In the second place, this sophism takes no account of the fact that Shakspeare was not only an author, but a manager. In our own day, Mr. Morris of the Haymarket, will give a dramatist an extra sum to secure the non-publication of a play, in the expectation that that stipend will be repaid him by bringing to his theatre those to see who would, in the event of publication, have been satisfied with staying at home to read. But if this is a business-like policy in the present age, how much more so was it in the time of Elizabeth, when, to the great mass of the people, the playhouse afforded almost the only intellectual food within their reach? It may be said, that this argument is only effective so long as Shakspeare remained a manager, and that there was nothing to prevent his giving his plays to the world, so soon as he had retired from the theatre, and taken up his abode in his native town. This, I acknowledge, would be sound reasoning, if we were quite safe as to one or two facts. But when we remember that our poet derived his chief profits from his managership, it becomes a self-evident proposition, that when he retired from that office, the good-will of it was valuable as a property, and was sold accordingly to his successor: this brings us to the next step: he who succeeded naturally inquired whence arose the profit?-and again it becomes self-evident, that much of it must have been derived from the exclusive possession of the manuscript

dramas of the poet. Is it not, then, more than probable, that these very manuscripts became a matter of barter, and that Shakspeare was bound down by agreement to non-publication ?—There is also another consideration which may suggest itself to our mind. Shakspeare was by no means an old man when he retired to Stratford, or when he died, which happened in a few years afterwards. On the contrary, he was in the very vigor of intellectual existence; and it seems to be no great stretch of the imagination to suppose that it was within his intention to devote his Avonian hours to the perfecting of those works which, from his previously re-writing so many, I am justified in saying he had most nearly at heart. My own idea is, that, it being extremely probable that his hands were tied for a certain time by agreement with his managerial successor, he was waiting for the lapse of that period, when death overtook him, and deprived the world of that final polish to the cluster, the intrinsic diamonds of which he had already bestowed.

In the third place, even supposing I am wrong in my conjecture, that Shakspeare deemed it a matter of business not to print his dramas while he was a manager, and that subsequently he was prevented by bond from their publication, it by no means follows that their nonpublication arose from any doubt as to their merits.

Rather than pin our faith on such an abortion of the truth, it will surely be more easy to imagine the constitution of his mind to have been such, that, rolling in its own inexhaustible mines, it was lavishly careless of the veins already exposed to the world, conscious that the great source from which all these were derived was still undrained. The greatest prodigals are those who deem their treasure inconsumable; and because a man is careless of his greatness, it does not follow that he is ignorant of it. Themistocles, being requested at a feast to play on the lute, replied "I cannot fiddle, but I can make a small town a great city:" and so Shakspeare, perhaps, forever wrapt in the consciousness of his power to convert a score of blank leaves into an immortal drama, contented himself with leaving his immortalities in the hands of the world, persuaded that they contained that within, which would force mankind to struggle for their preservation.

In the fourth place, the argument that is presented to us in support of Shakspeare's ignorance of his own strength, entirely omits all notice of the fact furnished by Shakspeare himself in his sonnets. With respect to dramatic productions, it is to be observed, that they afford an author little or no opportunity of speaking in his own person; it is true, that he may put his own real sentiments in the mouth of one of his characters;

but from that moment they become the sentiments of this imaginary person, and there is no mark by which we can more specifically identify them with the creed of the poet himself. We shall therefore for the most part look in vain for Shakspeare's opinions in Shakspeare's plays: syllogism and sophism to a certain extent may guide us; but at all events our conclusions (and scanty they will be) must be the deductions of argument, and not the dogmas of fact. But when we come to the sonnets, we find ourselves in a very different situation. Here the poet speaks in his own person, states his own opinions, and pours forth the language of his own heart; and more especially is this the case with Shakspeare, as his sonnets, we are told, were rather written for the luxury of private friendship than for the strictness of public observance.* then, we there find our poet over and over again proclaiming that his verse shall be immortal and his muse everlasting, is it not monstrous to assert, in the teeth of his own words, that this was a man who lived and died in ignorance of his own scope of intellect? Am I right? or am I wrong in my statement?-Let us turn to his sonnets. In the 18th sonnet, these are the last six lines:

If,

"As the soul of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythagoras, so the sweet witty soul of Ovid lives in the mellifluous honey-tongued Shakspeare; witness his Venus and Adonis; his Lucrece; his sugared sonnets among his private friends."-Meres' Wit's Treasury, 1598.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

The whole of the 55th sonnet is dedicated to the same

thought :

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents,
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,

And broils root out the work of masonry,

Nor Mar's sword nor war's quick fire shall burn

The living record of your memory.

'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity

Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room,

E'en in the eyes of all posterity

That wear this world out to the ending doom.

So till the judgment, that yourself arise,

You live in this and dwell in lover's eyes.

The last six lines of the 81st sonnet are perhaps still more strong—

Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes, not yet created, shall o'er read;

And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse ;

When all the breathers of this world be dead,

You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen)

Where breath most breathes, e'en in the mouths of men.

After these examples it will be unnecessary to quote

others in the text; and I therefore content myself with