end that he insanely proposes is the glory of God, and he hopes for his reward-in heaven!

There are, however, two instances of natural touches in this character, which we feel pleasure in pointing out. The one is where Caraffa describes the tilt at Greenwich, and his having felt the recollections of his former rank in life throng in upon him.

I stood

Within the tilt-yard, not to take delight

Carnal, unpriestly, in the worldly pageant:

Though, Heaven forgive me! when the trumpets blew,
And the lists fell, and knights as brave, and full
Of valour as their steeds of fire, wheel'd forth,
And mov'd, in troops or single, orderly

As youths and maidens in a village dance;

Or shot, like swooping hawks, in straight career,
The old Caraffa rose within my breast-

Struggled my soul with haughty recollections

Of when I rode through the outpoured streets of Rome,
Enamouring all the youth of Italy

With envy of my noble horsemanship.

But I rebuked myself, and thought how Heaven

Had taught me loftier mastery, to rein

And curb, with salutary governance,

The unmanaged souls of men.'

The other is where he soliloquizes before receiving Mark Smeaton's signature to the suborned evidence prepared for production at the trial. He would fain excuse his conduct himself by the following reflections:

What if the space of some few mortal lives

Be somewhat shrunk; some eyes untimely closed
On this world's sun; will not ten thousand souls
Live through eternity's unfathomed years,
And a whole nation walk in moral light?

"Tis but the wise relentlessness of heaven.

Doth the dread earthquake feel remorse, that makes
A populous city one vast tomb, where guilt
And innocence lie side by side? Does Pity
Pale the blue cheek of Pestilence, that blasts
Whole nations? Doth the sweeping deluge pause,
And hold suspended its vast weight of waters,
To give the righteous time to fly the ruin?
The best, the wisest, holiest saints and pontiffs
Have sent fierce war, with undiscerning vengeance,
To waste the heretic's land; for though just Heaven
Turn from the field of carnage-from the city
Made desolate, far rather it beholds them
Than the fierce tossings of the infernal pit,

And hell made rich with everlasting souls.'

And

And when the poor lad is led out to execution, he vows to say masses all his life for the welfare of the soul of his victim.

6 So on to death, poor youth,

--Not abandoned, nor unwept by him

Whose aid thou scornest now; but thou shalt own
There, where all motives and all hearts are known.'

Such is the character of this conscientious fanatic; such are all the natural pauses that it permits to interfere with his design, which is, to lift the throne of Peter o'er the carnal lords of earth.' He is, as he is made to say, an earthquake-a pestilence—a deluge -that distinguishes not, but goes on in its work of desolation without respect to persons, in the performance of the will and the decree of heaven. Mr. Milman is justified by history in representing such to be the principle of the order of which Angelo describes himself to have been a nameless limb, although he is rather an impersonation of its spirit; but surely no individual of the order ever bent each corporal agent' thus into terrible conformity with the rigid ideal; even Loyola himself had, probably,Aquaviva certainly had,-other elements in his composition, common to him and his fellow men. The character is not natural-it is intellectual. It is an embodiment, by the understanding, of a conception of its own, derived from historical knowledge of the constitution of this order and of the principles of its founder-or rather of his more politic successors. It is not an individual, but a species-not a person, but an abstraction.

Dr. Johnson would, probably, have approved both the conception and execution of this character; at least he praises Shakspeare's characters, upon the ground of their being species, not individuals. Johnson could not, from some strange peculiarity in the constitution of his great mind, perceive the individual traits induced upon the general nature presented by the poet. All the persons of the play of Henry the Eighth are, in a remarkable degree, individuals: this constitutes its greatest charm; though, most likely, it was the thing that occasioned the contemptuous criticism thereon pronounced by our great critic. The meck sorrows,' says he, and virtuous distress of Katherine have furnished some scenes, which may be justly numbered among the greatest efforts of tragedy. But the genius of Shakspeare comes in and goes out with Katherine. Every other part may be easily conceived and easily written.' We cannot subscribe to this verdict. In our opinion, the genius of Shakspeare is equally exhibited in Cardinal Wolsey; nor is it hidden in Buckingham, notwithstanding the brevity of the part. The speeches of the Duke, as he is led out to execution, are among the most touching in Shakspeare. It must be confessed, that the play is irregular in construction, and the subject deficient in unity; yet great judg

ment

ment is manifested in its conduct. It was once thought, by those who decided mechanically, according to the unities, that the plays of Shakspeare were deficient in this quality;-that the developement of his plots was carelessly contrived, and the denouement defective. But we believe that now as much is allowed to him on the score of art as was always allowed on that of genius-and justly. It would be extraordinary were it otherwise; for the earliest rules of art were derived from the preceding works of original genius; and what should make the work of an original genius of England, in this respect, less worthy than one of Greece, requires explanation. A perfect work of art is one accurately formed upon the model of a previous production of transcendent genius.

How skilful is the opening of the play of Henry the Eighth'! We early perceive that the Cardinal is the subject of jealousy in the court. Wolsey enters;-he exchanges disdainful looks with his enemy, but no words, as if it were superfluous for him to speak whose frown was dangerous and might kill; and unbefitting the man who wrote 'Ego et Rex meus.' He has all the pride, without the power of sovereignty. But such pride is not for a subject. Accordingly, almost immediately afterwards, we have reason to suspect, that this pillared firmament is rottenness-this earth's base built on stubble.' The arrest of Buckingham, however, assures us of his possession of power, which is further confirmed when, notwithstanding the charges brought by Queen Katherine against himself, he is still enabled to carry his point against the Duke, triumphs over his enemy, and retains the countenance of the King. The introduction of Queen Katherine in this scene is managed with much art. The examination of the Duke's surveyor is about to commence, but the business is put aside on account of the dignity and importance of the personage entering. We naturally expect that the charges against Wolsey will go with him; and we partake his triumph when, notwithstanding the difficulty of his situation, he is successful in his own plans. His ruin, after all, is the effect of inadvertence, and the result of accident. It is at an entertainment given by him that the King first sees Ann Bullen, and the part, though brief, which she plays in this scene, can never be too much admired. All she says

hard

is comprised in three half-lines; yet we have a full conception of her manners at once: Was he mad, Sir?'- You are a merry gamester, my lord Sands.'-You cannot show me.' In Anne Boleyn' we remark, that the Queen finds it requisite, after talking for two or three pages, to inform her own brother's wife that her lips are laughter-loving.' The Ann Bullen of Shakspeare is not under this necessity-we see the laugh upon her lips. These instances would almost make us doubt the tradition that he never blotted a line. If we are to judge from our modern dramatists,

he

he would have to blot many lines to condense the quintessence of a character in about a dozen words. Or they proceed differently. They arrive, perhaps, at the idea by a tedious process of verbosity; and in one or other line out of twenty, the substance of all may be discoverable. His words were consequent upon his ideas. Poetical diction, in his time, had not been formed by precedent, and poetry had but few common-places. He, therefore, could not go versing on in the accustomed phraseology, until he started a thought to redeem the surrounding verbiage. He had not to sound on his perilous way ;'-he knew the depths and shallows instinctively, without indulging in a length of line.'

There is only another scene in which Ann appears that with the old lady; and it is conducted with exquisite judgment. We will not quote what must be so well known, and within the reach of every Englishman. But we may mention-her pity for the sad estate of the Queen, from whom the King is about to separateher reflections upon the loss of pomp--the conclusion to which these lead her, and of which her own fate was, ere long, to be another illustration

-and the maidenly way in which she receives the first favours from the King, by the hands of the Lord Chamberlain―

• Would I had no being

If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me,

To think what follows.'

Shakspeare knew that there was much to redeem in the character of Ann Bullen; he, therefore, very wisely, introduced her but seldom, and in the happiest lights.

Our space will not permit us to trace a comparison between the trial scenes of Queen Katherine in Shakspeare's piece, and Queen Anne in Mr. Milman's. The author, probably, intended no rivalship with Shakspeare; and it is but justice to him to say, that his afflicted princess is produced with much skill and effect. The sorrows of the two ladies are of different kinds: those of Katherine are of a broken heart; but in Anne Boleyn they are the adjuncts of a public execution. There is more poetry in the former; but there is much grandeur in the latter-in the firmness with which the Queen meets her fate-the christian forgiveness that she extends towards her enemies-her well-wishes for the King-and her anxiety for the success of the Protestant cause.

Of the King it is difficult to speak. He was an instrument, in

the

the hands of Providence, to bring about an important change: but we must not confound the cause with the agency. 'The Reformation confers no lustre on Henry VIII., whose appetites were only the accidental occasions of its success at that period, but whose conscientious convictions had neither part nor lot in the matter. Neither, justly, ought any stain to be attributed to the Reformation, from the character or crimes of Henry,—the former moulded under the auspices of another church, and the latter the growth of his own uncontrollable will and arbitrary disposition. But, with his usual tact and feeling, Shakspeare has redeemed the character within the limits of our kindliness. Everywhere he leaves the policy of the King's pretended scruples and actions to be inferred: the mask is never taken off, to expose a naked hypocrite to pure abhorrence. Henry VIII. is, in the play, as he was in life, above suspicion and exposure. This task was reserved to history. His behaviour respecting Cranmer, in the last act, is such as to command our admiration and applause; and we part, not only on good terms with the King, but well satisfied with the result of the marriage, by whatever means effected.

may

The comparison instituted between the Anne Boleyn of our author and the Henry VIII. of Shakspeare has, we confess, more reference to the former as a play, than as a dramatic poem. On the other hand, however, it is to be remarked, that the play of Henry VIII. is characterized by very little action, and the passion is of a subdued and meditative cast; and it be looked upon, both in its subject and its construction, as a sort of dramatic poem, not, surely, less poetical, although a little more dramatic, than most of the productions published of late years under this denomination. But, as Shakspeare's piece certainly was written for representation, Mr. Milman has a right to demand that the different intentions of the authors, and the different natures of their productions, should be duly considered. Anne Boleyn was not designed for representation, and depends, for praise or censure, rather upon its abstract poetical merits, than its dramatic pretensions : all this we admit. The comparison that we have made may not, however, we would hope, be entirely without advantage; it may at least direct attention to principles, elicited by force of the collision, the observance of which may be beneficial. The performance of an inferior mind would have been inadequate for such a purpose; and we are happy in being able to accomplish our object by means of a work of considerable ingenuity and merit, adorned with great splendour of versification, and much opulence of poetical diction.

The 'dramatic poem' is a modern species of composition, which has sprung up amongst us in consequence of the degraded state of our theatre, which is, again, consequent upon, or productive of,

the