gravest possible importance. First of all, the bastard John's aversion for his brother the Prince of Arragon-for which no reasonable ground exists-as it began in nothing, so it ends in nothing. Then, as an intermezzo, Claudio's suspicion of Don Pedro's honesty in his vicarious wooing of Hero, whose effects are as grave as itself is groundless; for the unparalleled falsehood has no existence except in his own love-sick brain. The former, with the story of the loves of the two sworn foes of matrimony, Beatrice and Benedick, who keep up a perpetual skirmish of wit, and rail at everything like love or tenderness, are at last, by a very common trick, themselves caught in the meshes of love, and contract together that which they were wont to ridicule, with all the expenditure of wit and humour-form the ground-plan on which the leading idea of the piece is brought forward under different modifications; they are the moving side-pieces, which serve to vary the principal scene on which are depicted the unhappy disturbances in the history of the loves of Claudio and Hero. The intrigue is very superficial and lightly woven: an evil whim of the worthless John breaks, for a time at least, the loosely tied bond of love;—an event which, though it never ought to happen, is of daily occurrence. Mere appearances, without examination or inquiry, are at once invested with all the importance of truth by the parties whose dearest interests are at stake. A pretended death, and burialfriendship broken off, and challenge and defiance-follow each other, until that nothing, chance, brings the truth again to light, and inquiry at last leads to the vindication of injured innocence, and the appeasing of her wrongs by funeral horrors; upon which, Hero, who is supposed to be dead, comes forth from her hidingplace, and the whole closes in merry wedding festivities.

This contrast between the objective reality and the subjective apprehension of things is most amusingly set forth and embodied in the senseless and stupid Dogberry, who is continually contradicting himself-ordering at one moment what, however, in the next, he thinks had better be left undone, and praying that it may be written down and remembered, that he is an ass. He is the very impersonation of the ground-idea: it is exhibited in him in immediate and vivid transparency, and consequently in full comic force. This contrast, which, agreeably to its nature, usually appears divided between

subject and object, is here combined-in Shakspeare's usual manner-in one individual, who forms the most laughable character of the piece. But besides, the part of Dogberry was even dramatically necessary for the detection of the rascality of John and his instruments, which forms the plot of the fable. The comic humour of chance chooses to employ the silliest and most ridiculous of simpletons to bring to light what no doubt lay near enough to the surface, but nevertheless escaped the discernment of the cleverest. It is therefore a grave misconception of the whole composition, to doubt the propriety of the parts of those doughty constables, Dogberry and his follower. He is equally, not to say more, necessary than all the other dramatic personages together.

There is, therefore, no superfluous part in the present any more than in any other piece. Each character is conceived and developed in exact agreement with the fundamental idea, and while all are shaped and modified by the living organization, of which they are integral members, they nevertheless retain their individuality, and an independent movement of their own. The characters, for instance, of Claudio and Don Pedro, whose conduct is certainly calculated to excite surprise, are nevertheless as rightly conceived as they are consistently carried out. Claudio, a brave and honourable soldier, belongs evidently to that large class of men who take up things hastily and warmly, and as soon cool again, and quickly drop what they perceive to be impracticable. His unhesitating credulity tallies well with the inconsiderate haste with which he enters into the engagement to marry Hero. His harsh treatment of the latter, the unamiable sternness with which he reserves his charge to the last moment, in order to put her to open shame at the very altar, are explicable, partly by the want of depth and the lightness of his hastily formed affection, and partly by the conviction that such a course is due to his own honour, and that it is a duty incumbent on him to expose to common rebuke all such examples of unchasteness and immodesty. Don Pedro, on the other hand, has no other motive for what he does than indulgent friendship; which only makes his case the worse, instead of amending it. He wishes to spend his time in doing good, and giving proof of his affection both for Claudio and for Leonato. In this light his conduct appears perfectly natural and consistent; it is, moreover,

necessary, as a background for Claudio and Benedick, and in order to afford a sufficient motive for the hasty concurrence of Leonato and his daughter with the suit of Claudio. Equally indispensable and natural are the character and behaviour of Don John. His reconciliation with his brother is merely constrained and apparent; he is thoroughly ill-disposed, and cherishes undying hatred in his bosom. The happiness of others is a pain to him, and he takes an evil joy in marring it; but in the present case his malice has a further gratification in defeating the wishes of his hated brother, offending his friends, and alienating their support. Shakspeare does not allow his characters to display unnecessarily all their inmost thoughts and aspirations, simply because the object for which they are introduced on the stage is to act and not to talk; the motives for all that they think and do must be drawn from their general behaviour and peculiar circumstances and positions. Viewed from this point, the command of Beatrice to Benedick, "Kill Claudio," which has given such general offence, appears in perfect keeping with the excitable and imperious character of this certainly unfeminine maiden, while they harmonize well with the spirit of the whole piece. Lastly, English critics, after Steevens, have reproached our poet with repeating himself, and playing off the same trick upon Beatrice and Benedick. But it is evident that this uniformity was required by the great resemblance which these two, characters bear to each other, and also by the necessity of avoiding any further complication of a plot already sufficiently involved. For it is an indispensable qualification of a good comedy of intrigue, that the spectator should at any moment be able to take an easy survey of the whole progress of the action.

The very title of the piece prepares us for the nothingness of the final éclaircissement. However, the title of "Much Ado About Nothing" is not, it is obvious, to be understood in an external sense merely; it rather indicates the inherent nothingness of human life, whenever its hopes terminate in mere earthly interests and relations. Every one of us makes much ado about nothing in this life, so long as he is unable, by the annihilation of the terrestrial nought, to attain to the eternal realities which he has

within himself. Whenever, therefore, we attempt to follow the grand but quiet-working genius of our poet, we invariably discover, beneath the rich profusion of seemingly insignificant jokes, trifling combinations and inventions, the golden grains of profound thought, and a sound, a christian, and consequently a truly philosophical view of things.

The date of "Much Ado About Nothing" falls within, or at least does not extend far beyond, the first decade of Shakspeare's career. It is entered at Stationers' Hall in 1600, and was printed the same year. In all probability it was written in 1599, or at all events very early in the commencement of the new century; where, indeed, it is placed by Malone and Drake. It is well known to have been composed after a tale of Bandello's (i. 22.) (See Mrs. A. Lenox's "Shakspeare Illustrated, or the Novels and Histories," &c. London, 1753-4.) In what degree the novel differed from the drama formed upon it, and what were Shakspeare's alterations and additions, is a question more directly interesting to the poet than the critic. It is chiefly as the free production of artistic activity that the latter has to contemplate each drama. If, as such, its several parts are well combined into an organic whole-if the totality, as well as each separate member of it, bears the impress of poetical necessity-it is obvious that the critic must regard every modification of the subject-matter as both correct and indispensable. In effect, however, Shakspeare has followed his original pretty closely. But the comic characters, without exception, even Benedick and Beatrice, are of his own invention. We are also indebted to him for the profound meaning which he has drawn out of the given subject, and to which he has, with wonderful skill, adjusted and worked his materials. Bandello has merely composed an entertaining story, of which the chief merit lies in the incidents and the development of the intrigue; idea and character are anything but prominent in it.

With "Much Ado About Nothing" I class another comedy of intrigue, on account of the affinity of idea, notwithstanding the later date of its production. According to Tieck, the "Taming of the Shrew" could not have been written before 1606-7. In the Introduction, Shakspeare speaks in commendation of an actor (named Sincklo, in the folio edition), and of his

part (Soto, a farmer's son), in a comedy of Fletcher's, the wellknown contemporary of Shakspeare's later years. But now Fletcher's first appearance was in 1604 or 1605, and the comedy here meant, which bears the title of "A Woman Pleased," was probably not written before 1605 or 1606. Collier comes to the same conclusion with Tieck, but from different premises (iii. 77.) In Act IV., Scene 1, he discovers an allusion to T. Heywood's play, "A Woman Killed with Kindness," which first came to light in 1600. However, we have already seen, in the case of "Twelfth-Night," how deceitful such solitary allusions and indications are. The general tone, language, characters, and versification, as both Collier and Tieck allow, are decidedly in favour of an earlier origin, while, on the other hand, particular passages enforce as strongly the supposition of a subsequent revision,-what, indeed, it is perfectly allowable to assume, without further proof, in the case of all Shakspeare's productions. Its first origin undoubtedly preceded his most brilliant period, which commenced about 1598. I am inclined to place it somewhere about 1594, the date which Malone ultimately adopted, and confirmed by some external evidences. (Reed's Shakspeare, ii. 257.)

In the shape in which the piece lies before us it possesses the peculiarity of appearing at once perfect and imperfect. If we confine our attention to the principal part-the spectacle as it were within the spectacle-it seems no doubt complete and finished. On the other hand, the induction is left undeveloped and incomplete. A noble lord is supposed to meet with a drunken tinker, and to order him to be transported during his drunken unconsciousness into a stately chamber, bidding his servants to furnish him on his waking with all the comforts and luxuries of wealth and rank; and in order to disabuse his mind of what, it is pretended, are his mad dreams of pot-mending, and to relieve him of his melancholy, the players are introduced, who represent the piece which forms the proper subject of the drama. It looks like an idle prelude; for the merry device is entirely forgotten, and the whole concludes with the piece which is to aid in cheating Christopher Sly out of his personal consciousness. In this respect the composition is imperfect. Perhaps Shakspeare omitted to work out the double plan, from a fear of its being too long, and