the insults of his enemies. He moralises on the vanity of the world. And though some of his remarks appear strange, and some of his similies far fetched, yet this also is characteristic; there is "method in his madness." He compares his dungeon at Pomfret to the world, and peoples it with thoughts and humours like those of the people of the world. The most obtuse reader must feel how touching, during the king's loneliness and misery, after all his great friends have left him, is the fidelity of his poor groom; who was so sorry to see Bolingbroke ride through the streets of London on the roan Barbary, the roan that King Richard had so much loved, the roan that the groom had so often dressed. This is one of those pathetic touches of nature which belong to Shakspeare, and to Shakspeare alone.

John of Gaunt is a noble character. He is the first of the cavaliers. He is always faithful to the king; and always censures his errors. He seems to resemble the Stuarts' great supporters during the civil war, Falkland, Clarendon, and Ormond; who, though loyal to the throne, though their fidelity had been proved in twenty fields of battle, and in exile, poverty, and disgrace, yet never failed to blame the errors and follies of the monarchs whom they served, and were certainly not the unreasoning bigots that they have been sometimes represented. The wisdom of the grey-headed old man is finely contrasted with the levity of the young king. He stands like some sturdy English oak, that may be broken but not bent, however the winds may blow. Richard by his side is a willow waving to and fro with every breeze. At the approach of death, the old man assumes the mantle of the prophet, and foretells the storm that is impending over the monarch's head.

Bolingbroke has no resemblance to his father. Cunning, hard-hearted, proud, and ambitious; he had also the moderation and self-command which raise him to the throne, and which, in defiance of much opposition, deliver it down to his posterity. Through the whole play the consistency of his character is admirably maintained.

E

In his disposition there is nothing magnanimous. He has even no generous vices. From the time he lands until the deposition of Richard, Shakspeare displays great knowledge of human nature. We see that while Bolingbroke was still loyal in his professions to Richard, he was grasping at the throne, and that his adherents really considered him a monarch, while they addressed him as a subject.

If

Shakspeare has been accused of Lancasterian prejudices. Now, surely those who first originated this accusation can never have read Richard the Second. there be any partiality shown it is for Richard and not for Bolingbroke. The whole power of the dramatist's genius is exerted in giving pathos to the sufferings of the deposed monarch. But the fact is, that those men who wish to represent Shakspeare as a Lancasterian, because in the next play he delineates the heroism of Henry the Fifth, and the meekness of Henry the Sixth, in such brilliant colours, are utterly unacquainted with the depth and comprehension of his mind. Every faction may find their favourite characters truly represented; for to every faction he has done ample justice. But he goes no further. He has no partialities. His mind, it is true, is among them, but not of them. He never endeavours to blacken one side or to white-wash the other; and never are men more deceived than when they think they see their own narrow prejudices reflected in his scenes.

Shakspeare might with equal justice, from this very play, be considered a supporter of the divine right of kings, and of the most extreme doctrines of passive obedience. For he gives a beautiful enunciation of the opinions which it is the fashion to assert, were only first introduced by James the First. Holinshed says that the sentiments were uttered by the Bishop of Carlisle, when the question of Richard's deposition was debated; and Shakspeare, both on this subject, and in his representation of the manner in which Richard met his death, follows this chronicler. He depicts Richard also as holding these opinions; and, as this passage distinctly

proves that they were not first originated during the reign of the Stuarts, it may be necessary to quote such an important piece of evidence. It is also very beautiful poetry. Lord Aumerle tells Richard that he is too remiss, and that Bolingbroke is daily becoming more powerful. Richard replies:

"Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not

That, when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
Behind the globe and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders and in outrage bloody, here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the Eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murder, treasons, and detested sins,

A.

The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
While we were wandering with the antipodes,
Shall see us rising in our throne the east,
His treasons will sit blushing on his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day,
But, self affrighted, tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord;

For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd,
To lift shrew'd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay

A glorious angel: then if angels fight,

BO

DOMINA

NUS, TIO
ILLU MEA

C

LEIA

VN

Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right."

This seems evidently to show that the doctrines of Filmer were at least prevalent when this play was written. It is altogether absurd to say that they sprung from our parliamentary disputes. That monarchs were the representatives of God and were under his protection, are opinions that may be found in both ancient and modern history, and their origin may be traced to the times when Samuel anointed Saul, and even to the times when the pagan heroes were believed to have sprung from the gods. It is not now the question whether these doctrines be correct or incorrect, whether a monarch be above all laws, or be subject to them like

other people, whether they be likely to contribute to the happiness or misery of society; but that they were not first promulgated with the accession of the Stuarts appears to be proved by the most indubitable evidence. They then who wish to be gratified may find many passages in the historical plays in favour of either the house of York or Lancaster, of either Whig or Tory, of either a monarchical or a democratical government. We suspect Shakspeare would have been inclined to smile, not mirthfully, but sadly, at our unhappy contentions.

From the present plays he seems to have regretted the deposition of Richard, not so much for the abstract question of whether it was right or wrong; but for the long centuries of misery which it entailed on England. This is the subject of the following dramas. It seems to be delineated with perfect historical truth; though, of course, this is a matter of opinion which most men will decide according to their preconceived ideas of the disputes between the Red Rose and the White Rose. But surely few people who now have all the long train of misery that followed before their eyes, whatever may be their political opinions, can hesitate to regret the deposition of Richard. The King was deposed and murdered; Bolingbroke ascended the throne; a deadly feud raged between two rival dynasties from generation to generation. The nation was divided against itself. The finest parts of England was ravaged and turned into a desert, and ravaged and turned into a desert again and again. The best blood of England was wantonly shed; many of the noblest families disappeared altogether from history. The people were impoverished; their market places deserted; their cities burnt; their harvests blasted; their swords sheathed in the bosoms of their countrymen, friends, and kindred, until the land was fattened with their blood, and like the fields of Golgotha, whitened with their bones. Peace seemed to have for ever fled from the English shores; and murder, anarchy, and rapine, were rampant through the land. All respect for human life seems to have ended in the dungeon of Pomfret Castle. From that time murder seemed justi

fied. From that time the anointed head of majesty was no longer sacred. From that time, under the cloak of friendship, the dagger of the assassin was concealed. From that time, even the tender age of childhood was no shield from the knife of the murderer; and the crimes of Richard the Third appeared sanctioned by the death of Richard the Second. On every side there was misery, ruin, infamy, and despair. And for what good? Because the country was full of proud and ambitions spirits, who all would rule and none obey. It was for this that kings were cruelly murdered; for this that centuries of misery were endured; for this that cities were sacked and burned; and all prosperity buried in a wild chaos of faction, anarchy, and crime. Millions were to bleed that a family might reign.

Many respectable people, while regretting the miseries produced by the factions of the houses of York and Lancaster, have congratulated themselves that those days have long since passed away, and that it is not now in the power of one or two aristocratic families to set a nation in flames. The people, such is their reasoning, now think for themselves, they have acquired the power which the nobility have lost, the lean kine have eaten up the fat kine, and there is not the least apprehension of a return to the time of the Roses. Is it quite certain that this evil has disappeared? Is it quite certain that it is the evil and not the mere form of the evil that has disappeared? All wise politicians know what influence a name or a badge has over the multitude. Men are governed by names. They will fight knee deep in blood for a symbol; while the noblest principles are forgotten. Power has undoubtedly changed hands. The merchant now no longer crouches for protection under the Earl's castle walls. The Jew has no longer his teeth drawn because he will not bring forth his hoards. But are we sure that it is the people properly so called that have acquired power, and that it has lately been, and will for the future be, properly used? On taking a deliberate survey of all Europe, can we, who have lived during the last few years, congratulate ourselves so much on our