in the concrete, humanity mirrored in the individual. Were the poet to present to us the exact copy of an individual character, however marked might be its peculiarities, it would still have very little interest for us and would very soon be forgotten: in his blindness and incompetency, he would sacrifice the permanent and universal to the fleeting and accidental. And this is assuredly a great mistake; for every individual is representative-more or less plainly, an incarnation of the universal; in each one is latent all that is human. Hence it is that the great poet, penetrating into the depths of the individual nature, and grasping the universal or essential, is able to create so many characters; and hence also it is that we are able, from the appeal which they make to our common humanity, at once to recognize them, though we have never met with the originals in real life. It is the characteristic of the genius that he can seize the vague, formless feelings, and the indistinct casual thoughts, that lie deep and latent in our unconscious life, and bring them forth into clearness and distinction; by flashing a light upon that which lay in obscurity he thus makes a new revelation of Nature, and in his creation we learn to know ourselves. Because every animal too has its footing in our nature, it is possible for the genius of a Landseer to render the common relation visible through the creations of his art, and to appeal powerfully to our sympathies. A true dramatic character that shall live must be representative or symbolical, never a mere portrait: the story of Prometheus, is it not a universal verity? Had Shakespeare been content to copy individual nature, no one would have been at the trouble now to remember Hamlet or Falstaff; and that so many writers have given us characters which are no more than particular portraits, is a sufficient reason why scarce one organic character was added to our possessions from the time of Shakespeare unto that of Goethe. It is truly, then, a painful shock to poetical sensibility, when any attempt is made to reduce the universality manifest to our reason through the well-marked individuality of Ham. let's character to a mere portrait with which the senses only are concerned. Hamlet is not the photographic copy of any real character, but the idealized realization of human nature under certain conditions: it is an ideal of human nature strongly individualized, the character being, therefore, consistent with human nature as a generic expression, and consistent with itself as a personality. Consequently it is the highest art, not a mere imitation or reproduction such as inferior art is: it is Nature developed through man, and that man Shakespeare. Those, therefore, who reflect will see in Hamlet, as they do in contemplating Nature, that which they bring with them, the faculty of seeing. One man, pluming himself, it may be, on being practical, sees no more than the plain facts, and discovers with exultant littleness the anachronism of Ophelia's calling for a coach; another thrills in harmonious symphony with the poetry in the drama, and follows with feelings of tender sympathy the fate of the hapless Ophelia; while a third recognizes the philosophy of the play, and traces with admiring awe the relentless course of destiny in the evolution of events. As long as human nature remains what it is, all classes in all ages will find a reflection of some part of themselves in Hamlet. Is it not, then, a much mistaken labor in any one to strive to point out how minutely Shakespeare has here copied Nature? The right aim of a critic who is conscious of the exalted scope of art, must be to show how he has developed Nature, to unfold the idea which inspires and pervades the wondrous drama. Surely there is abundant evidence that Shakespeare, with deliberate purpose, disdains minutely to reproduce Nature, just as he distains chronologies, unities, and such transitory things; so that, to the mere observer, nothing can be more unnatural than some of his scenes. But he does not appeal to the senses and to one age; he appeals to the reason and to all time. While he lived he was himself the highest development of Nature; and his sincere works, his art, must therefore be true to Nature, true to the eternal indwelling ideas the universal verities, though not including the fleeting, temporary, and accidental. Genius has but little concern with the moment; the "eternities are its seed-field." In the first act of "Hamlet," the key-note of the tragedy is struck. There is not, it is true, any prediction of the course which events are to take; but the tone of mind produced by the scene is a solemn feeling of mysterious awe, which vibrates in the soul like the wail of mournful music, and contains the formless presentiment of coming woes; it is a heavy but undefined oppression, like that dead stillness or indistinct moaning of physical Nature which sometimes on a summer's day precedes the outburst of a violent storm. This feeling is in excellent harmony with the external circumstances of the scene-the bitter cold night when there is not a mouse stirring, the sentinel on the lonely platform sick at heart, and the bell just beating one: the external physical world and the internal world of feeling are brought face to face as strophe and antistrophe. And as this depressing scene presages the appearance of the ghost, as this melancholy of physical Nature foreshadows the event of her troubled spirit, so the gloomy presentiment which rests in the mind at the close of the act portends the coming horrors: the dark shadow of predestination is cast over both. When we consciously strive to interpret the oppressive feeling, it becomes evident that we have a vague instinct that Fate is imposing on an individual a task which must hurry him to destruction-that here once more is to be acted the old and. unequal contest of human will with necessity, the tragedy at which the gods do laugh. What shall human prudence avail when a supernatural messenger from realms not dreamed of in human philosophy issues the fiat of destiny? Well may Hamlet exclaim when the ghost appears, and his friends en deavor to prevent him from obeying its beckonings : "My fate cries out, And makes each petty artery in this body As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. Still am I called." After the ghost has made its horrible revelations, and the tension of Hamlet's great emotion has relaxed, how infinitely insignificant, how intolerably little, would appear the petty matters of ordinary life! No wonder that he flashes out in "wild and whirling words" of scorn and sarcasm-words which are the fit expressions of a deep agitation, which represent in their wildness that strange, hoarse tone of voice, and that recklessness of thought, that follow the shock of a powerful emotion. Hamlet was inclined by nature, too, to be satirical, as a person of his power of insight, his acuteness of understanding, must almost of necessity be; and the genuine character is revealed when all external considerations are swept away by the fierce internal storm. What, again, could appear to his seriously moved mind more unfitting the terrible gravity of the occasion than the vulgar curiosity of Horatio and Marcellus? To one who is profoundly and solely affected by some huge and painful sorrow, it is positively afflicting when indifferent spectators come forward with eager curiosity, complacent commentary, or superficial sympathy. However friendly the intention, their stand-point is so far removed from that of the sufferer, that there can be no real community of thought or feeling: to the lost souls in hell it were scarce any alleviation of their unutterable woe to know that the angelic hosts of heaven grieve for their sufferings. Feeling the character of their eager curiosity, Hamlet prudently does not trust his friends on the instant with the knowledge of what might excite their chattering wonder. No; the ghost had not spoken to them; it had selected him: from him the tormented spirit demanded revenge and rest; on him, the son of a murdered father, was imposed the task of avenging his royal father; in circumstances of unparalleled difficulty he must trust only to his own right hand. This, then, becomes clear, that he must secure secrecy and time for reflection; and so, leaving the wild and whirling words in which his overladen nature had taken instinctive refuge from the tension of great passion, he seriously begs his friends to over. : master as they may their desire to learn what the ghost has said, and swears them never to make known what they have seen: "" And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do, to express his love and friending to you, The time is out of joint;-O cursed spite, It is these last words that are so exceeding melancholy; they contain, as Goethe said, the key to Hamlet's whole behavior. Are they not tremulous also with the forebodings of failure? They prove, at any rate, that Hamlet was conscious that his life must henceforth be a sacrifice to the great deed which had been imposed upon him as a duty. Fate had ordained him to it; and yet the fate which his character was, rendered him unequal to it. "O cursed spite ! " The life of man is the definite result of fixed relations between the individual and circumstances; and the events of its evolution take place in accordance with laws which, though little known-almost, indeed, unknown-are yet as certain as those which govern the motions of planets in their orbits. In the pathless immensity of the heavens these cannot miss their way; and how little must be his insight who can think that man passes unguided through space and time! But because the multiplicity of elements and the complexity of conditions are so great, it is quite impossible to determine the relations of human events, and to predict their occurrence. This, however, is clear-that the greatest is he who determines as much as possible circumstances, and is as little as possible 'determined by them. Gratifying and instructive is the spectacle of an heroic man with a definite aim before him, pressing forward with steadfast perseverance toward it; putting aside one hinderance after another; wisely adapting himself to what cannot be prevented; and ultimately attaining to the goal which he had set himself. Such a one does not make tragedy of his life; for, if circumstances are too |