as essential to its noblest form of manifestation? Is the spirit of Christian art, which lends to modern sculpture, painting, and architecture, its distinction, if not its supremacy, absent from the drama? Is it true that the loftiest faculties of the human mind applied to creative labour weaken, as the form of expression is improved and perfected? Can it be that the pen of the poet is less sacred than the pencil of the painter? Was Shakspere in the utterance of the most sublime and sustained morality, the purest and wisest sentiments, not less constrained by Apollo, than the Sibyl, "fingit premendo," and prompted by a not less exalted fervour and inspired purpose. Were his utterances merely irregular, and his complex and mighty monumental labours, alike defying criticism and comparison, disjointed imaginings, or at best the labourious efforts to please, of an affluent but prodigal mind. Was his wisdom poured forth in libation without controlling intention or even such purity of resolve as is claimed for any artist or architect whose work is to outlive his generation. Is there not rather evidence of sacrifice in various forms, which would imply a resolve set much above the exigencies of the moment, the love or the desire for transitory success, or even the mere pursuit of fame. And the question I now propose to discuss is the affirmation of a principle of design regulating all the poet's labours, and for the presence of such evident motives of construction as will pronounce the moral dignity ruling and regulating the artistic propriety of all his plays. For this, it is not necessary of course to claim for them, influenced as their production was, by so many circumstances, of time, opportunity, and place, the unity of a single work; nor claim for all, the distinction that may attach but to a part; but to inquire by some and by those chiefly on which his reputation hangs, if a merely secular motive is sufficient to account for their literary excellence

and perfection, and whether an artistic zeal alone would have secured the unity of the moral form of his later plays.

Charges have been frequently made which impugn their purity, charges against scenes and speeches as eminently immoral and unnecessary, and thus subject to the severe imputation, that a love of impurity had prompted their introduction for impurity's sake, in violation of the exigencies of the play. A crime against artistic as well as moral propriety. These if proved would wholly hinder a belief in the moral purity of the author, or in the sanctity or consecration of his works. But, unfortunately for those opposed to the dramatic form of literature, these objections and charges can be easily explained away. The question remains not whether such enormities were systematically introduced, but the larger one, whether many seeming incongruities and imperfections, cannot similarly be traced, and referred back to a spirit of order, and arrangement, and to a grander unity of form, than is at first sight apparent. Some persons have assumed to discover a certain thread of order and form running through several of the later plays which has no reference to the necessities of the dramatic construction. To such a vital principle as circulates in a tree or plant, and sustains its vigour, health, symmetry, and perfection. If such a force exists, and the suggestion is not a fanciful one, the question remains, what is the crystallising law ruling these atoms, what the larger law of growth, regulating the form of these seemingly irregular creations? Or, in other words, are there considerations of a purely moral nature, which have imposed restrictions of design on the poet, superior to the mere order and arrangement incumbent on dramatic composition? Is the fire, which "lends the light which ne'er was seen by sea or land," the ultimate grace and perfection of all art, indeed, "the consecration," which must be supperadded to the poet's dream.

The mass of literature, in criticism and commentary, on Shakspere, which has appeared within the last few years, by its extent would seem to illustrate some law that makes the area of a poet's orbit, depend on remoteness from the author's self. Of a variety and degree of merit embracing, as may be supposed, the widest poles of literary excellence--of wisdom and the want of it—a very broad and simple classification, may be applied to it. It is either complimentary or condemnatory. But on examination it will be found, that this opposition in criticism arises, less from peculiarity or causes existent in the author than proper and personal to the commentators. They divide naturally into a species of whig and tory interest. On the one side are ranged writers who proceed on the assumption that Shakspere, as a player, must have been, was, a very ignorant and unlettered person, stumbling by accident on beauties, and on a certain success in poetry, but still lamentably defective in all those artistic aids of training and scholarship, which are so necessary to noble poetry. It has mattered little what facts were opposed to them: the theory was just and perfect, and if the facts would not conform, it was no fault of theirs. On the other side, within the last few years only, have been marshalled a class-continually increasing which proceeds on the assumption and foregone conclusion, that Shakspere was unquestionably the greatest genius that ever lived, and that, while amenable to criticism, a proper reverence is due to him. That as poets made rules in art, and rules in art did not make poets, it is necessary to weigh what are termed his sins against art and his defiance of art, before proceeding to judgment and condemnation. These two parties or factions in criticism have been loosely distinguished as German and English. The former uniformly manifesting a disposition of reverence, raising objections with

diffidence, and dealing chiefly with the beauties and resources of the poet, in an analytic and philosophic spirit: the latter almost as uniformly criticising only to condemn; and using alike the memory of the poet and his immortal labours with a presumption only equalled by ignorance. It is obvious at sight that such a classification by nationalities is most imperfect; for the names of Coleridge, Charles Knight, Mrs. Jameson, Brown, and Collier, with others no less familiar, at once occur to impair it. But unquestionably it serves to mark a distinction in the general tone of German, as distinguished from English criticism, which as certainly exists-very largely to the credit of the former. Without proceeding so far back as that period, not very remote, when "Lear"-the sublime play of "Lear!"was pronounced a dust heap, and some of its passages were accepted as jewels, lost in their irregular setting, it was the fashion and custom of every writer to consider the want of art and ignorance of Shakspere as matters understood. Criticism meant nothing but calumny, and the commentators were nothing if not critical. They discovered, or pretended to discover, geographic blunders, anachronisms, false quantities, broken metaphors, instances of obscenity, and rhythmical errors without number; and descended Harpies in horrid flight

"Et magnis quatiunt clangoribus, alias Diripiuntque dapes, contactuque omnia fœdant

Immundo."

No critic was qualified for office unless he could contribute his quota of proofs of Shakspere's folly, or Shakspere's literary, artistic, or moral criminality. All this is now changed; but it would be difficult to say how much of the change has been effected or aided by German literary influences. It is now customary to speak of the poet more reverentially in print. But with honourable

exceptions, such as I have already named, it is not unjust to declare that the tone of English commentary is still depraved, depreciatory, and most inadequate to the requirements and the dignity of the subject. That even where most apprehensive and devoted in its admiration, it neither attains the profundity, wisdom, nor devotion of Teutonic commentary, and that it is frequently marked by the utmost degradation of thought and feeling.

To Coleridge belongs the honour of having first among Englishmen assumed a proper attitude towards the poet. He was the first to approach the subject boldly, in a spirit of enthusiastic and unqualified admiration. His love gave him an insight, denied to less fervid or impassioned minds. He passed the threshold of verbal criticism, the courts of cavil and remonstrance; saw and understood the wondrous excellences before hidden. He was able to explain the marvellous artistic and dramatic. propriety of the poet, no less in the delineation of the most occult and mysterious workings of the human mind, than in the exact relationship of circumstances to acts, as in real life. He became the first high priest. Gifted with a rare command of language, great enthusiasm, and versatility of thought and expression, combined with a subtle metaphysical acumen, and one of the noblest phases of the poetic intellect manifested in any man, in any age; he was peculiarly qualified, as inclined, to do service at the honoured shrine of the great master mind, of all literature. He tasked his resources for his office. His service was unconditional. His homage subject to no doubt; and in spirit as in wisdom, no successor, foreign or English, has more feelingly interpreted, or more lovingly appreciated, what the inconceivable wisdom of the wisest head of all ages, the myriad-minded man, wrote. But Coleridge did not assume to exhaust his theme, nor circumscribe the magic sphere of its great glory and perfec