making wheel-barrows and chairs, upon digging caves and fencing
huts in the garden, can never return. Such is the law of our
nature. Our judgment ripens; our imagination decays. We cannot
at once enjoy the flowers of the spring of life and the fruits of
its autumn, the pleasures of close investigation and those of
agreeable error. We cannot sit at once in the front of the stage
and behind the scenes. We cannot be under the illusion of the
spectacle, while we are watching the movements of the ropes and
pulleys which dispose it.

The chapter in which Fielding describes the behaviour of
Partridge at the theatre affords so complete an illustration of
our proposition, that we cannot refrain from quoting some parts
of it.

"Partridge gave that credit to Mr Garrick which he had denied to
Jones, and fell into so violent a trembling that his knees
knocked against each other. Jones asked him what was the matter,
and whether he was afraid of the warrior upon the stage?--'O, la,
sir,' said he, 'I perceive now it is what you told me. I am not
afraid of anything, for I know it is but a play; and if it was
really a ghost, it could do one no harm at such a distance and in
so much company; and yet, if I was frightened, I am not the only
person.'--'Why, who,' cries Jones, 'dost thou take to be such a
coward here besides thyself?'--'Nay, you may call me a coward if
you will; but if that little man there upon the stage is not
frightened, I never saw any man frightened in my life'...He sat
with his eyes fixed partly on the ghost and partly on Hamlet, and
with his mouth open; the same passions which succeeded each other
in Hamlet, succeeding likewise in him...