to the modern acceptation.  His plays might end either happily or the reverse.  A deity conveniently brought in, the arrival of a messenger, however unexpectedly, together with a liberal allowance for a cowardly revenge upon the vanquished—­these are the Euripidean elements for giving a tragic end to a play.  Nay, so great is the prodigality of slaughter throughout his dramas, that we can but imagine morbid cruelty to have formed a considerable ingredient in the disposition of Euripides.  Even his pathos is somewhat tinctured with this taste for painful images.  As we have beheld in our own times a barbarian alternately glut his sight with executions, and then shed floods of tears, and sink into idiot despondency; so the poetry of Euripides in turn disgusts us with outrageous cruelty, and depresses us with the most painful demands upon our compassion.

In the lyric portions of his dramas, our poet has been far more successful.  The description of the capture of Troy by night,[5] is a splendid specimen of animation blended with true pathos.  But taken as a whole.  Euripides is a most unequal author.  We may commence a play with pleasure (but O for the prologues!), we may proceed with satisfaction, but the feeling rarely lasts to the end.  If I may venture an opinion upon so uncertain a subject, I should name the Hippolytus, Ion, Troades, Bacchae, and Iphigenia in Aulis as his best plays, placing the Phoenissae, Alcestis, Medea, Hecuba, and Orestes in a lower rank.  The Helena is an amusing heap of absurdities, and reads much better in the burlesque of Aristophanes; the Electra is utterly beneath criticism; the Cyclops a weak, but humorous imitation of Homer.  The other plays appear to be neither bad nor good.

The style of Euripides is, generally speaking, easy; and I can mention no author from whom a taste for elegant Greek and a facility in composition can more easily be derived.  Some of his plays have suffered severely from the ravages of time, the ignorance of copyists, and the more dangerous officiousness of grammarians.  Some passages of the Bacchae, Rhesus, Troades, and the two Iphigenias, despite the ingenuity and erudition of such scholars as Porson, Elmsley, Monk, Burges, and a host of others, must still remain mere matter for guessing.  Hermann’s Euripides is, as a whole, sadly unworthy the abilities of the Humboldt of Greek literature.

The present volume contains the most popular of our author’s works, according to present usage.  But the spirit which is gradually infusing itself into the minds of those who are most actively engaged in the educational system of England, fully warrants a hope that Porson’s “four plays” will shortly cease to be the boundaries of the student’s acquaintance with Euripides.

I need scarcely observe, that the study of Aristophanes is indissolubly connected with that of our author.  If the reader discover the painful fact that the burlesque writer is greater than the tragedian, he will perhaps also recollect that such a literary relation is, unfortunately, by no means confined to the days of Aristophanes.