of which were of the largest size; and it appears he might have done much more mischief but for the necessity he was under of securing as much booty, in goods, as he could for the benefit of the merchant adventurers. He then turned back along the coast, taking or burning nearly a hundred vessels between Cadiz and Cape St. Vincent, besides destroying four castles on shore. This was what Drake called singeing the king of Spain's beard.' From Cape St. Vincent he sailed to the Tagus, and entering that river, came to anchor near Cascaes, whence he sent to tell the Marquis Santa-Cruz, who was lying up the river with a large force of galleys, that he was ready to exchange bullets with him. The marquis, who had been appointed general of the Armada preparing for the invasion of England, and who was esteemed the best sailor of Spain, declined the challenge, and he died (the English writers say of vexation at the mischief done by Drake) before that ill-fated expedition could sail. The operations we have briefly related delayed the sailing of that armament more than a year, and gave Elizabeth time to prepare for her defence. Having thus performed the public service, Drake bore away to the Azores, on the lookout for the treasure ships from India, and he was so fortunate as to fall in with an immense carrack most richly laden. He took it, of course, and the taking of this ship,' says a contemporary, was of a greater advantage to the English merchants than the value of her cargo to the captors; for, by the papers found on board, they so fully understood the rich value of the Indian merchandizes, and the manner of trading into the eastern world, that they afterwards set up a gainful traffic, and established a company of East India merchants.' Drake generously spent a considerable part of his prize-money in supplying the town of Plymouth with good, fresh water, for hitherto there was none, except what the inhabitants fetched from a mile distance. His next service at sea was as vice-admiral in the fleet under Charles Lord Howard of Effingham, lord high admiral of England, which, with the assistance of the elements, scattered and destroyed the 'Invincible Armada' of Spain. (ARMADA.) The seamanship of Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher contributed largely to the happy result. In the folFrom Java he sailed right across the Indian Ocean to the lowing year, 1589, Drake was employed as admiral in an exCape of Good Hope, which he doubled without accident, pedition sent to Portugal, in the hope of expelling the Spaand thence shaped his course homewards. He arrived at niards, who had taken possession of that kingdom, by estaPlymouth on Sunday, the 26th September, 1579, after an blishing the claims of Antonio, a pretender, around whom absence of two years and nearly ten months, during which the English expected the Portuguese would rally. The he had circumnavigated the globe, and spent many months whole expedition was badly planned, most miserably supon the almost unknown south-western coasts of America. plied with money and the other means of war, and but Drake was most graciously received at court, and Elizabeth lamely executed after the landing of the troops. It was now asserted more firmly than ever her right of navigating the also disgraced by cruelties unusual even in that age, and inocean in all its parts, and denied the exclusive right which excusable, notwithstanding the provocation which the Engthe Spaniards claimed over the seas and lands of the Newlish had so recently received on their own shores. In 1595 World. And though the queen yielded so far as to pay a Drake and Sir John Hawkins, who had good experience in considerable sum out of the treasure Drake had brought those parts, represented to Elizabeth that the best place for home to the procurator of certain merchants who urged, striking a blow at the gigantic power of Spain was in the with some reason, that they had been unjustly robbed, West Indies; and an expedition thither was prepared, Drake enough was left to make it a profitable adventure for the and Hawkins sailing together with twenty-six ships, on board privateers. At her orders Drake's ship was drawn up of which was embarked a land force under the orders of Sir in a little creek near Deptford, there to be preserved as a Thomas Baskerville and Sir Nicholas Clifford. There were monument of the most memorable voyage that the English too many in command, and the usual bad consequent had ever yet performed: she partook of a banquet on board ensued. After losing time in debate they were obliged to the vessel, and there knighted the captain. During part of give up an attempt on the Canaries with some loss the year 1585, and the whole of 1586, Drake was actively they got among the West India islands Drake and Hawkins employed against Philip II. on the coasts of Spain and Por not only quarrelled but separated for some time, andied, his tugal, in the Canaries, the Cape de Verdes, the West India reaching the east end of Puerto Rico Hawkins died, his 2 death being generally attributed to the agitation of his | to the classical lessons of Perizonius and Gronovius. He wrote, in 1707, another dissertation 'De Officio Præfectorum Prætorio,' in which he explains and illustrates the nature and duties of that important military office in the same manner as he had done for that of the præfects of the city. He states the changes made by various emperors, and lastly by Constantine, who, having abolished the prætorians, appointed four præfects of the prætorium, one for each division of the empire, who were supreme magistrates within their respective jurisdictions. One of Drake's smallest vessels was captured by the Spaniards, who, by putting the crew of it to the torture, extracted information respecting the plans of the expedition. When Drake attacked Puerto Rico he found that place fully warned and prepared, and his desperate attack was defeated. Sailing away, he took and burned Rio de la Hacha, Rancheria, Santa Martha, and Nombre de Dios; getting no greater spoil than 20 tons of silver, and 2 bars of gold. Drake remained in the harbour of Nombre de Dios, a most unhealthy place, while Baskerville with a part of the land forces made a vain and ruinous attempt to cross the isthmus of Darien, in order to plunder and destroy the city of Panama. A fatal disease broke out among soldiers and sailors, and soon deprived them of the important services of the chief surgeon of the fleet. When many of his men and three of his captains had died, the hardy Drake himself fell sick, and after struggling some twenty days with his malady, and the grief occasioned by his failures, he expired on the 27th of December, 1595. On the same day the fleet anchored at Puerto Bello, and in sight of that place, which he had formerly taken and plundered, his body received a sailor's funeral The waves became his winding sheet, So sang one of his admiring contemporaries. Though the reputation of Drake as a skilful seaman and a bold commander was deservedly great, still, unless we judge him by the circumstances and the standard of the times, he must appear in many of his exploits in no other light than that of a daring and skilful buccaneer. (Southey, Naval History; Harris, Collection of Voyages.) Drakenborch undertook, by the advice of Peter Burmann, an edition of Silius Italicus, which appeared in 1717. On Burmann's removal to Leyden, Drakenborch succeeded him in the chair of eloquence and history at Utrecht. His edition of Livy, on which he bestowed much time and labour, was published in 1738-46, in 7 vols. 4to. The value of the edition lies in the large collection of various readings, and the illustration of idioms by parallel passages drawn from the writings of Livy. The text is decidedly inferior to that which is found in the unpretending editions by Stroth, Raschig, &c. He published also, De Utilitate et Fructu humanarum Disciplinarum Oratio inauguralis ;' 'Oratio funebris in Mortem Francisci Burmanni,' and other orations and dissertations, and also a 'History of Utrecht,' and Genealogies of the noble Families of Holland.' He died at Utrecht in 1747. DRAMA, ATTIC (ôpãμa, an action), is said by Aristotle (Poet. iv., 14) to have arisen from the recitations of the leaders of the DITHYRAMBUS. To understand this statement we must bear in mind that a Greek tragedy always consisted of two distinct parts; the dialogue, which was written in the Attic dialect, and corresponded in its general features to the dramatical compositions of modern times, and the chorus, which to the last was more or less pervaded by Dorisms, and the whole tone of which was lyrical rather than dramatical. We must add that the metre of the dialogue, whether Iambic or Trochaic, was staid and uniform; while the choruses were written with every variety of metre. In a word, the dialogue was meant to be recited; the chorus was intended to be sung. It is obvious that these two elements must have had different origins. The one was an offshoot of the lyric poetry which sprung up among the Dorians, the other is to be referred to the rhapsodical recitations which were peculiar to the Ionian branch of the Greek nation; and as the Athenians stood in the middle between the Ionians and the Dorians, so the Attic drama may be considered as the point of intersection of the Ionian and Dorian literatures. That choral and consequently lyrical poetry should spring up among the Dorians was a natural result of the peculiar organization of a Doric state [DORIANS]; and the Epos as naturally arose among the Ionians, the countrymen of Homer. (Hist of the Literature of Greece, in the Library of Useful Knowledge, p. 41 and following.) [HOMER.] The Ionian epic poetry, which was written in dactylic hexameters, was recited by a set of men called rhapsodists [RHAP soDY]; and the gnomic and didactic poetry of Hesiod was recited in the same way. But the dactylic hexameter was not found suitable for gnomic poetry, and a modification of it, consisting also of six feet, but each foot shorter by a half-time than the dactyl, was substituted for it. This metre (the Iambic), or a lengthened form of it (the Trochaic), was used by Archilochus, Simonides of Amorgus, and Solon, whose verses were recited by themselves or by rhapsodists in the same way as the epic poetry which preceded them. DRAKENBORCH, ARNÖLD, was born at Utrecht, in 1684, studied in that university under Grævius and Peter Burmann, and at the age of 20 wrote an elaborate dissertation De Præfectis Urbis,' which established his reputation as a scholar. The heads of the chapters will best explain the various bearings and the classical importance of the subject. Ch. 1. is 'De Præfectis Urbis in genere,' in which the author explains the various kinds of magistrates at Rome who bore this name at different epochs, their various appellations, such as Custos Urbis, &c. 2. De Præfectis Urbis sub Regibus institutis,' who were appointed by several kings to take care of the city of Rome during their absence in war. Similar officers were occasionally appointed under the republic during the absence of the two consuls. 3. 'De Præfecto Urbis feriarum Latinarum caussa;' this was also a temporary magistrate appointed while the consuls were attending the Latin festivals on the Alban Mount. [ALBA LONGA] 4. De ultimo Præfecto sub Imperatoribus creato.' Augustus created the permanent office of præfect of Rome, which was filled by a senator appointed by the emperor, sometimes for life, sometimes for a shorter period. Messala Corvinus was the the first præfect appointed, but he soon after resigned, and Mæcenas succeeded him. Panvinius, in his 'Annals,' has given a list of a". the præfects of Rome from Augustus to the fall of the empire. In the following chapters Drakenborch explains the nature, importance, and various duties of the office. 5. De his qui ad Præfecturam Urbis admittuntur, eorumque dignitate. 6. De Jurisdictione Præfecti Urbis.' 7. De Curâ Præfecti Urbis circa annonam.' 8. De Curâ Præfecti Urbis circa ædificia.' 9. Idem circa ludos.' 10. De variis Officiis ad Præfectum Urbis pertinentibus.' 11. De Insignibus Præfecti Urbis.' The præfect of Rome was the first civil magistrate of the city and country around as far as the hundredth milliary stone; he ranked next to the emperor, was supreme judge in all important causes, heard appeals from the inferior magistrates, had charge of the police of the city, the superintendence of the markets and provisions, and, what was no less important at Rome, of the public games. He had under his orders the 'milites urbanos et stationarios,' a sort of militia which kept guard in the city. The lyric poetry of the Dorians was originally appropriated to the worship of Apollo, but the particular odes and choruses used in this worship were in process of time transferred to the cognate deity, Bacchus (who was, like Apollo, the god of the sun [BACCHUS and DEMETER]; and these odes and choral dances had, all of them, their representatives in the dramatic poetry of a later age. (Athenæus, p. 630, D.) But the Dithyrambus was the earliest species of choral poetry connected with the worship of Bacchus, and it appears from many allusions, and indeed from Dithyrambic fragments, that while the body of the song was composed in irregular metres, the poet himself, or some rhapsodist, acting as exarchus, or leader, in his place, recited trochaics as an introduction. Here then was a mixture of recitation and chorus perfectly analogous to the tragedy of later time, which was probably suggested by it; and it is in this sense, we doubt not, that Aristotle This valuable little work of Drakenborch has gone through several editions; that of Bareuth, 1787, contains an extract from the author's funeral oration, by Professor Oosterdyk, in which the other works of Drakenborch are mentioned. Upon leaving Utrecht he went to Leyden to study the law, but there also he devoted his chief attention to se belon nd Gronovius. & De Officio Præfect and illustrates t military office in t the præfects of th various emper abolished the prætorium, on upreme magistr of Peter Burn ared in 1717. é rch succeededir at Utrecht. E much time a . 4to. The r various reading passages drai cidedly infer Eng editions De Utilitate inaugurals nni,' and c ry of Utrec Holland' E aid by Art itations of a and this stat tragedy a ue, which attributes to the leaders of the Dithyrambus the origin of | and the petty occupations to which they give rise, interrupts We read of a lyrical tragedy long before Thespis, and DRAMATIC ART AND LITERATURE. Of all the The first and simplest of the dramatic elements may be found existing in a high degree in works neither intended for the stage nor capable of being transferred to it-in simple dialogues. When, however, the persons of the colloquy deliver thoughts and sentiments which, though opposed to each other, operate no change, but leave the minds of both in exactly the same state in which they were at the commencement, the conversation may indeed be deserving of attention, but cannot be productive of any dramatic interest. To awaken the latter, the conversation must be animated by a different spirit. For instance, when, in Plato, Socrates asks the sophist, Hippias, what is the meaning of the beautiful, the latter promptly returns a superficial answer, but is afterwards compelled by the disguised attacks of Socrates to give up his former definition, and shift his ground again and again, until, ashamed and irritated at the superiority of the sage who has convicted him of his ignorance, he is at length reduced to quit the field. This dialogue is not only philosophically instructive, but arrests the attention like a little drama and owing to this animation in the progress of the thoughts, and the solicitude with which we consequently look to the result, the dramatic character of the dialogues of Plato has always been justly admired. 'Nor is this all. Even in a lively verbal relation, it is frequently customary to introduce persons in conversation with each other, and to give a corresponding variety to the tone and the language. But the gaps which these conversations still leave in the story are filled up with a description of the accompanying circumstances, or other particulars, by the person who relates in his own name. The dramatic poet must renounce all such assistance; but for this he is richly recompensed in the following invention. He requires each of the characters in his action to be represented by a real person; that this person, in size, age, and figure, should resemble as much as possible the ideas which we are to form of his imaginary being, and even assume every peculiarity by which that being is distinguished; that every speech should be delivered in a suitable tone of voice, and accompanied by corresponding looks and motions; and that those external circumstances should be added which are necessary to give the hearers a clear idea of what is going forward. Moreover, these representatives of the creatures of his imagination must appear in the costume suitable to their assumed rank, age, and country; partly that they may bear a greater resemblance to them, and partly because there is something characteristic even in the dresses. Lastly, he must see them surrounded by a place which in some degree resembles that where, according to his fable, the action took place; because this also contributes to the resemblance: he places them on a scene. All this brings us to the idea of the theatre. It is evident that in the form of dramatic poetry, that is, in the representation of an action by dialogue without any narration, the ingredient of a theatre is essentially necessary. We allow that there are dramatic works which were not originally destined by their authors for the stage, and which would not produce any great effect on it, that still afford great pleasure in the perusal. I am, however, very much inclined to doubt whether they would produce the same strong impression upon a person who had never seen a play, nor ever heard a description of one, which they do upon us. We are accustomed, in reading dramatic works, to supply the represen tation ourselves.' The A visible representation, then, being essential to the dramatic form, a dramatic work may be considered in a double point of view-how far it is poetical, and how far it is theatrical. In considering its poetical qualities it is not the versification and the ornaments of language that we have chiefly in contemplation, but the poetry in the spirit and plan of a piece; and this may exist in a high degree, when even it is written in prose. To be poetical in the higher sense, it must in the first place be a connected whole, and complete within itself. But this is merely the negative condition of the form of a work of art, by which it is distinguished from the phenomena of nature, which flow into one another, and do not possess an independent existence. To be poetical, it is necessary that it should be a mirror of ideas, of thoughts, and feelings, in their character necessary and eternally true, though moulded into an imaginative whole. But how does a dramatic work become theatrical, or fitted to appear with advantage on the stage? object proposed is, to produce an impression on an assembled crowd, to gain their attention, and excite in them an interest and participation. This part of his task is common to the poet with the orator. The latter attains his end by perspicuity, rapidity, and force. Whatever exceeds the orFrom this we may conceive the great charm of dramatic dinary measure of patience or comprehension, he must poetry. Of all diversions,' observes the modern German carefully avoid. Moreover, a number of men assembled critic, Schlegel, in his very able lectures on dramatic litera- together constitute an object of distraction to one another, ture and art, the theatre is undoubtedly the most entertain- if their eyes and ears are not directed to a common object ing: we see important actions when we cannot act impor- beyond their own circle. Hence the dramatic poet, as well tantly ourselves: the highest object of human activity is as the orator, must at the very outset produce an impression man; and in the drama we see men, from motives of strong enough to draw his hearers from themselves, and so friendship or hostility, measure their powers with each become master, as it were, of their bodily attention. other, influence each other as intellectual and moral beings, The grand requisite in a drama,' remarks Schlegel, is to by their thoughts, sentiments, and passions, and decidedly make the rhythmus visible in its progress. determine their reciprocal relations. The art of the poet is once been effected, the poet may the sooner halt in his to separate from the fable whatever does not essentially rapid career, and indulge his own inclinations. There are belong to it; whatever, in the daily necessities of real life, I points where the most simple or artless tale, the inspired When this has 1 lyre, the most profound thoughts and remote allusions, the smartest coruscations of wit, and the most dazzling flights of a sportive or ethereal fancy, are all in their place, and where the willing audience, even those who cannot entirely comprehend them, follow the whole with a greedy ear, like a music in harmony with their feelings. The great art of the poet is, to avail himself of the effect of contrasts wherever he can,-to exhibit with equal clearness, at some times a quiet stillness, the musings of self-contemplation, and even the indolent resignation of exhausted nature, and at others the most tumultuous emotions, the raging storm of the passions. With respect to the theatrical, however, we must never forget that much must be suited to the capacities and inclinations of the audience, and consequently to the national character in general, and the particular degree of civilization. Dramatic poetry is in a certain sense the most worldly of all; for, from the stillness of an inspired mind it exhibits itself in the midst of the noise and tumult of social life. The dramatic poet, more than any other, is bound to court external favour for applause.' pleasure. But as for the arbitrary distinction between tragedy and comedy, which criticism, whose birth is so long posterior to that of art, has established in so large a portion of civilised Europe, the more he has in him of the genuine artist the less will he feel inclined to conform rigidly to that critical demarcation. When we consider the infinitely chequered nature of human life and character, and consequently the boundless resources which it offers to the drama as its poetical mirror, we cannot but at once perceive that the images which that mirror is capable of presenting to us are susceptible of a diversity of features and of hues immensely exceeding the capabilities of any other single art-nay, of all of them combined. Now, among this boundless variety of pictures from human life, in all of which, embracing any considerable prospect, the serious and the mirthful must be mingled, it is plain that the proportions in which these two necessary elements exist in the same composition will admit of infinite gradation. In the nature of things, however, the portion of dramatic productions in which they may be taken to be equally balanced must be very small in comparison with that in which one of the two manifestly preponderates. This necessary preponderance, in the great majority of such works, of the mirthful or the serious element, is, it seems to us, the only sound and proper basis for the distinction between tragedy and comedy. The terms should be employed as convenient heads of classification, but as nothing more. Every work of art, in the higher sense of the word, is as much a work of inspiration as of ingenuity: it is a growth rather than a structure; and to reject a production of high dramatic genius because it should not fit into the conventional frame of tragedy, comedy, &c., so long the practice of one of the great dramatic schools of Europe, were no less absurd than it would be to exclude some newly-discovered plant from the domain of natural history because there should be no suitable place for it in the previously existing scientific nomenclature. This is a matter which we shall more clearly illustrate when we come, in another place, to speak of the dramatic genius of Shakspeare; but so much in general treatises on the drama has hitherto been written on the plan of making the principles of art subordinate to the distinctions of criticism, that it was impossible to take one satisfactory step in unfolding our view of the subject without explicitly protesting, in the first instance, against so vicious an inversion. A complete history of the drama would be almost equivalent to a history of civilised society over the greater part of the earth. Man,' says Schlegel, has a great dispo It is important that we should enter into a preliminary consideration of the distinction which, we think, has been too rigorously drawn, in treating of dramatic composition, between the tragic and the comic species. Least of all the arts will the dramatic admit of that mechanical mode of critical analysis, to which indeed the spirit of all true art is essentially repugnant. We have already observed, that, even above all other artists, the dramatist, on whatever subject he employs his talent, is bound to seek, first of all, to please. Whether tragedy or comedy has attracted the spectator to the benches of the theatre, it is entertainment that he is come in quest of. The dramatist who cares to succeed in his art must therefore make it his primary object to furnish that entertainment. Let it not be supposed, as seems to have been mistakenly thought even by some critics of eminence, that any one goes voluntarily to witness a tragedy for the sake of painful excitement. Among the numerous and extremely miscellaneous audience collected in a great national theatre (which very diversity is not one of the least interesting circumstances incidental to our subject) there is, indeed, to be found, at one and the same moment, every grade of intellect, of feeling, and of taste; but even the rudest and most ignorant spectator, in the most animated scenes of the most admirably exhibited drama, never once thoroughly mistakes illusion for reality. Were he once to do so, the pleasing spell would be dissolved. It is not the presence of deep distress or convulsive passion that holds the theatrical auditor in pleasingly fascinated attention; it is the vivid picture of it. This grand mistake of regard-sition to mimicry. When he enters vividly into the situaing the audience as considering themselves present at an tion, sentiments, and passions of others, he even involuntaactual transaction has vitiated in several most important rily puts on a resemblance to them in his gestures. Children respects the judgment of some of the ablest writers on the are perpetually going out of themselves: it is one of their principles of dramatic art. Most of the spectators, on the chief amusements to represent those grown people whom contrary, know very well what they go to see in the scenes they have had an opportunity of observing, or whatever of a play, a series, closely and artfully connected, of living, else comes in their way; and with the happy flexibility of moving, and speaking pictures,-but nothing more. Be- their organization, they can exhibit all the characteristics tween the contemplation of actual suffering and that of the of assumed dignity in a father, a schoolmaster, or a king. most lively representation of it, there is, as the art of the The sole step further which is requisite for the invention of dramatist shows us yet more vividly than that of the painter, a drama, namely, the separating and extracting the mimetic all the difference between deep pain and genuine though elements and fragments from social life, has however in melancholy pleasure. In the drama, as in painting, the many nations never been taken. In the very minute demost prosaic and literal imitation of nature, skilfully exe-scription of antient Egypt, in Herodotus and other writers, cuted, whether the subject be mournful or cheerful, gives I do not recollect observing the smallest trace of it. On some pleasure to the most ordinary observer; while a the other hand, the Etrurians, who in many respects repoetical imitation affords a more refined gratification to the sembled the Egyptians, had their theatrical representations; man of taste, whether the scene be one of joyousness or and, what is singular enough, the Etrurian name for an sorrow. The pleasure, indeed, which he will derive from a actor, histrio, is preserved in living languages down to the piece of art on a melancholy subject will bear a different present day. The Arabians and Persians, though possessing Lue from that afforded him by a mirthful or cheerful piece; a rich poetical literature, are unacquainted with any sort of but pleasure it will still be, and pleasure only. It is the drama power of art that captivates him, and to which he yields involuntary homage. The different kinds of pleasure that flow from dramatic representations, according as their subjects partake more or less of the cheerful or the melancholy ingredients, we shall shortly come to consider. Only we have thought it necessary to insist strongly in the first instance on the essential fallacy of the assumption that people go to a tragic representation to receive impressions analogous to those which they experience in the contemplation of actual woe. On the other hand, we are by no means entitled to The first business of the dramatist, then, is to produce at least a faithful copy, but, if it be in his power, a poetical imitation of nature: this is the first condition of his giving It has it is no have in to act u than la muse. |