In conclusion, whether we consider the plays of Shakspere merely as dramatic monuments, or as wonderful essays in dramatic form, illustrating the noble morality, derived from Christianity, we must consider them no less wonderful than unique as intellectual achievements. Their daring disregard of encumbering classic rules, their ready adoption of every phase of action by which the free will of Christian belief can be illustrated, prove their right to be recognised as complete an embodiment, of a perfect art, as the cathedrals of the middle ages of gothic architecture. If, beyond this, we suppose them to possess a noble strain of morality, and to have for their purpose the doctrinal inculcation of great truths, we must assign to them that position in our honour and reverence, which they have long held in our affection and admiration. In its illustration of that best study of mankind-man-it is perfect. Its originality is not less wonderful. It is the only branch of literature that is native, and to the manner born-the only heir of our invention begotten to us. Our histories, biographies, architecture, painting, sculpture, oratory, are all founded on antique models, or directly imitated from them. Shakspere's drama is irreproachably English. There is no counterpart beyond the seas. Newton's genius is not as purely our own. His modes of deduction had been practised by inferior minds before and since. His instruments, the mathematics, were common to all ages and races of men. His results have been verified as his wisdom can be traced; but, in the words of Mr. Emerson, Shakspere's mask is impenetrable—“ He was inconceivably wise-all other men conceivably; we can in some sort nestle into the mind of Plato, and think from thence, but by no means from that of Shakspere." Reverently looking at what he has bequeathed us—at its literary originality and completeness-at the external and seeming dissonance, so profoundly united into harmony and

a concord of sweet sounds, by subtle principles of design, no less wise than mysterious-we must, I think, be convinced that reverent criticism is alone admissible. In the great world to which these plays assume to hold the mirror, we frequently perceive the existence of apparent incongruities and defects; either from a part only of the chain of which these form a link being disclosed, or from inability to understand what is seen without the key of that which is concealed, and our criticism is often tempted into a spirit of doubt as unjust as it is erroneous. similar disposition and presumption with Shakspere is no less likely to lead us astray. His plays are as truly to me inapproachable in their moral as in their intellectual, poetic, or artistic aspects.

A

Nearly all the later dramas will be found to have a distinct theme of religious and Christian import, to indicate their moral dignity. An unceasing purpose runs through their story, disproving absolutely all that the Reviewer urges, and that no consideration of expediency affected the poet. So far from his life being that of a mere theatrical manager's-writing dramas whose preliminary purpose was to please-I prefer believing, with M. Ulrici, that his was a genuine poet's life, wholly devoted to free poetic creation and the gradual development of his art; and being, moreover, animated by the most heroic religious spirit that the middle ages present to us. If it is legitimate to the most exact reasoning to infer from construction the existence of design, it is no less legitimate to infer the character of that design. Accepting such an axiom, we must be convinced, on investigation, that he was not a wild and inexperienced genius, nor a man of weak resolves and ambition; but that he was the greatest, the most laborious architect, the most noble designer, the most pure-minded and Christian poet, that the world has yet known.

For myself, owing to the largeness of my subject, I can but express my regret at the imperfection of what I now urge. Without hoping to do justice even to my own belief, I have attempted to record some of my convictions, and can only apologise that they are not more worthy of the subject.

I look upon the poet as one who wrote, believing himself immortal; as one who, in first conceiving the most perfect aspect of feminine loveliness, taught virtue. For to create an image of purity is to teach purity. As one who worked in his master's eye; as the best translator of the Christian doctrine,-the noblest interpreter of its law, scattering its spirit without reference to sect or party. Offending no scruples, he appealed to all, on the merits of those truths which all men equally agree to hold and honour. On the subjects of Authority, Mercy, Beneficence, Female Virtue, Purity, Chastity, Selfishness combined with Intellect, the Spirit and the Letter of the Law, Self-denial, Ambition,-on all these texts his sermons are the best extant.

He shot the clear light of his intellect into those mysterious depths of gloom and melancholy that most try the philosophy of the thinker, and shew that increase of wisdom is indeed increase of sorrow. He was the light of the new reformation, rising resplendent on that old horizon of prelatism and feudal law. He lit all that was excellent in the old chivalry, its splendour and picturesqueness, its love of poetry, and of nature, into new beauty by his beams. The old rule of might was at an end; and though the progress of the truth was to be slow, its sun had not less arisen. Its light, borrowed from another sphere, was radiated with a warmth and glow suited to the race it was to cheer and cherish. As we feel the glory of the sun, not by looking at the great orb itself, but by the splendour it sheds abroad, the lands it

illumines, the wealth it diffuses, the forces it generates,
the vitality it quickens, the colour it imparts, we perceive
more the value of what he taught, in his teaching, than in
its direct manifestation and simplicity. That as the sun
veiled, the sun reflected, refracted, broken into dazzling
rays, shed abroad in polarized effulgence, scattered and
diffused in mellow and subtle tints, is most beautiful to
the eye and to the heart of man; the doctrines which
Shakspere teaches and illustrates are best seen in their
beauty, their delicacy, gradation, and tint, in his exposi-
tion; and of Him, finally, I would say, with the poet :-
"In my mind's eye a temple like a cloud,
Slowly surmounting some invidious hill,

Rose out of darkness. The bright work stood still,
And might of its own beauty have been proud.
But it was fashioned, and to God was vowed
By virtues that diffused in every part,

Spirit divine, through forms of human art."

In an animated discussion which followed, it was remarked by Mr. BROOKE, that the most beautiful touches of truth and morality pervaded Shakspere's works from one end to the other. They contained, certainly, expressions which would not be tolerated in any writer of the present day; but allowance must be made for the language of the age, and the usages of society in the reign of Elizabeth. They must also recollect another thing-there were no insidious recommendations of vice in Shakspere. It was seen in its naked deformity; no voluptuousness of language was visible. Shakspere's originality and knowledge of human nature were the admiration of all readers. Two illustrations might be given in "King Lear," while the pretended madman, Edgar, rambled on, the real madman, Lear, was always recurring to his cause of grief. The other was the admirable introduction of a pause. A writer it was remarked,

who did not know so much as Shakspere did, would most probably have introduced some bombastic speech instead; but the poet left it, by this pause, to the imagination to fill up what was passing in the speaker's mind: War. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin.

Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.

[Pause.]

King Henry. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on Heaven's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.—
He dies and makes no sign; O God forgive him!
War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
King Henry. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtains close;

And let us all to meditation.

Henry VI.-act iii. sc. 3.

The Rev. H. H. HIGGINS took the natural view of Shakspere's defects, as resembling those which were found in the works of other great men. They must be content to see something of inconsistency in those whom they most ardently admired. He could not but think that there were blemishes in Shakspere, in the shape of yielding too much to the prevailing taste of the times; but there was also an undercurrent of high and even religious feeling, something more than mere natural religion—something higher and truer-something of the religion that had come from heaven itself—that imbued a large portion of his works, and was not less true because not obtrusively placed before the reader.