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been most frequently brought against Julius Cæsar. as long as this particular unity is confounded with the true ideal unity of art, defective composition, or a want of true organic unity, is the greatest censure that can be passed upon a work of art. Now if the unity of interest ought to centre entirely in one personage of the drama, then no doubt the objection is just, for it is divided between Cæsar, Brutus and Cassius, and Antony and Octavius. But we cannot for a moment concede that poetical interest is invariably personal; we believe rather that it attaches as frequently to an idea. In the historical drama, as already suggested, the interest must indeed be one, but one historically, and then it will be one in a poetical sense also. But in a certain sense history does not at all trouble itself about persons; its chief interest is in facts, and their effects and influences. Now in "Julius Cæsar" this interest is one throughout, and possesses a true and organic unity. One and the same thought is reflected in the fall of Cæsar, in the defeat and death of Brutus and Cassius, and also in the victory of Antony and Octavius. No man, even though he be as great as Cæsar, or as noble as Brutus, is powerful enough to drag at will history in leading-strings; every one in his vocation may contribute his stone to building up the grand whole, but no one must presume to think that he may with impunity try experiments with it. The great Julius was but trying an experiment when he allowed the crown to be offered which he thrice rejected against his will. He could not tame his wild ambition-a fault which history perhaps might have pardoned; but he understood her not, he wished and attempted what she was not ripe for by this self-condemned error, by this haughtiness, he precipitated his fate. But Brutus and Cassius erred no less in thinking that Rome could be saved by re-establishing the republic; as if the prosperity of a state depended on its form, and if a few as individuals could restore the lost morality of a nation by a magic word. As Cæsar thought life unendurable without the outward dignity of a crown, so they could not bear to live without the honour of external liberty, which they mistook for true intrinsic freedom of mind. They also were trying their own experiments with history. The avaricious and ambitious Cassius, as well as the noble-minded and disinterested Brutus, arrogantly thought

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themselves strong enough to controul the course of events. Thus, in their case also, was error associated with haughtiness, and they doubly deserved the retribution that overtook them. Antony, on the other hand, with Octavius and Lepidus, the talented spendthrift, with the clever actor and the good-hearted simpleton— neither half so powerful nor so noble-minded as their adversaries— nevertheless prevailed in the struggle, because they consented to follow the course of history and the spirit of their age, and understood how to use it. In "Julius Cæsar," therefore, we discern the same ground-idea, and a well-distributed organic unity of historical interest in all the characters, whether leading or subordinate. It shines forth even in Portia's death, as well as in the fall of Cato, Cicero, and the other conspirators; Portia and Cato fell with Brutus, and the rest with Cassius, because they did not understand the progress of events, and thought to make it arbitrarily for themselves, or at least no less wantonly to put their hands into their bosoms, and "speak Greek." History, accordingly, here appears under one of its principal aspects-that of its despotic power and energy of development, by which, although worked out by individual minds, it yet rules the greatest of them, and reaches far beyond their widest calculations.

But what can justify apparitions and spirits in an historical drama? Is it not a mere claptrap for the gallery? And in any case, why is it that the ghost of Cæsar appears to Brutus, whose designs, apparently at least, are pure and noble, rather than to Cassius, his sworn friend? Because, though they appear to be such, they are not so in reality; the design is not really pure which has for its first step so haughty a violation of right. Moreover, Cæsar had been more deeply wronged by Brutus than by Cassius. Brutus, like Coriolanus, had trampled under foot the most natural and noblest affections of humanity for the sake of the phantom honour of free citizenship. Brutus, lastly, was the very soul of the conspiracy: if his mental energies should be paralyzed, and his strong courage unnerved, the whole enterprise must fail. And so in truth it went to pieces, because it was against the will of history-i. e. against the eternal counsels of God. It was to signify this great lesson, that Shakspeare introduced the ghost upon the stage. Only once, and with a few pregnant words, does the

spirit appear; but he is constantly hovering in the back-ground, like a dark thunder cloud, and is, as it were, the offended and threatening spirit of history itself. It is with the same purpose that Shakspeare has introduced spectral apparitions into another of his historical pieces-" Richard the Third." Both dramas stand on the same historical grade; they both represent important turning-points in the history of the world-the close of an old, and the commencement of a new state of things-and in such times the guiding finger of God is more obviously apparent than at others.

"Antony and Cleopatra," lastly, is evidently to be regarded as the continuation of "Julius Cæsar;" if for no other reason, yet for the obvious affinity of their fundamental ideas. In the former we have the olden times at war with the new, and in the latter the same elements are arranged in hostile conflict with each other.

The straight-forward and noble Antony, with his love of truth, personal bravery, and admiration for all true greatness and virtue (as displayed in his funeral oration over the dead body of Brutus in the former piece), is here the representative of the olden spirit, but still not in its absoluteness and purity; in Antony it has already entered into and adopted many of the sentiments of the new order of things. For these olden virtues are united in his character with the chief vices of the latter; such as avarice, lust of power, inconstancy, voluptuousness, and immorality. On his side are Lepidus and Sextus Pompeius; the former virtuous, but weak, and without mental or physical energy; the latter a rash enterprising youth, alike destitute of prudence and experience. They all pass away; their brightness pales before the lucky star of Octavian. Compared with Antony, Octavius appears without vigour and depth of mind, and even as a general without skill or courage, and supported by nothing but his cunning and moderation. And yet he is the conqueror of all! And why?-because the times pre-eminently called for prudence and moderation. When all true moral principle and virtue in a state or people are dead, then is their place to be supplied by such half virtues, if the nation is to be preserved from complete and immediate disorganization. The final fall of Rome was not as yet the purpose of history, and

therefore was Octavius to be raised to the empire of the world. But even in other circumstances it requires-what is itself action— moderation, prudence, and forethought. Whoever does not possess these qualities,-whether like Antony he is unable to command himself, or like Lepidus with the sceptre in his hand sleeps off his drunken debauches, or dreaming of the crocodiles of Egypt, or, like Sextus Pompeius hopes by a sentiment to leap at once into the empire of the world,—must keep aloof from the machinery of the history, or else it will but draw him in to crush him to pieces. This wellknown but widely neglected lesson, which all history, and all historical dramas, loudly proclaim, pervades every part of "Antony and Cleopatra" as its leading and fundamental idea. History is here again depicted in its unlimited power; but at the same time we are taught that even because it is thus despotic, it requires of the ministers of its development that they should be men energetic of will and deed, and above all else, moderate, forecasting, and self-possessed.

The same theme is re-echoed in the fall of Ænobarbus and Fulvia. In their lives and characters they stand in the same relation to Octavia, Mecænas, and Agrippa, as Antony does to Octavius. But Cleopatra, the spotted and slimy "serpent of old Nile" the representative of a corrupt oriental luxury, which has already made its inroads on the Roman world-raised so high by her grace and beauty, her talents and her wit-so womanish and yet so unwomanly-she who clothes all her inmost purposes, and yet thinks with mere outward clothing, with paint and spangles, to cheat history-she pays the penalty of her temerity which hurried her out of the nursery and boudoir into the council-chamber, and into the midst of wars and battles. With all her shrewdness and cunning, she is as little possessed of true prudence as of moderation, and all her machinations are frustrated by the cool, calculating Octavius. Before the tribunal of history he gains his cause, simply because he has more of intrinsic moral rectitude on his side. He is no doubt ambitious and greedy of power, but so also are his opponents. The moderation, however, which he alone possesses is the first principle of virtue, since in its truth it involves self-control. And because history, in its ultimate end reaches far beyond this earthly existence, it demands of man before all things

the controul of himself, in order that when he shall have stripped off his earthly body, he may be fit and able to live in another and better world.

And yet how poor does Octavius appear in this his meagre virtue, and which, when he employs it for the sole purpose of his own earthly aggrandizement, sinks at once into mere worldly cunning. In his character, as laid open to us by Shakspeare, we already read the whole story of his long unworthy life—those arts of the actor-the tacks and doubles with which he sought to steer in safety, through the troubled waves of the times, the ship of state freighted with the precious burthen of his own ascendancy. Like history, true poetry exhibits the future in the present; while it paints the earthly success which accompanies historical justice, it yet lays bare the foul worm-eaten kernel of such prosperity, when in its motives and feelings it rises not above earth. The real victory, therefore, rests neither with Antony nor with Augustus: tried by a higher standard, both alike are in the wrong. But the degraded Roman people could no longer endure sterling justice and truth. The great and noble-minded Julius falls to make room for the little and mean-spirited Augustus. Such is the tragic fate of man, to which his own sinfulness has doomed him, and out of which God's grace alone can deliver him. In this, therefore, as in all his other pieces, the ground-idea of the single drama thus rises to the universal historical view of the world itself.

To judge from the language and characters, "Julius Cæsar" and "Antony and Cleopatra" were beyond doubt written about the same time as "Coriolanus." "Antony and Cleopatra" is entered at Stationers' Hall as early as 2nd May, 1608, although the oldest impression bears the date of 1620. It was therefore written in all probability in 1607; and we may suppose that Shakspeare was led to treat the subject by the composition of Julius Cæsar, which on the other hand was perhaps occasioned by a piece of Lord Sterline's, printed in 1607, but written in all likelihood two years earlier. (Malone, Reed, ii. 348). The "Julius Cæsar," consequently, may be placed in 1606-7. In this date, Malone, Chalmers, Drake, and Tieck, all agree.

We come now to the second cycle, which consists of English histories, and the King John, with its deep and pregnant mean