THE MODERN NOTE IN SHAKESPEARE. " T HEY say miracles are

past; and we have our philo- sophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear." If this is Shakespeare is there anything new P It is Shakespeare—the first words of the third scene of the second act of All's Well That Ends Well. Who were the philosophical persons Shakespeare spoke of P We have plenty of them now, of course, but did they have them then P They sound like modern scientists. Had they really read so far in " Nature's infinite book of secrecy " as to suspect her uniformity P Shakespeare knew all about them anyhow ; knew, in fact, what one would have thought he could not know—the commentary which science must some day make upon the supernatural. To take another view of the matter (for Shakespeare takes two points of view in half a dozen lines and criticises the critics), who in those days sought to make trifles of terrors P Did any one in his day set up to declare disease, for instance, to be a figment of the imagination, an unreality melting like a dream before faith P Such philosophers are with us now in thousands. If we could but believe it we were well they tell us ; meanwhile we sicken, wilt, and die just as before —just as Shakespeare knew that, faith or no faith, we were destined to do.

"O who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?"

Were there ever any " ages of faith," or were they always an illusion produced by looking backward P It is impossible not to wonder. Some day will our descendants long ruefully for our assurance P Possibly, for we exaggerate our fears— and fears are quickly forgotten if they prove unfounded.

Death is more dreaded than it was, we all believe. When men knew, or thought they knew, something definite about the future world, life's alarms were infinitely less. But when was that P Not certainly in Shakespeare's time. Then and now there were a few noble souls who did not fear, a crowd of fools who did not think, a few roysterers who did not care; but in Shakespeare's calculation there would be many in a small audience who would speculate with Hamlet or, sick with terror, throw scruple to the wind like Claudio, and be ready to bear " a shamed life " rather than none ; to say- " The weariest and most loathed worldly life That age, ache, penury and imprisonment Can lay on Nature is a paradise To what we fear of death."

It is a marvellous tribute to Shakespeare's genius that we cannot merely scorn Claudio and have done with him. We shiver and are tempted with him all the time that we loathe his hateful weakness and his vile callousness and cruelty in trying to drag his sister down to worse depths than death in order that he may live a few years longer. Even then there were those listening who could understand the cold words of the Duke's comfort-- "That life is letter life, past fearing death, Than that which lives to fear."

In Shakespeare's time we are apt to think " degree " was a settled thing. Dignity did not depend on money. Men were not made " gentlemen " by what they had in their pockets or saw out of their windows. No one clung to his possessions that he might keep his place. Listen to this :— " Myself . . . Have stoop'd my nook under your injuries, And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment; Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods, From mine own windows torn my household coat, Razed out my impress, leaving me no sign, Save men's opinions and my living blood, To show the world I am a gentleman."

Soon we shall begin to wonder if even " die-hards " are new.

We talk a great deal about the nation's unreadiness for war. We hardly think it new, but we are apt to forget that it was noticed in words which might untouched adorn a pamphlet in favour of universal service.

"But, lords, we hoar this fearful tempest sing, Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish."

If we want to tell men how they may repent a false security can we find more despairing words than these in which to threaten men that they must "ravel out " their " weaved-up follies "?

"Oh call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men."

But let us turn to the other side of the medal. Could the Peace Society find words in Shakespeare with which to point their moral P War was not regarded as it is now. Men, we are apt to think—according to our mental attitude—were less Christian or less sentimental than they are now ; yet under• the heading " Oh, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings " the Quakers could pile many quotations to bring into hatred and contempt the very rumour of "contumelious, beastly, mad-brained war." Arguments against duelling are all supposed to be of recent date unless we count the Sixth Commandment ; but where will . you find a stronger, saner, more persuasive argument against the criminal defence of a man's personal honour than the following ?— " He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment carelessly And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart To bring it into danger If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill."

However patriotic we may be in our hearts we do sometimes speak evil of our country in these days. It is, we usually say, "a new thing." Was ever patriot like Shakespeare's " Gaunt "? He held the mirror to patriotism for all time, yet he—as we—in the same breath with his praise depreciates his country. Speaking of Italy he says :- " Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation."

The modern statesman, convinced of the democratic principle, yet sickened by the arts with which his co•believers seek the democracy's favour, will find his thoughts best expressed by Shakespeare. He watches the popularity hunter with con- tempt.

"How ho did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy ; What reverence he did throw away on slaves ; Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid. God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee."

In disgust he may quote again, "I love the people, but do not like to stage me to their eyes." Things change so fast in these days of scientific discovery, but did time ever seem to move slower? Wo are always bestirring ourselves to keep up with the times. We dare not fall out of the running ; "to have done is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery."

So apparently were they always bestirring themselves, always breathlessly anxious to keep up. Even the sense of pace does not change. Every one is forgotten in his turn except the immortals, and the least of us longs to be remembered while he can.

" Welcome ever smiles And farewell goes out sighing. Oh ! let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was."

As we read Shakespeare we never forget that the essence of the dramatic art is to depict movement to produce an illusion of oncoming mornings and evenings, which chase us we know not whither. At the same time, paradoxical as it may sound, we learn from every page that nothing is new. " They say miracles are past," yet Shakespeare makes the sun stand still.