at the evils before us are
real evils, but that they are evils to which we ourselves may be
exposed."[1] * * * _The delight of tragedy proceeds from our
consciousness of fiction_; if we thought murders and treasons real,
they would please no more. Imitations produce pain or pleasure, not
because they are mistaken for realities, but because they bring
realities to mind.

[1] _Cours de Litterature Dramatique; ou de l'Usage des Passions dans le
Drame_. Par M. SAINT-MARC GIRARDIN, Professeur a la Faculte des Lettres
de Paris, &c. &c.

This appears to us a very indifferent account of the matter. In the far
greater number of instances, we can never have formed any conception of
an _original_ of which the actor and the scene are supposed to present
us a _picture_. Who that witnesses the play of _Venice Preserved_, has
formed any other image of Jaffier or Pierre than what the actors are
presenting to him, or may already, on some previous occasion, have
presented to him? Even when the characters are strictly historical, the
imagination is little better provided. The spectator does not refer to
any faint conception in his own mind of a Brutus, or a Mark Antony, and
then derive his pleasure from watching how closely the mimic
representation imitates the original. Very often the scene must present
something entirely new to the imagination, and yet the pleasure is not
diminished on this account. A simple man, who has never seen the
interior of a palace, never looked on royalty, never beheld even a
veritable courtier, feels no embarrassment when he is suddenly called to
witness the pomps and miseries of "imperial tragedy."

The imitation of the drama is not that of any specific original; it is a
mimic scene, having human nature for its type. It has a life of its own,
constructed from the materials which the records and observations of
real life have supplied. In order to move us, it needs no reference to
any recognised original. It is there in virtue of the vesture of
humanity in which it is clothed, and makes its appeal at once and
directly.

It is usual to speak of all the fine arts as _imitative arts_. The term
is not always applicable, and, when most applicable, requires
explanation. What does the poetry of sentiment imitate? What does a song
imitate? How can the term be applied to all that class of poetry where
the writer pours out his own reflections and feelings? The poetry of
Wordsworth or of Burns can no more be said to