THIS comedy stands the first in the folio collection of 1623, in which edition it was originally printed. The original text is printed with singular correctness; and if, with the exception of one or two obvious typographical errors, it had continued to be reprinted without any change, the world would have possessed a copy with the mintmark of the poet upon it, instead of the clipped and scoured impression that bears the name of Steevens.

So much has been written on 'The Tempest,' and so unnecessary is it for us to analyse the plot or dwell on the charms of the poetry, that we shall here content ourselves with presenting our readers with some of the peculiar and original views of Franz Horn, translated from his 'Shaksperes Schauspiele erläutert.' This very acute and lively critic sets out by observing that nothing was more common in the early romantic literature than the imagination of adventures in a desert island, in a far distant

storm and a shipwreck. Horn then proceeds thus:

"The beginning takes our fancy wholly a prisoner. We see a ship nearing the island, driving along in the greatest danger amid storm and tempest, and struggling as with a last effort against the fatal summons. Here, placed in immediate contact, are sovereigns and their heirs with rude boatswains, sailors, and jesters, the reverend old man with the blooming youth, affright with wit, desperation with prayer. Nevertheless, the effect of this scene is not entirely tragic: we are too much occupied with the passing events, -we see how they develop the unannounced characters, and the lightnings of wit flash so strongly between the lightnings of heaven as to give us no time to bestow on any particular individual a directly tragical melancholy feeling; for no sooner have we had this glance than two noble beings immediately vouchsafe to speak to us, and quiet us as to the fate of the shipwrecked personages who have interested us so much.

just man; but he had the disposition to be both. His soul thirsted after knowledge; his mind, sincere in itself, after love; and his fancy, after the secrets of nature: but he forgot, what a prince should least of all forget, that, upon this moving earth, superior acquirements, in order to stand firmly, must be exercised carefully; that the world is full of enemies who can only be subdued by a watchful power and prudence, and that in certain situations the armour ought never to be put off. Thus it became easy for his nearest relation, his brother, with the help of a powerful neighbouring king who could not resist an offered but unjustifiable advan- | tage, to depose him from his dukedom. But as the pure morals of the prince, although they were perhaps but lazily exercised in behalf of his subjects, had nevertheless acquired their love, and the usurper not daring to make an attack on the lives of the fallen, Prospero saved himself, his daughter, and a part of his magical books, upon a desert island. Here he becomes, what, in its highest sense, he had not yet been, a father and prince. His knowledge extends. Nature listens to him, perhaps because he learned to know and love her more inwardly. Zephyr-like spirits, full of a tender frolicsome humour, and rude earth-born gnomes, are compelled to serve him. The whole island is full of wonders, but only such as the fancy willingly receives, of sounds and songs, of merry helpers and comical tormentors; and Prospero shows his great human wisdom particularly in the manner with which he, as the spiritual centre, knows how to conduct his intercourse with friends and foes. First, with his daughter. Miranda is his highest, his one, his all; nevertheless there is visible a certain elevation, a solemnity, in his behaviour towards her, peculiarities which, even with the deepest love, the severely tried and aged man easily assumes. Indeed, much as the pure sense of his daughter must have long cheered him, he deems it good to relate to her now for the first time the history of his earlier sufferings, when he has mastery over, and the power to punish, his adversaries.

for freedom, Prospero is strict and friendly, praising and blaming at the proper time; for a moment angry, but only when he thinks he perceives ingratitude. Towards Caliban he is a most complete oriental despot; and, knowing that he has to do with a miscreated being, whom only 'stripes may move, not kindness,' he treats him accordingly.

"Caliban, who, in spite of his imperfect, brutish, and half-human nature, as the son of a witch, is something marvellously exciting, and as pretender to the sovereignty of the island something ridiculously sublime, has been considered by every one as an inimitable character of the most powerful poetic fancy; and the more the character is investigated, the more is our attention rewarded. With all his brutish propensities, our feelings toward him never rise to a thorough hatred. We find him only laughably horrible, and as a marvellous though at bottom a feeble monster highly interesting, for we foresee from the first that none of his threats will be fulfilled.

"Opposed to him stands Ariel, by no means an ethereal featureless angel, but a real airy and frolicsome spirit, agreeable and open, who is also capricious, roguish, and, with his other qualities, somewhat mischievous. He is thankful to Prospero for his release from the most confined of all confined situations, but his gratitude is not a natural virtue (we might almost add, not an airy virtue); therefore he must (like man) be sometimes reminded of his debt, and held in check. Only the promise of his freedom in two days restores him again to his amiability, and he then finds pleasure in executing the plans of his master with a delightful activity.

"The pure poetry of nature and genius inspires us; and when we hear Prospero recite his far too modest epilogue, after laying down his enchanted wand, we have no wish to turn our minds to any frivolous thoughts, for the magic we have experienced was too charming and too mighty not to be enduring."

The conclusion of Horn's critique will find an echo in every reader or spectator of 'The