the pity or resentment of the reader." (!!) It is lamentable to see a man of Johnson's undoubted power so mistaken, when writing upon a genius he could not appreciate. A writer of conventional form and rule like Johnson could no more comprehend the nobly bold and original forms and rules of an author like Shakespeare, than he could himself conceive them. This incapacity for compassing the altitudes and sounding the depths of a poet like Shakespeare, rendered Johnson, if not dishonest, at least uncandid—which is a sort of fraud, or misprision of truth, that amounts to dishonesty in a critic. He is guilty of unfairness; showing partiality where his sympathies incline him, and prejudice where his antipathies warp him. Witness his critical injustice to Milton, whom he hated as a republican, in addition to not being able properly to estimate him as a poet. This sense of inability to value such transcendent geniuses as Shakespeare's and Milton's aright, goads a critic like Johnson into undervaluing them in token of his superior judgment.

Johnson's edition of Shakespeare had been preceded by Pope's, Theobald's, Hanmer's and Warburton's; and was succeeded by Steevens's, Capell's, Reed's, and others, within the eighteenth century. Pope's was the first that appeared with annotations, explanatory and emendatory; the office of emendator being exercised with so much licence as to make the text a wide departure from that of the original folios. Pope's preface is an elegant piece of writing, but in its very first paragraph it makes allusion twice to Shakespeare's "faults;" and, after awarding the highest praise for intuitive and innate powers, remarks-"It must be owned that, with all these great excellences, he has also as great defects; and that as he has certainly written better, so he has perhaps written worse, than any other." (!)

It would be amusing to see all the censure cast upon Shakespeare by his champions; it could hardly be surpassed, in comprehensive force, by the accusations of his maligners. The fact is, these pseudo-champions have but half faith in him; they first assume certain premises not proved, and then they attempt to argue upon them, and vainly seek to reconcile irreconcilable points. For instance, Pope says" His sentiments are not only in general the most pertinent and judicious upon every subject; but, by a talent very peculiar, something between penetration and felicity, he hits upon that particular point on which the bent of each argument turns, or the force of each motive depends. This is perfectly amazing, from a man of no education or experience in those great and pubИc scenes of life which are usually the subject of his thoughts." But why, because the precise traces of Shakespeare's educational course and social advantages happen not to be known, must we therefore assume that he had neither? Pope, taking this for granted, is compelled into the vague attribution of a "talent very peculiar, something between penetration and felicity ;" and accounts for his "perfectly amazing success," by saying that he seemed to "have looked through human nature at one glance." This is disposing of his mind's force as hap-hazard,—a kind of hit-or-miss good fortune; and making out his "so potent art" to be a trick of legerdemain.

Certain it is, that people are apt to reason of Shakespeare's powers as of other writers' powers,-forgetting that he had genius "richer than all his tribe." When they say that it was a wonder he could depict so learnedly, having so little learning, they should remember (setting apart the question of his scholastic acquirements) that he knew of his own knowledge, what other men can never know; that his insight was be

yond reasoning upon from ordinary rule and measure, inasmuch as in itself it exceeded all usual limit of human faculty.-When, too, critics complain that Shakespeare had no system, that he wanted method, and that he violated laws of art, they should perceive that he does not follow their preconceived ideas of all these things, but that, in his wealth of invention, he invented system, method, and laws of his own, and upon these he worked. Shakespeare was an incarnation of creative power; he not only created a world of beings, their sphere of existence and action, but created the ordination and framework by which they lived and moved true to nature herself.

As an instance of his substituting his own admirable devices for the clumsier ones of previous dramatic legislators, see how he but occasionally introduces set choruses to animadvert upon the passing pageant; instead of which, in order to explain the argument, to note the progress of time, to mark the state of popular feeling, or other accompanying circumstances needful to be borne in mind by the spectator, he often gives short scenes, that naturally and unformally announce these points, while subtly impressing them on the minds of the audience or reader. Witness that scene in "Richard III.," the third in the second Act, where two citizens meeting are joined by another, and the three talking together of current events, bring these easily, yet forcibly, to the apprehension of the looker-on. The short scene in the "Merchant of Venice,"-ordinarily omitted in the acting, (so little perception of the dramatist's general intention have the players shown !)* where Shylock follows his victim through the streets, bidding the gaoler look to him; how well it serves to keep in mind the Jew's unrelenting malice, his persecution of the imprisoned merchant fallen within his power, and to sustain the interest as well as to time the progress of the drama. The character and soliloquies of Faulconbridge, in the play of "King John," serve the purpose of a moral chorus throughout; while the three gentlemen in "Henry VIII.," and the two young lords in "All's Well that Ends Well," are used by the dramatist with the same artistic intention.

One of Shakespeare's greatest powers in drawing character is his might of gradual development. Most writers describe moral growth too abruptly. In this one point lay the secret of much of Shakespeare's wondrous art. Another, is his force in unstated effects, subtly conveyed to the spectator's mind; he causes us to feel, instead of bidding us feel. Another, is his miraculous gift in writing silence. This seems paradoxical unto absurdity; but if the reader will carefully observe the ingenuity with which the silence of such characters as Virgilia, Celia, Hermione, and others, is indicated, they will perceive that this dramatist's skill in writing silence is among his most extraordinary powers. In his hands, silence becomes one of the most eloquent of interpreters; it reveals the presence of the beating heart, the unspeakable emotions that surge there, suspense, agitation, or the muffled throbs of mute agony. Even in

This scene was retained by Mr Macready, who, during his management, promoted the due representation of Shakespeare's plays on the stage, with a spirit and good taste that laid the foundation of much that is at present effected in the way of appropriately producing his dramas. Witness the revivals of "King Lear," "Richard III.," "The Tempest," "As You Like It," "Henry V.," "King John," and others, where not only the text was correctly given, and his own careful acting evinced William Macready's respect for the intellectual supremacy of the dramatist; but where the artistic powers of a Clarkson Stanfield were enlisted, together with all the scenic splendours usually lavished on an Easter piece or a Christmas pantomime, in order to lead popular taste into fuller appreciation of the poet's works.

comic instances, see how irresistibly humorous Shakespeare has made silence; as in Goodman Dull, and Justice Shallow's delectably dumb cousin, Master Silence himself— only moved to speech by drunken inspiration.

One of the strongest proofs-were proof wanting-of Shakespeare's intrinsic excellence, is that the editions of his works have multiplied with each successive century; and that in proportion with the number of his critics, has been their increased praise. The better he is understood, the more highly will he be rated; the better he is known, the more dearly will he be loved. During the present century, editors have brought out versions in every variety of size and shape, and distinguished by every possible care in collating, printing, and publishing. The names of Campbell, Collier, Dyce, Halliwell, Hudson, Knight, Singer, Staunton, and Verplank, stand pre-eminent as editors of Shakespeare. Armitage Brown, Coleridge, Halpin, Hazlitt, Mrs Jameson, Charles Lamb, Maurice Morgann, B. W. Proctor, (Barry Cornwall,) and Professor Wilson, have exercised their critical faculty in finest appreciation of the poet's transcendent beauties. The brothers Schlegel, Wieland, Eschenburg, Lessing, Voss, Herder, Schiller, Goethe, Tieck, and Ulrici, have proved Germany's estimation of our dramatist; Peter Foersom, in his devotion to Shakespeare,—persevering, when he earned scarcely dry bread by translating his plays,-proclaimed at least one Danish heart's veneration for the author of Hamlet." The author of "Doctor Antonio" spoke an eloquent word on behalf of Italy's holding that "Shakespeare is not the poet of any age or country, but of mankind,"--while Dumas, Guizot, Le Tourneur, Villemain, and Victor Hugo, have redeemed France from the reproach which Voltaire's prejudiced view of Shakespeare's genius left upon their country. The testimony borne by Alexandre Dumas to our great dramatist's merits is characteristically vehement; it is in his essay entitled, "How I Became a Dramatic Author," and runs thus :—“ I read, I devoured the foreign drama, and I found that in the dramatic world all emanated from Shakespeare, as in the actual world all emanates from the sun; that none could compare with him, for that he was as dramatic as Corneille, as comic as Molière, as original as Calderon, as reflective as Goethe, as passionate as Schiller. I found that his works, in themselves, contained as many types as the works of all the others put together."

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Victor Hugo also awards the palm of pre-eminence to Shakespeare in these words : "The dramatic poet's aim-whatever otherwise may form the amount of his ideas on Art-should always be, above all, to seek the Great, like Corneille, or the True, like Molière; or still better-and this is the highest summit to which genius can soar -to attain at once the Great and the True, the Great in the True, the True in the Great, like Shakespeare. It was given to Shakespeare-and it is that which causes the sovereignty of his genius-to reconcile, to unite, to amalgamate unceasingly in his productions these two qualities,-Truth and Greatness; qualities which are almost opposed, or, at the least, so distinct, that the defect of each one constitutes the reverse of the other. The rock-ahead of Truth, is the Little; the rock-ahead of Greatness, is the False. In all the works of Shakespeare, there is Greatness which is True, and Truth which is Great."

This is expressed with the antithetical play, akin to wit, which is a feature in French definition; and it is also characteristically French in its creed-that Truth in Art is perilously near to Littleness. This was the belief which so long blinded Frenchmen

to Shakespeare's supremacy; but they are gaining clearer insight into the fallacy of their former idea,—that naturalness compromises sublimity, and that unadorned Truth is poor, bare, and small.

The observations of another French writer, Villemain, convey amusingly this sense of Shakespeare's dangerous approximation to the ungentilities of truth. Speaking of the American people, he says:-"The popular good sense of these men, so industrious and so occupied, seizes with ardour the profound thoughts, the sagacious maxims with which Shakespeare is filled; his gigantic images please minds accustomed to the most magnificent spectacles of nature, and the immensity of the forests and rivers of the New World. His rudeness and inequality, his strange familiarities, offend not a society which is formed of so many different elements, which knows neither an aristocracy nor a court, and which has rather the strength and arms of civilisation than its elegance and politeness." The same idea is broached with characteristic British bluntness, as contrasted with French conventional refinement, in Morgann's admirable "Essay on the Character of Falstaff;" where he says:-"When the hand of time shall have brushed off his present editors and commentators, and when the very name of Voltaire, and even the memory of the language in which he has written, shall be no more, the Apalachian mountains, the banks of the Ohio, and the plains of Sciota shall resound with the accents of this 'barbarian."

It is because Voltaire's successors have come to reverse his verdict upon our poet's genius, and because it is interesting to note the improved appreciation of Shakespeare in France, that we have taken pleasure in quoting chiefly French opinions upon his transcendent merit. Another reason has influenced us in rather citing from French critics than from those who have hitherto been esteemed his best praisers-the Germans. The chief among these latter-Augustus Schlegel-has been so frequently quoted, that his animadversions are known to every one; but while admitting the validity and beauty of most of his Shakespearian dicta, we venture to think some of them may have been overrated. In the first place, certain of them, accredited as original, really emanated from our own great poetical critic as well as great poet, Coleridge; and secondly, Schlegel's own critical judgment was too much biassed by manifest prejudice to be worthy of the implicit faith hitherto placed in his awards. Witness, for instance, the sentence he passes on three of the doubtful plays, ("Thomas Lord Cromwell," "Sir John Oldcastle," and "A Yorkshire Tragedy;") declaring them to be "not only unquestionably Shakespeare's," but affirming that, in his opinion, "they deserve to be classed among his best and maturest works." (!) But the strongest cause for questioning Schlegel's claim to be considered an infallible critic, is his glaring injustice to that fine genius, Molière,-who was only second to Shakespeare himself as a comic dramatist,-when he stigmatises him as a court "buffoon," whose aim in writing was to make Louis XIV. laugh; when he disputes his claim to originality on the score of his borrowing his plots from foreign sources, although finding no diminution of the same claim in other authors for the same act; and when he can find no higher praise for such noble dramas as the immortal "École des Femmes," "Tartuffe," "Misanthrope," and "Femmes Savantes," than, that they are "pieces which are finished with great diligence." (!) When we see a critic thus grossly unjust to one

* Vide " Literary Remains," vol. ii., pp. 77, 202. See also "Seven Lectures on Shakespeare and Milton," p. 103.

author, we feel almost inclined to resent-assuredly to receive with less respect-his encomiums on another; and it is on this account that Schlegel's laudation of Shakespeare comes with abated force, when we behold his incapability of attributing due merit to the thrice-admirable Molière.

Professor Wilson, besides some acutely discriminative observations upon certain of Shakespeare's chief plays and characters, made a profound discovery relative to the dramatist's principle in the observance of the unities. Under his literary title of Christopher North, the professor broached this discovery in Blackwood's Magazine for November 1849; and during the same month, the Reverend N. J. Halpin put forth a small pamphlet laying claim to having already made the same discovery. It seems clear, from the evidence adduced, that both gentlemen are equally entitled to the honour of having discerned this invaluable clue to Shakespeare's system of the unities-more especially that of Time. It leads to the revelation of the real and beautifully artistic intention of many of the poet's apparent discrepancies; which, so far from being erroneously, or even inadvertently made, are purposely introduced with a view to harmony of plan, reconcilement of obstacles, and ascertainment of progress. Professor Wilson takes the tragedies of "Macbeth" and "Othello" in illustration of his theory; while Mr Halpin adopts "The Merchant of Venice" by which to demonstrate his view of the same system. The former showed how "two clocks," as it were, of dramatic Time, were going on simultaneously throughout Shakespeare's dramas ; one pointing to "long time," the other to "short time," and that this concurrent indication of the "two clocks produced the desired impression of the drama's duration upon the mind of the specta

tor.

The latter (Mr Halpin) says, "He contrived what one may term a chronometer consisting of a double series of time or dates; the one illusory, suggestive, and natural ; the other artistical, visible, and dramatic; the first of which may be called the PROTRACTIVE series, the latter the ACCELERATING; and out of the impressions thus unequally created, he constructed a dramatic system unknown to the world before his time, and unpractised ever since." The way in which each theorist has made out his case, and arrived at a similar conclusion, by illustration adduced from the abovementioned plays, is extremely interesting, and establishes their point with the most satisfactory and triumphant effect. In "Othello," Professor Wilson shows how the "long time" necessary to produce upon the spectator's mind the effect of a sufficing period of wedded union between Othello and Desdemona to enhance the impression of tragic naturalness in their fate, concurrent with the actual "short time" stated in the one day and night that are occupied with the arrival in Cyprus, the celebration of the Moor's nuptials, the disgrace of Cassio, the following morning's suit to be restored to favour, Iago's immediate machinations, and the next night's catastrophe, are blended into one magic Time-unity by the subtle art of Shakespeare. In the "Merchant of Venice," Mr Halpin makes manifest how the "long time" required by the conditions of the bond between Shylock and Antonio,-three months,-is produced upon the reader, while the absolute "short time" needful for passing to and from Belmont, with Portia's appearance at the Venice tribunal instantly upon her marriage with Bassanio, are in the same way made to tally in skilful contrivance of impression.

It is pleasant to see how critics have gradually grown to touch upon points which bear the superficial appearance of error in Shakespeare with respect;-prepared rather to think their own discernment may be at fault, than prematurely to impeach his