the stage, in the feasts of the court. This was an affair of small importance; but this scene, well considered, may afford much greater lessons; and for that which relates to the politicks of courts, of which Corneille so often treats, and which Fontenelle, and so many others, pretend to be so superior. ly treated in Otho, I think it is here we are to look for it; that there are only a few general strokes in the small number of verses, which are remembered of Otho, a piece moreover, which is now so little read; but that the whole picture is to be found in the parts of Agrippina, of Burrhus, and of Narcissus.

I shall not speak of the beautiful recital of the death of Britannicus, but to observe, it is the only place, in which Racine, equal to Tacitus in all the rest, and we can say nothing greater in its favour, appears to have fallen below him. The design was to paint the different impressions made upon the courtiers, at the moment when Britannicus expires under the operation of poison.

One half of them rush out with shrieks;
But those, who have been longer ha-
bituated to the court,
Compose their countenances by the eyes

of Cæsar.

Perhaps we should not desire more, if we were not acquainted with the text of Tacitus. At, quibus altior intellectus, resistunt defici, et Cesarem intuentes. But those who saw further, remain unmoved, with their eyes fixed on Cæsar.

Nothing is more striking than this absolute immobility, in an event of this nature. To remain master of one's self, at a similar spectacle, to such a degree as to have no motion whatever, before Observing the motions of the mas

ter, is the last effort of the habit of servility, and the true sublime of the spirit of a courtier. It is thus that Tacitus paints; but Racine, in a moment after, equals him again in those verses, which he owes not to imitation.

His crime alone is not the cause of my

despair;

His jealousy has been able to arm him against his brother.

But, madam, if I must explain my grief, Nero saw him expire, without changing his countenance or colour.

His unfeeling eyes have already the steadiness

Of a tyrant, hardened in crimes from his infancy.

Son crime seul n'est pas ce qui me déses pere;

Sa jalousie a pu l'armer contre son frere. Mais, s'il vous faut, Madame, expliquer ma doulenr,

Nero l'a vu mourir sans changer de couleur. Ses yeux indifferens on déjà la constance D'un tyran, dans le crime endurci dès l'enfance.

What nervous expressions! Such, in a hundred places, is the style of this man, to whom they would allow any thing, but the talent of painting love.

One of the characters of genius, and especially of dramatick genius, is to pass from one subject to another without being at a loss, and to be always the same, without resembling itself. We have seen what an astonishing progress Racine had made, when, notwithstanding the success of Alexander, returning by his own energy to nature and himself, he fixed at the age of twenty-seven an epocha, as glorious to Irance as himself, by offering in Andromache a new species of tragedy.

It might have been then said, What a distance between Alexander and Andromache! It might have been said afterwards, What a difference between Andromache

and Britannicus! We pass into a new world, and fable and history are not more remote from each other, than these two pieces. But how, among beauties of so severe a kind, has he been able to place the ingenuous and innocent tenderness of two young lovers, such as Britannicus and Junia, and preserve himself from those inequalities, which have so often wounded us in Corneille? It is because the fate of these two lovers, which inerests us, depends constantly on those imposing personages, who move around them; and it is, above all, by the art of intermingling shades, and by the insensible gradation of colour. Junia is only tender with Britannicus; but when she appears before Nero, who offers her the empire, she is not only a faithful lover, but she becomes noble. She refuses the offers of Nero and the throne of the world without affectation, without an effort, and with an affecting modesty. She does not brave Nero, as most other writers would not failed to have made her; she shews no pride in her refusal'; she expresses herself in a manner to gain the esteem of Nero, if Nero could esteem virtue, and to move him in favour of Britannicus, if he had been susceptible of any honest and laudable sentiment. He exhorts her to come over to the empire, to forget Britannicus, disinherited by Claudius. She answers,

He has commanded my affections, My lord, and I have not pretended to conceal them.

This sincerity no doubt is not very discreet ;

But my mouth is always the interpreter of my heart.

Absent from court, I have not thought

This firm and decent language, this generous disinterestedness, these tears, which console an unfortunate prince for the throne he has lost, elevate the love of Junia to the dignity of tragedy. She is not humiliated before the master of the world. This is not talking of love for the sake of speaking of it; it is love, such as we feel it naturally mingled with great interests, and explaining itself in a tone conformable to them. Such is the merit of characteristicks, proper to the subject. This love does not move forcibly, like that of Hermione; but it pleases, it attaches, it interests; and this is enough in a work that produces other effects. The essential thing was, that it should not appear misplaced.

Britannicus, surprised by Nero at the feet of his mistress, offers, in truth, a situation which might belong to comedy, as well as to tragedy. But the danger of Brit

annicus, and the known character of Nero, exalt this situation; and the scene which results from it, between the two rivals, is a model of dramatick contrasts, in which two opposite characters meet in collision with violence, with one being crushed by the other. The dialogue is perfect; we there see with pleasure the free and digni fied vivacity of a young prince and preferred lover, contend against the ascendancy of supreme rank, and the ferocious pride of a jealous tyrant. The character of Britannicus, and the advantage of pleasing Junia, maintains him in a state of equality before the empe rour, and the spectator is always pleased to see unjust power humiliated. It is thus, in this piece, that the interests of policy and of love are balanced, without injury to each other, and that colours so different are tempered, without ap pearing to obscure each other.

IF that precept of ancient wisdom, which directs us to respect ourselves, were properly attended to, it would have almost as happy an influence upon our manners, as upon morals. Many of those, whom we every day meet with, seem to be so ashamed of their own characters,(though sometimes perhaps the shame may be a false one,) as to be willing to assume al most any mode of behaviour rather than that, which would be sincere and natural. I refer to all those classes of men called wits, odd fellows, poor creatures, and by other similar names, for one common disposition runs through them all.

PLUTARCH.

Not indeed affectation, though they assume false appearances, for af fectation colours her cheeks and blackens her eye-brows, and would have it pass for nature; but the disposition, of which I am speaking, intends not deception but concealment, and will be satisfied with any mask however ugly, provided that it will only hide the real features of character.

For myself, I am convinced, that all the buffoonery and incivility, which these men commit, is not from any preconcerted plan to be disagreeable, but merely because they are afraid to act naturally, and to try to behave like gentle.

men. They believe, that they shall fail, and therefore will not make the attempt; and indeed most of us, when we do not do what we ought, had much rather have it laid to the charge of our disincli nation, than of our inability. They cannot make a handsome bow, and therefore walk into a room with their hats on their heads; they are not able to turn a compliment prettily, and so exercise themselves in saying rude things; they have no talents to sit still in company with composed faces, and on that account take the first opportunity to distort their features with a laugh; they cannot help forward conversation, and are therefore on the watch to throw obstructions into its way, such as cavils, and silly speeches, and puns. As to disposition, indeed, these people are very different. Some of them, notwithstanding their incivility, have a great deal of broad good nature, so that, as Beatrice says of Benedict, " men laugh at them and beat them." Others snap, and throw out sparks of fire at every touch, so that it is quite unsafe to come near them carelessly. The first kind is sometimes amusing to persons, who have the taste of the times when jesters were kept for the king's use, and who consequently relish the ridiculous, more than they feel the disgusting These, therefore, though they are never welcomed with a smile, are sometimes received with a laugh, but are commonly dismissed with but a cold invitation to come again; for those, who make us smile, not those who make us laugh, are the persons whom we wish to see often.

The minds of these people, however, are affected in different degrees, Some of them have lucid intervals of long continuance, when they talk and behave very much

as they ought. Even as to these, however, there is most commonly in their countenance or manner something, which might betray to an observer that their understandings were not perfectly sound. Others discover themselves by a neglect of usual civilities, an assumed ignorance of common customs, an affected absence when in company, and by other similar symptoms. Mad poets are commonly in the last stage of the disease, as was observable in the time of Horace, who describes them (de Arte Poet. 1. 455 et seq.) as being avoided by decent people, vesanum tetigisse timent, &c. troubled by boys, agitant pueri, followed after by imprudent persons incautique sequuntur; and having a propensity to do strange things, such as walking into ditches, perhaps from the love of singularity, Qui scis an prudens huc se projecerit ? all which diagnosticks are for the most part to be remarked at the present day.

I confess, I cannot help having a regard for the ruins of human nature and the fragments of valuable qualities, which are sometimes to be discovered in these unhappy persons. I view them with the same species of compassion, that Ulysses looked upon his companions in the cave of Circe. Under their unpleasant and bristly exteri our I discover something, which I wish restored to its original dig nity, and clothed in the form, which nature intended. That there is a charm, by which this may be done, that there are, as Horace (whom I love to quote) says ver ba et voces, quibus lenire dolorem, I for my part do not doubt. Every one has abilities to be inoffensive, and to be inoffensive, is all that need at first be required of them.

To treat others as we ought however it is necessary, to believe

well of one's self.

If we do not put some value on our politeness and on our good will and respect, we shall not think it worth while to exercise the former and discover the latter. There are many, who become impudent through want of confidence, and ridiculous from the dread of being laughed at. Without proper assurance, a man may be impertinent or he may be bashful, but is never modest. It may depend on chance, whether he will be one of those, whom we have been describing, who never blush only, as Shakespeare says, "extempore," or one, whose cheeks shall burn and lips shall quiver, whenever he may attempt to speak; whether he will be a person to pour forth words with the most hard-hearted loquacity, or one who shall have courage to utter only monosyllables, and all whose intellectual wealth, like the money we read of in the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, shall vanish away, or turn into leaves and stones in the very moment of use.

There are certain classes of men, who are particularly liable to bashfulness; but these, though they are ignorant and timid subjects of custom, and sometimes suffer from incurring her penalties, must not rebel against her laws. Men of genius, who come into company to observe every thing and to feel every thing, are troubled by a thousand trifles, which the rest of the world do not notice. Persons of retirement too, observe and feel in the same manner, not so much that it is the habit of their minds, as because every thing which presents itself is new and strange. Men of profound study and deep research often suffer vexation from their ignorance of that, which a child could have taught them; and the scholar, who loves to sit alone by the light of a mid

night lamp, when he ventures into the noise and glare of an assembly, is confused and dazzled and bewildered and glad to get back with as little notice as possible. But none of these people should distrust their abilities for the common intercourse of life; they should remember, what every one knows,that to be agreeable to others little more is required than good sense and good nature, and that if they will learn desipere in loco, to smile and to be cheerful, they may in a little time acquire the art of pleasing. Those to whom we look up, as far above us in the facuitics of the mind, have this more especially in their power; it is then little else than the art of condescension; and we are charmed by their becoming our play-fellows, even though they should make a thousand mistakes in the game.

When the light bands of decorum are irritating, it is an easy thing to cast them off; but it is not so easy to assume them again at pleasure. Manners, not decorous nor convenient to our character, by being frequently assumed may become habitual, though not natural. We may trifle ourselves into habits of serious inconvenience, as children by aping in sport the bad tricks of their schoolfellows, at last come to suffer from them as their own. What at first was only pettishness, which it seemed might at any time be laid aside, will ripen perhaps into real illnature; impertinence may harden into brutality; and trifling behaviour sink into confirmed inanity. Indeed, I believe, that most of our bad habits, even including vices, are taken upon us unawares, and that we seldom believe ourselves under their dominion, till it has a long time been apparent to others.

Let no man think it of light