iO On the Decline qfihe British Drama. [Jan. 



pared to that of their persons, and to that freedom and looseness of 

 clothing, which enabled the painters and sculptors of the ancients to 

 exhibit the human frame with a force and an exactness rarely to be 

 fomid in modern works of art. In those ages, the poet, like the artist, 

 drew from what he saw, not from what he fancied ; and tragedy, which 

 deals with the passions, the emotions, and the distresses of mankind, 

 often had only to present these, its materials, as they had actually 

 appeared in real life. 



But as society grows older — as commerce and literature, the two 

 grand agents of civilization, exert their force, the influence of manners 

 gradually weaken and at length subdues the tyranny of passions. In 

 the bulk of mankind, conmierce (we use the word in "its most extensive 

 meaning) directs to serious and to peaceful pursuits those fierce pro- 

 pensities, which would often spurn any other control than that of self- 

 interest ; and among those whose condition places them above laborious 

 occupation, literature performs nearly the same office. It conquers, 

 by softening the fiery spirits over which mere laws would have but 

 little power, or power maintained by perpetual struggles ; it gives the 

 emotions a new and harmless direction, by teaching men to turn from 

 the stormy excitements of active life, its hopes and fears, its perils 

 and successes, to the more gentle transports of the imagination. The 

 result of course is, that less of passion appears in the conduct, and, 

 indeed, that less of it exists in the character of a refined people ; or, 

 when it does exist, it usually lurks deep in the temper, glossed over by that 

 smooth and quiet surface which manners spread over the whole of society, 

 and is only occasionally heaved up when the mind is agitated by some 

 strongly exciting cause. In this condition of society, it is plain, 

 that the fancy of the poet must suppl}' him with much more, and ob- 

 servation with much less, of his materials than in an earlier age. And 

 this, we think, is one cause why the tragic drama of the present day 

 exhibits so much feebleness upon the one hand, and extravagance upon 

 the other. WTiile the poet draws from nature as he now sees her, 

 his imitation must share the weakness of the original ; and when he has 

 recourse to fancy, it is not easy for him always to observe the line which 

 separates vigour from wildness. 



The old wTiters had another advantage over those of later times : 

 they possessed a greater freedom and latitude in the choice of their 

 characters and fables : their works were given to a public little skilled 

 in history, and, indeed- for the greater part of them, nearly unac- 

 quainted with literature. Many of the remarkable persons and events 

 of antiquity are, probabh', from the prodigious diffusion of letters better 

 known to us, than they were to those who lived in places not far 

 distant, and at the same era. The same observation evidently applies 

 to those modern nations, such as England, in which the drama 

 flourished at a period, when the effect of the art of printing was not 

 yet to make literature common property to the people. Hence, the 

 range of fable is with us greatly narrowed. The most striking events 

 of past ages are familiar to us from history, or from having been repeat- 

 edly employed in poetry, on which we have often dwelt. Some have 

 thus lost their interest ; others their dignitj^ More modern events 

 become mean and unfit for poetry, because they are read and talked 

 of by multitudes of all classes ; and this character pervades still more 

 the occurrences of our own generation. A subject must be elevated 



