deed, it appears to us, that either his scheme or the Gospel of Chrift must fall to the ground; there feems no alternative, He denies the power of all fuperior beings, God excepted, to do either good or evil to mankind, and on this principle rejects the influence of evil fpirits from every cause of human mifery. But the Holy Scriptures conftantly affirm, that the Devil beguiled man from his allegiance to God, and feduced him into fin; they represent this prince of wicked fpirits as the immediate author of all mifchief, and therefore (call him "an homicide from the beginning." Mr. Farmer confiders all the calamities and advantages of human nature as immediately determined and fixed in the original conftitution of things, and hence maintains, that the human fyftem is governed by the very fame invariable laws with the natural world. But the Holy Scriptures affure us, that the present state of human nature is not that in which it was originally created: they attribute all the evils of mankind to fin: they will neither allow, that God is the author of death, nor that human miferies arife from the original constitution of things: but they attribute every bleffing to the imme diate and conftant agency of the divine Being, and his unmerited goodness. This is the grand hinge on which, not only the whole controverfy between Chriftians and the oppofers of a divine revelation, but the very being of religion and virtue, turns. If the prefent state of human nature arose from the original conftitution of things, and man be juft fuch as he came at first from the hands of his Maker, we muft conclude with Lord Bolingbroke, that neither the goodnefs nor the juftice of God ever required, that we should be better or happier than we are, at least in the present world; and that no fufficient reafon can be affigned for an extraordinary revelation. If the fettled order of caufes and effects in the moral world, together with the regularity and uniformity of the natural world, are all to be ascribed to the operation of the very fame laws, we can by no means avoid that conclufion which Mr. Hume feems to have intended in his "Effay on Liberty and Neceffity," That it is impoffible for reafon to fhew how human actions can have any moral turpitude at all, without involving our Creator in the fame guilt. We have never yet feen any objections raised against thofe principles on which the Gospel is refted, which do not strike as much at the ground of natural religion as at the foundation of the Chriftian fcheme. The prefent intereft of fociety in general, as well as the future happiness of mankind, is infeparably connected with the truth and reality of thofe doctrines, which are delivered in the Scriptures, concerning the ruin of human nature by the malice and wickedness of the Devil, and its recovery from fin and wretchednefs by the Son of God. The principles of the Christian religion can never be overthrown without the lofs of of morality; and, while a real difference is maintained in the world between virtue and vice, and man is confidered as a moral agent, it seems clear to us, Mr. Farmer's account of the origin of human calamities must be rejected.' Our Readers cannot but notice the confequential ftyle, we and us, which Mr. Fell adopts. They ought alfo to be apprised, that he reckons, original fin, and the renewal of our nature' by an immediate divine agency,' among thofe doctrines of Chriftianity, which, according to his reprefentation in the paragraph juft quoted, are connected with the prefent intereft of fociety, and with the future happiness of mankind, and which ❝ can never be overthrown without the lofs of morality.' Mr. Fell, in another, chapter, feems willing to believe, that madness is sometimes, at leaft, owing to poffeffion by evil spirits, though he acknowledges, that it would be highly prefumptuous in any one in the prefent day to determine what particular inftances of madness are to be afcribed to this caufe. His reasons are, that fome of the phenomena of madnefs are not to be accounted for, and that fome particular kinds of madness are incurable. The fame reafons led the ancients to ascribe the epilepfy, madness, and every other diforder, and every other phenomenon, with the nature of which they were unacquainted, to the fupernatural agency and influence of fuperior evil beings. If Mr. Farmer (hould think it proper to take any public notice of this opponent, he will, in our opinion, obtain an easy victory. We can only with for his own reputation, and for the credit of his profeffion, that Mr. Fell had proved himself a more rational, modeft, and generous adversary. ART. II. Zoraida; a Tragedy. As it is acted at the TheatreRoyal in Drury-Lane. To which is added a Poftfcript, contain ing Obfervations on Tragedy. 8vo. 1 s. 6d. Kearly. 1780. DDISON was accufed by Dennis of poifoning the town Α A with falfe criticifm in the Spectator, in order to preju dice their minds in favour of Cato. Critics as we are, we believe this cenfure of Addifon, by our predeceffor, to have been malevolent and ill-founded; and that the Spectators on Tra gedy, however they might occafionally coincide with the practice of the author, were dictated by the fpirit, of taste and candour. The Writer of Zoraida has, however, fubjoined to his piece fome " Obfervations on Tragedy," profeffedly written in vindication of the principles on which his drama is conftructed. It will not be improper, therefore, to blend an inveftigation of these principles with an examination of the tra gedy; both of which the Author has, with much fairness, fubmitted to critical decifion, Thefe Thefe Obfervations, though mifcellaneous, are digefted methodically. The greater part, being little more than a collection of received opinions, tranfcribed from Ariftotle, Hurd, Marmontel, &c. are incontrovertible; but the remainder, containing new doctrines now first broached, and maintained by our Author himself, are, we think, in many inftances, extremely questionable. He commences with a new and, in our opinion, a dangerous maxim, that a tragedy for the clofet, and a tragedy for the ftage, muft pleafe on different principles. No fuch diftinction occurs in Ariftotle, in whofe days the arts of fcenic reprefentation departed more widely from the truth of Nature, than the theatrical exhibitions of the moderns. Plays are avowedly written to be acted, and Ariftotle reckons mufic and decoration among the parts of tragedy. Modern critics, though they have omitted thefe local affiftants, rightiy confidering them. rather as the dress than the body of tragedy, have however conftantly adverted to the theatre in all their obfervations on the drama; never counfelling the writer to facrifice by turns to the reader and fpectator, but exhorting him to ufe the means of faithful and lively imitation. Thefe means are undoubtedly an interesting fable, fupported by characters accurately delineated, and justly fuftained. The fentiments and diction follow of course. Verbaque provifam rem non invita fequuntur. The inference which the Obferver has drawn from his first maxim, appears to us as erroneous as the maxim itself. Fable, he fays, is moft calculated to please on the ftage, and Manners in the clofet; the first moft forcibly exciting pity and terror, the latter only moving admiration. In our opinion, both fable and manners, in the hands of a master, first seize our paffions, and afterward receive the fanction of our judgment. The fable is perhaps, of the two, more peculiarly the work of art, and confequently most the object of admiration; or, to speak the Obferver's language, of our "artificial and reflective paffions." To try this matter fairly by the feelings of the reader, totally unconnected with theatrical artifice, let us inftance the English comic-epic of Tom Jones. The fprightly and affecting exhibition of manners alternately excite our mirth, and move our paffions; but the artificial contexture of the fable, particularly toward the conclufion, has conftantly raised admiration. The introduction of tragedies, raifed chiefly on manners, the Obferver has affigned to Corneille. How could he, in this inftance, overlook our great countryman, Shakspeare? The nice difcrimination of the various fhades of the human mind, the pourtraying of character, was Shakspeare's great excellence. 4 His fable is often comparatively defective. What is the conduct of the story of Hamlet viewed with the person of Hamlet and the Ghoft? What author more openly fins against the ftrictness of fable, or more uniformly adheres to the truth of character? It is to this he chiefly owes his power on the flage, as well as in the closet. Improbabilities of fabie are often overlooked by the fpectator, if not accompanied with violation of character. Ariftotle indeed philofophically ftated the fable to be the ground of tragedy, because a tiflue of fcenes, unconnected by action, however faithfully and elegantly exhibiting manners, could not conftitute a drama, tragic or comic: yet he never hinted that fable and manners were not equally effential to the written or acted tragedy. Even in the epic, unadapted to, the theatre, yet capable of many ornaments not admiffible in tragedy, the delineation and prefervation of the manners is a most important requifite. The Obferver, however, by his inftances from Corneille, and others, feems to have confounded the exhibition of character with declamation. . We are not better pleased with the idea of the only new property that the Obferver has affigned to the fable itself, the Marvellous! To elevate and furprise is the fyftem of The Rehearsal, but not the code of Ariftotle; and if by the Marvellous, the Obferver means any thing more than an interesting and judi cious arrangement of the incidents, we lift up both hands against his opinion. That he means fomething more, we conclude from his conftruction of the tragedy of ZORAIDA, the fable of which is much lefs probable or pathetic, than marvellous. The catastrophe is alfo cold, though marvellous; a defect perhaps arifing from another of our Obferver's new ideas of tragedy, that a happy catastrophe must be carefully concealed till the moment of its arrival." Not to enter into argument on this point, we shall content ourselves with refuting the principle by one fplendid example. The catastrophe of Shakspeare's Cymbeline is happy, and confifts of a recapitulation of incidents previously known to the fpectator; yet the author has contrived to render it uncommonly warm and affecting. The author of Zoraida, on the contrary, has carefully concealed his plot from the fpectator till the laft fcene; when, all on a fudden, be converts the lover of Zoraida into her brother. We smile at the poetical table of confanguinity, fo unexpectedly brought before us, and wait to fee, the drama concluded by the Emperor's marrying Old Joan. Not to dwell on the ftalenefs of the fiction, we do not remember a play in which it is introduced with more labour and violence, or in which it creates fo little intereft. The manners of the tragedy of Zoraida are Turkifh, and in these the Author-Obferver points out to us the accurate atten tion he has paid to the coftumé, to which the fentiment and diction, as well as action of each perfonage religioufly accord. The only thing (fays the Obferver) a dramatic writer, whofe fable is Eaftern, has to confider is, to felect his images with judgment, to take care they have a local propriety, contain allufions to the mythology and cuftoms of the Dramatis Perfonæ, are taken from furrounding objects, and belong to ideas familiar to thefe WHO SPEAK.' We beg leave however to remark to the Author, that images, felected with judgment, should not only belong to ideas familiar to those who speak, but should avoid allufions totally foreign to the knowledge or apprehensions of thofe who hear. This management of local proprieties requires a tafte and addrefs not fo happily displayed in the tragedy of Zoraida, as in fome other plays founded on Eastern stories. Part of the Turkish mythology is popular, and generally known. Such allufions are preferable to a parade of Oriental pedantry; as a proof of which let the reader of Zoraida compare Almaimon's description of the Mahometan paradife (p. 28) to Caled's beautiful verses on the fame fubject in Hughes's Siege of Damafcus ! The whole of the diction of this tragedy abounds in imagery. We agree with the Author, that the tragic ftyle demands fome elevation, and that the use of images is admiffible: but, not to feem unnatural, they fhould appear to be the fpontaneous effufions of the speaker, rather than the laborious affectation of the author. They should not run out into long and luxuriant defcriptions, and they ought to be level to the understanding of the auditor. A writer might as well introduce Eastern characters speaking in the Oriental tongue, and contend for its propriety, as to overload his dialogue with references and allufions equally intelligible to the generality of the audience. Perfpicuity without meannefs, fays Ariftotle, is the virtue of style; plainly intimating, that though the diction may be raised, its bafis fhould be fimplicity. The perfonages of Zoraida are always on the ftretch after expreffion; their language abounds in forced images, used by Princes and Attendants, Princeffes and Confidantes, Ottomans and Egyptians, indifcriminately. The beginning of the Fourth Act will ferve as fome fpecimen of the ftyle of this tragedy, though less full of imagery, local or general, than many other paffages: Enter ZORAIDA. How fatally delufive are the dreams, The golden dreams of happiness, which flatter Unhappy mortals with fantastic hopes That ne'er must know completion! Pow'rs of heav'n! One comfort ftill is mine; my lord Almaimon |