Certain passages were, to be sure, elevated to a rant ; an unexpected emphasis was given to certain lines; but the general tenor of the play was enfeebled; and its pathos and its moral, (if it had a moral,) were less striking on the public scene, than in the closet.

With little faith, then, in the charms of the theatre, and still less in its utility as a school of morals, I cannot help seeing that the dramatic form is the most striking mode of exhibiting the human heart; and that such exhibitions may be moral, so long as example is a motive to action. I assent to the proposition of the critics, that a good drama, is the highest effort of human genius; and, perhaps, no man can give a faithful analysis of human nature, without exhibiting truths, from which a moral inference may be drawn. The great masters of human nature, however corrupt their own designs may be, must sometimes be teachers. Their keen discernment leads to truth; and virtue is built on truth. Rousseau himself, with all his ravings, is often moral; and moral without meaning to be so. When we see something new in the structure of the human mind, we see more

him. We saw nothing but a company of ridiculous old women, talking mummery, while they were boiling a pot. When we read this play, we can imagine the existence of witchcraft, I enough to feel its power; but when we see it acted, the dream is broken, and we cannot but laugh. Perhaps the effect becomes more ludicrous, from the sublimity of the design. We laugh at the farcical effect; and we laugh more at the contrast.

clearly the pivots on which the passions turn, and the foundations on which actions are built. We advance in self-knowledge. The corrupt writer, who explores the mind, is like the assassin, who rips open the body; in both cases, it was malice which urged the attempt; but the moralist may enlarge his knowledge from the one crime, and the anatomist from the other; and both may turn their discoveries to a good ac

count.

Of all the dramatic writers, it seems to me that Shakspeare is the most moral, though such a design, when he sat down to write, was the farthest from his thoughts. He is moral, because he gave himself up to a kind of instinctive perception of what is true in human nature; and thus made his character just what God has made man—a moral being. His pictures are so true, his course of events is often (not always) so natural, that we receive the same impression from his drama, as from the living world. Now no one can doubt that the course of events is moral. If the life of any man, the worst that ever breathed, were written faithfully by some recording angel, it would be a fine moral lesson. Thus Shakspeare is the most instructive of the dramatic writers, because he painted the human heart just as God

made it.

I have remarked, that he wrote without any moral design; and as a proof of the truth of this remark, I would adduce one of his most moral plays. Mac

beth is one of the noblest productions of his genius. To say 'nothing of its fine language,—the charming antique of the expression,-the unity of the interest,the change in the fortunes of the actors, and the solemn grandeur of the events; we see there an amiable man, beginning the career of prosperity ; with many excellent qualities, but corrupted by ambition,―tempted to crime,—dallying with the temptation,-yielding,-and going from step to step, until he dies in a misery as deep as his guilt was great. Never were the balancings of the mind between duty and transgression, brought out more fully; and never were the agonies of remorse more strongly painted. Every scene seems to say,-Resist the beginnings of evil; and beware, beware of those peculiar temptations, which are most powerful, because they are most adapted to your character. Yet we have reason to think that this fine play was written without any moral purpose. Shakspeare went through it with as much non-chalance as he wrote the filthy scenes in Love's Labor Lost. There is a passage in Burnet's History, which, I apprehend, explains the object of this play. The king (James I.) was once hunting at Theobalds in a very careless and unguarded manner. Sir Dudley Carlton told him, that "Queen Elizabeth was a woman of form, and was so well attended, that all the plots of the Jesuits to assassinate her, failed; but a prince, who was always in woods and forests, would be easily overtaken. The king sent for him

in private, to inquire more particularly into this; and he saw it made a great impression on him. But it wrought otherwise than as he intended. For the king, resolved to gratify his humor in hunting, and in a careless and irregular way of life, did immediately order all that prosecution (i. e. against the papists for the gunpowder-plot) to be let fall." The truth is, he lived in constant dread of assassination, and any production, which showed the agonies of a murderer of a king, would be grateful to him. Besides, he was a great advocate for witchcraft. Shakspeare knew his trade; and hence we owe, probably, the solemn incantations, and the fine moral of this tragedy to the same cause,-the desire to flatter a coward and a king.

We have, in the first place, presented before us, a man of a very amiable and excellent character, skilled in his profession, and warmly devoted to his country. His valor is unquestioned, and his good conduct has gained for him the confidence of his sovereign.

O worthiest cousin,

The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me; thou art so far before,
The swiftest wing of recompense is slow

To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved;

That the proportion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine! only I have left to say,
More is thy due than more than all can pay.

This testimony in his own favor, he is represented as

receiving with great modesty; and professing still greater devotedness to his king.

Your highness' part

Is to receive our duties; and our duties

Are to your throne and state, children and servants;
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing
Safe towards your love and honor.

Nor is it in public stations alone, that the social virtues of this man are seen. His wife, who is his bosom friend, and is represented as possessing remarkable discernment and energy of character, draws his portrait, in lovely colors, which are stronger because she seems to blame them.

Yet I do fear thy nature,

It is too full of the milk of human kindness

To catch the nearest way; thou wouldst be great;

Art not without ambition; but without

The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,
That thou wouldst holily; wouldst not play false
And yet wouldst wrongly win.

It is evident, if such a man becomes abandoned, it must be through the influence of some strong temptation, addressed to some evil principle dormant in his heart, which may be the root alike of virtues or vices, as the occasion may be.

Accordingly, Macbeth is tempted by the powers of hell, and by his wife; and both of them, with great