says Philanax
in the 'Emperor of the East,'

'A prince so soon in his disposition altered
Was never heard nor read of.'

That proves that Philanax was not familiar with Massinger's plays. The
disposition of princes and of subjects is there constantly altered with
the most satisfactory result. It is not merely that, as often happens
elsewhere, the villains are summarily forced to repent at the end of a
play, like Angelo in 'Measure for Measure,' in order to allow the
curtain to fall upon a prospect of happiness. Such forced catastrophes
are common, if clumsy enough. But there is something malleable in the
very constitution of Massinger's characters. They repent half-way
through the performance, and see the error of their ways with a facility
which we could wish to be imitated in common life. The truth seems to be
that Massinger is subject to an illusion natural enough to a man who is
more of the rhetorician than the seer. He fancies that eloquence must be
irresistible. He takes the change of mood produced by an elevated appeal
to the feelings for a change of character. Thus, for example, in the
'Picture'--a characteristic, though not a very successful play--we have
a story founded upon the temptations of a separated husband and wife.
The husband carries with him a magical picture, which grows dark or
bright according to the behaviour of the wife, whom it represents. The
husband is tempted to infidelity by a queen, herself spoilt by the
flatteries of an uxorious husband; and the wife by a couple of
courtiers, who have all the vices of Fletcher's worst heroes without any
of their attractions. The interest of the play, such as it is, depends
upon the varying moods of the chief actors, who become so eloquent under
a sense of wrong or a reflection upon the charms of virtue, that they
approach the bounds of vice, and then gravitate back to respectability.
Everybody becomes perfectly respectable before the end of the play is
reached, and we are to suppose that they will remain respectable ever
afterwards. They avoid tragic results by their want of the overmastering
passions which lead to great crimes or noble actions. They are really
eloquent, but even more moved by their eloquence than the spectators can
be. They form the kind of audience which would be most flattering to an
able preacher, but in which a wise preacher would put little confidence.
And, therefore, besides the fanciful incident of the picture, they give