From a Picture by Gainsborough, in the Town Hall at Stratford upon Avon.

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to us. As we look at him going through the representation with mobile countenance and flexible voice, we forget his own personality, and imagine that we see the different persons of the story appear, and speak, and act. This man is essentially a dramatist. He is really producing and at the same time acting a drama.

A drama may have one or other of two complexions. The dramatist may take a sombre view of human life. He may feel that man is the creature of a mysterious destiny, coming he knows not whence, going he knows not whither, having restless passions within himself which are ever bent upon hurrying him to ruin, surrounded by selfish fellowcreatures who are always ready to sacrifice him to their own interest, permeated and enveloped by the mysterious forces of nature which may crush him at a moment's warning, and drifting on slowly and inevitably to a dark and silent future. If the dramatist takes this view, he composes tragedy. But he may look at the brighter side of man's destiny. He may have the feeling that, after all, human life is not so very dismal. The world is full of sunshine, and flowers, and pleasant scenes, and happy creatures, and

genial men and women, and diverting foibles, and smiles and laughter. All these are God's gifts, and were intended for our good. Why should we not enjoy them, and laugh and be happy? It is our privilege, nay, our duty, to do so. If the dramatist takes this view, he writes comedy.

But whether he writes tragedy or comedy, the dramatist exercises a wonderful function. Other narrators give a mere description of an event. He, by the help of the actor, gives the event itself. They, at the very best, trace it faintly on the imagination of their hearers. He presents it before the hearers' very senses. It is a wonderful faculty which he has, and was surely intended for some very important end. What that end is, we shall now consider.

The end of some so-called dramas is empty amusement, and this end they achieve by burlesque, pantomime, farce, and every kind of tomfoolery. But what gives nothing save mere amusement, is not worthy to be classed under the designation of literature and to be called a drama. It is the legitimate drama, therefore, whose purpose we now proceed to discover.

If the question were asked, What kind of litera

ture is most dissociated in the public mind from religion? the answer would be, the drama.' But strange to say, the drama owed its origin to religion. In Greece, India, China, it was originally a religious ceremony, and it was intended to promote religion. We can easily imagine how this happened. Let us suppose a large crowd of uncivilized people assembled to keep a holy festival. What is the method by which they could be made to participate in the ceremony? A speech addressed to them by the priest would not serve the purpose, for it would only be heard by a few. A hymn sung by a chorus would be more audible, but too monotonous. Some device would need to be tried which would appeal to the eye, and yet be sufficiently intelligible. The only way would be, to get up a dramatic action in which the actors would represent, if not in audible language, at least with expressive gestures, the wonderful deeds of the gods. This very naturally would be of the form of tragedy. But tragedy, as a matter of course, would be followed by comedy, just as in the present day, when a serious play becomes very popular, a burlesque of it is sure to spring up. Comedy, in fact, always accompanies tragedy as her shadow, and,