If in this composition I should be found transgressing against the critical law of unity, I must be content to repose on the evidence of those great masters of language and composition, Johnson and Fielding. The former, in his life of Pope, remarks" As the end of method is perspicuity, that series is sufficiently regular that avoids obscurity, and where there is no obscurity it will not be difficult to discover method." While the immortal Fielding, in the initial chapter (fifth book) of that incomparable work Tom Jones, overturns the bastard claims of criticism altogether. The quotations I select are too far distant from each other to be related, which must render my style discrepant. But continuity is less necessary, as Shakspeare, like nature herself, has this peculiar excellency, that while the parts are essential to the whole, yet each part, like a beautiful tree or flower, is a picture in itself.

With regard to the character of this composition, without referring to those illustrious commentators of the poet, Steevens, Malone, Tyrwhitt, Schlegel, Hazlitt, and, though last yet first, the sweet and sensitive Jameson,* I shall merely reply, in the words of an eminent writer and critic, "If every line of Shakspeare's plays were accompanied with a comment, every intelligent reader would be indebted to the industry of him who produced it." My object is to examine the philosophy, physical and moral, or the observances, of Shakspeare; and if the work be uncalled for, the public at least encourage the undertaking, for would we patch up an argument, give strength to reason, argument to truth, and poetry to every thing, Shakspeare is always conclusive. Thus much for the worthiness of my subject, but how far it is worthily treated is not for me to proclaim; but if the reader have "thought the same things a hundred times," I rely confidently on a verdict in my favour; for when an author's thoughts are anticipated he is sure of approbation, since he has given a premium to vanity. Following the order of the plays, we commence with

THE TEMPEST.

Shakspeare strictly adhered to truth: his forms unknown were not as the "traveller's tales," reputed facts, however excusable the

• Of all the illustrators of our poet, Mrs. Jameson is the most fascinating, the most true. Love, with her, is an instinct; her very thoughts (noble as they are) are embued with sensibility; her reasonings are of the “woman all compact"-the Portia of her sex.

"That was excellently observed,' say I, when I read a passage in an author where his opinion agrees with mine; when we differ, there I pronounce him to be mistaken."-Swift.

The same piercing

deceit in so superstitious and ignorant an era. glance penetrated what was true and what was false, and though he so often represents supernatural and strange creations, they are strictly fictitious; and while he advanced truth he repudiated error, even where ignorance was excusable. In this respect our poet differed from the philosophers, Bacon and Boyle, whose faith therein is frequently observable. In the magical play of The Tempest, Shakspeare availed himself of the strange superstitions of his times, and even borrowed the outline from the histories which travellers had written. The scene is laid in one of the Bermuda Isles. The following may be interesting to the reader-In the year 1609, Sir George Sommers voyaged to the Bermudas, and was shipwrecked, the account of which was published by Silvester Jourdan, an eyewitness. The pamphlet was styled, A Discovery of the Bermudas, or Isle of Devils, &c. &c. Stowe, in his Annals, has this singular passage, relating also to the same event:-" Sir George Sommers, sitting at the stearne, seeing the ship desperate of relief, looking every minute when the ship would sinke, hee espied land, which according to his and Captain Newport's opinion, they judged it should be the dreadfull coast of the Bermodes, which islands were of all nations said and supposed to bee enchanted and inhabited with witches and devills, &c. &c." The name of The Tempest, is even supposed to have been borrowed from this recital" of the still-vext Bermoothes."

Thus, also, in Othello's account of the "anthropophagi, and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders," it is given as an exaggerated tale, and arose from the monstrous fables which hung over the Indian shores, then recently discovered. We see how far these tales were credited by Shakspeare, when he turns them to ridicule.

"Sebastian. Now I will believe

That there are unicorns; that in Arabia

There is one tree, the phoenix' throne; one phoenix

At this hour reigning there.

Antonio. I'll believe both;

And what does else want credit, come to me,

And I'll be sworn 'tis true: travellers ne'er did lie,
Though fools at home condemn them."

Thus the poet takes as agency what is necessary to his play, but merely as fiction. The Tempest is a dream or phantasy, in which sublime truths and natural observances are interwoven with our affections and superstitions.

In the second scene Prospero and Miranda are introduced. The dignified prince and subtle scholar bows himself to the tender fears and inquiries of his daughter, listens to her fond humanity, quiets her apprehensions for "the brave vessel who had, no doubt, some noble creatures in her," and, "the time being come," prepares her for those events which are advent by the discovery of their "birth and lineage," his former life, his sufferings, his bereavements. How tenderly Prospero attaches his child to his nature by the recital of his history, the idolatry of his heart, for her whose innocent smile infused a fortitude from heaven! "Plucking his magic garments from him," figuratively, putting off formality, abstraction, all thought but of his Miranda, at once the father, unscholared, free, and unconstrained, to meet the simple unmasked nature of his child. He associates his relation with her early remembrances.

"Prospero. Can'st thou remember

A time before we came unto this cell?

I do not think thou can'st; for then thou wast not

Out three years old.

Miranda. Certainly, Sir, I can.

Prospero. By what? by any other house, or person?
Of any thing, the image tell me, that

Hath kept with thy remembrance.
Miranda.-'Tis far off:

And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants," &c.

How beautiful is this filmy memory of childhood-how true to nature! ""Tis far of." To youth, the recollections of childhood are indistinct; the mind is prospective, hopeful, changeful; but in old age, in second childhood, the mind retrospects, hope fades into memory, and then, looking "into the dark backward abysm of time," the prattle of infancy returns, early associations recur, and what in youth is a dream, becomes an assurance. This passage involves some most important physiological truths, as the physical changes of septennial periods. It is an extraordinary fact, and well known to professional men, that a blow on the head, or cerebral disturbance, may be followed not only by the imbecility of age, but by its peculiar mental changes, particularly in the recal of early associations and events, with the loss of all those intermediate. The instance of the Welsh woman in St. Thomas's Hospital, who, after such an accident, not only recalled her native tongue, which she had not spoken for twenty years, but totally forgot every word of her accustomed English, is well known in the profession.

But let us follow this "poor man" whose "library was dukedom large enough." In the words of Chaucer

The name of Prospero might be added to the list of the calamities of genius. After recounting his twelve years banishment, he intimates the period of their release.

"Prospero.-Know thus far forth:

By accident most strange, bounteous Fortune,
Now, my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore: and by my prescience

I find my zenith doth depend upon

A most auspicious star; whose influence,
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop."

This passage exactly corresponds to that of Brutus, "There is a tide in the affairs of men," and also in Troilus and Cressida, "I have important business, the tide whereof is now." The period in which Shakspeare lived was remarkable for the twilight which hung long dawning over the ignorant and besotted mind, when knowledge was concentrated in the individual; then study meant mystery, and science witchcraft. Chemistry had not risen out of the alchymist's crucible, and astronomy lay hidden beneath the jargon of astrology. Thus, our poet refers to the "auspicious stars," but, like a true philosopher, he does not make the stars do all the work, but rather trusts to the energy of his own character. Prospero advantaged the time, and thus the "flood of fortune" might oftener return if we were ready to take our venture. In the next scene "quaint Ariel" appears, that delicate spirit. Prospero interrogates Ariel respecting the tempest

"Hast thou, spirit,

Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?

Ariel. To every article.

I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak,

Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,

I flamed amazement: sometimes I'd divide,

And burn in many places; on the top-mast, sex to
The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,..
Then meet, and join."

The phenomenon called St. Elmo's light, will be readily recognized in this elegant description of Ariel's. It is supposed to be an electrical phenomenon, which generally appears before tempestuous weather. It is mentioned by Pliny in his Hist. Nat., as also by Seneca and many subsequent writers. Douce supposes that Shakspeare consulted the works of Stephen Batman, who, speaking of Castor and Pollux, says, "they were figured like two lamps, or cresset lights, one on the toppe of a maste, the other on the stemme or foreshippe." Douce adds, that "if the light first appears on the stem, or foreship, and ascends, it is good luck; but if either lights begin at the top mast, and descend toward the sea, it is a sign of tempest. By taking the latter position, Ariel had raised the storm according to the commands of Prospero."

The following extract from a modern author will be more interesting to the reader:-"St. Elmo's light is a luminous meteor that frequently settles upon the mast-head of vessels, and is, probably of electric origin, though it is never known to produce any of those disastrous effects which so often attend lightning. Sometimes it is confined to the mast-head, while at other times it gradually descends the mast to the deck itself. It was formerly supposed, by mariners, to be the visible representation of the spirit St. Elmo, who is the tutelar deity of those who traverse the mighty deep. When it is confined to the top-mast, it is a proof, in their opinion, that although bad weather may be present, yet it will not continue, and cannot injure the vessel: but when it descends the mast, it prognosticates a gale of wind, or a disaster, &c., &c."

The unfortunate poet, Falconer, alludes to this phenomenon :
"High on the mast, with pale and livid rays,
Amid the gloom portentous meteors blaze."

How beautifully Ariel describes the terror and furious broil of shipwreck it is all noise and wild contention,-"not a soul was firm"

:

"Ferdinand,

With hair up-starting, (then like reeds, not hair),

Was the first man that leaped."

Shakspeare has frequently alluded to this effect of fear; as in Richard the Third:

"My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses."

Also in Henry VI., &c. This is a physical fact, and produced by the erectile tissue of the scalp, of course involuntary.