school, if their means permit them to avail themselves of its advantages.

It is therefore probable that the ranks of the Alumni will be recruited by a large number of successful men of affairs who will shed an additional lustre upon the name of the University, and who will extend her influence among a portion of the community in which it has not hitherto been sufficiently felt, forming a class of broadly educated men, wielding the power in public affairs which will justly belong to them.

In October, 1880, Columbia College opened its "School of Political Science," "a school designed to prepare young men for the duties of public life." Its curriculum extends over three years, and includes the History of Philosophy; the History of the Literature of the Political Sciences; the General Constitutional History of Europe; the Special Constitutional History of England and the United States; the Roman Law, and the jurisprudence of the existing codes derived therefrom; the Comparative Constitutional Law of European States and of the United States; the Comparative Constitutional Law of the different States of the American Union; the History of Diplomacy; International Law; Systems of Administration, State and National, of the United States; Comparison of American and European Systems of Administration; Political Economy and Statistics.

The professorships are the following: 1. Constitutional History and Law; 2. Political Economy and Social Science; 3. Philosophy. There are also two lecturers, one on the Roman Law and one on Administrative Law and Government.

The standard of admission is equivalent to that for admission to the Senior Class, and the degree of Bachelor of Philosophy is conferred at the close of the first year, and that of Doctor of Philosophy at the close of the three years' course, upon those students who pass the examinations.

The general character of the instruction is of a higher grade than that which is contemplated in the Wharton School, including more law, while many of the practical branches are omitted, and the intention of its instruction is quite different, its "prime aim being the development of all the branches of the political sciences, and its secondary aim the preparation of young men for all the

political branches of the public service," while the object of the Wharton School is to fit young men for immediate admission into mercantile life. In this respect the latter resembles more the Realschulen of Germany, which have the same aim, and which bear the same relation to business pursuits, that the technical schools,— Gewerbeschulen,-do to manufacturing. The organization of these schools in Germany is well worth the most careful study by all interested in our education; and sooner or later we must take up the subject with the view of replacing our present limping method of training boys for college by the introduction of graded schools in which uniformity of instruction and economy of time shall be the leading principles, or the future student will inevitably be overcome by the bewildering multiplicity of subjects offered for his selection, and thoroughness will disappear in a superficial acquisition of matters bearing no possible relation to each other and bordering closely upon the little knowledge which is a dangerous thing. FAIRMAN ROGERS.

Cou

SHAKESPEARE'S DREAM.*

OULD the King of Bards, by some miraculous provision of his art, have foreseen that, after nearly two and three-quarter centuries of rest in his tomb at Stratford, he should once more return to the scenes of his youth,-again wander by his beautiful and beloved Avon, and soliloquize on the nature and art of the present day,—again, in an arbor on its banks, court sleep for his spirit, and, under the direction of "Spirits of Dreams" be revisited by his own immortal creations, and listen to them, singly or in groups, singing and discoursing, in familiar tones, of the past, present, and future,he might well have exclaimed, in the language of his own Prospero, "We are such stuff as dreams are made on!" Yet all this he has done by the simple enchantment of beautiful poetry. The Enchanted undertook a bold adventure, but he felt sure of his wand; and we have nothing but applause and congratulation for him on his success. He had before tried its magical efficacy, when his

*Shakespeare's Dream and Other Poems. By William Leighton, author of The Sons of Godwin, Change, etc. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, 1881. Pp. 148, Quarto, $1.50.

dramatic and historic muse brought to life the Saxon king and The Sons of Godwin, and won laurels even from the great English wizard; and again, in the realms of philosophy and Change, we had witnessed its epic power in compelling the Sphinx" to "whisper" its mysteries. In the beautiful quarto before us, however, we have, we think, his master-feat. His muse has never appeared to greater advantage than in this "masque masque" of charming lyric, sung by the various characters of the great poet.

On first opening the volume, we were possessed, as, doubtless, others may be, with fear and jealousy; fear, that the attempt might have a tinge of temerity; jealousy, that any other hand than that of the master should touch the strings of his own lyre. But all this soon vanished; and we can truly say, the more we have read it, the more thoroughly we have enjoyed it. Mr. Leighton has so long and so lovingly studied Shakespeare, that he has become, as it were, imbued with the very spirit of the poet. Still, in all of these songs, and odes, and dialogues, each varying in rhythm with the varying occasion and character, each in faultless taste,—not the mere rhapsodies of "sounding brass or tinkling cymbals," but as gratifying to the head and heart as to the ear, there is no attempt at style-imitation, not a shade of what may be termed Shakespearean-mannerism,-for that would have been intolerable. They are rather a natural and reverent echo of the poet,-a parallel conception of his thoughts, fancies and metaphors.

Whether Ariel relates his history," before the witch shut him in prison of the riven tree: "

"Long ages on ages-I know not how long-
Had passed on this island in eons of song;

Gay birds on the tree-tops, on flowers the wild bees,
The murmur of surges, the hymn of the breeze,―
Sweet voices of nature, and full of delight,-
Commingling with music of fairy and sprite;
Here dwelt we,-blithe spirits,-contented and free-
Elf, fairy and goblin,-shy nymphs of the tree;
Ouph, naiad and pixy,-quaint sprites of the sea,
No people more merry, more happy than we.
One night,--can I ever forget the turmoil?—
The fiercest of tempests swept over our isle :
The sky and the billows were mingled and dun,
And the bolts of the thunder resounded as one;
The deep, rocky grottoes, whence springeth our isle:

Were filled with strange roarings, and trembled the while.
We crept into caverns, mute, frozen with fear,

And deemed that of all things the ending was near.

At length, came the morning; the tumult was o'er;
Once more the sweet sunlight was flooding our shore.

But bark! what loud summons sends forth its weird call?
Piercing deepest of caverns, it crieth to all.

We heard it, affrighted; crept forth to the morn,

To behold on our island a horrible form.

It was Sycorax,-she of witches most foul,

Whom the ocean brought hither, with terrible howl," etc.,

or whether Caliban relates his thrilling dream, or the MidsummerNight Fairies dance to the music of their roundel on the sands, or Puck tells of his merry and frolicsome tricks and "errands of mischief: "

"Intent upon laughter, I cunningly steal

In the cottage where, busily twirling her wheel,
The house-wife is spinning, and artfully pull
Her thread from the distaff, or tangle the wool.
Then laugh I to see her bewildered surprise
When, guessing my mischief, she angrily cries,

O, this is the work of that troublesome sprite!
That mad Robin Goodfellow's been here to-night!' etc.,

or whether Cordelia laments for her distracted father:

"O, cruel fortune, I must be away

So far from this dear father when, perchance,
One little word of true love, whispered him
By filial lips, had saved his mind from wreck!
He always yearned for love; but, in the wealth
He deemed was garnered in my sisters' breasts,
Thought my poor little, which I could not praise
As they did theirs with lavish tongues, superfluous:

And when he found but empty storehouses

There where he thought him rich,-poor bankrupt father!

The love I had so little art to tell

Seemed doubtless to him like the counterfeits

He had believed; and so his heart was broken

Because he had no child,"

or poor Ophelia chants to her withered flowers:

"Alas, to bloom no more!

No sunshine can restore,

Nor summer hours,

Those that an icy breath

Hath touched with kiss of death,

My pretty flowers!

Pure snowdrops, pure and cold,
And daffodils more bold,

And violets blue;
Bright Mary-buds that hold
Each a round cup of gold,

To catch the dew.

I loved to see them there,
The blossoms sweet and fair

Of glad spring-time;
But April winds were chill,
And late frosts came to kill
Them in their prime.
When tenderly I pressed
In sadness to my breast
Their withered bloom,
Their early blight, methought,
My sorrowing bosom caught,

And fatal doom.

Ah, me, to be a flower,

And perish in an hour

Of cold, cold frost!

Gay tints bright sunshine sent,

Sweet odors Nature lent,

All lost all lost!"

or where the Ghost of King Duncan, with piteous looks, haunts

the crowned usurper:

"From solemn deeps

Where silence sleeps,

And dim uncertain realms that lie

Beyond the reach of mortal eye,
With dress of gloom

And voice of doom,

A grim night-wanderer, come I,
A murderer's soul to terrify;—
Yet am not he your cruel hand
Cut basely off from high command.

I am your act,

The dismal shadow of a fact,

A fantasy

Of memory;

Of your own being I am a part,

A brand from out your burning heart.

He in whose shape you see me dressed

Is happy now among the blessed;

But hapless he
Whose misery