sified as "in power and poetic feeling, superior to all, secration, indeed! In Germany, it has been cultivated similar compositions in the language, save those of Shak- to some extent, but the language of that country is illspeare and Milton." Of Milton's, the same editor re- adapted to its rules. In Spain, as in Italy, it has been marks, that "in easy majesty, and severe beauty, they more successful, although, in both those countries, there are unequalled by any other compositions of the kind:" have been poets who have done that beautiful form of and of Shakspeare's, he says: "they contain such a verse no honor. The same may be said of many of the quantity of profound thought as must astonish every writers in the Anglo-Saxon tongue, both in England reflecting reader; they are adorned by splendid and and at home, who have essayed delicate imagery; they are sublime, pathetic, tender, or sweetly playful; while they delight the ear by their fluency, and their varied harmonies of rhythm." Wordsworth himself says of the Sonnet, -With this key Shakspeare unlocked his heart :" And, again, that, -when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand But all this is apart from the main object of this paper. I have only indulged in this seeming controversial strain, by way of claiming for those two noble poets that justice in comparison, which the otherwise very discriminating critic of the Messenger is willing to allow them, by themselves considered. With every word he says of the Sonnet, per se, the writer I have mentioned will find me fully and deeply sympathising; and as to Wordsworth's sonnets, he has but deepened the admiration I have always felt while poring over those richest gems of modern poetry. He has copied many of the best of these in his sparkling article. Yet there is one, he omits, but which, from its very resemblance to those of his two illustrious exemplars in Sonnet-writing, has ever been supreme upon my list of favorites. I mean that which he addressed "To the Lady Beaumont." "Lady! the songs of spring were in the grove A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove. The Lord Surrey first introduced the Sonnet into the English language, about the middle of the sixteenth century. He published his "Songes and Sonnettes" in the year 1557. But it is the most ancient form of Italian poetry and at a still earlier period was in use by the Provençals. In Italy it was first cultivated by the poet Fra Guittone, and was nearly a century in attaining the perfection, (for so it must be considered,) to which Petrarch elevated it. In France, the Sonnet has never gained a worthy celebrity, being, in that country, a mere vehicle for that sportive kind of verse which we call crambo,-(or something like it,)—a de "To bend the iron bow of Cœur de Lion, And wield the club of Hercules." These "climbers upon Richmond, fancying it Parnassus," to borrow a quaint conceit of Charles Lamb, (dear Elia !) look at the Sonnet, and, finding it mathematically described in the books, as consisting of so many lines, and so many parts, and so many syllables, and so many rhymes, take comfort to themselves that they know their Cocker, and can count their fingers and thumbs, and form capital letters, in round Italian hand; and so they settle themselves to write Sonnets: and"hinc illa lachrymæ !” Lieber very tersely defines the Sonnet thus: (after describing the proper construction of the lines, &c. according to the rules, q. v.) "it generally contains one principal idea, pursued through the various antitheses of the different strophes, and adorned with the charm of rhyme." Montgomery (the elder) in his beautiful Lecture on "The Form of Poetry," says, "There is not a popular one in the English language: there are hundreds in the Italian." This is true, yet deceptive. It is true, just as it is to say that poetry is popular in Italy, but not in England; and if it applies to the Sonnet more than to any other verse, it is only because that, in Italy, there is no verse so commonly in vogue. Yet the English Sonnet is as popular, perhaps, as any other form of English poetry, if we except the Ballad; and the preference given to that form arises more from the story of which it is usually the vehicle, than from the verse itself. The native language of the Italian is Music-Poetry, and he "Lisps in numbers, and the numbers come." Yet even our rigid critic, just quoted, agrees that there are some specimens extant, which "have redeemed the English language from the opprobrium of not admitting the legitimate Sonnet, in its severest, as well as its most elegant construction." And here is one in proof, by Wordsworth, which the critic of the Messenger and myself have both as yet left unquoted. It is the Answer of the Men of Tyrol to the French foe, who has demanded the surrender of their Alpine homes. "This land we, from our fathers, had in trust,- While we go forth, a self-devoted crowd, This is beyond, above, and out of all reach of comparison or of criticism. It is THE SONNET, par excellence. Yet, reader, stay one moment longer for this jewel of John Leyden's: and those of you who do not remember who John Leyden is, read Lockhart's Life of Walter Scott. "ON THE SABBATH MORNING. "With silent awe I hail the sacred morn, nets in his ear: "Scorn not the Sonnet !" J. F. O. SPECIMEN OF CAUSTICITY. In an old Edinburg Review (No. 31), is an article in reply to an abusive pamphlet written against the Review by some tutor or Fellow in the University of Oxford. Judging merely by the article itself, without seeing aught on the other side of the controversy, it is one of the most overwhelming in power of ridicule, satire, and argument, that the annals of controversy afford. The following is among the strongest concentrations of bitterness: "This Oxford gentleman is always burning candles by daylight; proving what no human being ever called in question, and making the most pompous display of the most trite and insignificant truths. In p. 106, is a long dissertation to shew, that some general Literature is useful in all professions. In p. 126, he praises Locke and Milton; and soon after informs us, that Adam Smith is a writer of merit. In p. 127, he proves that composition is useful. He then demonstrates, that a man's abilities depend a good deal upon what nature has made him, and a good deal also upon how he has been taught. He convinces us, moreover, that not the wealth only, of nations, is to be attended to, but their happiness; and makes it quite clear to the most skeptical mind, that all human institutions are liable to error. And all this is not done carelessly, or despatched in a 'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill The Grecian drama, until the days of Shakspeare, surpassed in dignity and excellence that of any other people, ancient or modern. And it owed this supremacy to its inherent strength and vigor, borrowing no meretricious graces from abroad, but gradually developing its innate energy and resources. The tragic Muse of Greece, like its own infant Hercules, soon seized upon the snakes; and in the darker, and wilder, and more terrific explosions of passion, in the drama of the better days of that gifted people, she is yet unimitated, perhaps inimitable. When the Grecian arts and sciences were led in captivity to Rome, they failed to impart to the conqueror their creative spirit; and the lyre of the Muses, like the harp of the Children of Captivity, seemed to have lost its powers. The efforts of the Roman dramatists appear to have been confined to a servile copy of Grecian models; and with them, superlative excellence consisted in the perfection of that copy. among the European nations of the continent, their dramatic genius has been fettered by learned and critical rules deduced from writings of the master-spirits of the Grecian stage. But neither nations nor individuals can attain excellence in this department of literature by the imitation of ancient models. Bursting through their fetters, such writers display occasional beauties, but the general character of their productions scarcely transcends mediocrity. Addison, in his Cato, bowed to the rigor of this rule, and although in many passages he is touchingly eloquent, and always chaste, yet the tragedy, as a whole, is cold and formal. But the divine Shakspeare, in the true spirit of Anglo-Saxon freedom, surrendering himself to the glowing inspirations of the Muse, and "of imagination all compact," soars at once to sublimity, and wins for himself, his language, his country and his age, imperishable renown. So, The English, like the Grecian drama, attained its highest perfection by the development of its own plenteous and inexhaustible resources. Original in its inception, and essentially national in its character, it steadily progressed in its own peculiar path, until, in the days of Shakspeare, it had attained supreme excel- He has been censured as an erratic genius, whose lence. The soaring genius of the English dramatists unconnected and incoherent productions were formed could not be confined within the triangle of the unities. without system or order. Be it remembered that these By a bold disregard of the unities of time and place, charges are preferred by those secondary geniuses and and by a happy and judicious admixture of tragic and imitative formalists, who would build the modern drama comic scenery, they have given scope to their genius on the model of the ancients. Worshippers of the and range to their fancy; but, by the use of this license olden time, such men bow down with reverence before an extraordinary degree of taste and judgment was the "scarf of the shrivelled mummy." Shakspeare's required to maintain a just proportion, and to preserve was a creative genius-his censors were imitators. It the proprieties of the drama. The study of ancient was impossible that a man like Alexander Pope should models was pursued to give extent and scope to genius, appreciate the loftier beauties of this transcendant Poet and to chasten and control the powers of invention. and High Priest of Nature. The characteristic of Pope's The productions of the Grecian drama, far from being mind was neatness and polish. In the minor beauties considered inimitable, constituted the salient point, of composition, in the department of order, euphony whence the untamed and soaring spirits of the English and elegance, he was an adept. Smooth, placid, and have soared beyond all Greek, beyond all Roman fame! | refined, his measure was music, and his style was grace Shakspeare is at once the founder, and the great master of the English drama. He is the pride of the English nation: he is the "Genius of the British Isles." He was the light of his age. The sublime outpourings of his genius felt for a season the chilling influence of ignorance and bigotry: but as the returning rays of genial truth fell upon the frozen fountains of dramatic eloquence, they were unsealed, and gushed forth, "Like to the Pontic sea, and beauty. But he could never lift his frittered mind to the awful sublimity of the great dramatist, when like the Pythoness, he warmed with celestial fire, and shook with the pregnant inspiration of the Deity. The march of Johnson's style was stately and measured, but his turgid and pompous mind moved too heavily to overtake the electric nimbleness of Shakspeare's outpourings of genius; and, like Pope, the operations of his intellect were restricted within a prescribed circle of order. Hence, when this erratic genius wheeled along the paths of literary space, they mistook the eccentricity of his movement for confusion; and unhesitatingly censured what they could not appreciate or compre Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontick and the Hellespont." Shakspeare cannot be translated into any foreign tongue; in the attempt, even the hardy genius of Vol-hend. It was impossible that the cold skepticism of taire is rebuked in his presence, and pales before him. His indomitable spirit refuses to submit to any foreign yoke; it is in the broad and manly freedom of the Anglo-Saxon alone that his ardent and impetuous genius delights to range in illimitable sweep, and unmeasured compass. He has no equal-no imitator. He is alone in his glory. Like the CHILIAN CONDOR, he "floats in the solitude of the higher heavens !" Modern writers are content to admire, to study, to illustrate-but never to imitate. Some however have presumed to criticise ;-Quos Ego. HUME's mind could be warmed and expanded into admiration by this bright luminary; for Hume's was a mind as insensible as the nether mill-stone to all the finer emotions of our nature. An outcast from gracenot even the celestial fires of inspiration could animate the frozen viper. Neither could the infamous depravity and prostitution of Voltaire's intellect catch the enthu siasm of this divine writer; and having miserably failed to translate, he seemed to envy and to hate him. The most thrilling-the sublimest passages of Shakspeare spring from the operations of conscience; and this poet's great wand of power, is the mystical relation between the Deity and man. To such a voice these wretches were as deaf as the adder. They had labored to erase the image of God from their souls, and there was no longer left with them even a taste for anything pure, chaste, beautiful or holy; for the spirit had gone forth from the sanctuary, and the shrine was desecrated. Their hearts were corrupted in their most intimate recesses, and every current of moral feeling flowing therein, had either stagnated into insensibility, or was poisoned unto bitterness. We are angered at these men; but it is with a holy indignation. says the Apostle, " Irascimini―sed nolite peccare." But the pious, the patriotic, the kindred spirit of Milton could, even in the gloom of national degradation, in the storm of civil strife, and amid the mists of religious intolerance and fanaticism, appreciate and proclaim the beauties of this "child of fancy:" "Irascimini," Is it not strange, that public opinion, bowing to the dogmatism of Johnson and to the cynical moroseness of Pope, should have permitted the character of Shakspeare and his dramatic writings to be traduced and misrepresented? It is not for us, at this enlightened day, to quote from the multitude of passages in the dramatic works of Shakspeare, to refute the charge of his being unlettered and unfamiliar with the classics. It reposes upon the naked authority of the "author of Irene." It is true that Ben Jonson has said or sung, that Shakspeare had "small Latin and less Greek;", but in that pedantic age, this is no light admission. I appeal from the impressions and fancies of men to the productions of the poet, which are rife with all the spirit of classical beauty. Among his more finished dramas there is scarcely an animated scene, which does not carry with it internal and conclusive evidence of a mind deeply imbued with the purest inspiration of the classics. How laboriously he may have investigated the intricacies of the Greek or Latin tongues is immaterial; but throughout his productions, miscellaneous and dramatic, his thoughts are robed in a classic drapery, and reflected in classic imagery, inimitably chaste | peare, and by a study of his works that Milton acquired and appropriate. "Our sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child, It was by a just appreciation of the merits of Shaks that originality of expression and boldness of thought, which has enabled him to scale the walls of heaven. | whether the prudish delicacy of our day is not rather an The flaming sword of the cherubim prevailed not evidence of corrupt imaginings than of superior virtue. against his genius. He trod the path to Paradise, and At all events there was less refinement in the age of threw around the stupendous truths of revelation all the Elizabeth. And what right has the exquisite refinewitchery and all the sublimity of the epic. ment of the 19th century to erect as a standard of pro It is no part of our intention to point out the excel-priety its code of morals, by which to judge of those of lences of Shakspeare; yet there is one reflection we may be allowed to make. It is upon the striking individuality of his characters. In this respect he vastly excels Sir Walter Scott, who, next to Shakspeare, is the most graphic delineator of character Britain has ever produced. Scott is deficient in this distinctive portraiture of personages of the same species or class. In Scott it is always the same character with a shade of difference: in Shakspeare, they resemble in the main, but are as distinct and separate as the opposite sexes. Lovel in the Antiquary, and Harry Bertram in Guy Mannering differ only in name and circumstance—they want individuality. So, with Norna of Fitful-Head and Meg Merrilies, the gipsey-woman-Dandie Dinmont and Bailie Nicol Jarvie-Ravenscroft and Redgauntlet. Flora McIvor and Rose Brad wardine contrast with each other in Waverly, as do Rebecca, the Jewess, and Rowena, the Saxon, in Ivanhoe. But in Shakspeare every character is a new and distinct creation, though of the same order. Richard of Gloster, Hamlet the King, and Macbeth are all "bloody and remorseless," yet how different! The fair Juliet and the gentle Desdemona, how lovely, yet distinct! He has sketched two deliberate villains, Richard and Iago; but they are | painted with the pencil of a master, who knew every spring of the human heart. Besides the individuality, Shakspeare is remarkable for the intensity of his characters. They are developed at every point, and fulfil their whole destiny. In this point of view compare Iago with Rashleigh Osbaldistone-Shylock with Trapbois, and the monster Caliban with Elshender, the recluse. The gross deformity of “ Cannie Elshie” shocks the imagination; but every one feels that if monsters were, Caliban would be a veritable monster. The same distinction exists between the White-maid of Avenel inning whore of Venice." Stricken to the earth, and as if the Monastery, and Ariel in the "Tempest," who does his "spriting so gently" as to make us regret that he is but a shadow. Let us tear ourselves away from the admiration of those powers, which, at one moment chill our blood with horror, and at another, the 17th century? The age which succeeds us may, with equal justice, erect its wiser standard, and condemn in us the surpassing virtue, which would shrink from the utterance of many passages of that divine revelation, which has been promulged for our moral improvement, and which contains every lesson of morality and every rule of action. But if the ravening appetite of criticism must have food, surely the corruption of the age will furnish abundance, without assailing the common privilege of the poet. Excessive vigilance argues conscious weakness. The dragon was sleepless in the gateway because the Hesperian fruit was always in danger. Our first parents in the garden of bliss were not touched with shame and fear until they had lost their innocence. But it was only in the comic scenes that this coarseness of expression was expected by his auditory, or was used by Shakspeare. In the graver passages of the drama, when it was the poet's will "to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature," there can be nothing more sublimely chaste than his conceptions of character. Radiant with celestial innocence and beauty, his female characters approach angelic excellence. Whether it be the grave Portia, the injured Cordelia, the fanciful Rosalind, the beauteous Imogen, the sorrowful Ophelia, the tender Juliet, or the gentle Desdemona,—each is the very incarnation of purity. Perhaps it never was before given to mortal so clearly to conceive the angelic purity of the female character; certainly no dramatist of any age has been able to display at a single touch, as it were, by the inflection of a single ray of light, the conscious purity of female virtue. For an example, let us turn to the 2nd scene of the 4th act of the “ Moor of Venice." The explosion of Othello's jealousy had taken place, in which he called Desdemona that "cun "Make a swan-like end, Fading in music!" Shakspeare has been heavily censured for the gross indelicacy of his language. Yet it is a subject of grave inquiry whether by that coarseness, which is so harshly condemned by the present generation, he offended the moral sense of the people of the age of Elizabeth. The standard of decency and propriety of language varies with the outline of territory, as well as with the refinement and corruption of a people. What might have been approved in the presence-chamber of the Virgin Queen, and repeated by her maids of honor, would, in our days of artificial refinement and delicacy, transfuse a glowing blush over the cheek of beauty. These things are conventional. And it will be readily perceived by a comparison of Shakspeare's writings with those of his contemporaries, that he has not transcended the mode of his day. Nay, it may well be questioned sensible that the life of the body could not survive the imputation of departed virtue, she prays Emilia to" lay on her bed her wedding sheets." Emilia, in the presence of Desdemona informs Iago, that Othello had " SO bewhored her as true hearts cannot bear." What is the thought of that pure and innocent being in that hour of affliction? the whirl of passion to specify the precise time at which such intelligence would have been less painful? No, he merely intended to show the tendency of the human mind to postpone the hour of pain or retribution, and says, "She should have died hereafter: There would have been a time for such a word.” And in an instant, struck with the folly of desiring to postpone that which is inevitable, he very naturally and very appropriately continues: "To-morrow, and to-morrow-and to-morrow, injustice done to the character of Shakspeare's writings to a conclusion. Had he inclination or leisure to check by commentators and critics, who, without the soul to appreciate his beauties, have exaggerated his faults; and to complain of the pertinacity with which the readers of Shakspeare vex the public ear with proposed corrections of his text. To discover an error in the text of Shakspeare, to proclaim it to the world, and to suggest an emendation, seem to flatter the hypercritic with a portion of the poet's immortality. These corrections, for the most part, are trifling in themselves and annoying to the public. Many of them would be rendered unnecessary if these critics would supply themselves with approved editions of the author. The truth is, that most of the obscurities in the text of this writer have been occasioned by this letter of innovation among readers. Instead of being engaged in the contemplation of the sublime beauties of the drama—instead of being wrapt in the whirl and eddy of the passions, or observing their masterly and fearful development; these "Pucks of commentators" are employed in critical observations of words and phrases, almost beneath the notice of the petty scavengers of literature. We apply these remarks generally. But we must also be permitted to examine impartially certain proposed readings of Shakspeare in former numbers of the Messenger; and although the game may be scarcely worth the candle, pause and reflect, before we approve or adopt them. In the August number of the Messenger there is a passage cited from Macbeth, the reading of which is censured upon the reported authority of Macready. With due deference to the histrionic fame of Macready (if his reputed be his real diction), we cannot surrender the established reading except upon sounder reasoning than that contained in the article in the Messenger, or upon higher authority than that of the tragedian himself. Our first reason is, that we are unwilling to change, upon every frivolous suggestion, a reading which has stood the test of two centuries, and has escaped the censure of more than six generations of the children of men, as well as the mordacious teeth of the whole swarm of critics that have preyed upon the text of Shakspeare as if it had been the land of Egypt. Moreover, we are decidedly of opinion that a reading which has pleased a Garrick and a Kemble, may be tolerated by Macready. The passage is from the 5th act, 5th scene. Macbeth Wherefore was that cry? Read, says your correspondent, meo periculo, and, we suppose, by virtue of the conjoint authority of Macready and himself, "She should have died hereafter: There would have been a time for such a word In plain prose, Macbeth, distressed by the desertion of his friends, alarmed for the issue of the approaching contest upon which depended his throne and existence, when he hears the cry of the woman occasioned by the death of his queen, very naturally wishes, that this blow might have been withheld until another time, when, being less oppressed, he might have borne it with more fortitude. But recovering his self-possession, he says in substance: thus it is, that we are always disposed to consider anytime more appropriate than the present for affliction, and we look forward to to-morrow, though experience teaches us that "all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death." To our understanding no correction is required, and the text of Shakspeare is far more intelligible and natural than the fastidious commentary of the critic, or the supposed reading of the tragedian. In the November number the reading of Shakspeare, Garrick, and Kemble, the reading of two centuries is fully sustained in opposition to the reading of the critic and the tragedian by the note of Johnson, as quoted on page 674, of that number of the Messenger. It will be remembered that this note of Johnson was written in support and explanation of the text of Shakspeare, long before the suggestion of this new reading. The note is in these words: "Her death should have been deferred to some more peaceful time. There would have been a more convenient time for such intelligence. Such is the condition of human life, that we always think to-morrow will be more seasonable than to-day; but to-morrow, and to-morrow steal over us unenjoyed, and we still linger in the same expectation to the moment appointed for our end. All those days, which have thus passed away, have sent multitudes of fools to their graves, who were engrossed by the same dream of future felicity, and when life was departing from them, were, like me, reckoning on tomorrow." Upon the plain signification of this note we are well content to repose. With this explanation Johnson was satisfied with the text of the poet, and Johnson was a critic too. Let him be the arbiter between Shakspeare and the modern critic. We will adhere to the text. The difference between the amendment proposed and the established reading in the Comedy of Errors is too Let it be borne in mind that the plot rapidly ap- unimportant to occupy our attention; and the emendaproaches the catastrophe, and that the poet, glowing tion, if adopted, would neither improve the text, nor with his theme, dallies not by the wayside, but hurries | immortalize the critic. We prefer "falling to “failing,” |