interruption, and a link of the chain broken; for during the change of the actors, there must be a fpace of time, during which the stage is occupied by neither fet. It makes indeed a more remarkable interruption, to change the place of action as well as the actors; but that was not practicable upon the Grecian ftage.

It is hard to fay upon what model Terence has form. ed his plays. Having no chorus, there is a ceffation of the reprefentation at the end of every act but advantage is not taken of the ceffation, even to vary the place of action; for the street is always chofen, where every thing paffing may be feen by every perfon; and by that choice, the moft fprightly and interefting parts of the action, which commonly pafs within doors, are exclu ded; witness the laft act of the Eunuch. He hath fubmitted to the like flavery with respect to time. In a word, a play with a regular chorus, is not more confi ned in place and time than his plays are. Thus a zea

lous fectary follows implicitly antient forms and ceremonies, without once confidering whether their introductive caufe be ftill fubfifting Plautus, of a bolder genius than Terence, makes good ufe of the liberty afforded by an interrupted reprefentation: he varies the place of action upon all occafions, when the variation fuits his purpose.

The intelligent reader will by this time underftand, that I plead for no change of place in our plays but after an interval, nor for any latitude in point of time but what falls in with an interval. The unities of place and time ought to be strictly observed during each act; for during the reprefentation, there is no opportunity for the smallest deviation from either. Hence it is an effential requifite, that during an act the ftage be always occupied; for even a momentary vacuity makes an interval or interruption. Another rule is not lefs effential: it would be a grofs breach of the unity of action, to exhibit upon the ftage two separate actions at the fame time; and therefore, to preferve that unity, it is neceffary that each perfonage introduced during an act, be linked to thofe in poffeffion of the ftage, fo as to join all in one action." Thefe things foliow from the very conception of an act, which admits not the slightest interruption:

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interruption: the moment the reprefentation is intermitted, there is an end of that act; and we have no other notion of a new act, but where, after a pause or inte val, the reprefentation is again put in motion. French writers, generally fpeaking, are extremely cor rect in this particular: the English, on the contrary, are fo irregular as fcarce to deferve a criticism; actors not only fucceed each other in the fame place without connection, but what is ftill worfe, they frequently fucceed each other in different places. This change of place in the fame act, ought never to be indulged; for, befide breaking the unity of the act, it has a disagreeable effect after an interval, the imagination readily adapts itself to any place that is neceffary, juft as readily as at the commencement of the play; but during the representation, we reject change of place From the foregoing cenfure must be excepted the Mourning Bride of Congreve, where regularity concurs with the beauty of fentiment and of language, to make it one of the moft complete pieces England has to boaft of. I must acknowledge, however, that in point of regularity, this elegant performance is not altogether unexceptionable. In the four first acts, the unities of place and time are ftrictly obferved: but in the laft act, there is a capital error with refpect to unity of place; for in the three firft fcenes of that act, the place of action is a room of ftate, which is changed to a prifon in the fourth fcene: the chain alfo of the actors is broken; as the perfons introduced in the prison, are different from thofe who made their appearance in the room of state. This remarkable interruption of the reprefentation, makes in effect two acts inftead of one: and therefore, if it be a rule that a play ought not to confift of more acts than five, this performance is fo far defective in point of regularity. I may add, that even admitting fix acts, the irregularity would not be altogether removed, without a longer pause in the reprefentation than is allowed in the acting; for more than a momentary interruption is requifite for enabling the imagination readily to fall in with a new place, or with a wide fpace of time. The Way of the World, of the fame author, unity of place is preferved during every act, and a ftricter unity of time during the whole play than is neceffary.

In

СНАР.

TH

CHAP.

XXIV.

GARDENING AND ARCHITECTURE.

HE books we have upon architecture and upon embellishing ground, abound in practical inftruction, neceffary for a mechanic: but in vain would we rummage them for rational principles to improve our taste. In a general fyftem, it might be thought fufficient to have unfolded the principles that govern these and other fine arts, leaving the application to the reader: but as I would neglect no opportunity of fhowing the extenfive influence of these principles, the purpose of the present chapter is to apply them to gardening and architecture; but without intending any regular plan of these favourite arts, which would be unfuitable to the nature of this work, and not lefs fo to the inexperience of its author.

Gardening was at firft an useful art: in the garden: of Alcinoous, defcribed by Homer, we find nothing done for pleasure merely. But gardening is now improved into a fine art; and when we talk of a garden without any epithet, a pleafure garden, by way of eminence, is understood: the garden of Alcinoous, in modern language, was but a kitchen-garden. Architecture has run the fame courfe: it continued many ages an useful art merely, before it aspired to be claffed with the fine arts. Architecture therefore and gardening must be handled in a twofold view, being useful arts as well as fine arts. The reader however will not here expect rules for improving any work of art in point of utility; it being no part of my plan to treat of any useful art as fuch but there is a beauty in utility; and in difcourfing of beauty, that of utility must not be neglected. This leads us to confider gardens and buildings in different views: they may be deftined for ufe folely, for beauty folely, or for both. Such variety of deftination, beftows upon these arts a great command of beauties, complex not lefs than various. Hence the difficulty of forming an accurate tafte in gardening and architecture and hence that difference and wavering

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of

of tafte in these arts, greater than in any art that has but a fingle deftination.

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Architecture and gardening cannot otherwise entertain the mind, but by raising certain agreeable emotions or feelings; and with thefe we muft begin, as the true foundation of all the rules of criticism that govern those arts. Poetry, as to its power of raifing emotions, poffeffes juftly the first place among the fine arts; for fcarce any one emotion of human nature is beyond its reach. Painting and fculpture are more circumfcribed, having the command of no emotions but of what are produced by fight they are peculiarly fuccefsful in expreffing painful paffions, which are difplay'd by external figns. extremely legible. Gardening, befide the emotions of beauty, by means of regularity, order, proportion, colour, and utility, can raife emotions of grandeur, of fweetness, of gaiety, melancholy, wildnefs, and even of furprise or wonder. In architecture, regularity, order, and proportion, and the beauties that refult from them, are ftill more confpicuous than in gardening: but as to the beauty of colour, architecture is far inferior. Grandeur can be expreffed in a building, perhaps more fuccessfully than in a garden; but as to the other emotions above mentioned, architecture hitherto has not been brought to the perfection of expreffing them dif tinctly. To balance that defect, architecture can difplay the beauty of utility in the highest perfection.

Gardening indeed poffeffes one advantage, never to be equalled in the other art; which is, that it is capa ble, in various fcenes, to raise fucceffively all the different emotions above mentioned. But to operate that delicious effect, the garden must be extenfive, fo as to› admit a flow fucceffion: for a finall garden, comprehended at one view, ought to be confined to one expreffiont; it may be gay, it may be fweet, it may be: gloomy; but an attempt to mix thefe, would create a jumble of emotions not a little unpleasant. For the fame reafon, a building, even the most magnificent, is neceffarily confined to one expreffion.

Architecture, confidered as a fine art, instead of ri« valing

*See chap. 15,

+ See chap. 8..

valing gardening in its progrefs toward perfection, feems not far advanced beyond its infant ftate To bring it to maturity, two things mainly are wanted. First, a greater variety of parts and ornaments than at present it seems provided with. Gardening here has greatly the advantage: it is provided with fuch plenty of materials, as to raise scenes without end, affecting the fpectator with variety of emotions. In architecture, on the contrary, materials are fo fcanty, that artists hitherto have not been fuccessful in raifing any emotions but of beauty and grandeur: with refpect to the former, there are indeed plenty of means, regularity, order, fymmetry, fimplicity, utility; and with refpect to the latter, the addition of fize is fufficient. But though it be evident, that every building ought to have a certain character or expreffion fuitable to its deftination; yet this refinement has scarce been attempted by any artift. A death's head and bones employ'd in monumental buildings, will indeed produce an emotion of gloom and melancholy; but every ornament of that kind, if these can be terined fo, ought to be rejected, because they are in themfelves disagreeable. The other thing wanted to bring the art to perfection, is, to afcertain the precife impreffion made by every single part and ornament, cupolas, fpires, columns, carvings, ftatues, vales, &c. for in vain will an artift attempt rules for employing these, either fingly or in combination, until the different emotions they produce be distinctly explained. Gardening in that particular also, hath the advantage: the feveral emotions raised by trees, rivers, cascades, plains, eminencies, and other materials it employs, are understood; and each emotion can be described with fome degree of precifion, which is done occafionally in the foregoing parts of this work.

In gardening as well as in architecture, fimplicity ought to be the ruling principle. Profufe ornament hath no better effect than to confound the eye, and to prevent the object from inaking an impreffion as one entire whole. An artist deftitute of genius for capital beauties, is naturally prompted to fupply the defect by Crowding his plan with flight embellishments: hence in a garden, triumphal arches, Chinese houfes, temples, obelifks,