Some God conveyed him hence, or yawning earth The subject of our poet's "Antigone" is taken from the conclusion of the "Seven Chiefs against Thebes," where the heroic sister of Polynices vows, in defiance of the public edict, that she will confer the rites of sepulture on her hapless brother. In the drama of Sophocles she fulfils this duty, is dragged to trial before Creon, and, though she is affianced to his own son, is sentenced by the tyrant to be shut up in a cavern, and there left to perish. In vain her betrothed Hæmon appeals to his father to reverse her doom; he is repulsed, and rushes from his presence to perpetrate an act of desperation. Her fate, however, is avenged at least by the compunction of her oppressor. Tiresias the prophet appears before Creon, rebukes him for having drawn down fresh wrath from Heaven, and denounces that his own son is to expiate the sacrifice of Antigone. Daunted by this prediction, and exhorted even by the Chorus of his slaves to retract his barbarity, Creon hurries to open the cavern of his victim, but finds her already expired, and her lover franticly watching her corpse. At the sight of his father, Hæmon makes a pass at him with his sword, but, missing the blow, buries the weapon in his own side. The tyrant enters the stage with the dead body of his son; and to crown his contrition, learns that his Queen Eurydice, in despair for the loss of Hæmon, has perished by her own hand, execrating the cruelty of her husband with her latest breath. Comparing Sophocles with himself, I conceive we cannot place this tragedy at the very head of his works, even enchanting as it is made by the peerless image of Antigone. Yet still, excepting the introduction of Creon's queen towards the close of the piece, who is manifestly brought in for no other purpose than to punish the guilty through the despair of the guiltless, I can perceive no other departure in the piece from Sophocles's usual concinnity of dramatic design; and if one notices that single defect, it is only because the slightest flaws are perceptible in the finest diamonds. The wilful perversity of Creon-his dogmatic ferocity affecting maxims of policy-his sententious stupidity that counterfeits moralizing wisdom-all the traits that depress him to the vulgar among tyrants, are effective foils to the intelligence and elevation, the beauty and majesty of his victim's character. The contrast between him and Antigone exhibits a base nature degrading one human being beneath the perception of self-interest, and a great nature elevating another above its calculations. It may be true, that we grudge the exquisite lyric poetry of this piece to be allotted to the lips of Creon's abject Boeotian slaves; but the submissiveness of the Chorus to his cruelty, as it leaves him without any other monitor, demands and gives propriety to the solemn and imposing entrance of Tiresias. It has been alleged that the character of Antigone is overcharged with severity, in the scene where she rejects the appeal of her sister Ismene, who comes forward on her trial and implores to participate her fate. But it should be recollected, that the deed for which Antigone is to suffer, had been already done; and that she stood in no further need of a helpmate-that the frantic impulse which drove Ismene to accuse herself, might, from her weak though amiable character, be expected to subside, and fail to support her through martyrdom-and that such martyrdom, after all, would have been as useless as it was unmerited. I conceive Antigone, from the poet's page, secretly to pity her sister, and to wish to save her. An austere reception was the only means by which she could screen her from the tyrant's suspicions; and her words "I grieve whilst I scorn thee"-betray that the heroine's repulse was not unmingled with tenderness. To modern admiration of the tragedy it may, perhaps, be a still greater stumbling-block, that Antigone, though betrothed to Hæmon, utters not a sentence of amatory affection; and, in her bitterest lamentations at being cut off from the joys of life and the endearing hopes of maternity, gives no token of reciprocating the devoted passion of her lover. Are we to account for this circumstance by the reserve of Greek manners, or by the poet's judgment? In my opinion, to have represented the heroine at one and the same moment devoting herself to religious affection as a sister, and devoured by passion for her betrothed, would have been to challenge our belief to an unimaginable act of virtue. Love is a passion not to be spoken of by halves; and it was better to give us no conception of her attachment to Hæmon, than to have either faintly pourtrayed it, or, by pourtraying it strongly, to have made it incredible that under the influence of such a passion she could have made herself a martyr to sisterly duty. When we look to the trial of Antigone I think we could hardly figure to ourselves her virgin dignity embellished by any confessions of love. I subjoin a few sentences from the spirited scene. She enters, led by a guard who had witnessed her bestowing the rites of burial on Polynices, before the judgement-seat of Creon. "Creon. Speak thou, who bend'st to earth thy drooping head; Antig. Dost thou deny the fact? 'Twas I. Deny it? No: Creon (to the Guard). Retire, for thou art free, and now (turning to Antigone) Be brief, and tell me; heard'st thou our decree? I did; 'twas public; how could I avoid it? And dar'st thou then to disobey the law? I had it not from Jove, nor the just gods Who rule below; nor could I ever think A mortal's law of pow'r or strength sufficient Immutable, eternal, not like these Of yesterday, but made ere time began. Shall man persuade me then to violate Heaven's great commands, and make the gods my foes? Without thy mandate, death had one day come; For who shall 'scape it? and if now I fall A little sooner, 'tis the thing I wish. To those who live in misery like me, Creon. Antig. Creon. Antig. Had been most wretched: this to thee may seem I should act thus, it but resembles thee. Yes; 'tis all I wish. Therefore dispatch; I cannot live to do A deed more glorious; and so these would all (pointing to the Chorus) It is the tyrant's privilege, we know, To speak and act whate'er he please, uncensur'd. Creon. Who thinks as thou dost? Antig. Yes, a thousand; these, Francklin's Sophocles. GIFTS AND GIVERS. Ir is always safe to begin with a definition: in the present instance it is absolutely necessary to do so. Without further circumlocution, therefore, the reader is requested to understand, that by "a gift" is intended a "quiddam honorarium," sometimes employed in the world as a refreshing fee to benevolence; but much more frequently applied to the furtherance of some especial design; and in all cases an indirect mode of obtaining something for the donor, of more value than itself. "Ce qui paroit générosité n'est souvent (says Rochefoucault modestly, for he might almost have said toujours) qu'une ambition déguisée, qui méprise de petits intérêts pour aller à de plus grands." This is the sort of generosity which will be treated of in the present paper. There is nothing by which the true nature of a gift is more clearly illustrated, than by what is called giving a dinner; an act in which charity, or even benevolence, is the very last thing thought of. The calling in of beggars from the highway to a feast is recorded but once in the annals of mankind, and that only in a parable. When a man is about that very serious consideration, the giving a dinner, his first object is usually to captivate the good will of some individual, with whom he desires to carry a point. Candidates give dinners to their electors; the Speaker gives parliamentary dinners to the members; and, if scandalous chronicles do not always lie, times have been, when a five hundred pound bank-bill was given under the guests' plate on such an occasion. Mothers give dinners to eldest sons, when they want them to marry their daughters. Hugging barristers give dinners to attorneys, and rising physicians to apothecaries. The only apparent exception to this rule is found in the cabinet-dinners which ministers give to each other: but these being merely arrangements "for the better carrying on of the plot," are exceptions, and thus should be taken accordingly. Clients often give dinners to their lawyers, as patients do to their physicians, thereby feloniously designing to sponge an opinion. This is an ungenerous and insidious attack which cannot too strenuously be resisted. The late Dr. Willan always advised his young medical friends against lending themselves to such schemes; and the courage and ability cannot be sufficiently admired of that honest attorney who "greatly daring dined" indeed with his employer, but, having done so, made the invitation an item in his bill of costs, and set down “to partaking of a leg of mutton and capers, thirteen and fourpence.* Another important precaution in giving a dinner is the exclusion of all such families as do not give dinners themselves; and such as are at the time in arrear in their repayments. Here the truth comes at once to day; for we openly say that the man who dined with us last, owes us a dinner, thus plainly betraying our sense of the obligation which a diner out contracts, in receiving our gift. The consequences of this notion are so fatal to good society, that if the prejudice were not inveterate, they would long since have led to a more liberal practice. The bringing together people of the most opposite qualities and qualifications, upon the ground of their agreement in the single particular of having discharged all hospitable claims, is the death of a good party; and the frequency of dull tiresome feasts is at once a convincing proof of the prevalence of such sordid ideas, and a faithful interpreter of the genuine signification of the verb " to give." Dinners likewise are given to great persons, for the sake of that credit which their presence reflects upon the host; a transaction in which patronage is set off against patties, and consideration against curries; in which a star purchases the soup, and a title the turbot; while a place under Government gives its owner a legitimate claim to a place for his feet "under the mahogany." Thus it was said by a late noble peeress, of a poor member of her own caste, that his peerage was as good to him as board wages. As to giving dinners to those who want them, to feasting poor dependants, bankrupt friends, and insolvent relations, the thing has become almost obsolete; or if, once a year or so, such an act of silliness occurs, it is done in so unostentatious a manner, as plainly shows that the man is ashamed of the transaction: even then, it is most frequently but a sop to Cerberus, a buying off of detraction, or a purchase from sycophancy of a right to indulge airs with impunity. As it is with dinners, so is it with all other gifts: "you must think, if we give you any thing, we hope to gain by you." The entire world are of the opinion of the ostler of the Elephant and Castle, who demanded payment for a draught of water from his horse-pail, on the special plea, that "nobody gives nothing for nothing." When a tradesman gives credit, let not the debtor imagine that it is pour l'amour de ses beaux yeux :" it is the hope of an usurious interest that buys the gift. When an old miser gives a penny to a beggar, it is in the desire 66 * The result of this transaction deserves recording. The client made a counter demand for meat and drink, which the attorney discharged; but repaid himself by convicting his host in a heavy penalty for selling wine without a licence. of receiving a pound in the kingdom of Heaven. Even the unsophisticated child, in parting with a slice of its own apple, looks to an equivalent "pig" from his playfellow's orange. In the same spirit masters give wages, musicians give concerts, professors give instructions, and the proprietors of hells give Champaign and pine-apples to the punters at their iniquitous tables. je vous prête le bon jour" of Moliere's miser is but a type of mankind at large; for not one of them "gives you good-day," without the expectation of at least receiving in return "The same to you." The 66 In this sense of the word there are few points of prudence more important than a just appreciation of the where and the when to give; so as, on the one hand not to throw pearls to swine; or, on the other, "not to spoil a ship for a ha'p'orth of tar." The true intent and purpose of generosity is well set forth by Chaucer. The more, I wis, she had alwaye: Great loos + hath largesse, and great prise, Were wholy to her bandon brought, So well with yeftes hath she wrought."-Romaunt of the Rose. So likewise Charron says, " Qui premier a inventé les bienfaicts, a forgé des ceps et manottes pour lier et captiver autruy." But why appeal to authority? Every man possesses within himself an instinctive feeling of the truth of the position; and no one receives half so many presents as the man, who, having himself much to bestow, does not stand in need of the benevolence of any human being. Look at the Norwich mail, stuffed inside and out with good cheer, with turkeys, and chines, and sausages, &c. &c., on the morning of Christmas-eve, and then take a peep at the directions. Is there so much as one "heaven-directed" goose that strays to the poor-house or the hospital? Are they not all sent to substantial citizens, lords, members of parliament, secretaries, and treasurers? In coincidence with this spirit, the best-endowed parson stands the best chance of obtaining a mitre; the most influential senator, a place in the Excise for his dependants; and the most useful of those dependants, the place so to be disposed of; nay the very immortal gods, who are above all wants, have from the beginning of time been bribed with their own gifts to be rendered yet more liberal: and from the pew-opener, who, in Cromwell's language,§ "pockets the simony, and inducts me into the best seat," to the high priest at the altar, the whole clerical tribe live sumptuously upon this generosity of mankind. As the world improves in civilization, the intent and purpose of gifts becomes more evident; and while presents to the rich multiply, and the word bribe loses the whole odium of its signification, presents to the poor become more and more rare. Thus in our own time we have seen the death of vales to servants, and Christmas-boxes to humble dependants; except in the rare cases in which they may be considered as an act of gratitude for services yet to come. Such is the half-crown given to the porter of a great man to forward a petition; or the guinea * Gave. Laus, Praise. + Gifts. § Beaux Stratagem. |