Corneille, wondered that any body should admire a thing in which nothing was proved. And the learned Budaus, when he was writing his treatise concerning the Roman as, being interrupted by his maid-servant, who told him the house was on fire, bad her go tell his wife, for that he did not mind family-mat

ters.

It would far exceed the bounds of this paper to exhaust this subject, or to take notice of the different remarks which may be drawn from it, either with regard to human fentiments and conduct, or in relation to the fine arts *. I fhall, therefore, confine myself to one other obfervation, on a point which has been treated of by Mr Addifon in the 4cth Number of the Spectator, where he justifies, against the ruling opinion at that time, the practice of thofe writers of tragedy who disregard what are called the rules of poetical juftice. To his defence of that practice, I think we may add one argument, which feems to have escaped him, drawn from the effect of the oppofition above mentioned to heighten our paffion for a particular object,

See Elements of Criticism.

There

There is implanted in the mind of every man a defire that virtue should be followed by reward, and vice by punishment. But this defire, like every other, gathers new strength by oppofition, and rifes upon refiftance. When, therefore, a virtuous man, amidst all his virtue, is reprefented as unhappy, that anxiety which we feel for his happiness becomes fo much the greater; the more undeserved calamities he meets with, the higher is that principle raised, by which we defire that he should attain an adequate reward; the more he is environed and perplexed with difficulties, the more earnestly do we wish that he may be delivered from them all; and, even when he is cut off by premature death, we follow his memory with the greater admiration; and our refpect and reverence for his conduct is increased fo much the more, as all our prayers for his happinefs, in this life, are disappointed.

On the other hand, with regard to the vicious, nothing excites fo ftrongly our indignation against vice, or our defire that it fhould be punished, as our beholding the vicious fuccefsful, and, in the midst of his crimes, enjoying profperity. Were we always to fee the vicious man meeting with a proper pu

nishment

nishment for his guilt, wretched and unhappy, our eagerness for his punishment would fubfide, and our hatred against him would be converted into pity; his guilt would be forgot, and his misfortunes only would affect us. Before the trial of an atrocious criminal, the unanimous voice of the public is, that he fhould be led out to punishment. Suppofe him condemned, how altered is that voice! His fate is now univerfally pitied and deplored; and, did not the fafety of thousands depend on his suffering, hardly, in any case, fhould we fee the laws of juftice finally put in execution.

There can be no good reason, therefore, for obferving the rules of what is called poetical juftice. The effect which a departure from thefe rules produces, affords the highest poffible teftimony in favour of virtue. It fhews, that, where virtue meets with calamities and disappointments, this, instead of leffening it in our estimation, only attaches us fo much the more warmly to its interefts; and that, where vice is fuccefsful, instead of creating a feeling in its favour, this only increafes our indignation against it. Were virtue always fortunate,

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were

were vice always unprofperous, that principle would be enfeebled, by which we defire the reward of the one, and the punishment of the other.

P

N°78.

N° 78.

SATURDAY, February 5. 1780.

To the AUTHOR of the MIRROR.

SIR,

T

HE praifes of friendship, and defcriptions of the happiness arifing from it, I remember to have met with in almost every book and poem fince firft I could read. I was never much addicted to reading; and, in this inftance, I think, I have little reafon to put confidence in authors. How it may be int their experience, I know not; but, in mine, this fame virtue of friendship has tended very little to my happinefs; on the contrary, Sir, when I tell you my fituation, you will find that I am almost ruined by my friends.

From my earliest days, I was reckoned one of the best-natured fellows in the world; and, at school, though I must confefs I did not acquire fo much learning as many of my com panions; yet, even there, I was remarkable for the acquifition of friends. Even there, too, I acquired them at fome expence; I was flogged,

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