high degree sculpturesque through the whole succession of its stages.

Antigone in the written drama, and still more in the personated drama,
draws all thoughts so entirely to herself, as to leave little leisure for
examining the other parts; and, under such circumstances, the first
impulse of a critic's mind is, that he ought to massacre all the rest
indiscriminately; it being clearly his duty to presume every thing bad
which he is not unwillingly forced to confess good, or concerning which he
retains no distinct recollection. But I, after the first glory of
Antigone's _avatar_ had subsided, applied myself to consider the general
'setting' of this Theban jewel. Creon, whom the Greek tragic poets take
delight in describing as a villain, has very little more to do (until
his own turn comes for grieving), than to tell Antigone, by minute-guns,
that die she must. 'Well, uncle, don't say that so often,' is the answer
which, secretly, the audience whispers to Antigone. Our uncle grows
tedious; and one wishes at last that he himself could be 'put up the
spout.' Mr. Glover, from the sepulchral depth of his voice, gave effect to
the odious Creontic menaces; and, in the final lamentations over the dead
body of Haemon, being a man of considerable intellectual power, Mr. Glover
drew the part into a prominence which it is the fault of Sophocles to have
authorized in that situation; for the closing sympathies of the spectator
ought not to be diverted, for a moment, from Antigone.

But the chorus, how did _they_ play their part? Mainly _their_ part must
have always depended on the character of the music: even at Athens, that
must have been very much the case, and at Edinburgh altogether, because
dancing on the Edinburgh stage there was none. How came _that_ about? For
the very word, 'orchestral,' suggests to a Greek ear _dancing_, as the
leading element in the choral functions. Was it because dancing with us is
never used mystically and symbolically never used in our religious