at pleasure by their lords. In war, which was the great sport of the times, those brave knights, of whose prowess we hear, cased themselves and their horses in armor, so as to be almost invulnerable, whilst the common people on 5 foot, were left, without protection, to be hewn in pieces or trampled down by their betters. Who, that compares the condition of Europe a few years ago, with the present state of the world, but must bless God for the change. The grand distinction of modern 10 times, is the emerging of the people from brutal degradation, the gradual recognition of their rights, the gradual diffusion among them of the means of improvement and happiness, the creation of a new power in the state, the power of the people. And it is worthy of remark, that this 15 revolution is due in a great degree to religion, which, in the hands of the crafty and aspiring, had bowed the multitude to the dust, but which, in the fulness of time, began to fulfil its mission of freedom. It was religion, which, by teaching men their near re20 lation to God, awakened in them the consciousness of their importance as individuals. It was the struggle for religious rights, which opened men's eyes to all their rights. It was resistance to religious usurpation, which led men to withstand political oppression. It was religious dis25 cussion, which roused the minds of all classes to free and vigorous thought. It was religion, which armed the martyr and patriot in England against arbitrary power, which braced the spirits of our fathers against the perils of the ocean and wilderness, and sent them to found here the 30 freest and most equal state on earth. Let us thank God for what has been gained. But let us not think everything gained. Let the people feel that they have only started in the race. How much remains to be done! What a vast amount of ignorance, intemperance, 35 coarseness, sensuality, may still be found in our community! What a vast amount of mind is palsied and lost! 10 When we think, that every house might be cheered by intelligence, disinterestedness, and refinement, and then remember, in how many houses the higher powers and affections of human nature are buried as in tombs, what a 5 darkness gathers over society! And how few of us are moved by this moral desolation! How few understand, that to raise the depressed, by a wise culture, to the dignity of men, is the highest end of the social state! Shame on us, that the worth of a fellow-creature is so little felt! I would that I could speak with an awakening voice to the people, of their wants, their privileges, their responsibilities. I would say to them: You cannot, without guilt and disgrace, stop where you are. The past and the present call on you to advance. Let what you have gained be an 15 impulse to something higher. Your nature is too great to be crushed. You were not created what you are, merely to toil, eat, drink, and sleep, like the inferior animals. If you ⚫ will, you can rise. No power in society, no hardship in your condition can depress you, keep you down, in knowledge, 20 power, virtue, influence, but by your own consent. Do not be lulled to sleep by the flatteries which hear, as if your participation in the national sovereignty made you equal to the noblest of your race. You have many and great deficiencies to be remedied; and the remedy lies, not in the 25 ballot-box, not in the exercise of your political powers, but you in the faithful education of yourselves and your children. These truths you have often heard and slept over. Awake! Resolve earnestly on self-culture. Make yourselves worthy of your free institutions, and strengthen and perpetuate them by your intelligence and your virtues. [WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, in England, April 23, 1564, and died April 23, 1616. Very little is known of the events of his life, and of his personal character and habits. He married young, went to London soon after his marriage, became an actor, a dramatic author, and a shareholder in one of the London theatres; acquired considerable property, and retired to his native place a few years before his death, and there lived in ease and honor. He was the author of thirty-five plays, (rejecting those of doubtful authenticity,) written between 1590 and 1613, besides poems and sonnets. Shakspeare is pronounced by Mr. Hallam, who was a most conscientious critic and careful writer, to be the greatest name in all literature. It would, of course, be impossible, in the compass of a notice like this, to do anything like justice to the universality of his powers, his boundless fertility of invention, his dramatic judgment, his wit, humor, and pathos, his sharp observation, and his profound knowledge of the human heart. Nor is it easy to point out to the young reader, within a reasonable compass, the best sources of information and criticism; for the editions of Shakspeare are numberless, and the books that have been written about him would alone make a considerable library. The following works, however, may be read and consulted with profit: Drake's "Shakspeare and his Times," "Hazlitt's Lectures," Mrs. Jameson's "Characteristics of Women," Dr. Johnson's preface, Schlegel's "Lectures on Dramatic Literature," Coleridge's "Lectures on Shakspeare," the notes and introductory notices in Knight's pictorial edition, together with the biography prefixed, and, especially, the criticism upon Shakspeare contained in Hallam's Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. Shakspeare's life and writings teach two lessons; which, as they are not very obvious to the apprehension of the young, and as they have a somewhat practical bearing upon life, may be here set down. He is an instance directly opposed to the Byronic notion that great genius and great unhappiness invariably go together. We have every reason to believe that his temperament was cheerful and joyous, and that is certainly the spirit of his writings. He is often tragic, but never morbid. In the next place, Shakspeare is a proof that the highest poetical genius is not inconsistent with practical and successful business habits. There can be no doubt that he was himself an excellent man of business, for he accumulated an ample fortune within a few years, and by occupations in which punctuality, economy, and method are particu larly important. The following scene is from "King John." Arthur, a young boy, is lawful heir to the crown of England, which has been usurped by his uncle, the king, who employs Hubert to put out his nephew's eyes.] Prince ARTHUR, HUBERT, and ATTENDANTS. Scene A room in the castle, Northampton. Enter HUBERT and two ATTENDANTS. HUBERT. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand Within the arras: when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, *Tapestry, or hangings, for rooms. And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 1st ATTENDANT. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. HUB. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to 't. [Exeunt Attendants. 5 Young lad come forth; I have to say with you. 10 Enter ARTHUR. ARTHUR. Good morrow, Hubert. HUB. Good morrow, little prince. ARTH. As little prince, (having so great a title To be more prince,) as may bc. - You are sad. HUB. Indeed, I have been merrier. ARTH. Mercy on me! 20 He is afraid of me, and I of him: Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son? 25 He will awake my mercy, which lies dead: Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside ARTH. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day: In sooth, I would you were a little sick, That I might sit all night, and watch with you: 30 I warrant, I love you more than you do me. HUB. His words do take possession of my bosom. * Christening, baptism. Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper. [Aside How now foolish rheum!* ARTH. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: And will you? And I will. ARTH. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 15 And I did never ask it you again: your head; And with my hand at midnight held Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? 20 Or, What good love may I perform for you? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you: But you at your sick service had a prince. Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, 25 And call it, cunning: do, an if you will: 30 If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, So much as frown on you? HUB. I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them out. ARTH. Ah, none, but in this iron age would do it! |