CALIBAN 
 
 THE MISSING LINK 
 
 
CALIBAN: 
 
 THE MISSING LINK 
 
 - - DANIEL WILSON, LL.D. 
 
 II 
 
 PROFESSOR OF HISTORY AND ENGLISH LITERATURE, UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, 
 TORONTO. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1873 
 [ All rights reserved.'] 
 

 OXFORD: 
 
 Ey T. Combe, M.A., E. B. Gardner, E, Pickard Hall, and J. H. Stacy, 
 
 PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
3D I a n c §L g t c I, 
 
 MY SHAKESPEARE SCHOLAR, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED 
 
 VERY LOVINGLY 
 
 BY HEE FATHER. 
 
■■ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 CHAP. I. IN THE BEGINNING 
 
 II. THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION 
 
 in. Caliban's island 
 
 IV. THE TEMPEST 
 
 V. THE MONSTER CALIBAN 
 
 VI. CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN 
 
 VII. CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN . 
 
 VIII. THE SUPERNATURAL 
 
 IX. GHOSTS AND WITCHES 
 
 X. FAIRY FOLK-LORE 
 
 XL THE COMMENTATORS . 
 
 XII. THE FOLIOS 
 
 XIII. NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST ' . 
 
 XIV. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 
 
 PAGE 
 
 vii 
 i 
 
 13 
 
 39 
 
 55 
 
 67 
 
 92 
 114 
 140 
 
 155 
 166 
 
 194 
 21 1 
 222 
 239 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 'I'll believe as soon 
 This whole earth may be bored, and that the moon 
 Ma)' through the centre creep, and so displace 
 Her brother's noontide with the Antipodes. 
 It cannot be.' — A Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 THE Antipodes, in Shakespeare's day, were beings 
 for whom the world, and all which pertains to it, were 
 turned upside down. The ideas entertained of them 
 were of the very vaguest kind ; the capacity of belief 
 in regard to them was restrained by no ordinary limits 
 of experience or analogy. The most that could be af- 
 firmed with any confidence in regard to them, seemed 
 to be that they must exist under conditions in all re- 
 spects the reverse of our own ; and with their heads, if 
 not absolutely where their heels should be, yet some- 
 where else than on their shoulders. The sun was below, 
 and the earth above them. They were manifestly beings 
 with which fancy had free scope to sport at will. 
 
 ' The cannibals that each other eat,' concerning whom 
 Othello discoursed to his admiring auditors, are now 
 very familiar to us. Of that other class of 'anthropo- 
 phagi, whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders,' 
 ocular testimony seems more remote than ever. ' When 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 we were boys,' says Gonzalo, in 'The Tempest,' 'who 
 would believe there were such men whose heads stood in 
 their breasts ; ' of which, nevertheless, now every New 
 World adventurer ' will bring us good warrant' Later 
 explorations, either in the regions of actual travel, or in 
 those of scientific research, have failed to confirm such 
 warranty. But somewhere outside the old world of 
 authenticated fact, Shakespeare found, or fashioned for 
 us, a being which has come, in our own day, to possess 
 an interest, undreamt of either by the men of the poet's 
 age, or by that profane generation for which Dryden 
 and D'Avenant revived ' The Tempest,' with changes 
 adapted to the prurient court of the later Stuarts. 
 
 It will need no apology to the appreciative student 
 of Shakespeare that ' the missing link ' in the evolution 
 of man should be sought for in the pages of him ' whose 
 aim was to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature ;' nor, 
 if it is to be recovered anywhere, will he wonder at its 
 discovery there. Ben Jonson said truly 
 
 ' He was not of an age, but for all time.' 
 
 Much that he wrote was imperfectly appreciated even by 
 the men of his own day. It was too refined, too noble, 
 too lofty in its marvellous range of thought and feeling, 
 for later generations of the Restoration and Revolution 
 eras. It will ever fail of adequate comprehension by a 
 frivolous or a faithless age. Shakespeare is indeed ca- 
 pable of proving the source, not merely of pastime, but 
 of supreme delight to the mere pleasure seeker. But 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 there are not only passages, but whole characters in his 
 dramas, the force of which is wholly lost on him who 
 turns to them in no more serious mood than to an or- 
 dinary tale or novel. When such a mere dallier, as the 
 youthful reader is apt to be, has become a loving stu- 
 dent, and learned to enter into true sympathy with the 
 poet, he discovers a depth of meaning undreamt of 
 before, and catches at length the just significance of 
 his first admiring editors' advice ' to the great variety 
 of readers' : — ' Read him, therefore, and again and again ; 
 and if then you do not like him, surely you are in some 
 manifest danger not to understand him.' 
 
 The dramas of Shakespeare have been studied by 
 the present writer under very diverse circumstances. 
 He became possessor of the old 1632 folio in youthful 
 days, when it could be bought on an Edinburgh book- 
 stall for a few shillings. He was already accustomed 
 to resort to Shakespeare's pages as a source of rare 
 enjoyment ; and in this and other editions the great 
 dramatist was read, in the only way in which the spirit 
 of his writings is to be caught by a venerating, loving 
 student. In more recent years, it has been his pleasant 
 duty to read some of the great master's choicest works 
 with Canadian undergraduates, as part of the Honour 
 Work of the University of Toronto ; and thus — in what 
 was, in days greatly more recent than those of Shake- 
 speare, an unexplored wild of the New World, — to fulfil 
 the behest of his first editors : who, having commended 
 the reading and re-reading of the great dramatist as 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 indispensable for the true understanding of him, thus 
 conclude — 'And so we leave you to other of his friends, 
 who, if you need, can be your guides. If you need 
 them not, you can lead yourselves and others ; and such 
 readers we wish him.' 
 
 In such a study of Shakespeare, his many-sidedness, 
 his universality, his ever-renewing modernness, startle 
 the reader afresh, when he has vainly fancied that he 
 already appreciates him at his highest worth. The 
 sympathies of the man seem all-embracing. He com- 
 prehends every phase of human character, every im- 
 pulse and passion of the human soul, every conceivable 
 stage of development of the human mind. 
 
 In this age, which, not altogether without justifica- 
 tion, claims for itself a more adequate appreciation of 
 England's greatest poet than he has before received, 
 there are engrossing themes, alike in the departments 
 of faith and science, undreamt of in Shakespeare's day; 
 and, above all, there is that one in which science and 
 faith alike claim a share, which professes to furnish 
 entirely novel revelations of the origin of man and the 
 evolution of mind. By Shakespeare, I imagine, the old 
 narrative of what was done 'in the beginning,' was re- 
 ceived undoubtingly as true. As to Sir Thomas Browne, 
 who is accepted in the following pages as, in some 
 respects, the representative of a later and very different 
 age, his mode of affirming his faith in the primitive 
 story is in this quaintly characteristic fashion : ' Whether 
 Eve was framed out of the left side of Adam, I dispute 
 
PRE FA CE. 
 
 not ; because I stand not yet assured which is the right 
 side of a man, or whether there be any such dis- 
 tinction in nature. That she was edified out of the rib 
 of Adam I believe, yet raise no question who shall 
 arise with that rib at the resurrection.' 
 
 Of such a theory or system of human descent as now 
 challenges universal acceptance, Shakespeare entertained 
 as little thought as Bacon did. The elements of its con- 
 ception lay remote from every theme with which his 
 mind delighted to dally ; and far apart from all those 
 deeper thoughts on which he mused and pondered, till 
 they assumed immortal embodiment in his own Hamlet. 
 And yet he had thought out, and there sets forth with 
 profoundest significance, the essential distinctions and 
 attributes of humanity :— 
 
 ' What is a man, 
 If his chief good and market of his time 
 Be but to sleep and feed ? a beast, no more. 
 Sure he that made us with such large discourse f 
 Looking before and after, gave us not 
 That capability and god-like reason 
 To fust in us unused.' 
 
 He had not only sounded all the depths of the human 
 soul, but he had realised for himself the wholly diverse 
 motives and cravings of the mere animal mind. The 
 leading purpose of the following pages is, accordingly, 
 to shew that his genius had already created for us the 
 ideal of that imaginary intermediate being, between the 
 true brute and man, which, if the new theory of descent 
 from crudest animal organisms be true, was our prede- 
 
PRE FA CE. 
 
 cessor and precursor in the inheritance of this world of 
 humanity. We have in ' The Tempest ' a being which is 
 ' a beast, no more,' and yet is endowed with speech and 
 reason up to the highest ideal of the capacity of its lower 
 nature. A comparison between this Caliban of Shake- 
 speare's creation, and the so-called 'brute-progenitor of 
 man ' of our latest school of science, has proved replete 
 with interest and instruction to the writer's own mind ; 
 and the results are embodied in the following pages, for 
 such readers as may care to follow out the same study 
 for themselves. 
 
 The main theme is accompanied with a commentary 
 on two plays of Shakespeare, ' The Tempest,' and 'A 
 Midsummer Night's Dream,' chiefly appealed to in the 
 course of the preceding argument. Some of the conjec- 
 tural readings and other subjects touched on in this 
 supplement may be of interest to Shakespeare students. 
 Corrupt as the text of Shakespeare's plays undoubtedly 
 is, the author is far indeed from thinking that they stand 
 in need of any great amount of note or comment. The 
 loving student of his dramas, even with the most im- 
 perfect text, learns to enter so thoroughly into their 
 spirit and the personality of their characters, that he is 
 scarcely conscious of obscurity. He catches, as it were, 
 the sense of the whole ; and in many a controverted 
 passage, has never thought of obscurity, or felt any 
 difficulty in enjoying it, till he has turned to the com- 
 mentators, and learns how sorely they have been per- 
 plexing themselves over its riddles. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Yet commentators have done good service in this, if 
 in no other respect. They have led to the diligent study 
 of Shakespeare, even if it were at times only ' of envy 
 and strife.' But for the well-timed, though indiscri- 
 minate censures of Jeremy Collier, in his famous ' Short 
 View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English 
 Stage,' published in 1698, and the controversies which 
 they provoked, the study of Shakespeare, on which his 
 true appreciation depended, might have been long de- 
 layed. The Rev. Joseph Hunter, in his 'Disquisition on 
 Shakespeare's Tempest,' wonders ' that so much respect 
 has not been paid to Dryden as to find a place in the 
 prolegomena of this play for the portion of the prologue 
 to his own and D'Avenant's transversion of it, in which 
 he pays so fine a compliment to Shakespeare.' But no 
 one who has any regard for the fair fame of Dryden will 
 seek to recall, in association with the name of Shake- 
 speare, the authorship of a 'transversion' which is with- 
 out exception the most contemptible evidence of the 
 utter incapacity of the Restoration era to comprehend 
 Shakespeare. It is not as a dramatist that Dryden takes 
 rank among England's poets ; and least of all would it 
 be a tribute of respect to his memory to revive a prologue 
 appended to one of the most chaste of all the great 
 master's creations, in which the later poet descends to a 
 grossness only too characteristic of the audience for 
 which Miranda and Caliban had to be despoiled of that 
 on which the innocence of the one, and the simple 
 naturalness of the other, mainly depend. If the name 
 
PREFA CE. 
 
 of the great satirist to whom we owe the ' Absolom and 
 Achitophel' is to be associated with Shakespeare's, it 
 can be done with a better grace, where he writes to 
 Sir Godfrey Kneller in acknowledgement, as is believed, 
 of a copy of the Chandos portrait : — 
 
 ' Shakespeare, thy gift, I place before my sight ; 
 With awe I ask his blessing ere I write; 
 With reverence look on his majestic face ; 
 Proud to be less, but of his god-like race.' 
 
 It was not till the eighteenth century that Nicholas 
 Rowe, the first textual critic of the Shakespearean 
 drama, appeared ; and but for the bitter wars of Pope 
 and the dunces, — with Warburton, Johnson, Steevens, 
 Malone, and all the learned brood of commentators 
 following, — Shakespeare might have long been left to 
 the mercy of such playwrights as D'Avenant and 
 Dryden in the seventeenth, and Garrick and Cibber in 
 the eighteenth century. Yet let it never be thought, as 
 has too frequently been assumed, that Shakespeare is 
 only now for the first time adequately appreciated ; or, 
 as others even more grossly affirm, that it was not till 
 German critics had revealed his power, that English 
 readers learned how great a poet their own Shakespeare 
 is. However notorious the failure of his friends and 
 literary executors, Heminge and Condell, may have 
 been as editors, — and had they executed their task in 
 the way it was in their power to have done, with ori- 
 ginal manuscripts, stage copies, the memories of living 
 actors, and the texts of earlier quartos, to appeal to, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 the race of commentators would have had no pretext 
 
 for textual recension ; — yet in high estimation of their 
 
 author's works, it is not easy for any later critic to 
 
 surpass them. There, too, in the same folio, where 
 
 their appreciative preface proves that Shakespeare was 
 
 a true hero even to his fellow players, surly Ben Jonson, 
 
 forgetting all his old irascibilities, writes of his ' star 
 
 of poets ' — 
 
 ' Soul of the age, 
 The applause ! delight ! the wonder of the stage ! 
 My Shakespeare.' 
 
 Another contemporary, Leonard D'igges, in laudatory 
 verses of inferior power, but no less sincerity, prefixed 
 to a spurious edition of Shakespeare's poems published 
 in 1640, bears witness to the delight with which his 
 plays were welcomed before all others. His 'Caesar' 
 could ravish the audience, when they would not brook 
 Jonson's tedious ' Catiline.' His Othello and Falstaff, his 
 Beatrice, Benedick, and ' Malvolio, that cross-garter'd 
 gull,' would crowd cock-pit, galleries, and boxes, till 
 scarce standing-room remained ; when even the choicest 
 of Ben Jonson's plays, ' The Fox and subtil Alchymist,' 
 could only at long intervals command their merited ova- 
 tion ; and so he concludes with the comparison of 'his 
 wit-fraught book ' to old coined gold, which by virtue 
 of its innate worth will pass current to succeeding ages. 
 Shakespeare's writings are indeed a mine of wealth, from 
 which the more they are studied the less it will surprise 
 us to draw forth treasures new and old ; and here, in his 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Caliban, we recover a piece of 'old coin'd gold,' with 
 its Elizabethan mint-mark, but with a value for us such 
 as Shakespeare himself was unconscious of: like some 
 rarest numismatic gem, whose worth in the artistic beauty 
 of its die, far exceeds all its weight of sterling gold. 
 
 University College, Toronto, 
 
 July 3, 1872. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 'We do but learn to-day what our better-advanced judgments will 
 unteach us to-morrow ; and Aristotle doth but instruct us, as Plato 
 did him : that is, to confute himself.' — Religio Medici. 
 
 IN the 'Medley' of the Poet-Laureat, when the tale 
 of the Princess is closed, with its mock-heroics, its 
 bantering burlesque, and its real earnestness, and the 
 little feud begins 
 
 ' Betwixt the mockers and the realists,' 
 
 Lilia joins entirely with the latter. ' The sequel of the 
 tale had touched her,' she sate absorbed, perplexed in 
 
 thought, till 
 
 'Last she fix't 
 A showery glance upon her aunt, and said, 
 You — tell us what we are; who might have told, 
 For she was cramm'd with theories out of books ; ' 
 
 but that the crowd, who had been making a sport of 
 science, were swarming at the sunset to take leave ; 
 and ere all was quiet again, the stillness gave its fitter 
 response to the question, unanswerable by ' theories out 
 of books.' 
 
 'So they sat, 
 But spoke not, rapt in nameless reverie, 
 Perchance upon the future man; the walls 
 Blacken'd about us, bats wheel'd, and owls whoop'd, 
 And gradually the powers of the night, 
 That range above the region of the wind, 
 Deepening the courts of twilight, broke them up 
 Through all the silent spaces of the worlds, 
 Beyond all thought, into the Heaven of heavens.' 
 B 
 
 F 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 But this question, ' Whence, and what are we ?' is not 
 to be repressed, either by shouting crowds or by brood- 
 ing silences. The activity of the reasoning mind within 
 us is in no respect more manifest than in the irrepressible 
 inquiry into our own origin and that of the universe of 
 which we form a part. Every philosophy and every 
 faith undertakes some solution of the problem ; and 
 childlike as are the fables of primitive cosmogonists, 
 they all concur in recognising the evidence of design, 
 and so the necessity of a preexistent designer. The 
 eternity of matter has indeed had its advocates, as in 
 the philosophy of Democritus ; but matter was with 
 him no more than the formless void that preceded 
 creation. Time began when .the universe was called 
 into being ; and its evolution out of chaos was in 
 accordance with a purposed plan, and the work of a 
 presiding will. 
 
 The order of the universe, as thus recognised, is first 
 a supreme infinite intelligence, then lesser finite intel- 
 ligences. But the gulf which lies between the finite 
 and the infinite is very partially diminished to us by 
 any conception we may form of highest finite in- 
 telligences, such as antique poetry and mythology 
 impersonated in a multitude of fanciful idealisms ; and 
 which to our own minds are acceptably presented as 
 ministering spirits, symbolised by indestructible fire : 
 beings in whom the intellectual element predominates, 
 and to whom is committed the ministration of the 
 supreme, intelligent, divine will. With such spiritual 
 essences science may reasonably disclaim counsel, as 
 with things lying wholly beyond its province. But 
 man, too, is an intelligent being, in some by no means 
 obscure sense made, as such, in the image of God. 
 It is indeed well to avoid as far as possible, in scientific 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 discussion, the use of terms which have been appro- 
 priated by the theologian. But the human element, 
 which Shakespeare calls ' God-like reason,' however we 
 may designate it, cannot be ignored ; though by some 
 modern lines of reasoning it is made to assume a very 
 materialistic origin. From very early times of philo- 
 sophical speculation, mind and matter have marshalled 
 their rival champions to the field. As Byron jestingly 
 puts it : when Berkeley and his followers have said there 
 is no matter, the profane realist has responded, it is 
 no matter what they say ! But the rival creeds are not 
 to be so fused. The feud between the idealists and 
 realists, the metaphysicians and the naturalists, is as 
 far as ever from being settled ; nor can science limit 
 its bounds within any absolute materialism. As soon 
 as we take up the question of the origin and descent 
 of man we are compelled to deal with the spiritual no 
 less than the material element of his being, whatever 
 theories we may be tempted to form in accounting for 
 the origin of either. 
 
 In attempting to follow up the track of time through 
 the field of space, to that point when the universe, which 
 was not always there, began to be, two contradictory 
 hypotheses seem to offer themselves- to the theorist. 
 The eternity of matter may be assumed, with its 
 imagined elements in incoherent chaos, awaiting the 
 evolution of law and the beginning of organisation. 
 But out of this can come no directing or informing 
 will. It may seem but a step beyond this, but it is 
 a very long one, to start as Lady Psyche does, in her 
 introductory harangue to the fair undergraduates of the 
 university of the future : — 
 
 ' This world was once a fluid haze of light, 
 Till toward the centre set the starry tides, 
 B 2 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 And eddied into suns, that, wheeling, cast 
 The planets; then the monster, then the man: 
 Tattoo'd or woaded, winter-clad in skins, 
 Raw from the prime.' 
 
 On the other hand, if the ancient maxim holds good, 
 that nothing can come out of nothing, it seems not less 
 but more scientific to start with the preoccupation of 
 the mighty void with the Eternal Mind. The con- 
 ception of such a Supreme Divine Intelligence seems 
 to commend itself to finite reason. It is easier to con- 
 ceive of the eternity of God than of His coming into 
 being. But if 'first mind, then matter,' be thus the 
 order of the universe, how are we to reconcile with it 
 the inductions of modern science, in such a total reversal 
 of this order in the process of creation of mind as is 
 implied in the development of the intellectual, moral, 
 and spiritual elements of man, through the same natural 
 selection by which his physical evolution is traced, step 
 by step, from the very lowest organic forms ? 
 
 The contrast which this hypothesis presents to older 
 theories of evolution, is nowhere better shown than in 
 the musings of the old sage of Norwich. In his ' Religio 
 Medici ' he deals, after his own quaint fashion, with the 
 oracles of antiquity, the supernatural of popular belief, 
 and the spiritual beings set forth in revelation. For 
 angelic natures he entertains a reverent regard undreamt 
 of in our age of positivisms and spiritualisms. He 
 doubts not that ' those noble essences in heaven bear a 
 friendly regard unto their fellow-natures on earth ; ' and 
 therefore he believes that ' those many prodigies and 
 ominous prognostics which forerun the ruin of states, 
 princes, and private persons, are the charitable pre- 
 monitions of good angels.' It was due, no doubt, to such 
 calm philosophisings, that, in the very crisis of England's 
 and Charles the First's fate, he left the state and its 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 prince to the charity of such good angels, and busied 
 himself with his ' Pseudodoxia Epidemica ' or inquiries 
 into many commonly presumed truths, and vulgar and 
 common errors. But having in this tranquil fashion 
 mused on the character and functions of angelic essences, 
 he passes to a refinement of the Platonic idea of ' an 
 universal and common spirit to the whole world,' the 
 Divine Source by whose almighty fiat the void was filled, 
 the darkness made light, and the light responded to by 
 a world of life. The quaint medicist then refers anew 
 to the angelic beings who owe their existence to the 
 same divine source, as certainly the masterpieces of the 
 Creator, the flower, or perfect bloom of 'what we are 
 but in hopes and probability ; for,' he adds, ' we are 
 only that amphibious piece between corporal and 
 spiritual essence, that middle form that links those two 
 together, and makes good the method of God and 
 nature, that jumps not from extremes, but unites the 
 incompatible distances by some middle and participating 
 natures.' 
 
 The mystical fancies of the old physician reflect ideas 
 of an elder time, when faith had in it much of refined 
 simplicity and somewhat also of credulity ; and in which 
 genius dealt reverently yet fearlessly with many pro- 
 blems that anew invite our solution. Sir Thomas Browne 
 is as one born out of due time. He presents in unique 
 combination some of the most characteristic features of 
 the previous age : the age of Camden, Hooker, and 
 Donne ; of Bacon and Hobbes ; of Spenser, Sidney, 
 Lilly and Shakespeare. He is especially noticeable for 
 a learned conceit in his choice of words, and a quaintness 
 of phrase, such as Lilly had commended, and Shake- 
 speare ridiculed, even while turning it to account. But 
 still more does he link the age that preceded with the 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 one to which, in point of time, he belonged, by the 
 singular interblending of scepticism with a devout cre- 
 dulity : as where he declines to dispute the question 
 as to whether Eve was formed out of the left side of 
 Adam ; or whether ' Adam was an hermaphrodite, as 
 the Rabbins contend upon the letter of the text, because 
 it is contrary to reason that there should be an her- 
 maphrodite before there was a woman.' In this and 
 like manner he glances in inconsequential fashion at 
 thoughts which are now presented to all minds in 
 clearest definition : accepting without difficulty what 
 no one will now credit, and rejecting unhesitatingly 
 what is now assumed as indisputable. 
 
 It was a transitional age, in which liberty was running 
 into licence, and nonconformity was persecuted rather 
 because its austerity offended the licentiousness of the 
 times, than that its creed ran counter to any recognisable 
 belief of the new era. The nonconformity which re- 
 ceives least toleration in our own day lies under the ban 
 of science far more than of theology. The Church has 
 grown so broad, that it becomes a puzzle to define what 
 might constitute heresy, or may not prove to be or- 
 thodoxy within its pale. But outside of its consecrated 
 bounds science has established its accredited beliefs, 
 as by a new Council of Nice ; and woe to the heretic 
 who ventures to question its dogmas. Its new hypotheses 
 are pronounced by most of its exponents to be infinitely 
 probable, and by many of them to be absolutely demon- 
 strated. With a generous denouncement of all intoler- 
 ance, the modern evolutionist presents his axioms to 
 the questioner, and passes on. Infallibility has deserted 
 the chair of St. Peter, and finds itself at home on a 
 new throne. It is perilous to mediate in the inquiries 
 which now occupy a foremost place in deduction, in- 
 
 // \ 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 duction, and scientific research. There are indeed 
 among the leaders of thought, men of calm judicial 
 sobriety, whose decisions are presented in so attractive 
 a form as to invite from the thoughtful mind the most 
 careful examination before they are rejected. But it 
 is otherwise with the crowd of followers, who have been 
 dazzled by the novelty of the new theory of evolution, 
 and are animated with all the zeal of young converts. 
 We own to being charmed with the theory of the origin 
 of species, to having recognised in it the key to a 
 thousand difficulties in natural history ; but all is vain, 
 unless the whole hypothesis of the descent of man, the 
 evolution of mind, and every step in the pedigree by 
 which he is traced back to the remotest of his new- 
 found ancestry, be accepted as indisputable fact. 
 
 In such a stage of argument it is advantageous to be 
 able to appeal on any point to an impartial umpire; 
 and it may prove of value to compare the poetical 
 imaginings of an age rich in genius of the highest order 
 with the matter-of-fact realism of our own day. It 
 suited the quaint philosophic mysticism of Sir Thomas 
 Browne to conceive of man as the intermediate link 
 between spiritual essences and mere animal life ; but 
 M. Louis Figuier puts forth, in his^ ' Day after Death,' 
 with all the gravity of a pure induction of science, the 
 latest scheme of psychical evolution, in which he traces 
 a refining and sublimated humanity from planet to 
 planet in ever-renewing resurrection, until, freed from 
 its last earthly taint in the final solar abode of perfected 
 souls, it shall there 'lie immortal in the arms of fire.' 
 This demonstration of 'our future life according to 
 science,' is neither offered to us as religious musings, 
 like those of Sir Thomas Browne ; nor as the sport of 
 scientific fancy, such as the dying philosopher, Sir 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 Humphrey Davy, wrought into the ingenious day- 
 dream which beguiled his last hours. The Frenchman 
 belongs to a scientific age; writes in an era of revolution, 
 in which many old things are passing away ; imagines 
 himself strictly inductive; and publishes to the world 
 his fanciful speculations on a whole cycle of evolutions, 
 as a new gospel : the latest revelation of science and 
 the most comprehensive scheme of future development. 
 It has one special use at least, in which it is, so far, 
 a counterpart to Sir Humphrey Davy's ' Last Days 
 of a Philosopher.' It suffices to illustrate the barrenness 
 of the most ambitious fancy, with all the aids that 
 science can command, in every effort to realise that 
 other life, which ' it hath not entered into the heart 
 of man to conceive.' 
 
 But what imagination utterly fails to do as an in- 
 duction based on supposed scientific foundations, the 
 creative fancy of the true poet, working within its own 
 legitimate sphere, has accomplished to better purpose. 
 Not, indeed, that the unseen world, and the spiritual life 
 beyond the grave, are any nearer to the gifted poet 
 than to the humblest believer to whom the realities of 
 that higher state of existence are objects of faith : but 
 in those stages of real or hypothetical evolution, and the 
 transitional states of being which their assumption in- 
 volves, fancy has to play its part under whatever severe 
 restraints of scientific judgment. The comprehensive 
 faith which his novel doctrines involve, makes ever new 
 demands on the cultivated imaginings of the man of 
 science ; and it requires a mind of rare balance to pre- 
 serve the fancy in due subordination to the actual de- 
 monstrations of scientific truth. But if it were possible 
 to free the imagination from the promptings, alike of 
 seductive hypotheses and of the severer inductions of 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 science, and so have its own realisations of the possible 
 and the probable to compare with those assumed actual 
 anthropomorphic beings of a remote past with which 
 man is now affirmed to have such intimate genealogical 
 relations, the result would be one to be welcomed by 
 every lover of truth. We should then be able to place 
 alongside of such creations of a well-regulated fancy, the 
 wholly independent deductions of scientific speculation 
 and research : whereas now the fancy of the evolu- 
 tionist is subject to all the dictations of a preconceived 
 theory; and he realises for himself, as an undoubted link 
 in the pedigree of humanity, such a being as seems 
 wholly inconceivable to another class of cultivated 
 minds. To the one, this imaginary being, ' the progeni- 
 tor of man,' seems as monstrous as the centaurs with 
 which the art of Phidias enriched the metopes of the 
 Parthenon ; to the other, every doubt, not merely of its 
 possible, but of its actual existence, appears the mere 
 offspring of prejudice. 
 
 Happily for the impartial inquirer, such an unbiassed 
 conception of the intermediate being, lower than man, as 
 man is ' a little lower than the angels,' is no vain dream 
 of modern doubt. The not wholly irrational brute, the 
 animal -approximating in form and attributes as nearly 
 to man as the lower animal may be supposed to do 
 while still remaining a brute, has actually been con- 
 ceived for us with all the perfection of an art more real 
 and suggestive than that of the chisel of Phidias, in one 
 of the most original creations of the Shakespearean 
 drama. 
 
 The world has known no age of bolder inquiry, or 
 freer liberty of thought, than the sixteenth century. 
 The men of that grand era knew both how to question 
 and how to believe, and were able to give a reason for 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 the faith that was in them. This manly faith, no less 
 than the vigorous freedom of intellect of that age, is 
 reflected in the pages of Spenser and Shakespeare, even 
 more than in many of the theological writings of the 
 time. With the seventeenth century a change began. 
 Two of the most independent thinkers that have ap- 
 peared in modern Europe, Bacon and Hobbes, entered 
 on their labours, and gave a new bias to thought and 
 reasoning. The one undertook an analytical classifica- 
 tion of human knowledge, and aimed at supplementing 
 the ancient or Aristotelian logic in such a way as to 
 check the reasoner from making undue deductions from 
 the premises before him. The Baconian method may 
 not suffice as a fitting instrument for all the ample de- 
 mands of modern science; but it never was more need- 
 ful than now to require with strictest severity that the 
 inferences we magnify into demonstrations shall be fully 
 sustained by the premises on which they are founded. 
 The other, Hobbes, with close and consistent reasoning, 
 took up the department of mental philosophy, and, 
 amid many ethical theories only too consistent with 
 modern ideas of the evolution of mind, furnished con- 
 tributions to the science of mental philosophy, the full 
 value of which was not perceived by his own age. But 
 he was an incomplete moralist. His utilitarian theories 
 were based on a standard far below that of the Eliza- 
 bethan age. He belonged unmistakably, in his whole 
 reasonings as a moralist, to the era of decline. His 
 writings, as well as those of Bacon, abound with reflex 
 characteristics of that elder time ; but they no less 
 clearly indicate that its earnestness had passed away. 
 Yet its influence long survived, and it is even more 
 curious to recognise the same faith and Puritan theology 
 of the sixteenth century reflected in the satires of 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 Dryden, than in the ethics of Hobbes, or the quaint 
 musings of Sir Thomas Browne. 
 
 ' That we are the breath and similitude of God,' writes 
 the author of ' Religio Medici,' ' it is indisputable, and 
 upon record of Holy Scripture ; but to call ourselves a 
 microcosm, or little world, I thought it only a pleasant 
 trope of rhetoric, till my near judgment and second 
 thoughts told me there was a real truth therein. For 
 first, we are a rude mass, and in the rank of creatures 
 which only are, and have a dull kind of being not yet 
 privileged with life, or preferred to sense or reason ; next 
 we live the life of plants, the life of animals, the life of 
 men, and at last the life of spirits, running on in one 
 mysterious nature those five kind of existences, which 
 comprehend the creatures not only of the world, but of 
 the universe.' Here we have unmistakable glimmerings 
 of Lamarckian and other theories of metamorphosis, 
 evolution, and progression. 
 
 But long before the author of the ' Religio Medici ' had 
 penned his ingenious musings on the development of the 
 human microcosm, Shakespeare had presented, in the 
 clear mirror of his matchless realisations alike of the 
 natural and supernatural, the vivid conception of ' that 
 amphibious piece between corporal and spiritual essence,' 
 by which, according to modern hypothesis, the human 
 mind is conjoined in nature and origin with the very 
 lowest forms of vital organism. The greatest of poets, 
 who seems to grow ever more wise and more true as 
 growing wisdom helps new generations to appreciate his 
 worth, has thus left for us materials not without their 
 value in discussing, even prosaically and literally, the 
 imaginary perfectibility of the irrational brute ; the 
 imaginable degradation of rational man. Since Shake- 
 speare's day a school of didactic poets has merged into 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 a philosophical and metaphysical one ; and the most 
 objective poet of this metaphysical school has, in his 
 ' Caliban upon Setebos ; or, Natural Theology in the 
 Island,' dealt with a new ideal of the same intermediate 
 being, shaped according to the beliefs and fancies of 
 later generations. 
 
 Those realisations of the same rational brute, in its 
 aboriginal habitat, in contact with the informing intelli- 
 gence of a higher nature, and in conflict with the doubts 
 which appear as the natural twin of new-born reason : 
 present us with conceptions, by two widely differing 
 minds, responding to the influences of eras no less dis- 
 similar. The object aimed at in the following chapters 
 is to place the conceptions of modern science in relation 
 to the assumed brute progenitor of man, alongside of 
 those imaginative picturings, and of the whole world of 
 fancy and superstition pertaining to that elder time ; 
 while also, the literary excellences, and the textual diffi- 
 culties of the two dramas of Shakespeare chiefly appealed 
 to in illustration of the scientific element of inquiry, are 
 made the subjects of careful study. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 ' What seest thou else 
 In the dark backward and abysm of time? 
 If thou remember'st aught ere thou earnest here, 
 How thou earnest here thou mayst.' — The Tempest. 
 
 IT is a pleasant fancy, due to the poet Campbell, that 
 ' The Tempest ' of Shakespeare, which stands first in 
 the earliest collected edition of his dramas, has a special 
 sacredness, as in reality the last of the great magician's 
 works ; and that in the sage Prospero, holding nature in 
 all her most mysterious attributes subject to his will, 
 yet on the very eve of yielding up this sway, the poet 
 unconsciously pictured himself. In the plenitude of 
 his power, with all his wondrous genius at command, he 
 wrought this exquisite work of art ; and that done, the 
 wizard staff was broken, and silence displaced the 
 heavenly music it had wrought. It is not of moment 
 for our purposed criticism that this should be proved. 
 It suffices that the work in question is universally ac- 
 knowledged as one peculiarly inspired with the poetry 
 of nature and the creative power of genius. The scene 
 of this remarkable drama is laid on a nameless island ; 
 the actors are beings of air and of earth ; but pre- 
 eminently for us, the island has a being of its own, 
 native-born, its sole aboriginal inhabitant : — 
 
 'Then was this island — 
 Save for the son that she did litter here, 
 A freckled whelp, hag-born, — not honour'd with 
 A human shape.' 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 The poor monster — sole lord of his nameless island in 
 an unknown sea,— has excited mingled feelings of 
 wonder, admiration, and disgust. But the latter feeling 
 must be transient with all but the superficial student. 
 With truer appreciation, Franz Horn has said : ' In spite 
 of his imperfect, brutish, half-human nature, Caliban is 
 something marvellously exciting, and as pretender to 
 the sovereignty of the island ridiculously sublime. He 
 is inimitable as a creation of the most powerful poetic 
 fancy ; and the longer the character is studied the more 
 marvellous does' it appear.' It is by reason of this im- 
 perfect, brutish, half-human nature, that Caliban anew 
 invites our study, in relation to disclosures of science 
 undreamt of in that age which witnessed his marvellous 
 birth. 
 
 The idea of beings, monstrous and brutal in every 
 physical characteristic, and yet in some not clearly 
 defined sense human, as the inhabitants of strange 
 lands, was familiar not only in Shakespeare's day but 
 long before. Medieval chroniclers describe the Huns 
 who ravaged Germany, Italy, and France in the ninth 
 and tenth centuries, as hideous, boar-tusked, child- 
 devouring ogres ; and after somewhat the same type, 
 Marco Polo represents the Andaman Islanders as 'a 
 most brutish, savage race, having heads, eyes, and teeth 
 resembling those of the canine species : ' cruel cannibals 
 who ate human flesh raw, and devoured every one on 
 whom they could lay their hands. Yet after all, much 
 of this was only an exaggeration of the actual savage, 
 such as he is to be met with even in our own day. 
 
 An older English writer, the famous traveller, Sir 
 John Mandeville, who commenced his wanderings in 
 1322, tells how he had 'ben long tyme over the see, 
 and seyn and gon thorgh manye dyverse londes, and 
 
THE C A LIB AX OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 many provynces and kyngdomes and iles : where 
 dwellen many dyverse folk, and of dyverse maneres and 
 lawes, and of dyverse schappes of men ; of whiche I shalle 
 speke more pleynly hereafter.' And so he accordingly 
 does: telling, for example, of 'the land of Bacharie, where 
 be full evil folk and full cruel. In that country been 
 many Ipotaynes, that dwell sometimes in the water 
 and sometimes on the land : half-man and half-horse, 
 and they eat men when they may take them.' Besides 
 these, he also describes the griffons of the same country, 
 half-eagle, half-lion, but so large that they carry off a 
 horse or couple of oxen to their nest ; in proof of which 
 Mandeville tells us, the griffon's talons are as big as 
 great oxen's horns, ' so that men maken cuppes of hem 
 to drynken of.' No doubt Milton had Mandeville's 
 griffon in view when he compared the fiend to this 
 monster, as he laboriously winged his way up from 
 the nethermost abyss of Hell. 
 
 Of the like travellers' tales of more modern date, 
 there will be occasion to speak by and by. The classi- 
 fication of men by the naturalists of Mandeville's and 
 Marco Polo's days, was into Christians and infidels ; and 
 it seemed then not only natural, but most logical, to 
 conceive of the latter as of betusked ogres, hippo- 
 centaurs, or any other monstrous half-brutish and wholly 
 devilish humanity. But a different ideal of imperfect 
 transitional human beings originated at a later date in 
 the very natural exaggerations of gorilla, chimpanzee, 
 or orang, as first seen or reported of in their native 
 haunts. 
 
 If ' The Tempest ' was indeed the latest production of 
 Shakespeare's pen, then the date of that most amusing 
 old book of travels, ' Purchas his Pilgrimage,' closely 
 corresponds in point of time with its appearance on the 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 English stage. Published in 1613, that is within less 
 than three years before Shakespeare's death, its author 
 embodies among its miscellaneous contents, the story 
 of his friend, Andrew Battle, who while a serjeant in the 
 service of the Portugese, in the kingdom of Congo, on 
 quarrelling with his masters fled to the woods, where he 
 lived eight or nine months ; and there he saw ' a kinde 
 of great apes, if they might be so termed, of the height 
 of a man, but twice as bigge in feature of their limmes, 
 with strength proportionable, hairie all over, otherwise 
 altogether like men and women in their whole bodily 
 shape.' At a later date Purchas described more 
 minutely the pongo, a huge brute-man, sleeping in the 
 trees, building a roof to shelter himself from the rain, 
 and living wholly on fruits and nuts. ' They cannot 
 speake,' he says, ' and have no understanding more than 
 a beast. The people of the countrie, when they travail 
 in the woods, make fires where they sleepe in the night ; 
 and in the morning, when they are gone, the pongoes 
 will come and sit about the fire till it goeth out ; for 
 they have no understanding to lay the wood together.' 
 
 This may suffice to illustrate the ' wild men ' who, 
 with greater or less exaggeration, figure in the traveller's 
 tales of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. They 
 attract us now with a fresh interest, when we are being 
 taught by novel inductions of science to look, in recent 
 or tertiary life, for some such link between the lowest 
 type of savage man and the highest of the anthro- 
 pomorpha. In truth we have the best scientific authority 
 for affirming that the differences between man and the 
 chimpanzee, according to all recognised physical tests, 
 are much less than those which separate that anthropoid 
 ape from lower quadrumana. So much less indeed are 
 they, that, compared limb with limb and brain with 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 brain, the result may well raise a doubt as to the fitness 
 of a test which admits of such close affinities physically, 
 and such enormous diversities morally and intellectually. 
 If, however, man is but this ' quintessence of dust,' ' the 
 paragon of animals,' estimable in utmost requisite com- 
 prehensibility by the test of physical structure, then it is 
 well that all should learn to 
 
 ' Admire such wisdom in an earthly shape, 
 And show a Newton as we show an ape.' 
 
 Linnaeus indeed, with intuitive foresight anticipating 
 modern naturalists, long hesitated whether to rank the 
 chimpanzee as a second species of the genus Homo, or as 
 first among apes. But the Swedish naturalist could 
 not speak from personal observation; and indeed placed 
 too implicit faith in the exaggerated, if not wholly 
 fabulous accounts of a female animal of human propor- 
 tions and pleasing features, but covered with hair, the 
 Orang outang, sive Homo Sylvestris, as furnished by 
 Bontius and later writers. But there is a long step 
 between the classificatory idea of Linnaeus and the 
 modern doctrine of the Descent of Man. To recognise 
 that man and the ape are both animals, and so to 
 determine their classification in the same animal king- 
 dom solely by means of physical tests on which the 
 whole system is based, is one thing ; to assume that 
 man is but the latest phase of development in a pro- 
 gressive scale of evolution, of which the ape is an earlier 
 stage, is the other and more startling affirmation which 
 is permeating the minds of the present generation of 
 thinkers, and revolutionising the science of the nine- 
 teenth century. 
 
 With cautious reticence, the author of ' The Origin of 
 Species by means of Natural Selection ' continued to 
 c 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 accumulate evidence as to the origin or descent of man, 
 while freely communicating to the world all other proofs 
 leading up, as he conceives, to that end. He not only- 
 hesitated to startle and prejudice his readers against 
 the novel system as a whole, by publishing what 
 nevertheless seemed to him the inevitable deduction 
 from his general views, but he had determined to 
 withhold that crowning result of his research. Yet as 
 he had indicated in no obscure fashion, in his earlier 
 work, that man must be included with all other beings 
 in the new theory of the origin of species : no wonder 
 that his disciples hastened to break through prudential 
 restraints, and proclaim in undisguised simplicity the 
 doctrine of affinities and genealogy, by which we are 
 taught to conceive of a remote marine group of her- 
 maphrodites diverging into two great branches, the one 
 in retrograde descent producing the present class of 
 Ascidians, hardly recognisable as animals ; the other 
 giving birth to the vertebrata, and so to man himself. 
 
 Of the latest ramifications in this genealogical tree, 
 its discoverer tells us, ' there can hardly be a doubt 
 that man is an offshoot from the old-world simian 
 stem ; and that, under a genealogical point of view, he 
 must be classed with the catarhine division,' or old- 
 world monkeys, with their more human-like nostrils, 
 dentition, and other minor characteristics. ' If,' con- 
 tinues Mr. Darwin, 'the anthropomorphous apes be 
 admitted to form a natural sub-group, then as man 
 agrees with them, not only in all those characters which 
 he possesses in common with the whole catarhine group, 
 but in other peculiar characters, such as the absence of 
 a tail, and of callosities, and in general appearance, we 
 may infer that some ancient member of the anthropo- 
 morphous sub-group gave birth to man.' And he adds 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 thus further : ' No doubt man, in comparison with most 
 of his allies, has undergone an extraordinary amount of 
 modification, chiefly in consequence of his greatly- 
 developed brain and erect position : nevertheless, we 
 should bear in mind that he is but one of several excep- 
 tional forms of primates.' 
 
 The extremely remote progenitor of man was thus a 
 catarhine monkey, probably dwelling in those African 
 regions which were formerly inhabited by extinct apes 
 closely allied to the gorilla and chimpanzee. As, how- 
 ever, the Dryopithecus of Lartet, an ape nearly as large 
 as a man, and closely allied to the anthropomorphous 
 Hylobates, existed in Europe during the Upper Miocene 
 period, when oceans of the present time were solid land, 
 and continents of our present globe were buried below 
 Jong-extinct oceans, we can very vaguely surmise as to 
 the locality which, under the assumed process of evo- 
 lution, gave birth to our progenitor. 
 
 But while the wanderings of the world's gray fathers 
 in such inconceivably remote and dark ages are hard to 
 trace, their forms reveal themselves with no vague 
 uncertainty to the scientific seer. ' The early progeni- 
 tors of man,' says Mr. Darwin, 'were no doubt once 
 covered with hair, both sexes having beards : their ears 
 were pointed and capable of movement, and their bodies 
 were provided with a tail having the proper muscles.' 
 They had numerous other characteristics normally 
 present in living quadrumana, but now not ordinarily to 
 be looked for in man. But of this also Mr. Darwin 
 speaks as beyond doubt, that our progenitors were 
 arboreal in their habits, frequenting some warm, forest- 
 clad land ; and the males provided with great canine 
 teeth, which served as formidable weapons for assault 
 and defence. 
 
 C 2 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 The being which thus rises in clear vision to the 
 mind's eye as the product of this theory of evolution, is 
 not man, but only man's progenitor. He is still irrational 
 and dumb, or at best only entering on the threshold of 
 that transitional stage of anthropomorphism which is to 
 transform him into the rational being endowed with 
 speech. To the author of ' The Descent of Man/ how- 
 ever, it does not appear altogether incredible that some 
 unusually wise ape-like animal should have thought of 
 imitating the growl of a beast of prey, so as to indicate 
 to his fellow-monkeys the nature of the expected danger; 
 and so, with forethought and reasoning thus fairly at 
 work, and even perhaps a benevolent regard for the 
 interests of his weaker and less-experienced fellow- 
 monkeys, — which would indicate something of a moral 
 sense already present, — the first step is taken in the 
 formation of a language for the coming man. 
 
 To all appearance, the further process in the assumed 
 descent — or, as we might more fitly call it here, the 
 ascent, — of man from the purely animal to the rational 
 and intellectual stage, is but a question of brain develop- 
 ment ; and this cerebral growth is the assigned source 
 of the manward progress : not a result of any functional 
 harmonising of mind and brain, Man as compared 
 with the anthropomorphous apes has ' undergone an 
 extraordinary amount of modification, chiefly in con- 
 sequence of his greatly developed brain' It is difficult 
 to dissociate from such an idea the further conclu- 
 sion, that reason and mind are no more than the 
 action of the enlarged brain ; yet this is not neces- 
 sarily implied. The mind must communicate with the 
 outer world by the senses ; and within those gateways 
 of knowledge must lie a brain of adequate compass 
 to receive and turn to account the impressions con- 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 veyed to it. The brain is certainly the organ of 
 reasoning, the vital instrument through which the 
 mind acts ; but it need not therefore be assumed that 
 brain and mind are one. The microcephalic idiot may 
 have dormant mental powers only requiring an ade- 
 quate organisation for rational activity. The imprisoned 
 soul may be only awaiting the emancipation of death 
 to enter upon its true life. 
 
 In the deductions based on comparative anatomy, 
 cerebral bulk and structure have necessarily played an 
 important part. The more carefully the human brain 
 has been compared with those of the anthropomorpha, 
 the tendency has been to diminish the distinctive 
 features, apart from absolute size. The brain of man, 
 in a healthy, normal state, ranges from one hundred 
 and fifteen to fifty-five cubic inches. The lowest of 
 these numbers is, therefore, the point of comparison 
 with the most highly developed brute. Midway be- 
 tween it and the highest cerebral development of the 
 latter, lies the intermediate, hypothetical ' man's pro- 
 genitor,' the Caliban of Science. In the gorilla, accord- 
 ing to the trustworthy authority of Professor Huxley, the 
 volume of brain rises to nearly thirty-five cubic inches; 
 the human brain at its lowest is fifty-five. Twenty 
 cubic inches, therefore, is the whole interval to be 
 bridged over. Yet narrow as it seems, on one side of 
 this gulf is the irrational ape, on the other side is man. 
 
 This brain-test has been made the subject of much 
 controversy and of very conflicting opinions. Pro- 
 fessor Owen sought to make it the basis of a system 
 of classification, in which, by means of cerebral charac- 
 teristics, he assigned to the genus Homo not merely a 
 distinct order, but a sub-class of the mammalia, to 
 which he gave the name Archencephala. But the 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 assumed differences, otherwise than in actual volume, 
 have been nearly all rejected by some of the highest 
 authorities in comparative anatomy. As to mere bulk, 
 the volume of brain, of the gorilla, for example, must be 
 regarded relatively to the size of the animal ; but in all 
 most notable characteristics we have the authority of 
 Professor Huxley for asserting that ' the brain of man 
 differs far less from that of the chimpanzee than that of 
 the latter does from the pig's brain.' 
 
 The essential difference between man and the ape, 
 then, as tested by the brain, chiefly rests on superiority 
 in relative size ; and the process of transition in 
 this respect is mainly, if not entirely, one of growth. 
 But the most ancient human crania hitherto recovered, 
 such as that from the Engis Cave, near Liege, and 
 the most degraded types, approximating in any con- 
 siderable degree to an ape-like form, as the Neander- 
 thal skull, betray no corresponding diminution of cere- 
 bral mass. The latter is described by Mr. Busk as 
 ' the most brutal of all known human skulls, resembling 
 those of the apes not only in the prodigious develop- 
 ment of the superciliary prominences, and the forward 
 extension of the orbits, but still more in the depressed 
 form of the brain-case, in the straightness of the squa- 
 mosal suture, and in the complete retreat of the occiput 
 forward and upward, from the superior occipital ridges.' 
 This skull, however, has no such antiquity as can give it 
 any legitimate claim to rank as the transitional brute- 
 man ; while its cerebral capacity is estimated at seventy- 
 five cubic inches. So far, therefore, as the mass of brain 
 is concerned, it exceeds that of many living savages, 
 and of not a few Europeans. The fossil remains of man 
 hitherto recovered are assigned to no older deposits than 
 those of the Later Tertiary, or the Quaternary period, 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 or contemporary with animals of the post-glacial epoch. 
 Remote as those are, according to all ordinary esti- 
 mates of the antiquity of man, their disclosures are ac- 
 knowledged to lend little countenance to the doctrine 
 of progressive development from lower simian forms ; 
 and the evolutionist now relegates his hypothetical 
 evidence of man's brute progenitor to geological ages 
 even more removed from the glacial epoch than that 
 is from our own. Sir Charles Lyell has expressed his 
 belief in the probable recovery of human remains in 
 the Pliocene strata ; but there he pauses. In the Miocene 
 period, he conceives, ' had some other rational being 
 representing man then flourished, some signs of his exist- 
 ence could hardly have escaped unnoticed, in the shape of 
 implements of stone and metal, more frequent and more 
 durable than the osseous remains of any of the mam- 
 malia.' But Sir John Lubbock will by no means allow 
 the line to be so drawn. ' If,' he says, ' man constitutes 
 a separate family of mammalia, as he does in the opinion 
 of the highest authorities, then, according to all palason- 
 tological analogies, he must have had representatives in 
 Miocene times. We need not, however, expect to find 
 the proofs in Europe ; our nearest relatives in the 
 animal kingdom are confined to hot, almost tropical 
 climates, and it is in such countries that we must look 
 for the earliest traces of the human race.' There, accord- 
 ingly, the expectant palaeontologist anticipates the dis- 
 covery of the Caliban of evolution, whose fossil skeleton, 
 of strange unperfected humanity, with intermediate 
 cerebral development between ape and man, may yet 
 displace the Guadeloupe slab, and claim the place of 
 honour among the choicest treasures of the British 
 Museum. 
 
 But the brain, to which we as definitely assign the 
 
2+ THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 work of thinking and reasoning, as to the eye that of 
 seeing, and to the ear that of hearing — or, more strictly, 
 of conveying the impressions of sight and hearing to the 
 brain, and so to the mind, — seems to fail us as any guide 
 or key to an evolutionary classification. When we turn 
 to the variations in the lower forms of animal life, the 
 relative volume of brain furnishes no index of the enor- 
 mous contrast ultimately ascribed to its full develop- 
 ment. The brain of the orang and chimpanzee is about 
 twenty-six inches in volume, or half the minimum 
 size assigned to the normal human brain. That of the 
 gibbon and baboon is still less; while, on the other hand, 
 in the gorilla, as already shown, the volume of brain 
 rises to nearly thirty-five cubic inches ; or, in other 
 words, between the brain of the orang or chimpanzee 
 and that^of the gorilla there is nearly half the difference 
 by which, according to this cerebral test, the latter is 
 separated^ from man. The capacity of fifty-five cubic 
 inches as the lowest normal human brain is that assigned 
 by Professor Huxley, while thirty-five cubic inches is the 
 volume of brain in the gorilla. In cranial characteristics, 
 as well as in dentition, and in the proportional size of 
 the arms, the chimpanzee is liker man than the gorilla ; 
 and in certain special cerebral details, and especially 
 in the form of the cerebral hemispheres, as well as in 
 other less important elements of structure, the orang 
 still more nearly resembles man. But in point of cere- 
 bral volume, the gorilla approaches him by nearly half 
 the difference between the two, as compared with that 
 which distinguishes it from the chimpanzee or orang. 
 Man thus stands in relation to the gorilla as fifty-five 
 to thirty-five. Between the brain of the gorilla and 
 that of the chimpanzee or orang there is nearly half 
 this difference in its favour : thirty-five to twenty-six 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION, 
 
 cubic inches. Yet we look in vain for corresponding traces 
 of augmented intelligence or approximation to reason. 
 But, as water at two hundred and twelve degrees sud- 
 denly passes beyond the boiling point into vapour : so 
 at some undetermined degree in this cerebral scale, be- 
 tween thirty-five and fifty-five, the point is reached at 
 which the irrational brute flashes into the living soul. 
 
 If the premises can be accepted, the results follow 
 by very simple evolution. Given the requisite brain- 
 development ; and, if mental power, reason, moral sense, 
 language, and all else that makes man man, are but pro- 
 ducts of the larger brain : then the process by which the 
 ape grew ' unusually wise,' and the next step, and all 
 subsequent steps by which it passed into the so-called 
 ' progenitor of man,' and so onward to man himself, 
 are conceivable. The mere fact indeed of being hairy, 
 having ears pointed and capable of motion, or even 
 being provided with a tail and every caudal muscle, 
 need no more conflict with the idea of a reasoning 
 reflecting being endowed with speech, than the flat- 
 tened nose, prognathous jaws, oblique pelvis, or any 
 other known approximation to types of degradation. 
 
 It is pleasant to associate the noble presence of 
 Shakespeare with his matchless drama ; yet physical 
 beauty is no needful complement of' intellectual power. 
 Socrates was none the less fitted to be the master of 
 Plato, though his ungainly features and disproportioned 
 body suggested the ideal satyr, and made him the butt 
 of Aristophanes on the Athenian comic stage. But 
 the hairy covering, the prognathous jaws and formid- 
 able canine teeth, with all else that pertain to the 
 true brute, are no deformities so long as they are the 
 indices of functions essential to the well-being of the 
 animal. What we do recognise is, on the one hand, 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 the irrational creature naturally provided with clothing, 
 — hairy, woolly, feathery, or the like, — armed and fur- 
 nished in its own structure with every needful tool ; 
 and endowed with the requisite weaving, cell-making, 
 mining, nest-building instincts, independent of all in- 
 struction, experience, or accumulated knowledge. On 
 the other hand is Man, naked, unarmed, unprovided 
 with tools, naturally the most helpless, defenceless of 
 animals ; but, by means of his reason, clothing, arming, 
 housing himself, and assuming the mastery over the 
 whole irrational creation, as well as over inanimate 
 nature. With the aid of fire he can adapt not only 
 the products but the climates of the most widely 
 severed latitudes to his requirements. He cooks, and 
 the ample range of animal and vegetable life in every 
 climate yields him wholesome nutriment. Wood, bone, 
 flint, shells, stone, and at length the native and wrought 
 metals, arm him, furnish him with tools, — with steam- 
 ships, railroads, telegraphic cables. He is lord of all 
 this nether world. 
 
 Is this being really no more than the latest de- 
 velopment of the other ? Is there not still a missing 
 link, forged though it has seemed to be by the 
 creative fancy of the scientific speculator ? It is not 
 merely that intermediate transitional forms are wanting : 
 the far greater difficulty remains, by any legitimate 
 process of induction to realise that evolution which 
 consistently links by natural gradation the brute in 
 absolute subjection to the laws of matter, and the 
 rational being ruling over animate and inanimate 
 nature by force of intellect. Very true it may be, as 
 Mr. Darwin says, that ' if man had not been his own 
 classifier, he would never have thought of founding a 
 separate order for his own reception.' That is to say, 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION, 
 
 the irrational classifier would necessarily have excluded 
 the unknown element of reason as a basis of classifi- 
 cation. But does this not amount to the very fact 
 that man does stand apart, as the only reasoning, 
 intelligent, classifying animal ? He is conscious of an 
 element peculiar to himself, distinguishing him, not 
 in degree, but radically, from the very wisest of apes. 
 The reasoning faculty — whether it be the mere large 
 brain-power, or something as essentially distinct as that 
 which ' smiles at the drawn dagger and defies its 
 point,' — lies beyond the ken of any such anthropoid 
 classifier. Yet reason may, on that very account, be 
 a more distinctive element than hand, foot, pelvis, 
 vertebrae, brain, or any other structural characteristic. 
 
 As the metaphysician appears at times to become 
 sceptical as to the very existence of matter, so a too 
 exclusive devotion to physical science is apt even more 
 to remove the metaphysical and psychical beyond all 
 practical recognition in the reasonings of the physicist. 
 Hence the spiritual element in man seems to dwindle 
 into insignificance in the argument of the evolution- 
 ists. There is an unconscious evasion of the real 
 difficulty in their conception of a transitional half- 
 brute, half-man ; an illusive literalness, like the fancy 
 of Milton, when from the Earth's fertile womb 
 
 ' Now half appeared 
 The tawny lion, pawing to get free 
 His hinder parts.' 
 
 The difficulty is not to conceive of the transitional 
 form, but of the transitional mind. After all has been 
 most strongly dwelt upon which seems to degrade the 
 brutified Australian Bushman, Andaman Islander, or 
 other lowest type of human savage, he is still human. 
 It can with no propriety be said of him that he 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 has only doubtfully attained to the rank of manhood. 
 The ape, caught young, may be taught some very 
 notable tricks. The young savage, whenever he has 
 been subjected to adequate training, has shown a fair 
 capacity, at the least, for such intellectual culture as 
 is familiar to the English peasant. The savage is in 
 no transitional stage. The mental faculties are dormant, 
 not undeveloped. The active energies of his mind are 
 expended in dealing with the exigencies of life. Take 
 the Patagonian, the Red Indian, or the Esquimaux : 
 his whole energies are exhausted in providing the 
 means of existence. If his exertions are remitted he 
 pays the forfeit with his life. So is it with the 
 Australian. Intellect is the means with which he 
 fights the battle of life. The ingenuity shown in all 
 needful arts is great : in his bags, baskets, nets for 
 fishing and bird-catching, his spear and boomerang. 
 Nor is even his aesthetic faculty to be despised. The 
 ornamentation of his weapons is tasteful and elaborate, 
 while the carvings on rocks, of animate and inanimate 
 forms in considerable detail, are far from contemp- 
 tible. Moreover these latter are by no means mere 
 products of idle pastime. Like the corresponding 
 gravings of the American savage, they embody the 
 rudiments of written language, the first stage of that 
 ideography through which the hieroglyphics of Egypt 
 passed into the true phonetics of Phoenician and 
 Greek, Roman and English alphabets. 
 
 After all the minuteness of modern research, then, 
 into the degradation of the savage, he is still no less 
 man than ourselves. We are struck with wonder at 
 any manifestation of half-reasoning sagacity or inherited 
 instinctive ingenuity in the dog, the horse, the elephant, 
 or the ape, because we judge of it from the standard 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION 
 
 of an irrational brute. But the infant, even of the 
 savage, ere it has completed its third year, does daily 
 and hourly, without attracting notice, what surpasses 
 every marvel of the ' half-reasoning ' elephant or dog. 
 In truth, the difference between the Australian savage 
 and a Shakespeare or a Newton is trifling, compared 
 with the unbridged gulf which separates him from the 
 very wisest of dogs or apes. 
 
 So far then it Would seem, that not one but many 
 links are missing between man and his nearest anthro- 
 poid fellow-creature. Moreover, the deduction is by no 
 means settled beyond all question which assumes the 
 Australian Bushman, or other savage, as the lowest, and 
 therefore the earliest existing type in an ascending 
 scale of humanity ; still less is it an indisputable 
 assumption that they furnish in any sense illustra- 
 tions of man in a state of nature. The gorilla or 
 other wild animal in his native arboreal retreat is 
 thoroughly natural and at home. He is there the 
 perfect gorilla. His long, black, glossy fur is in 
 beautiful condition. His whole physical state is one 
 of cleanly, healthful consistency with all the natural 
 functions of his being. He is incapable of moral 
 wrong ; and in every relationship that binds him to 
 his species he fulfils the duties of life unerringly. 
 ' Our early semi-human progenitors,' says Darwin, ' would 
 not have practised infanticide, for the instincts of the 
 lower animals are never so perverted as to lead them 
 regularly to destroy their own offspring.' Are we not 
 then guilty of gross injustice when we speak of the 
 savage as brutish ? His is a degraded and abject 
 humanity the farthest removed from the brutes. 
 Man is most like the healthy well-conditioned wild 
 animal, when seen in a state of civilisation : well- 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 housed, cleanly, and in all virtuous obedience to the 
 laws of nature, alike personally and in every social 
 relation. It is not more reasonable to speak of those 
 savages of civilisation, the city Arab or Bohemian, as 
 in a state of nature, than of the filthy, unnaturally 
 licentious, morally abject savage. If that is the state 
 of nature for the brute in which it is found perfect in 
 form, in fur, or plumage, fulfilling the ends of life in 
 healthful accordance with every natural instinct, then 
 savage man, regarded as an animal, is in no such state. 
 On the contrary, he exhibits just such an abnormal 
 deterioration from his true condition as is consistent 
 with the perverted free-will of the rational free agent 
 that he is. He is controlled by motives and impulses 
 radically diverse from any brute instinct. This very 
 capacity for moral degradation is one of the distinc- 
 tions which separate man, by a no less impassable 
 barrier than his latent aptitude for highest intellectual 
 development, from all other living creatures. ' A 
 beast, that wants discourse of reason,' is Shakespeare's 
 idea of the inferior animal, when in his ' Hamlet ' he would 
 contrast it with the unnatural conduct of rational man. 
 
 If this view of the perfectly developed brute in a 
 state of nature, and of man in conditions which seem 
 no less natural to him as a being so diversely endowed, 
 be correct, then we start with a fallacy when we com- 
 pare degraded man with the matured lower animal. 
 The points of seeming resemblance have no relation as 
 links of a common descent. On the contrary, they 
 have converged from opposite directions, and deceive 
 us : just as the idiot, who is unquestionably a product of 
 degradation, might be mistaken for the manward stage 
 of progression of the ape. We have first to determine 
 what is the nature of man before we can say what is 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION, 
 
 a state of nature for him. But is it not an assumption 
 of the major premiss to assert that he is but a deve- 
 loped brute, and therefore that which is a state of 
 nature for the one must be so for the other ? 
 
 On any theory of evolution which assumes the savage 
 to be the lowest surviving type of man as a link in the 
 progressive stages of development of the brute into a 
 rational being, the first manifestations of reason, while 
 they blunt the pure instincts, would seem to result in a 
 perverted moral sense, antagonistic to all the healthful 
 instincts of its nature. Instinct is a safe guide to the 
 brute, reason supplants it to the advantage of man ; but 
 how to conceive of a survival of the fittest among those 
 'semi-human progenitors' in the hybrid condition, with 
 passions emancipated from the restraint of half-obliterated 
 instincts, and uncontrolled by the glimmering reason, is 
 the difficult problem of the new science. We must look 
 elsewhere than in the kraal or lair of the Australian or 
 Borneo savage, if we would forge anew the missing link 
 between man and his nearest fellow-creatures : that 
 intermediate brute-man which, on any theory of evolu- 
 tion, must have actually existed in some early stage of 
 the world. We have to conceive, if we can, of a being 
 superior to the very wisest of our simian fellow-creatures 
 in every reasoning power short of rationality ; but in- 
 ferior to the most anthropoid ape in all those natural 
 provisions for covering, defence, and subsistence, which 
 are the substitutes for that reasoning foresight and 
 inherited knowledge on which the naked defenceless 
 savage relies. Why, on any theory of survival of the 
 fittest, of natural, or of sexual selection, we should find 
 the Fuegian or the Esquimaux naked descendants of 
 progenitors naturally clothed with fur, becomes all the 
 more incomprehensible if any significance is to be 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 attached to the observation of Agassiz, that the boun- 
 daries of distinct species and genera of mammals on the 
 earth's surface coincide with the natural range of distinct 
 types of man. If so, we should expect to find arctic man 
 not less amply provided than the polar bear with a 
 natural covering so indispensable to his native habitat. 
 
 But, though the difficulty here suggested is one 
 which must have occurred to many minds, it is not 
 the half-human form of man's brute progenitor that 
 puzzles the imagination. Fancy has long familiarised 
 itself with sylvan fauns and satyrs, as with centaurs, 
 mermaids, werwolves, and the like intermediate beings. 
 It is the half-human intellect which is most difficult 
 to realise : not the dormant reasoning faculties of 
 the savage, but the undeveloped or partially developed 
 rationality of a being that has ceased to be a brute, 
 but has yet to become a man. Mr. Darwin, with 
 that candour which has won for him the confidence of 
 many a reluctant student, remarks that the difference of 
 man in respect to his mental power, from all other animals 
 ' is enormous, even if we compare the mind of one of the 
 lowest savages, who has no words to express any number 
 higher than four, and who uses no abstract terms for the 
 commonest objects or affections, with that of the most 
 highly organised ape. The difference would, no doubt, 
 still remain immense, even if one of the higher apes had 
 been improved or civilised as much as a dog has been in 
 comparison with its parent form, the wolf or jackal. 
 The Fuegians rank among the lowest barbarians ; but I 
 was continually struck with surprise how closely the 
 three natives on board of H.M.S. " Beagle," who had 
 lived some years in England, and could talk a little 
 English, resembled us in disposition, and in most of our 
 mental faculties.' The same idea impressed myself 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 when camping out on the north shore of Lake Superior 
 with Red Indian guides, who had come from beyond the 
 Saskatchewan to trade their furs. The mental faculties 
 of the Red Indian savage are dormant, not absent. He 
 manifests, after some brief intercourse, a wonderful apti- 
 tude for conforming in many ways to his civilised asso- 
 ciates ; and much of the silent impassive stoicism of the 
 Indian disappears, — turns out, indeed, to be no ethnical 
 characteristic or native instinct, but an acquired habit. 
 He is, in truth, as inquisitive as a child. 
 
 Starting, then, from the assumed brute-progenitor of 
 man,' we are to suppose, it may be presumed, that the 
 brain went on growing, and with it the various mental 
 faculties forming, until the transitional being acquired 
 craft enough to outmatch all the mere physical force or 
 instinctive wiles of its inferior fellow-creatures. But 
 simultaneously with this approximation to man in 
 cerebral development, we are also to assume that the 
 huge jaws and great canine teeth became reduced in 
 size, and all other brute-like attributes and powers de- 
 clined. The arboreal haunts of the frugivorous or car- 
 nivorous anthropoid were forsaken. The prehensile 
 powers of the foot were exchanged for the firmer tread 
 by means of which the weighty brain-mass is thence- 
 forth to rest on the summit of the upright spinal column. 
 He has learned to walk erect. His hands are thence- 
 forth free for all ingenious and artistic manipulation 
 which the growing brain may suggest ; but with increas- 
 ing delicacy of action and sense of touch, they lose in a 
 corresponding degree an excess of mere muscular power. 
 Reason is to be of more account than physical force. 
 Nor is it to be assumed that the evolution is even now 
 complete, or that man has attained to finality as such; 
 and so may hold himself ready for that next stage, or 
 D 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 fifth order of existence, which, according to the author 
 of the ' Religio Medici,' is to make him superhuman : 
 a creature not of the world, but of the universe. Evolu- 
 tion is progressive as ever, though it moves in a new 
 direction. The brain is now to be brought into ever- 
 increasing activity, with corresponding developments, 
 until Shakespeares and Newtons shall be, not the ex- 
 ceptions, but the rule. This evolutionary being has 
 thus, in a distant future, still higher destinies awaiting 
 him, as the summit of the organic scale ; yet he is to 
 bear to the last in his bodily frame the indelible stamp 
 of his lowly origin. 
 
 But in this process of exchanging native instincts and 
 weapons, strength of muscle and natural clothing, for 
 the compensating intellect, the transmuted brute must 
 have reached a stage in which it was inferior in intellect 
 to the very lowest existing savages, and in brute force 
 to the lower animals. This is the being most difficult to 
 realise, or to find an Eden for him, where, under any 
 favouring circumstances, he could survive the latest 
 stages of his marvellous transformation. That gulf 
 bridged over by the sheltering aid of some mild insulated 
 region and every favouring circumstance for the matur- 
 ing and survival of a being dependent on such novel 
 conditions, we have man's progenitor fairly started on 
 his anthropomorphous course. With progressive cerebral 
 growth, and a corresponding development of mental 
 activity, a brain-power results capable of carrying on 
 continuous trains of thought, and so tracing results to 
 their causes. Hence experience, selfish caution, pruden- 
 tial motives, sympathetic feelings : until at length there 
 results the moral sense, a recognition of the distinction 
 between right and wrong, a possibility of conceiving of 
 moral responsibility, and so of God. The brute has 
 become man. 
 
THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 33 
 
 To realise for ourselves this strangely-evolved being, 
 we have to think of something with greatly more of the 
 healthy natural instincts of animal life than pertain to 
 the degraded savage. Nevertheless the supreme difficul- 
 ties lie in the earlier stages, which, on this hypothesis, 
 are already past. Nature could now proceed freely with 
 that last stage, in which the transformed brute dispensed 
 with any remaining traces of natural clothing, nails or 
 claws, teeth, and other offensive or defensive weapons : 
 and so leave him to the novel resources, by means of 
 which he is to become the tool-making, fire-using, cook- 
 ing, clothing animal ; to make for himself houses, boats, 
 implements, weapons ; to wander abroad with new ca- 
 pacities for adapting himself to all climates ; until, from 
 being the most helpless and limited in range of the 
 higher animals, he assumes his rightful dominion over 
 all : the one cosmopolitan to whom every living thing is 
 subject. 
 
 Had such an hypothesis of evolution been entertained 
 in the sixteenth or the seventeenth century, it would 
 have been vain to presume that the being, transitional 
 alike in form and mind, which it presupposes, might not 
 then exist in some unexplored region of the world. 
 Now, however, such an idea cannot be entertained. On 
 the contrary the advocates of the theory acknowledge 
 the existence of an enormous and in'deed ever-widening 
 break in the organic chain between man and his nearest 
 allies, which cannot be relinked by any living or extinct 
 species. 
 
 The most brutish of human savages holds out no 
 acknowledgment of near affinity to the most anthropoid 
 of apes ; and imagination is left to work its will in 
 realising the intermediate being, midway between the 
 two., in which the brute came to an end and man began. 
 D 2 
 
36 THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 . To the evolutionist, the whole process by which such a 
 change is assumed to have resulted seems so easy that 
 he slights, if he does not wholly pass over, this final 
 transitional stage, unconscious of the difficulties pressing 
 on minds not less earnestly awakened to the reception 
 of novel truths. To the inquirer who still acknowledges 
 a natural repugnance to the acceptance of a law of 
 progress which makes man no more than a highly de- 
 veloped ape, it is difficult to give the imagination fair 
 play in whatever share it should take in the solution 
 of the problem. Yet imagination has its legitimate 
 work to perform. In the grand discoveries of science, 
 the conceiving imagination, which 'darts the soul into 
 the dawning plan,' and realises beforehand what is to be 
 proved by severest induction, plays a part no less im- 
 portant than in the work of the poet. But happily at 
 this stage we are enabled to summon to our aid the most 
 original and creative fancy to realise for us the large- 
 brained, half-reasoning brute, with some capacity for 
 continuous thought and the accumulations of experience, 
 but as yet devoid of moral sense, and so actuated solely 
 by animal cravings and passions. 
 
 Such a creature, it is admitted by the evolutionist, 
 required very peculiar and exceptional circumstances to 
 allow of its perpetuation. On any theory of the survival 
 of the fittest it is difficult to deal with a being inferior 
 in intellect, and probably in social disposition, to the 
 lowest existing savages ; and at the same time inferior in 
 brute-like powers, in the offensive or defensive weapons 
 of nature, in the prehensile aptitude for climbing trees, 
 in natural clothing, in all means of escape from danger 
 or violence incident to its condition. But the peculiar 
 circumstances which can alone give it the chance of sur- 
 vival are hypothetically found for it in an imaginary 
 
THE CALIBAX OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 island of the cainozoic world, warm and genial in climate, 
 furnished with abundance of suitable food, and free from 
 all special dangers. If Plato may have freest scope with 
 his Atlantis, More with his Utopia, and Swift with his 
 Laputa, it would be hard to stint our modern philoso- 
 phers in the furnishing of their more ancient island with 
 all needful requisites for a commonwealth on which the 
 very existence of every subsequent one is believed by 
 them to depend. 
 
 The genial protection of an island-home may well 
 suggest itself to the race which owes so much to the 
 protective insulation of Britain. In far-off palaeolithic 
 ages, when its manufacturing energies were exhausted 
 on the flint and bone implements of the Drift-Folk, it 
 was a bit of the neighbouring continent, and had its 
 troubles accordingly, with cave-tigers, cave-bears, and 
 other devouring monsters, such as must have been 
 wholly unknown to that happy island-home of the 
 ape-progenitor of man, when in his latest evolutionary 
 stage. Britain was made and unmade, so far as its 
 insular autonomy is concerned, during the post-Pliocene 
 period. It had been reunited to the continent, after 
 a lengthened period of insulation, when man coexisted 
 with the mammoth, and the Thames is believed to have 
 been a tributary of the Rhine. But happily its tribu- 
 tary eras lie far off and obscure ; *and through all its 
 latest and best stages of ethnical and historical evolu- 
 tion its occupants may well 
 
 ' Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set 
 His Saxon in blown seas and storming showers.' 
 
 Here, in one of England's pleasantest vales, in the year 
 1564, and in an age in which the moral and intellectual 
 energies of the human race were manifesting themselves 
 with peculiar force throughout the civilised world, 
 
38 THE CALIBAN OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 Shakespeare was born ; and he, before the close of his 
 too brief career, dealt with the very conception which 
 now seems so difficult to realise, and, untrammelled 
 alike by Darwinian theories or anti-Darwinian pre- 
 judices, gave the 'airy nothing a local habitation and 
 a name.' 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 'Antonio. What impossible matter will he make easy next? 
 
 Sebastian. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and 
 give it his son for an apple. 
 
 Antonio. And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more 
 islands.' — The Tempest. 
 
 THE idea of an island-world lying in some unex- 
 plored ocean, beyond the influences that affect 
 humanity at large, with its native beings, institutions, its 
 civilisation, and a history of its own, has been the dream 
 of very diverse ages, and the fancy of very dissimilar 
 minds. It seems far from improbable, that in early 
 unrecorded centuries, when, nevertheless, voyagers of 
 the Mediterranean claimed to have circumnavigated the 
 coasts of Africa, the world beyond the western ocean 
 was not unknown to them. Vague intimations, derived 
 seemingly from Egypt, encouraged the belief in a sub- 
 merged island or continent, once the seat of arts and 
 learning, far on the Atlantic main. The most definite 
 narrative of this lost continent is that recorded in the 
 ' Timseus ' of Plato, on the authority of an older account 
 which Solon is affirmed to have received from an Egyp- 
 tian priest. The narrative is not without an air of 
 truthfulness, when read in the light of modern geogra- 
 phical and geological disclosures. The priest of the 
 Nile claims for the temple-records of Egypt a vast 
 antiquity, and tells the Athenian lawgiver that his 
 people are mere children, their histories but nursery 
 tales. In fables and vague traditions of the Greeks, 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 faint memories had survived of deluges and convulsions 
 by which the earth had been revolutionised in ages long 
 prior to their historical records. In one of those the 
 vast island of Atlantis— a continent larger than Lybia 
 and Asia conjoined, — had been ingulfed in the ocean 
 which bears its name. 
 
 Whether the idea was a mere fancy of the first Egyp- 
 tian narrator, or an allusion to transatlantic islands and 
 continents with which communication had been held in 
 some earlier age, it pleased the poets and philosophers 
 of antiquity ; and frequent references occur in Greek and 
 Roman authors to the lost Atlantis. But above all, this 
 oceanic world of fancy or tradition has a special interest 
 as the seat of Plato's imaginary commonwealth ; while it 
 acquired a new significance when Columbus revealed 
 what actually lay beyond that mysterious ocean in 
 which the Hesperides and other mythological islands of 
 antiquity had been placed by the poets. 
 
 When the geologist in our own day proceeds to define 
 the physical geography of Europe in that strange glacial 
 period when the British Islands were conjoined to a 
 continent which then existed in a condition analogous to 
 the Arctic wastes of Greenland at the present time, he 
 deals with revelations of science which outvie the legends 
 of the old Nile, and restores a lost Atlantis to us, 
 peopled with its extinct fauna, and on which man also 
 appears, furnished with strange weapons and primeval 
 arts. In the sober literalness of scientific induction, 
 the chorographer far outrivals the fables of antique 
 mythology, and undertakes to furnish, from well- 
 accredited data, an ideal restoration of continents and 
 islands as they existed when the Elephas Meridionalis, 
 or huge pachyderm, older than the mammoth, roamed 
 in their forests ; or of that island which was neither 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 Ireland nor England, though it included much of both, 
 over which the Mcgaceros, or gigantic deer of the Irish 
 bogs, wandered at will ; and the human cave-dwellers of 
 centuries undreamt of in historical chronology, played 
 their unheeded part in the primeval dawn. Remoter, 
 however, than that submerged and renewed island- 
 world of prehistoric ages is the birthplace or scene of 
 latest evolution of man's progenitor. It has to be 
 located as yet with the Atlantis- of Plato and the 
 Utopia of More, in some unexplored ocean of unimagin- 
 ably remote eras. But who shall venture to say that 
 it lies beyond the compass of science in the triumphs of 
 the coming time ? 
 
 Already the first steps have been indicated whereby 
 the explorer is to pursue his way towards that undeter- 
 mined birthplace of man, at that stage of the pedigree 
 where our progenitors diverged from that selected 
 catarhine division of the Simiadae, the determination 
 of which robs the western world of all claim to the 
 primeval Atlantis. The fact that the Simian progeni- 
 tors of man belonged to this stock clearly shows, ac- 
 cording to its demonstrator, that they inhabited the 
 old world ; but, Mr. Darwin adds, ' not Australia, nor 
 any oceanic island, as we may infer from the laws of 
 geographical distribution. In each great region of the 
 world the living mammals are closely related to the 
 extinct species of the same region. It is therefore 
 probable, that Africa was formerly inhabited by extinct 
 apes closely allied to the gorilla and chimpanzee ; and 
 as these two species are now man's nearest allies, it is 
 somewhat more probable that our early progenitors 
 lived on the African continent than elsewhere.' When, 
 however, Mr. Darwin is speculating on the immediate 
 Simian ancestry of man, he reflects on the deficiency in 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 the social element of the huge, powerful, ferocious 
 gorilla: whereby the development of such peculiarly 
 human qualities as sympathy, and the love of his 
 fellow-creatures, would be impeded in an improved 
 descendant ; and hence he conceives that it may have 
 been no unimportant element in the ampler humanity 
 of the final evolution, that man sprung rather from some 
 comparatively small and weak species like the chim- 
 panzee, but growing ultimately larger and stronger, 
 even while losing such offensive and defensive appli- 
 ances as pertained to his brute-original. The social 
 element which leads man to give and receive aid, when 
 combined with his tool -making aptitude, more than 
 counterbalances any inferiority in strength to the wild 
 beasts he may have to encounter. The puny Bushman 
 of Africa holds his ground against the fiercest animals 
 of that continent, and the stunted Esquimaux is equally 
 successful in resisting alike the physical hardships and 
 the ravenous monsters of arctic snows. Still Mr. 
 Darwin recognises the peculiar dangers incident to that 
 last semi-human transitional stage. 'The early pro- 
 genitors of man,' he remarks, 'were, no doubt, inferior 
 in intellect, and probably in social disposition, to the 
 lowest existing savages ; but it is quite conceivable that 
 they might have existed, or even flourished, if while 
 they gradually lost their brute-like powers, such as 
 climbing trees, &c, they at the same time advanced in 
 intellect. But granting that the progenitors of man 
 were far more helpless and defenceless than any exist- 
 ing savages, if they had inhabited some warm continent, 
 or large island, such as Australia, or New Guinea, or 
 Borneo, they would not have been exposed to any 
 special danger.' 
 
 So says Mr. Darwin, when in search of an earthly 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 paradise for the brute-progenitor of man. In such an 
 imagined island, with all other conditions favouring, he 
 sees no further impediment to the final elevation of 
 this transitional being to a perfected humanity, 'through 
 the survival of the fittest, combined with the inherited 
 effects of habit.' But such a process, under the most 
 favourable conditions, must be conceived of as one 
 multiplied through countless generations, during which 
 that irrational animal rose by imperceptible degrees 
 into the novel condition of a rational intelligent being. 
 
 Though Borneo — still tenanted by the orang, — is 
 selected by Mr. Darwin as an island presenting many 
 such requirements as the early progenitors of man 
 stood in need of, its area is insufficient for some of the 
 necessities of a being so widely diffused within the 
 remotest ascertainable period of his existence. He 
 points rather to an insular Africa as the seat of the 
 catarhine Eden, where the final step in anthropomor- 
 phic evolution was effected ; yet in this he owns that 
 speculation is striving after what probably lies beyond 
 its reach. The continents of that imagined era, what- 
 ever their fauna may have included, lie for the most 
 part among ■ the ruins of an elder geological world, 
 submerged it may be by oceans that have long since 
 upheaved their beds into new land ; and the data by 
 means of which the obliterated map may be retraced, 
 have yet to be sought for in their buried strata. But 
 in the map of that other world of fancy over which 
 the genius of Shakespeare reigns supreme, an island 
 may still be found, such as the speculator on man's 
 evolution and long descent craves for his last transi- 
 tional stage. There the dramatist, for purposes of his 
 own, has anticipated the enormous lapse of time need- 
 ful for evolving intellect out of such irrational germs,' 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 by bringing the rude, speechless, 'freckled whelp,' 
 with its brute-like powers and instincts, into direct 
 contact with intellect in its very highest activity. 
 Humanity is represented as endowed with extraor- 
 dinary, or even what may for our present purpose be 
 styled miraculous powers ; and so the transmutation, 
 for which under any conceivable normal process its 
 originators would deem centuries inadequate, is ex- 
 hibited as it were under a forcing process, whereby we 
 can study some of its most important gradations as 
 they presented themselves to the most original and 
 objective mind. 
 
 The sixteenth century, to which this latter evolu- 
 tionist belongs, was an age of earnest faith, nor alto- 
 gether devoid of credulity. To the men of Shakespeare's 
 day, the strange approximations to humanity which 
 we are now called on, in reliance upon severest scien- 
 tific induction, to realise for ourselves, by no means 
 seemed so improbable as they now do. The new 
 worlds of which Columbus, Amerigo Vespucci, the 
 apocryphal Raphael Hythloday, Gomara, Lane, Harriott 
 and Raleigh wrote, seemed more fitly occupied by 
 Calibans than any ordinary type of humanity. The 
 grotesque tales of monsters, giants, and the like super- 
 natural extravagances, with which Mandeville and 
 other early travellers garnished their narratives, were 
 suited to the expectations, no less than to the taste 
 of much more enlightened ages than theirs. The most 
 incredible news that a Columbus or a Raleigh could 
 have brought back from the New World, would have 
 been the reported existence of men and women, in 
 person, customs, arts, and all else, exactly like them- 
 selves. It was in all honesty that Othello entertained 
 Desdemona with the story of his life, — 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 ' Of moving accidents by flood and field, 
 And of the cannibals that each other eat, 
 The anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders.' 
 
 And in like ingenuous simplicity to hear this ' would 
 Desdemona seriously incline ; ' for Shakespeare had the 
 very best authority for such quaint anthropophagi. In 
 his account of Guiana, Raleigh tells of a nation of 
 people on the Caoro ' whose heads appear not above 
 their shoulders, which, though it may be thought a 
 mere fable, yet,' says the astute Raleigh, ' I am re- 
 solved it is true, because every child in the provinces 
 of Arromaia and Canuri affirms the same. They are 
 called Ewaipanoma ; they are reported to have their 
 eyes in their shoulders, and their mouths in the middle 
 of their breasts.' Though all the exertions of Raleigh 
 to get sight of those marvellous Ewaipanoma, the true 
 type of antipodes, proved vain, yet he evidently 
 credited the story. He reverts to it anew in another 
 place, as a thing in which he fully believed ; and when 
 enumerating the various tribes by which the region is 
 occupied, he states, as though it were a fact no less 
 thoroughly authenticated than all else he has to write 
 about, ' To the west of Caroli are divers nations of 
 cannibals, and of those Ewaipanoma without heads.' 
 
 Mr. Joseph Hunter fancies Prospero's enchanted 
 island to have been in the Mediterranean ; and indeed 
 the foremost point to be established by his ' Disquisi- 
 tion on Shakespeare's Tempest ' is that the island of 
 Lampedusa, lying midway between Malta and the 
 African coast, is the veritable Prospero's island. ' It 
 is precisely in the situation which the circumstances 
 of every part of the story require. Sailors from 
 Algiers land Sycorax on its shores ; Prospero, sailing 
 from an Italian port, and beating about at the mercy 
 
46 CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 of the waves, is found at last with his lovely charge, 
 at Lampedusa ; Alonzo, sailing from Tunis, and steer- 
 ing his course for Naples, is driven by a storm a little 
 out of his track, and lights on Lampedusa.' So writes 
 Mr. Hunter, with even less doubt about his enchanted 
 island than Sir Walter Raleigh entertained regarding 
 the headless Ewaipanoma on the Caoro river of ' the 
 beautiful empire of Guiana.' It only remains to trace 
 out Ariel's course to the same island, and then all its 
 occupants will be accounted for. Nor is this wholly 
 neglected, for Mr. Hunter gravely notes that ' Lam- 
 pedusa is in seas where the beautiful phenomenon is 
 often seen, called by sailors the Querpo Santo, or the 
 Fires of Saint Helmo. The commentators have told 
 us that these fires are the fires of Ariel. But the 
 very name of the island itself, Lampedusa, may seem 
 to be derived, as Fazellus says it is, from flames such 
 as Ariel's.' The island measures in circuit thirteen 
 miles and a half, is situated in a stormy sea, abounds 
 with troglodytic caves, and ' writers worthy of confi- 
 dence assert that no one can reside in it, on account 
 of the phantasms, spectres, and horrible visions that 
 appear in the night : repose and quiet being banished 
 by the formidable apparitions and frightful dreams 
 that fatally afflict with deathlike terrors whoever does 
 remain there so much as one night.' Were it worth 
 while marshalling evidence to refute all this, the 
 first witness to be summoned is Caliban himself, who 
 gives it all the flattest contradiction so far as his 
 island is concerned. ' Come, swear to that ; kiss the 
 book,' says Stephano, when he tells him that his mis- 
 tress, the old witch Sycorax, had shown him the man 
 in the moon, with his dog and brush. But he tells 
 him without prompting, that — 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 ' The isle is full of noises, 
 Sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not;' 
 
 and so far from night being made horrible by fright- 
 ful apparitions, the poor monster found his dreams so 
 delightful that when he waked he cried to dream 
 again. Ferdinand, again, might very properly be 
 called on to explain how it was that, if Lampedusa, a 
 Mediterranean island, within easy sail of the neigh- 
 bouring Italian coast, was the actual Prospero's isle, 
 it should have struck him as so marvellous a thing to 
 meet a maiden there whose speech was Italian, that 
 he exclaims in utter astonishment, ' My language ! 
 heavens ! ' Mr. Hunter does indeed proceed with 
 other coincidences, to him absolutely extraordinary. 
 There is on Lampedusa an actual hermit's cell, and 
 ' this cell is surely the origin of the cell of Prospero.' 
 Again, ' there is a coincidence which would be very 
 extraordinary if it were merely accidental, between 
 the chief occupation of Caliban and the labour im- 
 posed upon Ferdinand, on the one hand, and some- 
 thing which we find belonging to Lampedusa on the 
 other. Caliban's employment is collecting firewood. 
 It may be but for the use of Prospero. But Ferdinand 
 is employed in piling up thousands of logs of wood/ 
 It only requires, in order to complete the coincidence, 
 to assume that Duke Prospero drove -a brisk trade in 
 firewood with the Algerine and other sailors ; for he 
 could not possibly want all this huge pile for him- 
 self. In reality the task of piling logs, to which 
 Ferdinand is compelled by ' Prospero, as a test of 
 his devotion to Miranda, is just the very work 
 of which the English adventurers who accompanied 
 Captain Smith to Virginia, are found making in- 
 dignant complaint, and adds one more indication to 
 
48 CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 point us beyond the Atlantic in search of the magic 
 isle. 
 
 Chalmers and Malone have concurred in asserting, 
 that the title of the play, as well as the circumstances 
 of its opening scene, were suggested by a dreadful hurri- 
 cane which dispersed the fleet of Sir George Somers, in 
 July, 1609, when on the way to the infant colony of 
 Virginia with a large supply of men and provisions. 
 The ship, called ' The Admiral,' with Sir George Somers 
 and Sir Thomas Gates on board, was separated from 
 the rest of the fleet, and wrecked on the island of 
 Bermuda. Of this an account was published by Jourdan 
 the following year, entitled ' A Discovery of the Ber- 
 mudas, otherwise called the Isle of Devils ;' and it 
 is by no means improbable that from this pamphlet 
 Shakespeare derived the first hint of the incidents on 
 which the plot of 'The Tempest' is constructed. But as 
 Ariel is despatched for dew to ' the still-vexed Ber- 
 moothes,' that at least is not the scene of Prospero's 
 enchantments ; nor was it in any degree requisite that 
 the dramatist should give precise longitude and latitude 
 to the ' uninhabited island,' where the scenes of his 
 ' Tempest ' are laid. The poets had in various ways 
 an interest in the strange worlds that were then being 
 revealed beyond the Atlantic. Spenser had as his 
 special friend and wise critic, Sir Walter Raleigh, ' The 
 Shepheard of the Ocean,' who ' said he came far from 
 the main-sea deep.' Sir Philip Sidney's correspondence 
 is replete with evidence of the interest he took in the 
 voyages of Gilbert, Frobisher, and others, 'for the 
 finding of a passage to Cathaya ; ' and to him is dedi- 
 cated the first publication of Hakluyt, 'touching the 
 discoveries of America and the islands adjacent unto 
 the same.' The Earl of Southampton, the noble 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 godfather to Shakespeare's ' Venus and Adonis,' the 
 'first heir of his invention,' was an active co-operator in 
 the Virginia Company. Ralph Lane, whose letters, 
 written on the island of Roanoke in 1585, have an in- 
 terest as the oldest extant English writings from the 
 New World, sailed under Raleigh's patronage ; and 
 Thomas Harriott, who was in his family, not only pur- 
 sued on the same island the algebraic experiments to 
 which the solution of equations was due, but carried out 
 some of those astronomical observations which, among 
 other distinctions, now mark him for special note as the 
 first observer of the spots on the sun. Have we not, 
 in this Thomas Harriott — discoverer of the complele 
 system of modern algebra, rival of Galileo in the first 
 observations on the satellites of Jupiter, author of the 
 ' Brief and True Report of the New Found Land of 
 Virginia, ' and reputed bearer of the gift of ' divine 
 tobacco ' to the English nation, — the true type of 
 Prospero, who, with the aid of his magical books and 
 his potent wand, could boast that he had bedimmed 
 the noontide sun ? 
 
 That Shakespeare had in view the strange new lands 
 of the western ocean we can discern very clearly ; for 
 Gonzalo comforts his companions in their affright at some 
 of the monstrous ' people of the island' very much in 
 Raleigh's own words : 
 
 ' Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys, 
 Who would believe that there were mountaineers 
 Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em 
 Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men 
 Whose heads stood in their breasts ? which now we find 
 Each putter-out of five for one will bring us 
 Good warrant of.' 
 
 The 'putters-out of five for one' were the merchant 
 
 adventurers, who risked their money, and not unfre- 
 
 E 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 quently their lives, in the search for new worlds, and 
 came back laden with travellers' tales, if with no other 
 riches. 
 
 It is vain to search on the map for Prospero's island. 
 Malone and Chalmers, indeed, entertained no doubt 
 that Shakespeare had Bermuda in view. Mr. Joseph 
 Hunter, among other notices of Shakespeare's own 
 time, quotes a curious account, from ' The Silver Watch 
 Bell ' of Thomas Tymme, of the Bermudas, or Isle of 
 Devils, where ' to such as approach near the same, there 
 do not only appear fearful sights of devils and evil 
 spirits, but also mighty tempests with most terrible and 
 continual thunder and lightning, and the noise of 
 horrible cries, with screeching,' &c, which are reported 
 to make all glad to fly with utmost speed from the 
 horrible place. This is supposed to have suggested to 
 Shakespeare the scene of his opening tempest, and the 
 island whereon Sycorax preceded his enchantments 
 with her terrible sorceries. Moore, in his ' Epistle from 
 the Bermudas,' accordingly says, ' We cannot forget that 
 it is the scene of Shakespeare's Tempest ; and that here 
 he conjured up the delicate Ariel, who alone is worth 
 the whole heaven of ancient mythology.' Mr. Hunter 
 has felt it incumbent on him to enter on a course of 
 very elaborate argument to overthrow these Bermudan 
 claims, before his own grand Lampedusan discovery 
 could have any chance of popular favour. But the 
 whole argument was very needless. Wherever Pros- 
 pero's isle may have been, the poet was careful to tell 
 us that it was not Bermuda ; otherwise how could Ariel 
 have been called up at midnight to do his master's 
 errand, and 'fetch dew from the still-vexed Bermoothes'? 
 In truth, the island belongs to the poet's sole domain ; 
 and having done its work in the realm of fancy, we may 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 be content to leave it till modern science rediscover it and 
 its true lord, the missing Caliban of fancy or of fact. 
 Otherwise ' deeper than did ever plummet sound,' it lies 
 with Prospero's magic books. 
 
 From Milan the banished duke and his infant daughter 
 were indeed borne only some leagues to sea, before they 
 were abandoned in 
 
 ' A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast : the very rats 
 Instinctively had quit it.' 
 
 But then the noble Gonzalo had not only furnished 
 his old master with rich garments and provisions of all 
 sorts, but out of the ducal library had culled the 
 precious volumes of science and of magic which he 
 prized above his dukedom ; and so, with these and his 
 wizard staff, he was as well provisioned for an ocean 
 voyage as the witch in ' Macbeth,' when she set sail for 
 Aleppo in a sieve : able no less to dispense with helm 
 or oar than ' a rat without a tail.' When the scene 
 opens with the tempest, which gives name to this 
 charming drama, we learn indeed that the rest of the 
 fleet which had escorted the usurping duke in his 
 unpropitious voyage, after being storm-tossed and dis- 
 persed by Ariel's wiles, 
 
 'All have met again, 
 And are upon the Mediterranean flote, 
 Bound sadly home for Naples.' 
 
 But the ocean tides rise and fall upon the yellow sands 
 of Prospero's island as they never did to Virgil's sea- 
 nymphs ; and when he would 
 
 ' Betwixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
 Set roaring war,' 
 
 E 2 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 he can call at will, not only the 
 
 ' Elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; 
 But those that on the sands with printless feet 
 Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him 
 When he comes back.' 
 
 Prospero is, indeed, full of the idea of the tide's ebb and 
 flow, as if to remove his enchanted island beyond all 
 question into regions remotest from Mediterranean 
 tideless shores. When, at the last, he has all charmed 
 within his enchanted circle, he exclaims, in mingled 
 metaphor and allusion — 
 
 ' Their understanding 
 Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 
 Will shortly fill the reasonable shore 
 That now lies foul and muddy.' 
 
 There is one anciently described island of the New 
 World, very familiar to the men of Shakespeare's day, 
 and which it is obvious enough that the poet himself had 
 in view, when he lets the gentle Gonzalo picture to us 
 what would be, had he the plantation of this new-found 
 isle. He is fresh from the study of Montaigne's philo- 
 sophy ; and as to the island-scene of his communistic 
 idealism, it is the veritable Utopia of which Sir Thomas 
 More had already learned so much from the Raphael 
 Hythloday of his philosophic fiction. Gonzalo, we must 
 remember, philosophises in playful banter, dealing in such 
 wise fooling as may suit his fickle auditors : ' Gentlemen 
 of brave mettle, who would lift the moon out of her sphere, 
 if she would continue in it five weeks without changing!' 
 It is thus he deals with the Platonic fiction : — 
 
 ' Gon. I' the commonwealth, I would by contraries 
 Execute all things ; for no kind of traffic 
 Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
 Letters should not be known : riches, poverty, 
 
CALIBAN'S ISLAXD. 
 
 53 
 
 And use of service, none; contract, succession, 
 
 Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none : 
 
 No use of metal, com, or wine, or oil : 
 
 No occupation; all men idle, all; 
 
 And women too ; but innocent and pure : 
 
 No sovereignty; — 
 
 Seb. Yet he would be king on 't. 
 
 Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. 
 
 Gon. All things in common nature should produce 
 Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, 
 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
 Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
 Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, 
 To feed my innocent people. 
 
 Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects? 
 
 Ant. None, man ; all idle ; whores and knaves. 
 
 Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, 
 To excel the golden age. 
 
 Seb. Save his majesty ! 
 
 Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! 
 
 Gon. And, — do you mark me, sir? 
 
 A Ion. Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. 
 
 Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and did it to minister 
 occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble 
 lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing.' 
 
 But when we have identified Prospero's island with the 
 Utopia of Hythloday, we are still far as ever from fixed 
 longitudes and latitudes ; for it is but the ovtottos, the 
 nowhere, of More's imaginary commonwealth : nowhere, 
 yet nevertheless the discovery of a reputed fellow- 
 voyager of Amerigo Vespucci. With this latter help to 
 such geographical research, the mythology of the island 
 agrees : for Setebos, the god of the witch Sycorax, is 
 a Patagonian deity, mentioned by Richard Eden in his 
 ' History of Travayle in the West and East Indies, and 
 other countreys lying eyther way towardes the fruitfull 
 and ryche Moluccaes.' There it may be presumed 
 Shakespeare picked up the name, and what else he 
 needed for the ' uninhabited island' — uninhabited, that 
 is, so far as human beings are concerned, before Pros- 
 
54 CALIBAN'S ISLAND. 
 
 pero's arrival, — which he has peopled for us so well. 
 There, as Ariel tells his master in the second act — 
 
 'Safely in harbour 
 Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once 
 Thou call'd'st me up at midnight to fetch dew 
 From the still-vex'd Bermoothes.' 
 
 The island, therefore, is not farther, at any rate, from 
 the Bermudas, than from Naples or Milan ; and though 
 the dispersed fleet is once more safely afloat on the 
 Mediterranean, and — all but the king's ship, — already 
 bound for Naples, before Prospero restores his Ariel to 
 the elements, that tricksy spirit has one more duty to 
 perform ; and so the Duke is able to promise to all 
 
 ' Calm seas, auspicious gales, 
 And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 
 The royal fleet far off,' 
 
 and so be in Naples as soon as them. It is vain, then, 
 to apply any ordinary reckoning to such voyagers' log, 
 or to seek by longitude or latitude to fix the locality 
 of Caliban's island-home : any more than to map out 
 on a geographical chart of modern centuries that pre- 
 historic Borneo, New Guinea, or other anthropomorphic 
 Eden, where the half-brute progenitor of man, when in a 
 state considerably in advance of the chimpanzee, orang, 
 or gorilla, in all intellectual attributes, but far more help- 
 less and defenceless than any existing savage, found 
 those favouring conditions which admitted of the slow 
 process of evolution resulting in Man. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 ' Sebastian. A living drollery. Now I will believe 
 That there are unicorns; that in Arabia 
 There is one tree, the phcenix' throne; one phcenix 
 At this hour reigning there.' — The Tempest. 
 
 THE grave comedy which supplies to us Shakespeare's 
 realisation of the half-human beings which in the 
 sixteenth century were supposed to inhabit the new- 
 found lands of the deep-sea main, is in other respects 
 rich in some of the choicest imaginings of his genius. 
 In ' The Tempest,' as in the lighter comedy of ' A Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream,' his fancy revels in the embodi- 
 ment of the supernatural creed of his own day. In both 
 the homely and grotesque intermingle with the super- 
 human elements of the drama with such seeming 
 naturalness and simplicity, that it becomes no more im- 
 probable than the marvels of night's wonderland appear 
 to the dreamer. But it is with a graver purpose and 
 more earnest meaning that Shakespeare has wrought the 
 scenes of the later drama into such artful consistency ; 
 and interwoven with the unsophisticated tenderness of 
 Miranda's love, the philosophy of Gonzalo, and Duke 
 Prospero's sage reflections on this fleeting shadow of 
 mortality. 
 
 The Caliban of 'The Tempest,' cannot be rightly 
 estimated, unless viewed in the rich setting in which 
 Shakespeare has placed his rude disproportioned shape. 
 It is, as a whole, an assay piece of his art. He sports 
 
k6 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 f 
 
 there with its difficulties, as the Prospero of his own 
 creation does with the spirits of the elements ; and 
 seems to have set himself what shall task and prove the 
 ample compass of his power. He endows Prospero with 
 superhuman wisdom, and arms him with all the for- 
 bidden mastery of the magician's art ; yet preserves to 
 him the generous attributes of a noble nature, giving ab- 
 solute power, where it is employed without abuse under 
 the restraints of virtue. In Miranda he aims at realising 
 what a pure guileless woman would become, trained 
 from infancy apart from all intercourse with her own 
 sex, nurtured in every refinement of intellectual culture, 
 yet the inmate of a rude cell, ignorant of all the conven- 
 tionalities which society breeds, and having never from 
 infancy seen any human being but her own father. In 
 her, accordingly, Shakespeare embodies all that is pure 
 and lovely in true womanhood, apart from the conven- 
 tional proprieties of artificial life ; and having thus made 
 
 her 
 
 ' So perfect and so peerless ; one created 
 Of every creature's best,' 
 
 yet not perfected into aught that is superhuman, he 
 places alongside of her two other beings begot by the 
 same prolific fancy, the one above and the other below 
 the rank of humanity. Of these the superhuman is an 
 ethereal spirit, incapable of human passions, and only 
 withheld from the elements, in which it longs to mingle, by 
 the constraining power of Prospero's magical art ; the 
 other is the rude, earth-born animal which so strikingly 
 realises for .us the highest conceivable development of 
 brute-nature. They stand alongside of each other, yet 
 have nothing in common, hold no intercourse, exchange 
 no words : the representative embodiments, as it were, of 
 two incompatible elements brought into compulsory ap- 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 position by the mediate humanity of Prospero. The 
 scenes in which such widely diverse characters enact 
 their parts, constitute as a whole one of the most 
 original, as it is one of the most beautiful, of all that 
 special department of the Shakespearean drama in which 
 the world of ideal fancy mingles without constraint with 
 the realities of every-day life. 
 
 In the list of characters, or ' Names of the Actors,' as 
 it is styled, appended to the first edition of the play, 
 Caliban is described as ' a salvage and deformed slave,' 
 and has a rank assigned to him between the noble 
 followers of the King of Naples and Trinculo the jester, 
 Stephano, a drunken butler, and the rude sailors ; while 
 Miranda intervenes between the latter and Ariel, 'an 
 ayerie spirit,' with the other spirits who play their part 
 as actors in the masque. 
 
 In the folio of 1623, 'The Tempest' ranks foremost in 
 place, and appeared there for the first time seven years 
 after its author's death. The supposition that it is the 
 very last of all the creations of his genius has already 
 been referred to. It is a poet's fancy, and cannot now 
 admit of proof. But the play is printed with so few im- 
 perfections, that it may be assumed to have been derived 
 directly from the author's manuscript. It may indeed 
 have been this manuscript — then fresh from Shake- 
 speare's pen, the final triumph of his magic art, — that 
 his editors had specially in view, when in the preface to 
 the collected edition of his dramas, they say, in loving 
 remembrance of the genius of their deceased friend : 
 ' Who as he was a happy imitator of Nature, was a most 
 gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went together, 
 and what he thought, he uttered with that easiness that 
 .we have scarce received from him a blot in his papers.' 
 
 The last days of the poet had been pleasantly passed 
 
58 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 in the haunts of his boyhood ; and among his pastimes 
 it is not to be doubted had been the painsful pleasure of 
 revising and completing some of his marvellous dramas, 
 and preparing the whole for the press. To his brother 
 actors and literary executors — ' my fellows,' as he styles 
 them, — John Hemingeand Henry Condell, he bequeathed 
 ' twenty-six shillings and eightpence apiece, to buy them 
 rings ; ' and to them were transferred the revised quartos 
 and original MSS. which were the source of the famous 
 1623 folio. ' We have scarce received from him a blot 
 in his papers/ the admiring editors declare. It were to 
 be wished that they had done their editorial work with 
 like pains and care. And yet had they done so the 
 world might not altogether have been the gainer. In 
 that case, for example, Pope had never produced his 
 superb critical edition of Shakespeare, in which he 
 laboured so assiduously to constrain the Elizabethan 
 poet's ' native wood-notes wild ' to a conformity with the 
 artificial standards of that year of grace A.D. 1725 ; and 
 then Theobald, ' poor piddling Tibbald,' would have had 
 no cause to write his ' Shakespeare Restored : or, a 
 Specimen of the Many Errors, as well committed as 
 unamended, in Pope's edition of this Poet ;' and so the 
 irascible little bard of Twickenham would have missed 
 the chief incentive which begot his ' Dunciad,' with 
 Theobald for its hero : — 
 
 ' Where hapless Shakespeare, yet of Tibbald sore, 
 Wished he had blotted for himself before.' 
 
 The process of evolution thus originating in the ' errors 
 as well committed as unamended ' in the famous first 
 folio, has gone on in prolific multiplication of blots and 
 blotters, till Shakespearean commentaries and illustra- 
 tive criticisms have grown into a library ample enough 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 to task the reading of a lifetime. But ' The Tempest ' is 
 exceptional in the correctness of its text, as in much 
 else ; though Dryden did league with D'Avenant to show 
 how utterly a noble work of art could be desecrated in 
 adapting it to the tastes of a mean age ; and Pope, in 
 trimming it to those of an artificial one, resyllabled its 
 heroic numbers, attuned to his own ear, if not counted 
 on his fingers ; and made other alterations which neither 
 the hero of the ' Dunciad ' nor any other sound critic 
 could accept as improvements. 
 
 To the refined reader of this exquisite comedy, the 
 central charm unquestionably must be that rare concep- 
 tion of purest womanly grace and instinctive delicacy, 
 Miranda. Womanly we call her, though she is but 
 fifteen, and as unsophisticated in her sweet simplicity as 
 when 
 
 ' In the dark backward and abysm of time,' 
 
 ' not out three years old,' she, with her banished father, 
 was hurried on board the leaky ' rotten carcass of a 
 boat ' which bore them to their island solitude. When, 
 at length, ' bountiful Fortune ' brought thither Prospero's 
 enemies, and placed them at his mercy : the same fortune 
 brought with these Ferdinand, the young heir to the 
 crown of Naples, to own that, though full many a lady 
 he had ' eyed with best regard,' and found in each some 
 special virtue to distinguish her, never till now did he 
 look on one that had not some defect. But the guileless 
 Miranda has no such experiences to tell of; and when 
 her father would restrain the too ready response of his 
 daughter to this noble lover, it is thus he schools her : — 
 
 * Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, 
 Having seen but him and Caliban ; foolish wench ! 
 To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
 And they to him are angels.' 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 But she only replies — 
 
 ' My affections 
 Are then most humble; I have no ambition 
 To see a goodlier man.' 
 
 She gives her whole heart, in utter unconsciousness of 
 the prudent fears which trouble her father, lest ' too light 
 winning make the prize light.' Her innocency is still as 
 untutored as when the scarce three-years-old child parted 
 with the last of those woman-tendants whose memory 
 haunted her rather like a dream than an assurance of 
 which memory gave any warrant. She tells her lover : 
 
 ' I do not know 
 One of my sex; no woman's face remember, 
 Save, from my glass, mine own : nor have I seen 
 More that I may call men than you, good friend, 
 And my dear father: how features are abroad, 
 I am skilless of; but, by my modesty, 
 The jewel in my dower, I would not wish 
 Any companion in the world but you : 
 Nor can imagination form a shape, 
 Besides yourself, to like of.' 
 
 And so this ' fair encounter of two most rare affections ' 
 proceeds in ' plain and holy innocence' : the realisation 
 of a child of nature, unrestrained by all mere conventional 
 proprieties, but guided by the unerring instincts of 
 native modesty and purity. 
 
 The setting of this exquisite creation of Shakespeare's 
 genius has been designed with rare art to display by 
 contrast the peculiar graces of perfect womanhood. The 
 refined, ethereal, dainty Ariel, most delicate of sprites, 
 incapable of affections that can become tender, and yet, 
 though 'but of air,' having a touch, a feeling of human 
 affections, hovers around Miranda, fulfilling her father's 
 commands, but otherwise no more familiar with her 
 than the zephyrs which lift her hair and fan her cheek. 
 
 , 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 He is a sylph-like, spiritual essence, suited for fancy's 
 lightest behests ; a being born as it were of the sweet 
 breeze and the butterfly, as incapable of human love as 
 of human hate or sin. But while this embodiment of 
 the zephyr floats airily about Miranda in her mortal 
 loveliness, by the cunning art of the dramatist she is 
 brought into more immediate contact with the other 
 extreme. Caliban is her fellow-creature, in a way that 
 Ariel could never be, and provokes comparisons such as 
 the other in no way suggests. For his is the palpable 
 grossness of a lower nature, a creature of earth, not 
 unredeemed by its own fitting attributes nor untrue to 
 itself, but altogether below the level of humanity. 
 
 Of the estimate formed of this unique creation of 
 genius by the men of Shakespeare's own day, we have 
 very slight means of judging. But the evidence of an 
 utter incapacity for appreciating his genius by the 
 Restoration court and age is nowhere more manifest 
 than in the impure vulgar buffoonery with which the 
 greatest of the poets of that new era helped to travesty 
 the wild and savage nature of Caliban. ' The Tem- 
 pest ; or, The Enchanted Island,' takes its place among 
 the collected works of John Dryden, though it might 
 perhaps more fitly rank with the forgotten dramas, 
 masques, and other productions of Davenant's pen. 
 Referring to their joint labours in vulgarising and pol- 
 luting Shakespeare's comedy, Dryden says : ' It was 
 originally Shakespeare's, a poet for whom he had a 
 particularly high veneration, and whom he taught me 
 first to admire.' The mode adopted by teacher and 
 pupil for giving expression to their admiring veneration 
 is sufficiently equivocal. The play itself, as Dryden 
 tells us, had formerly been acted with success in the 
 Blackfriars ; and its aptness for scenic effect and showy 
 
62 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 spectacle — far more, it is to be presumed, than any ap- 
 preciation of its higher excellences, — tempted Fletcher, 
 Suckling, D'Avenant, and Dryden himself, to tamper with 
 its delicate refinement, and debase it by means of 
 spurious adaptations to the taste of a corrupt age. As 
 to Fletcher's ' Sea Voyage,' he has rather borrowed the 
 idea than tampered with the text of Shakespeare's 
 ' Tempest ' ; and as the supernatural elements are 
 wholly omitted, it need not detain us. ' The Desert 
 Islands ' of Fletcher are the scene of a gyneocracy 
 or commonwealth of women : a Utopian paradise, 
 which ' yields not fawns, nor satyrs, or most lustful 
 men ; ' and he only borrows remotely the one idea 
 of women trained from infancy on a desert island, 
 without knowledge of the other sex. The Clarinda of 
 Fletcher is mainly his own creation, and scarcely pro- 
 vokes the comparison with Shakespeare's Miranda which 
 it is so little fitted to stand. But D'Avenant and Dryden 
 deal with the latter even more coarsely than with 
 Caliban, in their efforts to adapt the chaste elder drama 
 to the lascivious revels of the Restoration court. 
 
 Sir William D'Avenant, cavalier and poet-laureat, with 
 whom Dryden was associated in the travesty of ' The 
 Tempest,' was the son of an Oxford innkeeper, at whose 
 hostle Shakespeare is said to have been a frequent guest. 
 The cavalier poet-laureat had been balked in his pur- 
 posed exploration of the new-found lands of the Western 
 world, exchanging for this only too ample opportunities 
 to yearn for the imaginary commonwealth in which 
 Gonzalo and many another philosophic dreamer had 
 purposed to excel the golden age. He was made 
 prisoner by a man-of-war in the service of England's 
 newly realised commonwealth, in 165 1, when on his 
 way to Virginia, to plant a royalist colony there ; and 
 
THE TEMPEST 63 
 
 so exchanged the cavalier Utopia he was in search of, 
 for a long captivity in the Tower. But better days were 
 in store for him. After the Restoration he became 
 manager of the Duke of York's players, and did his 
 best to indemnify the dramatic muse for recent Puritan 
 restraints by every conceivable liberty that could be 
 found in the opposite extreme of licence. In the pre- 
 face to their joint labours, Dryden describes his fellow- 
 worker as ' a man of quick and piercing imagination,' 
 and ' of so quick a fancy that nothing was proposed to 
 him on which he could not suddenly produce a thought 
 extremely pleasant and surprising; and as his fancy was 
 quick, so likewise were the products of it remote and new. 
 He borrowed not of any other; and his imaginations 
 were such as could not easily enter into any other man.' 
 The commendations of his original and pregnant genius 
 read strangely out of place appended to such a specimen 
 of his art. His quick fancy and piercing imagination 
 are there shown by superadding to Shakespeare's Cali- 
 ban a twin-sister, Sycorax, of whom her brother tells 
 Trinculo, she is ' beautiful and bright as the full moon. 
 I left her clambering up a hollow oak, and plucking 
 thence the dropping honeycombs.' As to this beauty, 
 it is intended to be judged of by Caliban's own standard; 
 for she no sooner appears than Trinculo' addresses her as 
 ' my dear blubber-lips !' But there is nothing to tempt us 
 to linger on Dryden's ' enchanted island,' unless it be the 
 marvel that within an interval so brief the taste of a whole 
 nation should have become so depraved as to tolerate 
 this gross caricature of an exquisite work of genius. 
 
 The strange being which invites our notice as the 
 native-born occupant of Shakespeare's nameless island, 
 and forms the counterpart to Ariel in the dramatic 
 setting by which Miranda is displayed with such 
 
64 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 rare art, can only be properly estimated by the careful 
 student. At a first glance the brutish Caliban appears 
 to occupy a very subordinate place among the creations 
 of Shakespeare; and, compared with the ethereal 
 minister of Prospero's wizard spells, he is apt to be 
 regarded as a mere passive agent in the byplay of the 
 comedy. Placed, moreover, as he is, in direct contrast to 
 Miranda, ' so perfect and so peerless,' the half-human 
 monster appears all the more deformed. But, in 
 Dryden's vulgar travesty, he becomes, with his mother's 
 legacy of ' great roaring devils,' the actual ' hag's seed ' 
 and ' born devil ' of Prospero's mere wrathful hyperbole ; 
 and, worthless as this contemptible rifacciamento is in 
 all other respects, it has perhaps the one merit of show- 
 ing how far removed the original Caliban is from the 
 vulgar twin-monsters of the Restoration stage. 
 
 So far from being either superficial or repulsive, 
 Caliban is a character which admits of the minutest 
 study, and is wrought to the perfection of a consistent 
 ideal not less harmoniously, and even beautifully, than 
 Ariel himself. Both are supernatural beings, called into 
 existence by the creative fancy of the poet ; but the 
 grosser nature is the more original of the two : more 
 thoroughly imaged forth without the aid of current 
 fancies of elves, and sprites, and all the airy denizens 
 of Fairyland, which made the Puck of Shakespeare 
 homely to all, and his Ariel, exquisite as it is, conceiv- 
 able enough. For Dryden truly says of the poet in 
 the prologue to his remodelled ' Tempest,' that ' he 
 wrote as people then believed ;' while Dryden himself 
 unhappily stooped to write as people of his later day 
 desired. But, if he was indeed first taught by Dave- 
 nant to admire Shakespeare, it is the less wonder that 
 he should so very partially appreciate the elementr. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 of his wondrous originality. In the same prologue 
 he says : — 
 
 ' So from old Shakespeare's honoured dust, this day 
 Springs up and buds a new- reviving play: 
 Shakespeare who, taught by none, did first impart 
 To Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson art ; 
 He, monarch-like, gave those his subjects law, 
 And is that Nature which they paint and draw.' 
 
 But it is in a very peculiar and exceptional sense that 
 we can appeal to Nature in testing such impersonations 
 of contemporary belief as either Ariel or Caliban. They 
 are creations conceived by the most original genius,- 
 though fashioned in perfect harmony with the beliefs of 
 his age. To this they owe their peculiar charm. In 
 them, as in others of his rare imaginings, his supernatural 
 seems so natural, that we only realise to how large an 
 extent it is the work of his own fancy, when we test it 
 by comparison with that of his most gifted contem- 
 poraries. 
 
 It is the triumph of the poet thus to mirror the 
 thoughts of his age. He does not startle it with what 
 is strange, but with what seems most familiar to it. Yet 
 with all the seeming familiarity of those exquisite em- 
 bodiments of popular belief, and their consistency with 
 the folk-lore of the time, they are .as purely fancy- 
 wrought as the visions that haunt unbidden the gay 
 romance of dreams. They were Shakespeare's own 
 creations, but they seemed so thoroughly to realise 
 what already commanded universal credence, that the 
 charmed onlooker regarded them as no more than the 
 mirroring of his own vaguest fancies. The imaginative 
 power thus displayed in giving corporeal seeming and a 
 consistent individuality to such 'airy nothings' will be 
 best appreciated by the reader who has already familiar- 
 ised himself with the supernatural beings that figure in 
 F 
 
66 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 the verse of Marlow, Jonson, Fletcher, and even of 
 Milton. They are no less Shakespeare's own creations 
 than his Othello, or Hamlet, his Portia, Imogen, Ophelia, 
 or Lady Macbeth. He wrought indeed with the current 
 thought of his age, but of none of them can it be said, 
 that he merely produces the portraiture of what was 
 already familiar to it ; and least of all could this be 
 affirmed of Caliban. He is in a peculiar sense a super- 
 natural character, lying as much beyond the bounds of 
 human experience as any fairy, ghost, or spirit of the 
 creed of superstition, either in that age or our own : 
 earth-born, and fashioned on the ideal of the brute, 
 yet so distinct from anything hitherto seen or known 
 on earth, that only now, two centuries and a half after 
 its production on the English stage, has it entered into 
 the mind of the scientific naturalist to conceive of such 
 a being as possible. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 ' Arise, and fly 
 The reeling Faun, the sensual feast; 
 Move upward, working out the beast, 
 And let the ape and tiger die.' 
 
 In Memoriam. 
 
 THE innate and seemingly instinctive aptitude of 
 the human mind to conceive of the supernatural 
 is so universal, and so intimately interwoven with that 
 other conception of a spiritual life, the successor of this 
 present corporeal existence, — which, far more than any 
 supposed belief in a Supreme Being, seems the universal 
 attribute of man, — that Shakespeare's whole conception 
 of the supernatural may fitly come under review as a 
 sequel to the more limited subject specially occupying 
 our consideration. But it is sufficient for the present 
 to bear in mind the originality and prolific powers 
 revealed in his supernatural imaginings, in order the 
 more clearly to appreciate the one portraiture of a 
 being which, though in no sense spiritual, is so far as 
 all experience goes, thoroughly supra-natural. 
 
 "Tis strange, my Theseus,' says Hippolyta to her 
 ducal lover, as the fifth act of ' A Midsummer Night's 
 Dream ' opens in a hall of his palace at Athens, 
 where they hold discourse on the themes that lovers 
 speak of. The previous scenes have been ripe with 
 the sportive creations of the poet's fancy, with his 
 Oberon, Titania, and all their fairy train ; and now, in 
 F 2 
 
68 THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 true dramatic fashion, he claims the shadowy be- 
 ings as his own. ' More strange than true,' Theseus 
 replies : — 
 
 ' I never may believe 
 These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
 Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
 Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
 More than cool reason ever comprehends;' 
 
 and then, after quaintly coupling the lover and the 
 lunatic as beings 'of imagination all compact,' he adds 
 this other picture of the poet's fantasies : — 
 
 ' The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; 
 And as imagination bodies forth 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 Such tricks hath strong imagination.' 
 
 As to the actual belief in the beings so dealt with, 
 among the men of that generation, it was vague and 
 indeterminate as themselves. When, indeed, the poet 
 glanced to earth, and called up on the blasted heath, 
 near by the scene of Macbeth's great victory over the 
 Norweyan host, those wild and withered hags, that 
 ' looked not like the inhabitants o' the earth, and yet 
 were on't,' he idealised a very harsh and deep-rooted 
 belief of his age. When again he glanced from earth, 
 not to heaven, but to that intermediate spirit-world, 
 with all the ghostly or airy habitants with which fancy 
 or superstition had favoured it, he wrought with ma- 
 terials that had fashioned the creed of many generations. 
 He had, himself, believed in fairies ; and doubtless still 
 regarded ghosts with becoming awe. They had held 
 mastery over his youthful imagination ; constituted the 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. f, 9 
 
 fancies and the terror of his childhood ; and were in 
 his maturer years translated into those supernatural 
 beings which have proved so substantial to other gene- 
 rations. 
 
 But the poet's own age had been familiarised with 
 ideal beings of a wholly different kind, the reality of 
 which seemed scarcely to admit of question. Of the 
 new world of the West which Columbus had revealed, 
 there was, at any rate, no room for doubt ; and yet 
 when, nearly a century after its discovery, Spenser 
 refers, in his ' Faerie Queen,' not only to the Indian 
 Peru and the Amazon, but to that ' fruitfullest Virginia ' 
 of which his friend Raleigh had told him many a won- 
 drous tale, it is obvious that to his fancy America was 
 still almost as much a world apart as if his ' Shepherd 
 of the Ocean ' had sailed up the blue vault of heaven, and 
 told of the dwellers in another planet on which it had 
 been his fortune to alight. He is defending the veri- 
 similitude of that Fairyland in which Una and the Red 
 Cross Knight, Duessa, Belphcebe, Orgoglio, Malecastaes 
 and so many more fanciful impersonations disport them- 
 selves, with King Arthur and the Faerie Queen herself: 
 and he argues that since Peru, Virginia, and all the 
 wonders of that new-found hemisphere prove to be real, 
 what marvel if this Fairyland of his fancy be no less 
 substantial a verity. For even now, of the world the 
 least part is known to us ; and daily through hardy 
 enterprise new regions are discovered, as unheard-of as 
 were the huge Amazon, the Indian Peru, or other strange 
 lands now found true : — 
 
 Yet all these were, when no man did them know, 
 Yet have from wisest ages hidden been; 
 And later times things more unknown shall show : 
 Why then should witless man so much misween, 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 That nothing is but that which he hath seen? 
 What if, within the moon's fair shining sphere, 
 What if, in every other star unseen 
 Of other worlds he happily should hear? 
 He wonder would much more; yet such to some appear.' 
 
 For voyagers to return from that new world with stories 
 of its being peopled with human beings like themselves, 
 was a kind of blasphemy intolerable to all honest 
 Christians. The council of clerical sages which as- 
 sembled in the Dominican Convent of St. Stephen, at 
 Salamanca, in i486, to take into consideration the theory 
 of Columbus as to a Cathaya, or other world of hu- 
 manity lying beyond the Atlantic, after bringing all 
 the science and philosophy of the age to bear on the 
 subject, pronounced the idea of the earth's spherical 
 form heterodox, and a belief in antipodes incompatible 
 with the historical traditions of our faith : since to assert 
 that there were inhabited lands on the opposite side of 
 the globe, would be to maintain that there were nations 
 not descended from Adam, it being impossible for them 
 to have passed the intervening ocean. This would 
 be, therefore, to discredit the Bible, which expressly 
 declares that all men are descendants of one common 
 pair. 
 
 It is amusing, but also instructive, thus to find an 
 ethnological problem of our own day adduced by the 
 orthodox sages of Salamanca in the fifteenth century 
 to prove that America could not exist. It is obvious 
 enough, that with such Dominican philosophers in 
 the councils of science, it was safer for their orthodoxy 
 as well as their credibility, for travellers to tell of 
 ' anthropophagi, and men whose heads do grow beneath 
 their shoulders,' than to hint of a race of ordinary men 
 and women. This kind of union of scepticism and 
 credulity belongs exclusively to no special epoch. A 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 story is told of a Scottish sailor returning to his old 
 mother, and greeting her with an account of the wonders 
 he had seen in far-away lands and seas. But his most 
 guarded narrations conflicted so entirely with her per- 
 sonal experience that they were repelled as wholly 
 incredible. ' Weel, mother,' said the baffled traveller, 
 ' what will ye say when I tell you that, in sailing up 
 the Red Sea, on pulling up our anchor, we fand ane 
 o' Pharaoh's chariot-wheels on the fluke?' 'Ay, ay! 
 Sandy, that I can weel believe,' responded the old 
 dame; 'there's Scripture for that!' It was in a like 
 critical spirit that the men of the fifteenth and sixteenth 
 centuries refused all belief in the humanity of the 
 antipodes, while they welcomed the most monstrous 
 exaggerations for the very air of truthfulness they bore, 
 when tried by their own canons of credibility. 
 
 The reasoning of that age arranged itself in a very 
 simple syllogism. All men were descended from Adam ; 
 the beings inhabiting the worlds beyond the ocean could 
 not possibly be descended from Adam ; therefore they 
 were not human beings. Yet as truth slowly dawned 
 through a whole century, it became more and more 
 obvious that, whatever their pedigree might be, they 
 had many points in common with humanity. They had 
 a kind of speech of their own ; and could be taught 
 with no great difficulty that of their discoverers. They 
 had arts, arms, architecture and sculpture, and even 
 religious rites, though of a very horrible kind. So the 
 Spanish Dominicans pronounced them to be devils ; and 
 yet did not wholly abandon the hope of converting 
 them, and making them Christians after a sort. The 
 English adventurers, having no love for the Spaniards 
 of the New World, and a very special aversion to their 
 priests, were the less likely to be guided by their 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 estimation of the Carib or Mexican ; and hence there 
 grew up a vague idea of inhabitants of the strange 
 islands reported from time to time by returned voyagers, 
 who, though they could not possibly be of the race of 
 Adam, had yet a far nearer resemblance, in many ways, 
 to our perfected humanity than any ape, baboon, or 
 other anthropomorphous being with which older tra- 
 vellers had made them familiar. 
 
 On this ideal Shakespeare unquestionably wrought in 
 the creation of that ' freckled whelp,' as disproportioned 
 in manners as in shape, whom Prospero found sole 
 habitant of the lonely island on which he and Miranda 
 were cast. As to Caliban's maternity, the theories of 
 man's descent, and the consequent transitional stages 
 of an unperfected humanity, with which we are now 
 familiar, are of very modern date, and did not at all 
 lie in Shakespeare's vein, whatever Bacon might have 
 said of them. Unless the poet had contented himself 
 with simply letting Prospero find the strange monster 
 on the island, he had, like more modern philosophers, 
 to account in some way for his being; and so he vaguely 
 hints at supernatural conception, known to Prospero 
 only at second-hand. For the witch Sycorax had died, 
 and Ariel had writhed and groaned for years, imprisoned 
 in the rifted pine where she had left him, till Prospero 
 arrived and set him free. ' As thou report'st thyself,' 
 is accordingly the form in which Prospero alludes to 
 Sycorax and all else that pertained to those prehistoric 
 island-times before he set foot there. Sufficient for us, 
 therefore, is it, that the Duke of Milan found on that 
 strange island just such a monstrous being as travellers' 
 tales had already made familiar to all men as natives 
 of such regions. The tPrrrr, _J^nrib nn d C nn nihnl -wrx r 
 syjT^rrymous. The edicts of Isabella expressly excluded 
 
THE MONSTER CALIPAX. 
 
 the Carribeans from all the ordinary rights of humanity 
 on this very ground. They therefore were the anthro- 
 pophagi of travellers ' tales ; and Caliban is but an 
 anagram of the significant name. 
 
 ' Do you put tricks upon us with savages and men 
 of Ind ? ' says Stephano ; while the drunken Trinculo, 
 puzzling, in his besotted fashion, over Caliban, who has 
 fallen flat at his approach in the hope of escaping 
 notice, exclaims : ' What have we here ? a man or a 
 fish ? A strange fish ! Were I in England now, as once 
 I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday 
 fool there but would give a piece of silver ; there would 
 this monster make a man ; any strange beast there 
 makes a man ; when they will not give a doit to relieve 
 a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead 
 Indian. Legged like a man ! and his fins like arms ! 
 Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose my opinion ; 
 hold it no longer : this is no fish, but an islander, that 
 hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt.' It would be 
 curious to recover an exact delineation of the Caliban of 
 the Elizabethan stage. ' This is a strange thing as e'er 
 I looked on,' is the exclamation of the King of Naples, 
 when Caliban is driven in, along with the revellers who 
 have been plotting who should ' be king o' the isle ; ' and 
 on his brother, Sebastian, asking, "What things are 
 these, my Lord Antonio ? ' he replies : ' One of them is 
 a plain fish, and no doubt marketable.' There was 
 obviously something marine, or fish-like, in the aspect 
 of the island monster. ' In the dim obscurity of the 
 past,' says Darwin, ' we can see that the early 
 progenitor of all the vertebrae must have been an 
 aquatic animal ; ' in its earliest stages ' more like the 
 larvae of our existing marine Ascidians than any 
 other known form,' but destined in process of time, 
 
74 THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 through lancelot, ganoid, and other kindred tran- 
 sitions, to — 
 
 ' Suffer a sea change 
 Into something rich and strange.' 
 
 In Caliban there was undesignedly embodied, seemingly, 
 an ideal of the latest stages of such an evolution. Mr. 
 Joseph Hunter in dealing with this, as with other details, 
 in his ' Disquisition on Shakespeare's Tempest,' lets his 
 learning come into needless conflict with the idealisa- 
 tion of the poet. He will by no means admit of so 
 simple a solution of the name of Caliban as the mere 
 metathesis of cannibal, but goes in search for it among 
 the many names by which Gaspar, Melchior, and Bal- 
 thazar, the three magi, were known throughout medieval 
 Europe. In like fashion he finds his form to be of 
 Hebraistic origin, and not at all 'a pure creation of 
 Shakespeare's own mind.' He accordingly proceeds to 
 'compare him with the fish-idol of Ashdod, the Dagon 
 of the Philistines : — 
 
 " Sea-monster ! upward man, 
 And downward fish." — P. L., Bk. i. 
 
 ' Here we have also a figure half-fish, half-man ; ' and 
 so the learned commentator proceeds to questions of 
 Rabbinical literature ; discusses how the two elements 
 of fish and man coalesced in the form of Dagon ; quotes 
 Abarbinel and Kimchi ; and finally arrives at this con- 
 clusion : ' The true form of Dagon was a figure shaped 
 like a fish, only with feet and hands like a man. Now 
 this is precisely the form of Shakespeare's Caliban, " a 
 fish legged like a man, and his fins like arms." Nothing 
 can be more precise than the resemblance. The two 
 are in fact one, as to form. Caliban is therefore a kind 
 of tortoise, the paddles expanding in arms and hands, 
 legs and feet. And accordingly, before he appears upon 
 
THE MO.VSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 the stage, the audience are prepared for the strange 
 figure by the words of Prospero : — 
 
 " Come forth, thou tortoise ! " 
 
 ' How he became changed into a monkey, while the play 
 is full of allusions to his fish-like form,' the learned 
 critic leaves to others to explain. 
 
 There is an amusing literalness in this application 
 alike of the confused ideas of the drunken Trinculo, and 
 of the invective of Prospero. The wrathful magician 
 calls to the creature whom Miranda has been denouncing 
 as a villain, — ' What ho ! slave ! Caliban ! Thou earth, 
 thou ! ' and as he still lingers, muttering his refusal, 
 Prospero shouts, ' Come forth, I say ; come, thou tor- 
 toise ! when ? ' In a milder mood he might have said, 
 ' Come, thou snail ! ' expressing thereby the same idea 
 of tardy reluctant obedience, with equally little reference 
 to his form. 
 
 In reality, though by some scaly or fin-like appen- 
 dages, the idea of a fish, or sea-monster, is suggested 
 to all, the form of Caliban is, nevertheless, essentially 
 human. In a fashion more characteristic of Milton's 
 than of Shakespeare's wonted figure of speech, this is 
 affirmed in language that no doubt purposely suggests 
 the opposite idea to the mind, where Prospero says : — 
 
 ' Then was this island — 
 Save for the son that she did litter here, 
 A freckled whelp, hag-born, — not honoured with 
 A human shape.' 
 
 The double bearing of this is singularly expressive : — save 
 for this son of Sycorax, the island was not honoured 
 with a human shape. And, having thus indicated that 
 his shape was human, by the use of the terms ' whelp ' 
 and ' littered ' the brutish ideal is strongly impressed on 
 
76 THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 the mind. But his strictly anthropomorphic character 
 is delicately suggested in other ways. When Miranda 
 
 says of Ferdinand — 
 
 'This 
 Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first 
 That e'er I sigh'd for,' 
 
 she can only refer to her father and Caliban. In this the 
 poet purposely glances at the simplicity of the inex- 
 perienced maiden, to whom the repulsive monster had 
 hitherto been the sole ideal of manhood presented to her 
 mind, apart from the venerable Prospero. How far he 
 falls short of all manly perfections is indicated imme- 
 diately afterwards in the contrast instituted between him 
 and Ferdinand : — 
 
 ' Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he, 
 Having seen but him and Caliban. Foolish wench ! 
 To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
 And they to him are angels.' 
 
 This is, of course, the purposed exaggeration of Prospero, 
 in his fear ' lest too light winning make the prize light.' 
 But so soon as Miranda has become thoroughly im- 
 pressed with the image of her new-found lover, with ' no 
 ambition to see a goodlier man,' she ceases to think of 
 Caliban as a being to be associated with him in common 
 manhood. When, accordingly, she responds to Ferdi- 
 nand's admiring exclamation — 
 
 ' But you, O you, 
 So perfect and so peerless, are created 
 Of every creature's best,' 
 
 it is by a declaration which wholly ignores Caliban's 
 claims to rank in the same order of beings with those 
 among whom she had so recently classed him. 
 
 ' I do not know 
 One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen 
 More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
 And my dear father.' 
 
 In this way the gradual expansion of the ideas of this 
 innocent maiden are traced by the most delicate indi- 
 cations ; until at length, when Alonzo and his company 
 are introduced into Prospero's cell, where Ferdinand and 
 Miranda are seated, playing at chess, she exclaims — 
 
 ' Oh ! wonder ! 
 How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
 How beauteous mankind is! O b:ave new world 
 That has such people in't ! ' 
 
 The development being thus completed, and the per- 
 fection of true manhood fairly presented to her eye and 
 mind, Caliban is then introduced, with the awe-struck 
 exclamation — 
 
 ' O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed ! ' 
 
 and immediately thereafter we have the remark of 
 Antonio — ' One of them is a plain fish, and no doubt 
 marketable.' He is a 'thing of darkness,' as Prospero 
 calls him ; a being ' as disproportioned in his manners as 
 in his shape;' yet nevertheless so closely approximating, 
 in the main, to ordinary humanity, that Miranda had 
 associated him in her own mind, along with her father, 
 as ' honoured with a human shape.' 
 
 Again, we are furnished with a tolerably definite clue 
 to the age which Caliban has attained at the date of his 
 introduction to our notice. Littered on the island soon 
 after the reputed arrival of Sycorax, we learn that that 
 malignant hag, unable to subdue the delicate Ariel to 
 the execution of her abhorred commands, imprisoned 
 him in the cloven pine, where he groaned out twelve 
 wretched years, till relieved from his torments by the art 
 of Prospero. Next, it appears from the discourse of her 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 father to Miranda that she has grown up on that lonely 
 island for a like period. ' Twelve years since, Miranda, 
 thy father was the Duke of Milan, and a prince of 
 power.' But she was not then three years old, and so 
 the memory of that former state, and of the maidens 
 who tended her in her father's palace, has faded away, 
 ' far off, and like a dream ; ' while the banished Duke, 
 ' rapt in secret studies,' his library ' a dukedom 
 large enough,' had more and more perfected himself in 
 occult science, until he learns by its aid that now the 
 very crisis of their fates has come. Caliban is, there- 
 fore, to all appearance in his twenty-fifth year, as we 
 catch a first glimpse of this pre-Darwinian realisation of 
 the intermediate link between brute and man. It seems 
 moreover to be implied that he has already passed his 
 maturity. At an earlier age than that at which man 
 is capable of self-support, the creature had been aban- 
 doned to the solitude of his island-home, and learned 
 with his long claws to dig for pig-nuts ; and now, says 
 Prospero, ' as with age his body uglier grows, so his 
 mind cankers.' We may conceive of the huge canine 
 teeth and prognathous jaws which in old age assume 
 such prominence in the higher quadrumana. Darwin 
 claims for the bonnet-monkey ' the forehead which 
 gives to man his noble and intellectual appearance ; ' 
 and it is obvious that it was not wanting in Caliban : for 
 when he discovers the true quality of the drunken fools 
 he has mistaken for gods, his remonstrance is, ' we shall 
 all be turned to apes with foreheads villainous low.' 
 Here then is the highest developement of ' the beast 
 that wants discourse of reason.' He has attained to 
 all the maturity his nature admits of, and so is perfect 
 as the study of a living creature distinct from, yet next 
 in order below the level of humanity. 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAX. 
 
 The being thus called into existence for the purposes 
 of dramatic art is a creation well meriting the thought- 
 ful study of the modern philosopher, whatever deduc- 
 tions he may have based on the hypotheses of recent 
 speculation. Caliban's is not a brutalised, but a natural 
 brute mind. He is a being in whom the moral in- 
 stincts of man have no part ; but also in whom the 
 degradation of savage humanity is equally wanting. 
 He is a novel anthropoid of a high type — such as on 
 the hypothesis of evolution must have existed inter- 
 mediately between the ape and man, — in whom some 
 spark of rational intelligence has been enkindled, under 
 the tutorship of one who has already mastered the 
 secrets of nature. We must not be betrayed into a too 
 literal interpretation of the hyperboles of the wrathful 
 Duke of Milan. He is truly enough the ' freckled 
 whelp' whom Prospero has subdued to useful services, as 
 he might break in a wild colt, or rear a young wolf to 
 do his bidding, though in token of higher capacity he 
 has specially trained him to menial duties peculiar to 
 man. For not only does he ' fetch in our wood,' as 
 Prospero reminds his daughter, ' and serves in offices 
 that profit us,' but 'he does make our fire.' 
 
 No incident attending the discovery of the New World 
 is more significant than that of Columbus stationed on 
 the poop of the Santa Maria, his eye ranging along the 
 darkened horizon, when the sun had once more gone 
 down on the disappointed hopes of the voyagers. 
 Suddenly a light glimmered in the distance, once and 
 again reappeared to the eyes of Pedro Gutierrez and 
 others whom the great admiral summoned to catch this 
 gleam of realised hopes ; and then darkness and doubt 
 resumed their reign. But to Columbus all was light. 
 That feeble ray had told of the presence of the fire- 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAX. 
 
 maker, man. The natural habits of Caliban, however, 
 are those of the denizen of the woods. We may conceive 
 of him like the pongoes of Mayombe, described by 
 Purchas, who would come and sit by the travellers' 
 deserted camp-fire, but had not sense enough to re- 
 plenish it with fuel. We have no reason to think of him 
 as naturally a cooking or fire-using animal ; though, 
 under the training of Prospero, he proves to be so far in 
 advance of the most highly developed anthropoid as to 
 be capable of learning the art of fire-making. 
 
 ' We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never yields us 
 kind answers,' Duke Prospero says to his daughter in the 
 second scene of ' The Tempest,' where they first appear, 
 and Caliban is introduced ; but the gentle Miranda 
 recalls with shuddering revulsion the brutal violence of 
 their strange servitor, and exclaims with unwonted 
 vehemence : ' 'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on.' 
 But repulsive as he is, his services cannot be dispensed 
 with. ' As 'tis, we cannot miss him,' is Prospero's reply ; 
 and then, irritated alike by the sense of his obnoxious 
 instincts and reluctant service, he heaps opprobrious epi- 
 thets upon him : ' What, ho ! slave ! Caliban ! thou earth, 
 thou ! Come forth, I say, thou tortoise ! ' and at length, 
 as he still lingers, muttering in his den, Prospero breaks 
 out in wrath — ' Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil 
 himself upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! ' Schlegel 
 and Hazlitt accordingly speak in nearly the same terms 
 of ' the savage Caliban, half brute, half demon ; ' while 
 Gervinus — although elsewhere characterising him with 
 more appreciative acumen as ' an embryonic being de- 
 filed as it were by his earthly origin from the womb of 
 savage nature,' — does, with prosaic literalness, assume 
 that his mother was the witch Sycorax, and the devil 
 his father. Shakespeare assuredly aimed at the depiction 
 
THE MOXSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 of no such foul ideal. It is the recluse student of nature's 
 mysteries, and not the poor island monster that is 
 characteristically revealed in such harsh vituperations. 
 Prospero habitually accomplishes his projects through 
 the agency of enforced service. He has usurped a power 
 over the spirits of air, as well as over this earth-born 
 slave ; and both are constrained to unwilling obedience. 
 Hence he has learned to exact and compel service to 
 the utmost ; to count only on the agency of enslaved 
 power : until an imperious habit disguises the promptings 
 of a generous and kindly nature. With all his tender- 
 ness towards the daughter whose presence alone has 
 made life endurable to him, he flashes up in sudden ire 
 at the slightest interference with his plans for her ; as 
 when she interposes on behalf of Ferdinand, he exclaims 
 — ' Silence ! One word more shall make me chide thee, if 
 not hate thee.' He is indeed acting an assumed part, 
 'lest too light winning' should make the lover under- 
 value his prize ; but it is done in the imperious tone with 
 which habit has taught him to respond to the slightest 
 thwarting of his commands. This is still more apparent 
 in his dealings with the gentle Ariel, who owes to him 
 delivery from cruellest bondage. The relations subsisting 
 between them are indicated with rare art, and are as 
 tender as is compatible with beings of different elements. 
 The sylph is generally addressed in kindly admiring 
 terms, as ' my brave spirit,' ' my tricksy spirit,' ' my 
 delicate, my dainty Ariel' Yet on the slightest ques- 
 tioning of Prospero's orders, he is told : ' Thou liest, 
 malignant thing ! ' and on the mere show of murmuring 
 is threatened with durance more terrible than that from 
 which he has been set free. 
 
 In all this the characteristics of the magician are con- 
 sistently wrought out. According to the ideas of an age 
 G 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 which still believed in magic, he has usurped the lord- 
 ship of nature, and subdued to his will the spirits of the 
 elements, by presumptuous, if not altogether sinful arts. 
 They are retained in subjection by the constant exercise 
 of this supernatural power, and yield him only the reluc- 
 tant obedience of slaves. This has to be borne in re- 
 membrance, if we would not misinterpret the ebullitions 
 of imperious harshness on the part of Prospero towards 
 beings who can only be retained in subjection by such 
 enforced mastery. That Caliban regards him with 
 as malignant a hatred as the caged and muzzled, bear 
 may be supposed to entertain towards his keeper, is set 
 forth with clear consistency. Nor is it without abundant 
 reason. He is dealt with not merely as a 'lying slave, 
 whom stripes may move, not kindness ; ' but by his 
 master's magical art, the most familiar objects of nature 
 are made instruments of torture. They pinch, affright 
 him, pitch him into the mire, as deceptive fire-brands 
 mislead him in the dark, grind his joints with con- 
 vulsions, contort his sinews with cramp, and, as he says, 
 
 ' For every trifle are they set upon me : 
 Sometimes like apes, that mow and chatter at me, 
 And after bite me : then like hedgehogs, which 
 Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount 
 Their pricks at my footfall ; sometimes am I 
 All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues 
 Do hiss me into madness.' 
 
 To reconcile such harsh violence with the merciful 
 forgiving character of Prospero in his dealings with 
 those who, after having done him the cruellest wrongs, 
 are placed in his power, we have to conceive of the 
 outcast father and child compelled in their island 
 solitude to subdue a gorilla, or other brute menial, 
 to their service ; and, after in vain trying kindness, 
 driven in self-defence to protect themselves from its 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 brutal violence. The provocation which had roused the 
 unappeasable wrath of Miranda's father was indeed great; 
 but recognising the 'most poor credulous monster' as the 
 mere brute that he is, it involved no moral delinquency; 
 and therefore he is not to be regarded as devilish in 
 origin and inclinations, because he tells Stephano what 
 is literally true — ' I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, 
 that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.' He 
 accordingly invites the drunken butler to be his sup- 
 planter : — 
 
 ' If thy greatness will 
 Revenge it on him, — for I know thou darest, — 
 Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee.' 
 
 He gloats on the idea of braining the tyrant, just as an 
 abused human slave might, and indeed many a time has 
 done. 
 
 ' Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him 
 r the afternoon to sleep : there thou mayst brain him, 
 Having first seized his books ; or with a log 
 Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, 
 Or cut his weazand with thy knife. Remember 
 First to possess his books; for without them 
 He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
 One spirit to command : they all do hate him 
 As rootedly as I.' 
 
 All this would be hateful enough in a human being ; but 
 before we pronounce Caliban a ' demi-devil,' we must 
 place alongside of him the butler Stephano, who, with 
 no other provocation than that of a base nature, and 
 with no wrongs whatever to avenge, is ready with 
 the response — 'Monster, I will kill this man; his 
 daughter and I will be king and queen, and Trinculo 
 and thyself shall be viceroys ; ' and so the poor servant 
 monster already fancies his slavery at an end, and ex- 
 claims, ' Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! ' 
 
 He who undertakes to subdue the wild nature of ape, 
 G 2 
 
84 THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 leopard, wolf, or tiger, must not charge it with moral 
 delinquency when it yields to its native instincts. It 
 maybe, as modern science would teach us, that our most 
 human characteristics are but developed instincts of the 
 brute ; for the churl 
 
 ' Will let his coltish nature break 
 At seasons through the gilded pale.' 
 
 The savage, though familiarised with habits of civili- 
 sation, reverts with easy recoil to his barbarian licence ; 
 and the highest happiness which the tamed monster of 
 the island could conceive of, was once more to range in 
 unrestrained liberty, digging up the pig-nuts with his 
 long nails, or following the jay and the nimble marmoset 
 over rock and tree. But there is nothing malignant in 
 this ; and that nothing essentially repulsive is to be 
 assumed as natural to him is apparent from the very 
 invectives of Prospero : — 
 
 ' Thou most lying slave, 
 Whom stripes may move, not kindness : I have used thee, 
 Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodged thee 
 In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate 
 The honour of my child.' 
 
 Leaving aside, then, the exaggerations of the incensed 
 Prospero, which have their legitimate place in the de- 
 velopment of the drama, let us study, as far as may be, 
 the actual characteristics of the strange islander. His 
 story is told, briefly indeed, yet with adequate minute- 
 ness. Prospero retorts on him the recapitulation of 
 kindnesses which had been repaid with outrage never to 
 be forgiven : — 
 
 ' Abhorred slave, 
 Which any print of goodness will not take, 
 Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, 
 Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour 
 One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, 
 Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like 
 
THE MOXSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 A thing most brutish, I endowed thy purposes 
 With words that made them known. But thy vile race, 
 Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures 
 Could not abide to be with.' 
 
 In other words, he proved to be simply an animal, 
 actuated by the ordinary unrestrained passions and 
 desires which in the brute involve no moral evil, and 
 but for the presence of Miranda would have attracted 
 no special notice. Situated as he actually is, he is not 
 to be judged of wholly from the invectives of his master. 
 With brute instincts which have brought on him the 
 condign punishment of Prospero, and a savage nature 
 which watches, like any wild creature under harsh 
 restraint, for escape and revenge, his feelings are never- 
 theless rather those of the captive bear than of ' one 
 who treasures up a wrong.' There is in him still a dog- 
 like aptitude for attachment, a craving even for the 
 mastership of some higher nature, and an appreciation of 
 kindness not unlike that of the domesticated dog, though 
 conjoined with faculties of intelligent enjoyment more 
 nearly approximating to humanity. When compelled 
 reluctantly to emerge from his den, he enters muttering 
 curses ; yet even they have a smack of nature in them. 
 They are in no ways devilish, but such as the wild 
 creature exposed to the elements may be supposed to 
 recognise as the blight and mildew with which Nature 
 gratifies her ill-will. He imprecates on his enslaver — 
 
 ' As wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed 
 With raven's feather from unwholesome fen 
 Drop on you both ! A south-west blow on ye 
 And blister you all o'er ! ' 
 
 Prospero threatens him with cramps, side-stitches that 
 shall pen his breath up, urchins to prick him, and 
 pinching pains more stinging than the bees ; but his 
 
86 THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 answer has no smack of fiendishness, though he does 
 retort with bootless imprecations. He stolidly replies — 
 
 ' I must eat my dinner. 
 This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
 Which thou takest from me. When thou earnest first, 
 Thou strokedst me, and madest much of me ; wouldst give me 
 Water with berries in't; and teach me how 
 To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
 That burn by day and night ; and then I loved thee, 
 And shew'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, 
 The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile ; 
 Cursed be I that did so! All the charms 
 Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! 
 For I am all the subjects that you have, 
 Which first was mine own king ; and here you sty me 
 In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
 The rest o' the island.' 
 
 Prospero replies to him as a creature ' whom stripes may- 
 move, not kindness,' who had been treated companion- 
 ably, with human care, till his brute instincts compelled 
 the subjection of him to such restraint. He describes 
 the pity with which he at first regarded the poor monster, 
 whose brutish gabble he had trained to the intelligent 
 speech which is now used for curses. In all this do we 
 not realise the ideal anthropoid in the highest stage of 
 Simian evolution, stroked and made much of like a 
 favourite dog, fed with dainties, and at length taught to 
 frame his brute cries into words by which his wishes 
 could find intelligible utterance. The bigger and the 
 lesser light receive names, and are even traced, as we 
 may presume, to their origin. But the intellectual de- 
 velopment compasses, at the utmost, a very narrow 
 range ; and when the drunken Stephano plies him with 
 his bottle of sack, the dialogue runs in this characteristic 
 fashion : — 
 
 ' Steph. How now, moon-calf ? how does thine ague ? 
 Cal. Hast thou not dropt from heaven ? 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 Stepb. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I was the man in the 
 moon, when time was. 
 
 Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. 
 My mistress shewed me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush. 
 
 Steph. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will furnish it anon 
 with new contents : swear. 
 
 Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster ! I am afeard 
 of him ! A very weak monster ! The man i' the moon ! A most poor 
 credulous monster ! Well drawn, monster, in good sooth ! 
 
 Cal. I'll shew thee every fertile inch o' the island ; 
 And I will kiss thy foot: 1 pr'ythee, be my god.' 
 
 But we presently see Caliban in another and wholly 
 different aspect. Like the domesticated animal, which 
 he really is, he has certain artificial habits and tastes 
 superinduced in him ; but whenever his natural instincts 
 reveal themselves we see neither a born devil, nor a be- 
 ing bearing any likeness to degraded savage humanity. 
 He is an animal at home among the sounds and scenes 
 of living nature. 'Pray you, tread softly, that the 
 blind mole may not hear a footfall,' is his exhorta- 
 tion to his drunken companions as they approach 
 the entrance of Prospero's cell. When Trinculo frets 
 him, his threatened revenge is, 'He shall drink nought 
 but brine ; for I'll not show him where the quick freshes 
 are ; ' and he encourages his equally rude companion 
 with the assurance — 
 
 'Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, 
 Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. 
 Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
 Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices, 
 That, if I then had waked after long sleep, 
 Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, 
 The clouds, methought, would open, and shew riches 
 Ready to drop upon me ; that, when I waked, 
 I cried to dream again.' 
 
 To the drunken butler and his comrade, Caliban is ' a 
 most poor credulous monster ! a puppy-headed, scurvy, 
 
88 THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 abominable monster ! a most ridiculous monster ! ' and 
 when, by their aid, he has drowned his tongue in sack, 
 he is no more to them than a debauched fish. But 
 Shakespeare has purposely placed the true anthropo- 
 morphoid alongside of these types of degraded humanity, 
 to shew the contrast between them. He is careful to 
 draw a wide and strongly-marked distinction between 
 the coarse prosaic brutality of debased human nature, 
 and the inferior, but in no ways degraded, brute nature 
 of Caliban. ' He is,' says Prospero, ' as disproportioned 
 in his manners as in his shape.' He had associated for 
 years in friendly dependence, lodged with Prospero in 
 his own cell ; for we have to remember that Miranda 
 was but three years old when her father took in hand 
 the taming of the poor monster, and used him with 
 human care, until compelled to drive him forth to his 
 rocky prison. His narrow faculties have thus been 
 forced into strange development ; but though the 
 wrathful Prospero pronounces him a creature ' which any 
 print of goodness will not take, being capable of all ill,' 
 that is by no means the impression which the poet 
 designs to convey. Man, by reason of his higher nature 
 which invites him to aspire, and his moral sense which 
 clearly presents to him the choice between good and 
 evil, is capable of a degradation beyond reach of the 
 brute. The very criminality which has so hardened 
 Prospero's heart against his poor slave, involves to him- 
 self no sense of moral wrong. 'O ho! O ho! would it had 
 been done ! ' is his retort to Prospero ; ' thou didst 
 prevent me ; I had peopled else this isle with Calibans.' 
 
 The distinction between the coarse sensuality of 
 degraded humanity, and this most original creation of 
 poetic fancy, with its gross brute-mind, its limited 
 faculties, its purely animal cravings and impulses, is 
 
 
THE MONSTER C A LIB, IX. 89 
 
 maintained throughout. The first scene opens with the 
 sailors, released from all ordinary deference and restraint 
 by the perils of the storm, shouting and blaspheming in 
 reckless desperation ; and no sooner are they ashore 
 than Caliban is brought into closest relations with the 
 still more worthless topers who win his admiration, till 
 experience teaches him — 
 
 ' What a thrice-double ass 
 Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, 
 And worship this dull fool ! ' 
 
 The dog-like attachment which had drawn him to 
 Prospero, till harsh treatment and restraint eradicated 
 this feeling, and utterly alienated him from his first 
 master, is transferred to the next being who treats him 
 with any appearance of kindness. ' I'll shew thee every 
 fertile inch o' the island,' is the first form in which his 
 gratitude finds utterance ; 
 
 'I'll shew thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; 
 I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. 
 A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! 
 I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
 Thou wondrous man.' 
 
 The drunken butler, with his bottle of sack, seems 
 to the poor monster to have dropped from heaven, or 
 rather from the moon, where once his mistress showed 
 him that favourite myth of old popular folk-lore, the 
 man-in-the-moon, with his dog and bush : and so he 
 fawns on him as a dog might on an old acquaintance. 
 5 A most ridiculous monster,' thinks Trinculo, ' to make 
 a wonder of a poor drunkard ; ' but Caliban is ready to 
 lavish all his dog-like fidelity on his new-found master. 
 
 ' I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow ; 
 And I, with my long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts ; 
 Shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
 To snare the nimble marmoset ; I'll bring thee 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 To clustering filberts; and sometimes I'll get thee 
 Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me ? ' 
 
 If we can conceive of a baboon endowed with speech, 
 and moved by gratitude, have we not here the very- 
 ideas to which its nature would prompt it. It is a crea- 
 ture native to the rocks and the woods, at home in the 
 haunts of the jay and marmoset : a fellow-creature of 
 like nature and sympathies with themselves. The talk 
 of the ship's crew is not only coarse, but even what it is 
 customary to call brutal ; while that of Stephano and 
 Trinculo accords with their debased and besotted 
 humanity. Their language never assumes a rhythmical 
 structure, or rises to poetic thought. But Caliban is in 
 perfect harmony with the rhythm of the breezes and the 
 tides. His thoughts are essentially poetical, within the 
 range of his lower nature; and so his speech is, for the most 
 part, in verse. He has that poetry of the senses which 
 seems natural to his companionship with the creatures of 
 the forest and the seashore. Even his growl, as he retorts 
 impotent curses on the power that has enslaved him, 
 is rhythmical. Bogs, fens, and the infectious exhalations 
 that the sun sucks up, embody his ideas of evil ; and his 
 acute senses are chiefly at home with the dew, and the 
 fresh springs, the clustering filberts, the jay in his leafy 
 nest, or the blind mole in its burrow. 
 
 No being of all that people the Shakespearean drama 
 more thoroughly suggests the idea of a pure creation of 
 the poetic fancy than Caliban. He has a nature of his 
 own essentially distinct from the human beings with 
 whom he is brought in contact. He seems indeed the 
 half-human link between the brute and man ; and 
 realises, as no degraded Bushman or Australian savage 
 can do, a conceivable intermediate stage of the anthro- 
 pomorphous existence, as far above the most highly 
 
THE MONSTER CALIBAN. 
 
 organised ape as it falls short of rational humanity. 
 He excites a sympathy such as no degraded savage 
 could. We feel for the poor monster, so helplessly in 
 the power of the stern Prospero, as for some caged wild 
 beast pining in cruel captivity, and rejoice to think of 
 him at last free to range in harmless mastery over his 
 island solitude. He provokes no more jealousy as the 
 inheritor of Prospero's usurped lordship over his island 
 home than the caged bird which has escaped to the 
 free forest again. His is a type of development essen- 
 tially non-human, — though, for the purposes of the drama, 
 endued to an extent altogether beyond the highest at- 
 tainments of the civilised, domesticated animal, with 
 the exercise of reason and the use of language ; — a 
 conceivable civilisation such as would, to a certain 
 extent, run parallel to that of man, but could never 
 converge to a common centre. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 ' Titled with many a name, almighty lord of immortals, 
 Zeus, thou crown of creation, whose sway by law is directed, 
 Hail ! It is right and just for mortals thus to approach thee : 
 We are thy offspring. .We alone, of thy varied dependents 
 Living and moving on earth, are gifted with speech to address thee.' 
 Bymn of Cleanihes to Zeus. 
 
 A PROPOSITION of no slight significance in the 
 argument for man's evolution from the brute is 
 that there is no evidence of his having been 'aboriginally 
 endowed with the ennobling belief in the existence of an 
 omnipotent God.' It seems more than doubtful, in the 
 process of developed ideas and beliefs assigned to him, 
 whether there is any room at a later stage for his 
 receiving such belief as an ' endowment ' or a revelation. 
 If, as the whole line of argument assumes, the character- 
 istics of humanity are no more than the developed 
 instincts of the brute, and all that is highest in our 
 nature is but an evolution from the very lowest and 
 meanest phenomena of mere vitality, the absence of any 
 such ennobling belief in all the stages of life but the 
 latest, is inevitable. The growing difficulty, indeed, is 
 not so much to find man's place in nature, as to find 
 any place left for mind : either that of the Supreme 
 Omnipotence, or the immortal entity which it has been 
 habitual to conceive of as the body's guest. 
 
 It is not merely the pedigree of this highest verte- 
 brate animal, Man, which is undoubtingly traced back 
 to one of the lowest classes in the sub-kingdom of the 
 mollusca. His intellect, his conscience, and his religious 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 93 
 
 beliefs are but the latest ramifications of that primitive 
 Ascidian germ which clung to the rocks on the shores of 
 inconceivably ancient seas. Nor, indeed, must we think 
 of the Ascidian as of the primeval seed-vessel of animal 
 life, with all the possibilities of evolution embodied in it 
 in embryo. The pedigree has indeed been carried back 
 wondrous lengths ; but having got so far, why stop 
 there ? The distinctions between the moluscoid on its 
 tidal rock and the vegetable lichens beyond reach of the 
 waves, is trifling compared with later feats of evolution. 
 Life is present in both ; and if conscience, religion, the 
 apprehension of truth, the belief in God and immortality, 
 are all no more than developed or transformed animal 
 sensations ; and intellect is only the latest elaboration of 
 the perceptions of the senses : it need not surprise us that 
 inquiry has already been extended in search of relations 
 between the inorganic and the organic. On this new 
 hypothesis of evolution ' what a piece of work is man ! ' 
 and as for God, it is hard to see what is left for Him to 
 do in the universe. 
 
 But if we are limited to the conception of our physical 
 organisation as the product of evolution, while the living 
 soul is still allowed its divine origin, then, so far as 
 creation is concerned, it matters little whether we are 
 assumed to be literally made of the dust of the ground, 
 or to have originated in Ascidian germs, and been at 
 latest evolved from apes. The one transformation seems 
 to be no less supernatural than the other. In so far as 
 it is strictly a physiological and anatomical question, let 
 physical science have untrammelled scope in deciding it ; 
 but when it becomes a psychical question, it is not as a 
 mere matter of sentiment that the mind revolts at a 
 theory of evolution which professes to recognise its own 
 emanation as no more than the accumulation of im- 
 
94 CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 pressions and sensations of the nervous organisation 
 gathered in the slow lapse of ages, until at last it has 
 culminated in a moral sense. Our belief in a great 
 First Cause is inextricably bound up with our belief 
 in the human soul : mind first, then matter. It is an 
 instinct of our being which arms us with patience 
 against a thousand ills which the brute escapes from, 
 because he 'wants discourse of reason,' and neither 
 'looks before nor after.' Hence it is that we now 
 turn with an altogether novel interest to Shakespeare's 
 unprejudiced realisation of what is conceivable as the 
 product of highest evolution in the brute. 
 
 But a living poet, of rare objective power, yet not un- 
 influenced by the spirit of his age, has aimed at carrying 
 us a step further in the comprehension of the ideal brute- 
 precursor, if not the progenitor, of man. Shakespeare 
 fashioned for us the 'beast Caliban' in the sullenness of 
 his harsh enslavement, hankering after the fresh springs 
 and brine-pits ; or pining for the music of the winds as 
 he goes a-nesting, or the long wash of the billows while 
 he gathers the scamels from the rock, and chases the 
 nimble crabs when tides are low. The isle is full of 
 noises ; and though he has no linnet-note of his own, 
 nor any such powers as those by which, according to 
 Audubon, that Orpheus polyglottus, the American mock- 
 ing-bird, puts to silence the Virginia nightingale and 
 other mortified songsters of the woods, yet the sounds 
 of nature hum welcomely about his ears, and soothe him 
 to sleep. 
 
 But it is not Caliban who sleeps, but Prospero 
 and Miranda : — slumbering in full confidence that he 
 drudges at their task ; — while our other poet, Robert 
 Browning, pictures the poor monster, constrained by the 
 very luxury of leisure snatched from toil, to give such 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 reasoning powers as are developed in him a wider sweep, 
 while he lets the rank tongue blossom into speech. The 
 opening picture is one of sheer animal enjoyment : — 
 
 ' Will sprawl, now that the heat of day is best, 
 Flat on his belly, in the pit's much mire, 
 With elbows wide, fists clenched to prop his chin ; 
 And while he kicks both feet in the cool slush, 
 And feels about his spine small eft-things course, 
 Run in and out each arm, and make him laugh ; 
 And while above his head a pompion-plant, 
 Coating the cave -top as a brow its eye, 
 Creeps down to touch and tickle hair and beard, 
 And now a flower drops with a bee inside, 
 And now a fruit to snap at, catch, and crunch : 
 He looks out o'er yon sea which sunbeams cross 
 And recross till they weave a spider-web, 
 (Meshes of fire, some great fish breaks at times,) 
 And talks to his own self, howe'er he please, 
 Touching that other, whom his dam called God.' 
 
 In the traditions of that prehistoric island-time, before 
 Caliban had been endowed with speech, or Duke Pros- 
 pero had come to rule with supernatural authority over 
 the elemental powers, there had been impressed on that 
 dim mind some perception of a power called divine. The 
 modern students of man's place in nature have been 
 much perplexed on the question of religion as an as- 
 sumed attribute of man. Any doctrine of final causes is 
 not to be tolerated ; and yet that out of nothing some- 
 thing has come, with all the evolutions, physical and 
 and moral, of that entity, is a kind of positivism against 
 which reason rebels. It is legitimate, therefore, to in- 
 quire whether the idea of God is innate in the human 
 mind ; or if it be true, as has undoubtedly been affirmed 
 by travellers, missionaries, and scientific observers, that 
 there are races of men altogether devoid of religion. ' If,' 
 says Sir John Lubbock, 'the mere sensation of fear, and 
 the recognition that there are probably other beings 
 
96 CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 more powerful than man, are sufficient alone to consti- 
 tute a religion, then we must, I think, admit that religion 
 is general to the human race.'' But, in reality, he sees in 
 it no more than a child's dread of the darkness, which no 
 one regards as a token of religious belief; or if it be, 
 then the proof of the general existence of religion 
 founded on this sensation of fear, will no longer limit it 
 among the things peculiar to man. The feelings with 
 which a dog regards its master partake of the like 
 mingling of awe and dependent regard, as that which 
 constitutes much of human religious feeling ; and as for 
 rites and religious services, Sir John considers the baying 
 of a dog to the moon as much an act of worship as some 
 ceremonies which travellers have described as religious. 
 
 If it could be shown that there is actually present in 
 the savage mind such a mingled sense of awe and depen- 
 dence on an unseen power as the dog recognises in re- 
 lation to his master, there would remain no further room 
 for doubt as to the existence of religion in the case. 
 The late Dr. John Duncan, of New College, Edinburgh, 
 or Rabbi Duncan as he is more generally styled, when 
 bringing his acute metaphysical turn of speculation to 
 bear on his own favourite dog, came to a conclusion that 
 may seem wonderfully acceptable to the modern evolu- 
 tionist. He recognised in little Topsy, not only what 
 seemed to him many undeveloped elements of human 
 nature, but something resembling a conscience toward 
 man ; and he was wont to quote with favour the dictum 
 of an old Puritan divine, that ' Man is a little god unto 
 the lower animals ; their waiting eyes are fixed upon 
 him, and he giveth them their meat in due season.' As 
 to the state of mind of the dog when he bays the moon, 
 or its precise ideas in relation to that ' lesser light,' we 
 must await the revelations of some 'unusually wise' 
 
calibaa t , the metaphysician, 
 
 canine philosopher. This, however, appears for our pre- 
 sent purpose, according to the revelations of the poets, 
 that there had been impressed on the dull brain of 
 Caliban some idea of a supernatural, though by no 
 means omnipotent power. Judging of supernal powers, 
 and the Divine attributes, solely by his own experiences, 
 the conclusions he arrives at are confused enough. He 
 has far-off remembrances of Sycorax, terrible in her 
 sorceries, unmitigable in her rage ; one so strong that 
 she could control the moon, and command the ebb and 
 flow of the tides : but yet altogether beneficent in her 
 dealings with him. Very different are his perceptions 
 of another overruling power, the tyrant Prospero, who, 
 as he says, ' by sorcery got this isle, from me he got it,' 
 and who continues to the present hour to manifest his 
 omnipotence in very terrible judgments for every trifle. 
 So far as Caliban's experiences went, this abhorred 
 hag, the worker of sorceries too terrible for human 
 utterance, was, according to his crude' Manichean creed, 
 the representative of beneficent superhuman power ; 
 while the sage Prospero — who with his nobler reason 
 against his fury takes part, and recognises a choicer 
 action in virtue than in vengeance, — appeared to him 
 a malignant and wholly evil power. 
 
 But besides those two potencies, of both of which 
 Caliban has had actual sight and experience, there is 
 that dam's god, Setebos. Prospero was not only a super- 
 human power, but to him was all powerful. To resist 
 his will was impossible. 
 
 ' His art is of such power, 
 It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
 And make a vassal of him.' 
 
 Yet that is a power not wholly mysterious. Caliban 
 
 has learned to refer it, not to him, but to his art ; and 
 
 H 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 believes that, without his books he would not have one 
 spirit to command : ' They all do hate him as rootedly 
 as I.' But these books are the symbols, as well as the 
 instruments of moral supremacy. So long as he holds 
 these, the spirits may hate, but, like himself, they must 
 tremble and obey ; for his power is such that it can con- 
 trol even the divine Setebos, — a very puzzling state of 
 things for such a mind to ponder over. In early days, 
 when Prospero stroked and made much of his poor slave, 
 Caliban yielded him a dog-like fidelity, and showed him 
 all the qualities of the island. Now that their relations 
 have so wholly changed, he hates him according to the 
 hate of ' a thing most brutish,' and feels neither awe nor 
 compunction, but only pleasure, at the idea that Stephano 
 
 should , ,, rv , . 
 
 ' With a log 
 
 Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, 
 
 Or cut his weazand with his knife.' 
 
 Setebos is a wholly different being from this : an invisi- 
 ble and very vague divinity, on whom no such attempts 
 are possible, inferior though he is in some sense to the 
 artful Prospero. . Nevertheless it is inevitable that when 
 Caliban takes to thinking of that other whom his dam 
 called God, he should, like metaphysicians of more 
 matured powers and higher advantages, realise little 
 more than a being ' altogether such an one as himself.' 
 And yet his ideas are confused and obscure, as is inevitable 
 in the best attempts at reasoning on such supra-physical 
 matters. Prospero's power is a very tangible reality to 
 him : a power that admitted of no thought of resistance 
 by its most unwilling slave ; and so he doubted not it 
 could make a vassal of Setebos as well as of his poor 
 self. But in these puzzlings of his, which the poet 
 Browning records for us, over the origin of his little 
 island-world, and the bigger and the less light that burn 
 
C A LIB AX, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 99 
 
 by day and night for its special benefit, the vague un- 
 seen Setebos seems fitter creator than the magician ; 
 though as for the stars, they may be ' the poetry of 
 heaven ; ' but in his present prosaic mood they do not 
 seem much to concern him or his island, and so he 
 fancies they may have come otherwise, it not being 
 needful for the poor puzzled philosopher to say how. 
 
 ' Setebos, Setebos, and Setebos ! 
 Thinketh He dwelleth i' the cold o' the moon. 
 Thinketh He made it, with the sun to match, 
 But not the stars ; the stars came otherwise ; 
 Only made clouds, winds, meteors, such as that : 
 Also this isle, what lives and grows thereon, 
 And snaky sea which rounds and ends the same.' 
 
 If Setebos does indeed dwell in the cold moon, then 
 Caliban, to whom cold is very unwelcome, can con- 
 ceive of how such creation might come of the very 
 restlessness of being ill at ease. The cold o' the moon 
 is his dwelling-place. He cannot change his cold, nor 
 cure its ache ; and so, in an uneasy way, he betakes 
 himself to making clouds, meteors, the sun itself, to 
 match his moon. For has not Caliban, as he sprawled 
 in the heat of the day, on the breezy rocks that over- 
 look the strand, 
 
 ' Spied an icy iish 
 That longed to 'scape the rock-stream where she lived. 
 And thaw herself within the lukewarm brine 
 O' the lazy sea her stream thrusts far amid, 
 A crystal spike 'twixt two warm walls of wave ; 
 Only she ever sickened, found repulse 
 At the other kind of water, not her life, 
 (Green-dense and dim-delicious, bred o' the sun,) 
 Flounced back from bliss she was not born to breathe, 
 And in her old bounds buried her despair, 
 Hating and loving warmth alike.' 
 
 And so, judging accordingly — and like more learned 
 
 philosophers sometimes mistaking deduction for induc- 
 
 H 2 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 tion, — Caliban surmises that he, in some such mood, 
 made the sun, this isle, and so much else : fowl, beast, 
 and creeping thing : — 
 
 'Yon otter, sleek-wet, black, lithe as a leech ; 
 Yon auk, one fire-eye in a ball of foam, 
 That floats and feeds ; a certain badger brown 
 He hath watched hunt with that slant white-wedge eye 
 By moonlight ; and the pie with the long tongue 
 That pricks deep into oakwarts for a worm, 
 And says a plain word when she finds her prize, 
 But will not eat the ants ; the ants themselves 
 That build a wall of seeds and settled stalks 
 About their hole — He made all these and more, 
 Made all we see, and us, in spite: how else?' 
 
 But our modern poet has other purposes than merely 
 to ingraft some island-details on that pure creative 
 conception in which the genius of Shakespeare has 
 revealed its mastery. If not metaphysical, like poor 
 Caliban, he at any rate has Bridgewater philosophers, 
 metaphysical realists, theologians — Calvinistic and anti- 
 Calvinistic, — all in view. Setebos, the divine power in 
 the island mythology — great First Cause, if not infinite 
 originator, — is being comprehended by this very finite 
 metaphysician. For instead of contentedly enjoying 
 his comfortable sprawl in the mire, now that the heat 
 of the day is at its best : Caliban suddenly finds him- 
 self involved in all the subtleties of the Ego and 
 Non-ego, and much else of a like kind, with results very 
 much akin to the experiences of those whom Milton 
 describes as retiring apart from their fellows who sang 
 the songs of a lost heaven, and there they 
 'Reasoned high 
 
 Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate ; 
 
 Fix'd fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute ; 
 
 And found no end, in wandering mazes lost. 
 
 Of good and evil much they argued then.' 
 
 The reasoning, though pronounced ' vain wisdom all, and 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 false philosophy,' may have suited metaphysical devils ; 
 but it must be owned that Caliban, as the representative 
 missing link — no ' born devil,' in spite of Prospero's 
 imprecations, but only a poor half-witted brute, — gets 
 terribly out of his depth. The modern searchers into 
 the origin of man, and of his civilisation, marshal an 
 imposing array of witnesses to the existence of tribes of 
 men wholly destitute of any trace of religion. Some of 
 their evidence is more than doubtful. We have only to 
 remember one memorable example, to understand how 
 men apply their own standards of religion to test its 
 existence amongst others. 
 
 In 1617, Dr. Laud, then Archdeacon of Huntingdon, 
 paid his first visit to Presbyterian Scotland, as chap- 
 lain to King James ; and finding there no such forms, 
 ceremonies, or artistically-devised ritual as constituted 
 to his mind the very essence of worship, he pro- 
 nounced with grief of heart that there was ' no religion 
 at all, that he could see ! ' We will pit Dr. Laud 
 against the most reliable witnesses of the Evolutionists, 
 as a trained expert in the discernment of visible re- 
 ligions ; and yet other very trustworthy authorities 
 seem to indicate that, in Scotland in that year, 161 7, 
 and in subsequent years, the Scots really had some sort 
 of thing deserving the name of religion, though Dr. 
 Land could not see it. 
 
 Among savages religion is not a thing to be talked 
 of. Gods, manitous, spirits, the dead, are not to be 
 named, save under the extremest urgency. The mere 
 wayfaring traveller's report is valueless. The missionary 
 has repeatedly found that he has not only used in his 
 teaching, but given a place in his native version of the 
 Scriptures, to religious terms that he has wholly mis- 
 applied. The ideas themselves are undefined, and 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 are apt to elude the questioner altogether, when he 
 insists on a definition. We have ourselves tried, in 
 converse with the Indians of North America, to get at 
 their ideas on much simpler things than God, creation, 
 free-will, or the belief in a future life ; and found it 
 no easy matter to get them to entertain questions 
 foreign to their ordinary current of thought. We were 
 told by a Christian missionary who had laboured for 
 years among the Chippeway Indians, preaching to 
 them at first with the aid of a native interpreter, that 
 he was shocked, when at a later date he listened to 
 similar renderings of a young missionary's address into 
 the language now familiar to him, to discover that 
 nearly all the ideas most essential to the doctrines 
 they sought to inculcate were lost in the process. The 
 interpreter translated them into the pagan notions 
 of the tribe, and so the Christian element was well- 
 nigh eliminated, while the preacher complacently 
 waited for the fruits of the seed he fancied to have 
 been sown. 
 
 It is necessary to know what shape the ideas of the 
 supernatural have assumed to the savage mind, before 
 it can be appealed to in any intelligible language. 
 The difficulty indeed may be tested by trying to ob- 
 tain an intelligent definition of an over-ruling provi- 
 dence from the ordinary untutored mind. Put, for ex- 
 ample, to the English peasant, unaccustomed to abstract 
 thought, some of the questions on election, effectual 
 calling, and the like points of Calvinistic theology, con- 
 tained in " The Shorter Catechism " prepared by the 
 Westminster divines for the use of children. You are 
 speaking his own language, and have a good many 
 ideas in common ; yet the answers will be vague and 
 intangible enough. They may, however, help us to 
 
CALIBAN THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 understand how the savage mind may be interrogated 
 in reference to its ideas of God, religion, a future state, 
 creation, life, death, and much else, with results exceed- 
 ingly misleading and deceptive. 
 
 But however we may estimate the bearings of the 
 evidence adduced, there is something very touching in 
 the first narrative quoted by Sir John Lubbock in 
 proof of the total absence of religious belief in the 
 earlier savage stage. M. Bik is the authority ; and 
 his subject is the Arafura of one of the islands lying be- 
 tween New Guinea and North Australia. ' It is evident,' 
 says the narrator, ' that the Arafuras of Vorkay possess 
 no religion whatever. Of the immortality of the soul 
 they have not the least conception. To all my in- 
 quiries on this subject they answered, 'No Arafura has 
 ever returned to us after death, therefore we know 
 nothing of a future state ; and this is the first time we 
 have heard of it.' The questioner was a passing 
 voyager. of the Dourga, speaking through an interpre- 
 ter, and as ignorant of the Arafura ideas of the soul, 
 the future state, and other matters referred to, as if 
 some German Kant were to demand of an English 
 peasant concerning his belief in the empirical reality 
 and transcendental ideality of space and time; or required 
 from him a definition of his ideas of a priori intuition. 
 His answer would be very much after the fashion of 
 the Arafura, when desired to state his notions as to 
 the creation of the world. ' None of us are aware of 
 this ; we have never heard anything about it, and 
 therefore do not know who has done it all.' The 
 German philosopher might report very truly that he could 
 not discover in the English peasant any notion of space 
 or time, or indeed any innate ideas at all ; and yet he 
 would convey a very false impression of the peasant's 
 
io 4 CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 actual notions and beliefs. But M. Bik thus proceeds : 
 ' To convince myself more fully respecting their want of 
 knowledge of a Supreme Being, I demanded of them 
 on what they called for help in their need, when, far 
 from their homes, engaged in the trepang fishery, their 
 vessels were overtaken by violent tempests, and no 
 human power could save them, their wives and chil- 
 dren, from destruction. The eldest among them, after 
 having consulted the others, answered that they knew 
 not on whom they could call for assistance, but begged 
 me, if I knew, to be so good as to inform them.' 
 
 This is very tender and touching in its childlike 
 simplicity ; but the mode adopted by the voyager to 
 convince himself of the point aimed at was exceed- 
 ingly deceptive. They no more prayed to God, or any 
 unseen power, after his fashion, than the Presbyterians 
 of Scotland did after the high Anglican fashion of 
 Laud. But this by no means proves that they had 
 no faith in the supernatural, no altar, like that of the 
 Athenians, to the unknown God. As to the poor 
 Arafuras' idea of a divine refuge in their hour of need, 
 the savage mind is slow indeed to realise the idea of 
 beneficent power. In truth the strongest argument 
 against the evolution of the Christian religion from 
 our own sensations and perceptions, is that it so utterly 
 transcends the purest aspirations of the human soul, 
 as to make it vain to imagine they could ever beget 
 a ' Sermon on the Mount.' ' An eye for an eye, and 
 a tooth for a tooth,' seems thoroughly human ; but 
 ' Blessed are the merciful,' ' the pure in heart,' and all 
 the maxims of the Great Teacher, partake not of the 
 humanity either of the first or of this nineteenth century. 
 
 An Indian chief on Lake Superior explained to my- 
 self the difference between the white man's God and 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 his own Manitou, in this simple way : ' When the lake 
 rises in a storm, and the north-west wind howls 
 through the trees, and lightnings kindle them, we 
 know that is the great Manitou, and we are afraid, 
 and hide ourselves, We offer him much tobacco ; we 
 try to avert his anger ; and are at peace again when 
 he is gone. As for you white men, you call on your 
 God, and want him to come to you. Are you not 
 afraid of him ? ' The idea of the All-powerful being 
 also the All-loving pertains alone to Christianity. The 
 savage's conception of divine power in any sense is 
 necessarily associated with the only moral qualities 
 actively present in himself ; and as the strong savage 
 tyrannises over the weak, and is very indifferent to his 
 privations, his sufferings, or wrongs, he finds it hard 
 to realise any idea of omnipotence dissociated from 
 the disposition to abuse such power. The moral sense 
 is weak, the passions are strong ; and love, generosity, 
 or any golden rule of charity and beneficence is apt 
 to appear to him an evidence of weakness rather than 
 an expression of power. ' The mighty God, even the 
 Lord hath spoken, and called the earth from the 
 rising of the sun unto the going down thereof. Out 
 of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God hath shined.' 
 So says the inspired Hebrew poet. But when, as with 
 the poor Arafura savage, ' God hath not spoken a 
 single word ;' and he has been left to his own heart's 
 devices, to turn his strength to cruelty, then the utter- 
 ance might follow from the same song of praise, ' These 
 things hast thou done, and I kept silence. Thou 
 thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as 
 thyself.' 
 
 Another French traveller, M. Arbrousset, gives a 
 very different account of the searching of Sekesa, an 
 
106 CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 intelligent Kaffir, to find out God, while he still dwelt 
 a lonely savage among the wilds of southern Africa. 
 ' Your tidings,' he said, ' are what I want ; and I was 
 seeking before I knew you, as you shall hear. Twelve 
 years ago, I went to feed my flocks. The weather 
 was hazy. I sat down upon a rock and asked myself 
 sorrowful questions : yes, sorrowful, because I was un- 
 able to answer them. " Who has touched the stars 
 with his hands ? on what pillars do they rest ? " I 
 asked myself. " The waters are never weary ; they 
 know no other law than to flow without ceasing from 
 morning till night, and from night till morning : but 
 where do they stop, and who makes them flow thus ? 
 The clouds also come and go, and burst in water over 
 the earth. Whence come they ? Who sends them ? 
 The diviners certainly do not give us rain; for how 
 could they do it ? And why do I not see them with 
 my own eyes when they go up to heaven to fetch it ? " ' 
 And so the Kaffir details his vain questionings, until 
 he says, ' Then I buried my face in my hands.' Sir 
 John Lubbock says of this : it is an exceptional case. 
 In reality the question rises to our mind in relation to 
 it, as to many similar reports of savage utterances : 
 How much of this is, however undesignedly, due to the 
 questioner ? Our own experience with the American 
 savage is that it is only by slow and careful observation 
 of his spontaneous utterances that any conception of his 
 real beliefs can be arrived at. By means of leading 
 questions you may get any answers you like. As a rule 3 
 the savage will reply in the way he thinks you desire, 
 however wide of the truth. It is difficult to evade some 
 suspicion that the thoughts which troubled Sekesa's 
 mind have acquired some of their definiteness in trans- 
 mission through that of the narrator. 
 
CALIBAN. THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 The poet Browning, reasoning as his fashion is, as 
 it were for the time being with the very brain and 
 faculties of his subject, thus sets Caliban to work out 
 his ideal of a Supreme Being, conceivable only as 
 powerful, by no means as loving : — 
 
 ' He made all these, and more, 
 Made all we see, and us, in spite : how else ? 
 
 He could not, Himself, make a second self 
 
 But did in envy, listlessness, or sport, 
 
 Make what Himself would fain, in a manner, be — 
 
 Look now, I melt a gourd-fruit into mash, 
 
 Add honeycomb and pods, I have perceived, 
 
 Which bite like finches when they bill and kiss, — 
 
 Then when froth rises bladdery, drink up all, 
 
 Quick, quick, till maggots scamper through my brain ; 
 
 And throw me on my back i' the seeded thyme, 
 
 And wanton, wishing I were born a bird. 
 
 Put case, unable to be what I wish, 
 
 I yet could make a live bird out of clay ; 
 
 Would not I take clay, pinch my Caliban 
 
 Able to fly ? — for, there, see, he hath wings, 
 
 And great comb like the hoopoe's to admire, 
 
 And there a sting to do his foes offence, 
 
 There, and I will that he begin to live, 
 
 Fly to yon rock-top, nip me off the horns 
 
 Of grigs high up that make the merry din, 
 
 Saucy, through thin-veined wings, and mind me not. 
 
 In which feat, if his leg snapped, brittle clay, 
 
 And he lay stupid-like,— why, I should laugh ; 
 
 And, if he, spying me, should fall to weep, 
 
 Beseech me to be good, repair his wrong. 
 
 Bid his poor leg smart less, or grow again — 
 
 Well, as the chance were, this might take, or else 
 
 Not take my fancy : I might hear his cry, 
 
 And give the manikin three, legs for his one, 
 
 Or pluck the other off, leave him like an egg, 
 
 And lessoned he was mine, and merely clay. 
 
 Were this no pleasure, lying in the thyme, 
 
 Drinking the mash, with brain become alive, 
 
 Making and marring clay at will ? ' 
 
 The later poet, it is obvious, has here lost sight of 
 the ideal of man's brute-progenitor, — of the dimly 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 reasoning chimpanzee or baboon, — and is rather be- 
 thinking himself of greatly more modern controver- 
 sialists. He is no longer with the Athenian free- 
 thinker on Mars' Hill ; but among the proselytes of 
 Rome, to whose questionings Paul responds in inter- 
 rogatives, 'O man, who art thou that repliest against 
 God ? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed 
 it, Why hast thou formed me thus ? Hath not the 
 potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make 
 one vessel unto honour and another to dishonour ? ' 
 Caliban, having no conception of mercy, self-sacrificing 
 love, generosity, or other motives which exercise a 
 sway over human action, and dimly reflect the highest 
 attributes of God, 
 
 ' Thinketh such shows nor right nor wrong in Him, 
 Nor kind, nor cruel : He is strong, and Lord. 
 'Am strong myself compared to yonder crabs, 
 That march now from the mountain to the sea; 
 'Let twenty pass, and stone the twenty-first, 
 Loving not, hating not, just choosing so. 
 'Say the first straggler that boasts purple spots 
 Shall join the pile, one pincer twisted off; 
 'Say, this bruised fellow shall receive a worm, 
 And two worms he whose nippers end in red ; 
 As it likes me each time, I do : so He.' 
 
 But that Setebos, the Creator, is capable of jealousy, 
 envy of his own handiwork if it should seem to rival 
 himself, is altogether natural to the mind of Caliban, — 
 the metaphysical Caliban of the later poet. He has, 
 himself, got to the length of creating ; is a tool-using 
 animal; and does not see why, since Prospero transformed 
 his own brutish gabble into speech, and ' endowed his 
 purposes with words that made them known,' it might not 
 be possible to render other noises tractable and respon- 
 sive to the volitions of the utterer : say, for example, 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. ico 
 
 to make this pipe of his, made of the pithless elder- 
 joint, prattle its own thoughts, instead of only screaming 
 one note when it is blown through. ' Will you play on 
 this pipe ? ' says the Prince of Denmark to Rosencrantz, 
 when the courtier, as he perceives, is attempting to play 
 on himself, though, as he owns, he knows not a touch of 
 the little pipe. ' Why, look you now, how unworthy a 
 thing you make of me ! You would play upon me ; you 
 would seem to know my stops ; you would pluck out 
 the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my 
 lowest note to the top of my compass : and there is 
 much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet 
 cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood ! do you think I am 
 easier to be played on than a pipe ? ' 
 
 But then, Hamlet was no ordinary human pipe. The 
 modern poet has given us a sort of anthropoid Hamlet, 
 in his version of Caliban dealing with the natural 
 theology of the island. Setebos, as the poor monster 
 reasons to himself, may be good in the main ; — goodness 
 mainly meaning with him, as with the Indian savage, 
 unharmfulness. He may be placable, if his mind and 
 ways were guessed aright : but then, if he takes to 
 creating, the works of his hands must not presume to do 
 anything unless through him. Suppose this pipe of 
 Caliban's own manufacture, with which he can imitate 
 the scream of the jay, were to take to blowing itself, 
 and to boasting of its blowing, and of all the results of 
 its music, as wholly its own : why then Caliban could 
 endure no such presumption, and would crush it under 
 foot. And if I, then so He ; — so Setebos, the Creator, 
 with his creatures. Thus reasons Caliban : — 
 
 ' Hath cut a pipe of pithless elder-joint 
 That, blown through, gives exact the scream o' the jay 
 When from her wing you twitch the feathers blue; 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 Sound this, and little birds that hate the jay 
 
 Flock within stone's throw, glad their foe is hurt : 
 
 Put case such pipe could prattle and boast forsooth, 
 
 " I catch the birds, I am the crafty thing, 
 
 I make the cry my maker cannot make 
 
 With his great round mouth : he must blow through mine ! " 
 
 Would not I smash it with my foot ? ' 
 
 The self-made god, if it be fancy-wrought, and not 
 carven of wood or stone, must take its pattern and 
 compass from the conceiving mind. Under a process 
 of evolution which begets religious reverence and wor- 
 ship out of developed perceptions and sensations, the 
 imagined deity will grow with the imagining devotee ; 
 but it must derive all its attributes from him. The self- 
 conceived God of the Arafura or Kaffir savage, will 
 therefore be altogether such an one as himself, and can 
 no more get beyond the mental conception of its 
 originator than the quart can be contained in a pint 
 measure. It is unquestionable that the divine ideal of 
 the savage very frequently presents just such character- 
 istics. It is hard indeed to recover any trace of an in- 
 stinctive consciousness of God, or any clear realisation of 
 immortality ; whatever we may make of his belief in an 
 hereafter. In reality it is scarcely possible to formulate 
 the dimly conceived ideas of the savage mind on such 
 subjects. With man far above the savage state the inspira- 
 tions of conscience and religious reverence are not easily 
 reducible to written terms. They are indeed apt, not 
 only to elude the formulist, but actually to disappear 
 with the effort : as the synthetic processes of the poet's 
 fancy are incompatible with the anatomisings of the 
 critic. But if there be a human soul, distinct from the 
 mere animal life ; and if there be also, as we believe, a 
 wholly different God, for rudest savage as for civilised 
 man, revealing Himself in the lilies of the field, in the 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 fowls of the air. in the stars of night ; taking care of the 
 sparrow, numbering the very hairs of our head; not very 
 far from every one of us : — then it may be possible for 
 man, even in a ruder state than the Kaffir Sekesa, dimly 
 to conceive of that unknown God, whom Paul found the 
 Athenians ignorantly worshipping : ' God that made the 
 world and all things therein, the Lord of heaven and 
 earth, who giveth to all life, and breath, and all things.' 
 
 The religion of the old Greek had unquestionably 
 more to do with the aesthetic faculty than the moral 
 sense. His worship, to a large extent, addressed the 
 sensuous emotions, and deceived himself, as fine ritual 
 and solemn harmonies are apt to do, by affecting the 
 emotional sensibilities alone. But this, and much else 
 by which morality and religion were kept apart, belong 
 to the evolutions of late ages. The traces of an under- 
 lying current of belief in something greatly more spiritual 
 than the Zeus of his poetical mythology, is apparent in 
 many allusions ; though too frequently this supreme om- 
 nipresence seemed to the Greek only an omnipotent, un- 
 approachable, inexorable fate : ruler over gods and men, 
 destined survivor of Olympus even more than of earth ; 
 or as Caliban, in the dim searchings after a great First 
 Cause, which belong to his later metaphysical stage, 
 defines it — ' the something over Setebos.' For, as he 
 reasons,— 
 
 'There may be something quiet o'er His head, 
 Out of His reach, that feels nor joy nor grief, 
 Since both derive from weakness in some way. 
 I joy because the quails come ; would not joy 
 Could I bring quails here when I have a mind : 
 This Quiet, all it hath a mind to, doth. 
 'Esteemeth stars the outposts of its couch. 
 But never spends much thought nor care that way. 
 It may look up, work up,— the worse for those 
 It works on ! 'Careth but for Setebos 
 
CALIBAN, THE MRTAFHYSICIAN. 
 
 The many handed as a cuttle-fish, 
 
 Who, making Himself feared through what He does, 
 
 Looks up, first, and perceives He cannot soar 
 
 To what is quiet and hath happy life ; 
 
 Next looks down here, and out of very spite 
 
 Makes this a bauble-world to ape yon real, 
 
 These good things to match those as hips do grapes. 
 
 'Tis solace making baubles, ay, and sport.' 
 
 For Caliban himself lately peeping, eyed Prospero at 
 his magic books ; and, vexed at the sight, stitched him- 
 self a make-believe magic book of leaves, scrawled 
 thereon meaningless characters, portentous enough ac- 
 cording to his wish ; peeled for himself a wand, robed 
 himself in skin of spotted oncelot, and tried to fancy 
 himself Prospero. He has his tamed sleek ounce, which 
 he makes cower, crouch, and mind his eye ; he keeps 
 his Ariel too, a tall pouch-bill crane, which at his 
 word will go wade for fish and straight disgorge ; and, 
 to complete this realisation of being himself a lordly 
 Prospero, he has got 
 
 ' Also a sea-beast, lumpish, which he snared, 
 Blinded the eyes of, and brought somewhat tame, 
 And split its toe-webs, and now pens the drudge 
 In a hole o' the rock, and calls him Caliban ; 
 A bitter heart, that bides its time and bites. 
 'Plays thus at being Prosper in a way.' 
 
 In many respects he seems to see a likeness to his own 
 ways in the doings of the invisible power Setebos, or 
 the something over Setebos. But, alas ! if He has any 
 favouring leanings, they are not towards him. 
 
 ' He is terrible : watch His feats in proof ! 
 One hurricane will spoil six good months' hope. 
 He hath a spite against me, that I know, 
 Just as he favours Prosper, who knows why? 
 So it is, all the same, as well I find. 
 'Wove wattles half the winter, fenced them firm 
 With stone and stake, to stop she-tortoises 
 Crawling to lay their eggs here: well, one wave, 
 
CALIBAN, THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 Feeling the foot of Him upon its neck, 
 
 Gaped as a snake does, lolled out its large tongue, 
 
 And licked the whole labour flat: so much for spite. 
 
 'Dug up a newt He may have envied once 
 
 And turned to stone, shut up inside a stone. 
 
 Please Him, and hinder this? — "What Prosper does? 
 
 Aha, if He would tell me how ! Not He ! ' 
 
 So Caliban proceeds, reasoning in his obscure, con- 
 fused way : not, however, as Shakespeare's, but wholly as 
 Browning's Caliban. For he is no longer the interme- 
 diate, half-brute, missing link ' that wants discourse of 
 reason,' but the human savage, grovelling before the 
 Manitou of his own conception ; betaking himself even 
 to burnt sacrifices to appease this unseen Setebos, 
 and ward off His envy, hoping the while that, some 
 day, that other than Setebos may conquer Him ; or, 
 likelier still, that He may grow decrepit, doze, and 
 die. But at this stage the clouds gather, the wind 
 rises to a hurricane, 
 
 ' Crickets stop hissing ; not a bird — or, yes, 
 There scuds His raven that hath told Him all ! 
 It was fool's play, this prattling! Ha! The wind 
 Shoulders the pillared dust, death's house o' the move, 
 And fast invading fires begin! White blaze — 
 A tree's head snaps — and there, there, there, there, there, 
 His thunder follows ! Fool, to gibe at Him.' 
 
 Like the old Indian of Lake Superior, he hears the 
 voice of God only in the violence and the terrors of 
 nature ; and, like the first conscious offenders, when 
 they heard, not the tempest and the whirlwind, but 
 the still small voice among the trees of the garden, 
 he is afraid. The evolution is, in truth, altogether 
 too complete. This is no partially- developed irra- 
 tional anthropoid, but man as he is to be met with 
 in many a stage of mental progression far above the 
 rude savage. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 ' How perplext 
 
 Grows belief! 
 Well, this clay-cold clod 
 
 Was man's heart. 
 Crumble it — and what comes next ? 
 
 Is it God?' — Browning. 
 
 ONE more idea, very foreign to anything pertaining 
 to the brute-mind, presents itself, in modified evo- 
 lution, to the Caliban of the later poet. Shakespeare's 
 Caliban has his conception of death in its purely de- 
 structive form ; but not greatly differing, except in its 
 definiteness, from that of the ravening beast. When 
 Trinculo mocks him, he proposes at once that .Stephano 
 shall ' bite him to death ;' and when, in answer to the 
 question 'Wilt thou destroy him, then?' Stephano pro- 
 mises, on his honour, that the tyrant Prospero shall be 
 brained, Caliban is transported with joy. But in all this 
 death is no more to him than to the wolf or the tiger, 
 when it wrathfully makes an end of its foe, though the 
 desire for it has something of the human in its treasured 
 craving for revenge. 
 
 A dog is very capable of just such hatred, under 
 similar provocation ; and its revenge, if unchecked, 
 will not stop short of death. But the metaphysical 
 island-monster of the modern poet gets greatly nearer 
 to civilised humanity in his reasonings on the mystery 
 of death. He does not indeed clearly realise the 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 universality of this inevitable fate. For, looking on 
 Setebos as a being not only terrible, but malevolent ; 
 as a favourer of Prospero, and having a spite at him- 
 self: he wistfully longs that it were possible to learn 
 how to propitiate this implacable power, or get beyond 
 his reach : — 
 
 ' Discover how, or die ! 
 All need not die, for of the things o' the isle 
 Some flee afar, some dive, some run up trees ; 
 Those at His mercy, — why they please Him most 
 When . . when . . well, never try the same way twice! 
 Repeat what act has pleased, He may grow wroth, 
 You must not know His ways, and play Him off, 
 Sure of the issue. 'Doth the like himself: 
 'Spareth a squirrel that it nothing fears, 
 But steals the nut from underneath my thumb, 
 And when I threat, bites stoutly in defence ; 
 'Spareth an urchin that, contrariwise, 
 Cm-Is up into a ball, pretending death 
 For fright at my approach : the two ways please. 
 But what would move my choler more than this, 
 That either creature counted on its life 
 To-morrow and next day, and all days to come, 
 Saying, forsooth, in the inmost of its heart, 
 "Because he did so yesterday with me, 
 And otherwise with such another brute, 
 So must he do henceforth and always." — Ay? 
 'Would teach the reasoning couple what " must " means ! 
 'Doth as he likes, or wherefore Lord? So He.' 
 
 Caliban is thus, in this little island-world — over which, 
 but for Prospero, he would be absolute lord, pos- 
 sessed of dominion over every living thing, — the 
 conscious embodiment of an omnipotence unchecked 
 by any beneficent attribute ; and he realises accord- 
 ingly how terrible such a God is, when he conceives 
 of himself as subject to just such power, Setebos or 
 other. He can himself crush out the life of the 
 squirrel or urchin, whenever it pleases him to do so ; 
 and it causes him no compunction that they ' are as 
 I 2 
 
u6 CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 water spilt upon the ground, which cannot be gathered 
 up again.' He does according to his will with all 
 beneath him, reckless and unsympathetic as a blind 
 remorseless fate. But if it please him to spare, then 
 he sees nothing to prevent perpetual life. Life, in 
 fact, is less of a mystery than death, except when pro- 
 duced by violence : as at his own pleasure it often is. 
 ' All need not die ;' in fact, only a few are actually 
 brought within his own reach. But it is himself, not 
 them, he cares for ; and for himself the outlook is 
 gloomy enough, since the Setebos, his sole providence, 
 is altogether such a one as himself — excepting only 
 in this terrible absolutism of power : and so he 
 
 ' Conceiveth all things will continue thus, 
 And we shall have to live in fear of Him 
 So long as He lives, keeps His strength : no change, 
 If He have clone His best, make no new world 
 To please Him more, so leave off watching this, — 
 If He surprise not even the Quiet's self 
 Some strange day, — or, suppose, grow into it 
 As grubs grow butterflies : else, here are we, 
 And there is He, and nowhere help at all.' 
 
 Here it must be confessed that Caliban, as the 
 mere anthropoid, the brute-progenitor of man, and 
 therefore the inferior of the lowest savage, is terribly 
 out of his depth ; for, indeed, the poet-resuscitator 
 has revivified him for wholly different purposes than his 
 first creator had in view. There is something of the 
 inconsequential simplicity that might be conceived of 
 in the deductions of the irrational being in such rea- 
 soning as this : — 
 
 ' All need not die, for of the things o' the isle 
 Some flee afar, some dive, some run up trees ; ' 
 
 and so there may be some way for us, too, to escape 
 out of reach of Setebos. Yet the reasoning is prob- 
 ably less simple than that of many a savage philosopher 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 of modern Pacific islands. Get beyond reach of this 
 terrible Setebos by such very simple processes as the 
 urchin or the squirrel at times eludes himself, or as 
 those of strongest wing flee afar, escaping altogether 
 from that island-microcosm which is the only world 
 he knows of outside of the moon : this — or else 
 things as they are ; for so far as he can see, all 
 things remain, and will continue so. 
 
 The parable of the poet is not of difficult inter- 
 pretation. The island and its puzzled philosopher 
 deal with a condition of things in which the latest 
 products of evolution have a personal interest, and 
 from which reasoners of strongest flight have failed 
 to effect their escape. This little island-world of ours, 
 between the two illimitable oceans of an unbeginning 
 and unending time, seems very unchangeable to the 
 view of its ephemeron. He can conceive of no apter 
 figure of stability than the everlasting hills. ' Since 
 our fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they 
 were from the beginning :' so reasons he. But it 
 lies in the nature of things that reasoning beings 
 learn to accumulate experience, to add what our 
 fathers observed before they ' fell asleep' to what we 
 ourselves perceive : and we begin to realise the fact 
 that the hills are no more everlasting than the clouds or 
 the waves. At the bottom of the ocean lie the moun- 
 tains of former ages ; on the summits of our Andes 
 and Himalayas are the sands of ancient ocean-beds ; 
 and the mummied Pharaohs that ruled over ichthian 
 or saurian worlds, when the foundations of those 
 pyramids were laid, lie sepulchred there in the rocky 
 matrix, like the island-newt that Setebos envied once, 
 and turned to stone. But all this necessarily lies out- 
 side of Caliban's philosophy. He is no link in a 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 chain of accumulated knowledge and experience, what- 
 ever other link he may supply : and so he can but 
 reason from what he knows. 
 
 Time is the grand factor in all theories of progressive 
 change or evolution. The universe is but an aggre- 
 gate of elements assuming ever new forms, in endless 
 but not lawless change. But for the reign of law, 
 indeed, there would seem to some to be no con- 
 trolling or overruling power. And yet the idea of 
 law without lawgiver or administrator, is one of those 
 legal fictions requiring something vastly beyond the 
 rationality of a Caliban to conceive. This, however, is 
 certain, that the grand revolutions in physical geo- 
 graphy which reveal themselves by such manifest 
 chroniclings of process and result, are, for the most 
 part, no more than the products of forces still at 
 work. This is the key-note of modern geology ; and 
 not less so of the newer anthropology. Given a 
 cumulative change — depression or elevation, degrada- 
 tion or evolution, — no matter how slight, how slow, 
 how nearly imperceptible it may seem : if the one 
 element of time be unlimited, it will suffice to rebuild 
 a cosmos out of chaos, to stop the clock-work of the 
 universe, or reorganise the heavens under conditions 
 wholly new. But the change must be continuously 
 progressive. A mere pendulum-motion, an ever-com- 
 pensating ebb and flow, can lead to no gradual un- 
 folding or maturing, but only to stability as the pro- 
 duct of ceaseless change. The geologist has his one 
 planet, ever changing, on which 
 
 ' The giant ages heave the hill 
 And break the shore, and evermore 
 Make, and break, and work their will.' 
 
 To the naturalist, race is a unit, on which he was 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. n 9 
 
 long content to trace the influences of time and change. 
 But now his aggressive philosophy would comprehend 
 the whole living catena, from the protozoic dawn till 
 yesterday, as one ever-lengthening but unbroken chain. 
 The death of countless units is no more than the 
 counterpart to the ceaseless displacements and replace- 
 ments which result from the vital actions of our own 
 organism, and which are for it, not death but life : 
 an indispensable part of the process of vital evolution. 
 That which is unsuitable or injurious must be elimin- 
 ated. The survival of the fittest can only be accom- 
 plished by the eradication of the inferior, the defective, 
 or retrogressive. This useful process is death's work. 
 Of this progressive elimination and evolution, whereby 
 the greatest things are shown as the product of the 
 least, man is the latest result ; the highest modification 
 of pre-existent forms as yet developed ; the summit of 
 the organic scale. He has risen to this lofty station 
 through all the intermediate grades, from the very 
 lowest. The higher he traces his pedigree, the lower 
 must he be content to descend in recognising his 
 original ancestry. 
 
 But even if Caliban could have accomplished his 
 very natural desire, and ' peopled the isle with Calibans,' 
 his individual happiness, the experiences which were 
 to constitute his own life, would' assume preeminent 
 importance to him. Man may possibly learn to feel 
 some pride at the idea of having risen, by processes of 
 sexual selection, development, and evolution, to the 
 summit of all organic life, instead of having been 
 originally created its supreme lord. He may even 
 accept ungrudgingly'the idea of that higher destiny of 
 a distant future which will prove him to be no more 
 than the transitional link in a process destined to beget 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 a being to which he shall be no more than the Caliban 
 of our human ideal. Yet still, when we shall have 
 learned to recognise that death and life, working to- 
 gether, carry onwards the race to all highest conceivable 
 perfectibilities, our personal interests are all concentrated 
 in our own entity. That unit is all in all to us, however 
 insignificant it may be to nature. Death may play its 
 useful part, no less than life, in working out the grandest 
 ideal of an unending chain of being, over which the 
 Divine Mind is recognised brooding in calm supremacy, 
 and watching the evolution of the creative plan. But 
 the little link which constitutes our own life is worth to 
 us all the rest ; and philosophy cannot rob death of its 
 terrors, whatever religion may do. 
 
 ' The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
 And the poor beetle that we tread upon, 
 In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
 As when a giant dies.' 
 
 One summer serves alike for the butterfly and the blade 
 of grass. The oak lives a thousand summers in its 
 term. Three score and ten years is the allotted life of 
 man. But sooner or later death comes to all. The 
 organic being perishes. It is resolved into its elements. 
 It has ceased to be. But man, alone of all living 
 creatures, anticipates, hopes, or fears death. All others 
 escape that worse death which lies in its apprehension. 
 Few things are more calculated to illustrate the contrast 
 between the seemingly unprogressive, unaccumulating 
 instincts of the lower animals, and that experience which 
 is the product of human reason, than the sight of the 
 herd or the sheep-flock driven to the shambles : vic- 
 tims of that cruel necessity of our nature which, more 
 than anything else, allies man to the brute. They go 
 unconsciously as to the pasture field ; and yet for six 
 thousand years, — or, according to some reckonings, pos- 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 sibly for sixty thousand years, — the ox has been driven 
 to the shambles, and the lamb led to the slaughtering, 
 with no more warning to the survivors than reaches 
 ourselves from ' the undiscovered country from whose 
 bourn no traveller returns.' When the Duke, in ' Measure 
 for Measure,' plays the monitor to Claudio, disguised 
 as a friar, he urges this plea for the vanity of life : — 
 
 ' The best of rest is sleep, 
 And that thou oft provokest ; yet grossly fear'st 
 Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; 
 For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
 That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not ; 
 For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get, 
 And what thou hast forget'st. Thou art not certain ; 
 For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, 
 After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; 
 For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, 
 Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, 
 And death unloads thee.' 
 
 But. the puzzling thing is, that man, in every stage of 
 his evolution, dreads death ' that makes these odds all 
 even ;' and yet defies it with a faith in something that 
 lies beyond. The author of ' The Origin of Civilisation' 
 puts, indeed, the savage's view of it in this light : ' Far 
 from having realised to themselves the idea of a future 
 life, they have not even learnt that death is the natural 
 end of this. We find a very general conviction among 
 savages that there is no such thing as natural death.' 
 To die by a wound is an obvious and explicable ending 
 of life ; though even in this case death is by means 
 universally acquiesced in as a natural result, still less 
 as an ending in the sense of absolute annihilation. But 
 to die what we customarily term a natural death, seems 
 to the savage mind contrary alike . to reason and to 
 nature. A violent death is comprehensible. It is as 
 though the crank of your steam-engine were smashed, 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 or a hole rent in its boiler by some Armstrong or 
 Whitworth bolt : and so the machinery must needs stop, 
 and the life die out of it. But that, with crank whole, 
 furnace bright, and boiler sound, the engine should 
 suddenly stop, and defy all efforts to set it going again, 
 is something akin to the idea which the savage realises 
 of death in its most ordinary forms. To die by such 
 obvious causes as a cleft skull, or a vital spear-thrust, 
 is to die a natural death. To die by disease is, accord- 
 ing to savage reasoning, to die by magic, a victim to the 
 sorceries of some malignant foe. 
 
 So far this is death, according to the savage idea of 
 it. The light has been quenched which no alchemy of 
 his can relume. And it is so easy to put out the light ! 
 Caliban himself, in the mere wantonness of irresponsible 
 power, sees 
 
 ' Yonder two flies, with purple films and pink, 
 Bask on the pompion-bell above : kills both.' 
 
 But, however effected, ' if 'twere done when 'tis done,' 
 it would less matter. But the savage has no belief in 
 annihilation. He buries his dead out of sight ; burns 
 the body to ashes ; turns it adrift on the ocean ; scaffolds 
 it on bier, or in canoe, till the bleached bones alone are 
 left ; even feasts on it, or in other strangest ways 
 disposes of the body. But the essential individuality 
 that animated that body has not perished. He real- 
 ises, in whatever crude fashion, the unseen presence of 
 something which has survived the body, yet retains 
 all its old personality. He anticipates or dreads its 
 activity, as of one still existing, though no longer cog- 
 nisant to bodily sense under the changed conditions 
 of its new life. Even Shakespeare, with all his marvel- 
 lous objective and creative power, wrought his super- 
 natural beings on models familiar to him in nature. 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 When Sir Humphrey Davy took to peopling the planets 
 with ideal life, the creations of his fancy proved to be 
 mere monstrosities of the naturalist. No wonder then 
 that the idea which the savage realises of the world of 
 spirits is crude and base. The details are of his own 
 fashioning ; but not so the belief in a life beyond the 
 grave. This appears to be an instinct of his moral 
 nature. 
 
 The savage of North Australia will not go near the 
 graves of the tribe at night or alone. So far the same 
 might be said of the peasantry of the most civilised 
 nations of Christendom. But when the Australian 
 savage must needs pass the graves of the tribe, Keppel 
 tells us that he carries a fire-stick ' to keep off the spirit 
 of darkness.' It should rather, probably, be said, to 
 keep off the spirits : for darkness is everywhere, and 
 at all times, a bugbear to the child, as to the savage ; 
 though the grave-yard gives to it an added horror. 
 
 This belief in the supernatural seems very natural to 
 man. It requires no effort in the savage mind to dis- 
 sociate the ideal ego from ' this muddy vesture of decay,' 
 and to recognise the essential individuality as a thing 
 apart. The materialistic creed belongs to a very dif- 
 ferent speculative stage of evolution. Belief in the 
 supernatural, in any sense, seems to be the supreme 
 difficulty in our own day, as it has been that of other 
 eras of speculative research. But doubt is not neces- 
 sarily ' devil-born.' There lives much faith in honest 
 doubt : far more, indeed, than in mere unreasoning 
 credulity. ' Let knowledge grow from more to more ' : 
 true faith has nothing to fear from that. There is no 
 more suggestive passage in all the ingenious thought 
 and accumulated research embodied in Mr. Darwin's 
 ' Descent of Man,' than that in which he reflects on such 
 
124 CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 perplexing problems as are involved in the relapsing 
 of dominant historic races; or, again, in such awakenings 
 as that of Europe from the Dark Ages. ' At this early 
 period almost all the men of a gentle nature, those given 
 to meditation or culture of the mind, had no refuge 
 except in the bosom of the Church, which demanded 
 celibacy ; and this could hardly fail to have had a de- 
 teriorating influence on each successive generation. 
 During this same period the Holy Inquisition selected 
 with extreme care the freest and boldest men in order 
 to burn or imprison them. In Spain alone some of the 
 best men, those who doubted and questioned — and 
 without doubting there can be no progress, — were 
 eliminated during three centuries at the rate of a 
 thousand a year. The evil which the Church thus 
 effected, though no doubt counterbalanced to a cer- 
 tain, perhaps large extent in other ways, is incal- 
 culable.' 
 
 Mr. Darwin has expressed very clearly the impression 
 forced on his mind as the result of close intercourse 
 with typical representatives of widely-different savage 
 races, of many traits of character showing how similar 
 their minds are to our own. He traces a community of 
 arts, implements, &c, not to traditions derived from any 
 common progenitor, but to similarity in mental faculties. 
 The same observation is applicable to various simple 
 beliefs and customs, to modes of burial and choice of 
 places of sepulture ; and as naturalists, when they ob- 
 serve a close agreement in habits, tastes, and dispositions, 
 between two or more domestic races, trace them to a 
 common progenitor similarly endowed, so, says Mr. 
 Darwin, ' the same argument may be applied with much 
 force to the races of man.' The way in which he does 
 apply it, is, of course, in harmony with his own hypo- 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 thesis of evolution and descent, and need not now tempt 
 us to discussion. It is the unity of mind, linking the rude 
 savage and the Christian philosopher in a faith in the 
 supernatural, and the conviction of a life beyond the 
 grave, to which reference is now made. It requires no 
 effort on the part of the savage to believe this. Faith 
 with him is not an act of the mind. It is a state of the 
 mind, from which he cannot emancipate himself if he 
 would. And so, wherever civilised Europeans have 
 found their way for the first time to new continents 
 or isolated island-worlds, the idea has manifested itself 
 that they were visitors from the world of spirits ; if 
 not the native dead returned anew from beyond the 
 grave. 
 
 The belief that there is ' no resurrection, neither angel 
 nor spirit,' is the work of the Sadducees of civilisation 
 in its decline. It reappears from time to time, not 
 merely as the evolution of scepticism, but as the 
 natural concomitant and counterpart of feverish cre- 
 dulity, the hot and cold fits of the same unhealthy 
 moral condition. Man, in the unsophisticated stages of 
 savage life — whether that be one of degradation, or only 
 the lowest round of the ascending ladder of human 
 evolution, — seems to find a doctrine of annihilation 
 among the hardest things to believe. The American 
 Indian, like the prehistoric races of Britain's cairns and 
 barrows, provides food and weapons for his dead, where- 
 with to begin the new life on which they are enter- 
 ing. He hears their spirits in the winds as they moan 
 among the trees, and listens for their voices in all the 
 sounds of nature. According to his obscure conceptions 
 of the disembodied spirit, it long haunts its old life- 
 scenes, lingering around them, reluctant to depart. In 
 its very crudest form, this belief in a life distinct from 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 bodily existence, is something utterly inconceivable in 
 relation to the brute mind. 
 
 But there is another idea, very familiar to the human 
 mind in widely diverse stages of civilisation, and that is 
 a realisation, in some sort, of the emancipated spirit, as, 
 by its deliverance from the bonds of the flesh, released 
 from all absolute restrictions in relation to space, and 
 consequently present to the object of its affections, 
 however remote the scene of death and the place of the 
 body's rest may be. This idea is curiously indicated 
 in one of the scenes of ' The Tempest.' Ferdinand, in 
 astonishment at hearing his own Italian tongue uttered 
 by the fair vision of the island maiden, exclaims to 
 Miranda— 
 
 ' My language ! heavens ! — 
 I am the best of them .that speak this speech, 
 Were I but where 'tis spoken.' 
 
 Whereupon Prospero interposes, with this challenge — 
 
 ' How ! the best ? 
 What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee ? ' 
 
 And Ferdinand, whose belief in the death, not only of 
 his father, but of the whole passengers and crew, is 
 absolute, replies — 
 
 'A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
 To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me; 
 And that he does I weep : myself am Naples ; 
 Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld 
 The king my father wreck'd.' 
 
 The fact that his father is drowned involves, as it were 
 of necessity, that his spirit must be present and hear 
 these utterances ; unless we interpret him in matter- 
 of-fact literalness, as meaning no more than that he, 
 being now king, hears himself speak. It is an idea 
 dwelt on, in its purest and most elevated form, in the 
 'In Memoriam' of Tennyson ; as where he asks — 
 
C A LIB AX, THE THEOLOGIAX. 
 
 ' Do we indeed desire the dead 
 
 Should still be near us, at our side? 
 Is there no baseness we would hide? 
 Xo inner vileness that we dread? 
 
 Shall he for whose applause I strove, 
 I had such reverence for his blame, 
 See with clear eyes some hidden shame, 
 
 And I be lessen'd in his love? 
 
 I wrong the grave with fears untrue : 
 Shall love be blamed for want of faith? 
 There must be wisdom with great Death; 
 
 The dead shall look me through and through. 
 
 Be near us when we climb or fall: 
 
 Ye watch, like God, the rolling hours 
 
 With larger, other eyes than ours, 
 To make allowance for us all.' 
 
 So the poet shapes into noblest forms fancies which are 
 no less present to the most prosaic minds ; and then, 
 glancing at the seeming strife between God and Nature 
 in the modern expositions of science, he pauses over 
 Nature's fancied response : — 
 
 ' I bring to life, I bring to death, 
 The spirit does but mean the breath; 
 I know no more ! ' 
 
 But it is only to turn anew to the sure hope, and wait 
 for answer and redress ' behind the veil.' In this way 
 the loftiest ideas of the imaginative poet only expand 
 the undefined conceptions of a spiritual life, the in- 
 stinctive yearnings after immortality, of the rudest 
 savage mind. To the evolutionist, however, this is no 
 innate, much less a divinely-prompted instinct, peculiar 
 to man, as a being made in the Divine image and 
 endowed with a living soul : but only one of the latest 
 phases in that continuous progression from the very 
 lowest stages of mere vitality, which seems to him so 
 easy of demonstration. To him the long vista shines 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 with light, and the development of each successive step, 
 from the first dawn of embryo life — if not, indeed, from 
 inorganic matter, — is clear ; and it may be well here to 
 glance at the process, as it reveals itself to him. ' There 
 is no evidence,' says Mr. Darwin, ' that man was aborigi- 
 nally endowed with the ennobling belief in the existence 
 of an omnipotent God. On the contrary, there is ample 
 evidence, derived not from hasty travellers, but from 
 men who have long resided with savages, that numerous 
 races have existed, and still exist, who have no idea of 
 one or more gods, and who have no words in their 
 languages to express such an idea. The question is, 
 of course, wholly distinct from that higher one, whether 
 there exists a Creator and Ruler of the universe ; and 
 this has been answered in the affirmative by the highest 
 intellects that have ever lived. If, however, we include 
 under the name " religion " the belief in unseen or 
 spiritual agencies, the case is wholly different ; for this 
 belief seems to be almost universal with the less civilised 
 races.' But, on the hypothesis of evolution, there is no 
 difficulty in comprehending how this arose. The facul- 
 ties of imagination, wonder, and curiosity, along with 
 the first germ of reason, are all successive results of 
 development ; and the rational stage at length reached, 
 by whatever process, it is not unreasonable to assume 
 that the being — now become man, — would naturally 
 crave to understand what was passing around him, and 
 speculate on his own existence. He would, in fact, 
 prove himself to be man by looking before and after ; 
 by asking Whence ? and Whither ? 
 
 That dreams may have first suggested the idea of 
 spirits to the savage mind, is the. theory most favoured 
 as accounting for this indisputable universality of a 
 faith in the supernatural ; and to this Mr. Herbert 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 Spencer inclines to trace the earliest conception by 
 man of his own dual nature, as a being at once cor- 
 poreal and spiritual. But if man be in reality such a 
 double essence, it would be strange that he should be 
 utterly unconscious of that spiritual part of himself 
 by which such consciousness is tested and appreciated. 
 As to the visions of the night, they have their own 
 unsolved mysteries ; and very different theories as to 
 their origin will depend on our faith in an actual human 
 soul, or in a mere vital brain-force as an evolution of the 
 living organism, and our intellect as the brute instinct 
 developed into the self-conscious stage. The shapings 
 of man's waking beliefs seem, on the latter theory, to 
 be little less the mere defining of shadowy fancies, than 
 the subjective impressions of his sleep. We may surely 
 ask for an indisputable theory, comprehensive enough for 
 the whole phenomena of dreams, before accepting what 
 is assumed to be no more than a misinterpretation of 
 cerebral impressions and sensations, as the source of 
 man's faith in the spiritual world, and so of his religion 
 and belief in a God. Some at least of the mental 
 phenomena which dreams reveal by no means militate 
 against the long-cherished faith in the soul as the 
 body's guest : not a mere impersonation of brain- 
 work, but the living worker alike through hand and 
 brain, and which shall continue its being, and attain 
 to a higher life, when hand and brain have alike re- 
 turned to the elements, or become transformed into 
 other organisms. 
 
 In this, as in other relations, time has done its work 
 on the Caliban of the poet's creation, as on other 
 entities. The Caliban of that first stage of evolution 
 which offers itself for our study in ' The Tempest,' had, 
 indeed, his dreams begot of the island harmonies, that 
 K 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 gave delight and harmed not ; soothed to sweetest sleep, 
 and opened up to him such wealth of wonderland that 
 when he waked he cried to dream again. These, how- 
 ever, belong to the enchantments wrought by Ariel's 
 pipe and tabor, and took their shape accordingly : 
 though the natural and supernatural intermingle so 
 harmoniously in Shakespeare's art, that nothing seems 
 to us strange there, any more than in our own dreams. 
 They play their part accordingly, as the most naturally- 
 begotten dreams might do, in helping us to realise the 
 transitional characteristics of the strange being wrought 
 by the poet's fancy in that pregnant age. 
 
 According to the promptings of his own limited 
 desires, the Caliban of Shakespeare had no higher 
 thought than to follow, dog-like, a better master than 
 Prospero ; or, as most covetable of all conceivable real- 
 isations, to roam at large, himself sole lord of nature 
 in his little island-world. But even if, as some have 
 fancied, ' The Tempest ' is the latest of all Shake- 
 speare's works, the last ' heir of his invention ' ; some two 
 and a half centuries have since transpired, and evolution 
 has done its work on the strange islander of the poet's 
 fancy. The Caliban of Browning is a very different 
 being from Trinculo's 'very shallow monster.' As he 
 lies there kicking his feet in the cool slush, as much at 
 his ease as metaphysics will let him, and looks out 
 across the sea, puzzling his brains about many things 
 very incomprehensible to brains in such a merely tran- 
 sitional stage of development, he comes upon the in- 
 explicable problem of life and death ; for, unless, some 
 strange day, Setebos, or that mysterious greater than 
 Setebos, should change, he sees no chance of bettering. 
 ' Conceiveth all things will continue thus,' and having 
 latterly, in his experiences with Prospero, found life hard 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 enough, and the supernal powers only omnipotent,— by 
 no means beneficent,— he 
 
 ' Believeth with the life the pain shall stop. 
 His dam held different, that after death 
 He both plagued enemies and feasted friends : 
 Idly! He doeth His worst in this our life, 
 Giving just respite lest we die through pain, 
 Saving last pain for worst, — with which, an end. 
 Meanwhile the best way to escape His ire 
 Is not to seem too happy.' 
 
 All which, as reasoning, may be apt enough for the 
 later savage stage of evolution, with its apprehension of 
 a last pain and worst, and its traditions of an untenable 
 Sycorax-creed of future rewards and plagues ; but it 
 by no means pertains to the true missing-link : man's 
 assumed progenitor, in that transitional stage of evo- 
 lution which Shakespeare so nearly realises for us. It 
 is a stage of being which must be supposed, on any 
 theory, to have endured for the briefest possible period, 
 for it seems to place the half transmuted being in a 
 condition of most unstable equilibrium, — too much of 
 the brute for reasoning to do its part effectually ; too 
 much of the being dependent on reason for the requisite 
 brute means of offence and defence^ in that struggle for 
 the survival of the fittest, on the results of which the 
 calling of perfected humanity into existence was to 
 depend. 
 
 The great difficulty, as the originator of the whole 
 theory and system of evolution admits, which presents 
 itself to the recipients of it as a satisfactory answer to 
 questionings concerning the origin of man, ' is the high 
 standard of intellectual power and of moral disposition 
 which he has attained. But every one who admits the 
 general principle of evolution, must see that the mental 
 powers of the higher animals, which are the same in 
 K 2 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 kind with those of mankind, though so different in 
 degree, are capable of advancement. Thus the interval 
 between the mental powers of one of the higher apes 
 and of a fish, or between those of an ant and a scale- 
 insect, is immense.' It is here taken for granted as 
 certain to be admitted by all who accept the general 
 principle of evolution, that the difference between the 
 intellectual characteristics of man and the ape is only- 
 one of degree, though few assumptions would seem to 
 stand more in need of proof. But this being supposed 
 to be granted, it is further noticeable that the mental 
 faculties are variable in domesticated animals, and that 
 the variations are inherited. The same transmission of 
 inherited and progressive faculties through natural 
 selection, is further assumed as conceivable in an ever- 
 progressive scale ; and assuming, as before stated, that 
 the difference between the intellectual powers of the do- 
 mesticated animal and man is only one of degree, 
 when at length they reached that stage which would 
 constitute the endowments of what we ordinarily under- 
 stand as a rational being, then the intellect must have 
 been all-important to the animal, now become man, 
 'enabling him to use language, to invent and make 
 weapons, tools, traps, &c. ; by which means, in combi- 
 nation with his social habits, he long ago became the 
 most dominant of all living creatures.' As to the moral 
 sense, that element which deals with motives, appeals to 
 a standard of right and wrong, conceives the idea of re- 
 tributive justice, responsibility, the immortality of the 
 soul, and all the relations which link the human to the 
 divine : that follows ' firstly, from the enduring and 
 always present nature of the social instincts, in which 
 respect man agrees with the lower animals ; and 
 secondly, from his mental faculties being highly active, 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN 
 
 and his impressions of past events extremely vivid, in 
 which respects he differs from the lower animals.' 
 
 The assumed instinctive belief in God has been 
 affirmed to be universal in man, and so has been 
 adduced as an unmistakable and absolute distinction 
 between him and the lower animals. The capacity for 
 such belief might be advanced with more force ; for it 
 cannot be denied that the belief in the divine father- 
 hood, which constitutes an essential element in the 
 conception of God, apart from the beneficent teachings 
 of Christianity, rarely has a place in the savage's theology. 
 But a belief in the supernatural appears to be admittedly 
 universal, however accounted for or explained away. In 
 reality, however, if we must look for a special, innate and 
 instinctive faculty in man, which may be advanced 
 before all such distinctive attributes as tool-using, fire- 
 making, cooking, reason, speech, and all else, I should 
 select his belief in his own immortality : the ineradicable 
 conviction of the existence of some essential element of 
 being, which survives death and defies annihilation. It is 
 an idea vaguely, crudely, childishly set forth in the 
 beliefs of the rude Australian, Pacific islander, or Pata- 
 gonian savage. But, account for it how we may, the 
 rudest and most uncultured mind conceives of man 
 as something more than a mere animated organisation ; 
 realises the conception of the soul as distinct from, even 
 while dwelling in that body, and capable of continued 
 existence apart from it. It is indeed affirmed, in reply, 
 that the barbarous races of man ' possess no clear belief 
 in the immortality of the soul.' But slight reflection 
 on the nature of the doctrine should suffice to indicate 
 the natural distinction between any clear definition of 
 such a faith, and the instinctive, ineradicable con- 
 viction, in which is involved the belief that death does 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 not annihilate the individual ; that wholly apart from 
 that dead body the individuality of the deceased is still 
 perpetuated and continues a conscious existence. 
 
 As to clearly-defined beliefs on immortality, the nature 
 and personality of God, or kindred subjects, outside of 
 formulised creeds and rituals, how rare are they. The 
 definition extorted from the uneducated man, as from 
 the child, rarely mirrors, even in a remote degree, the 
 belief it professes to embody. The mere attempt at 
 definition dissipates the ideal, as the making of a graven 
 image clouds the perception of an unseen God. Obtain, 
 if you can, from ordinary intelligent civilised, men, apart 
 from the formulae of creeds and catechisms, answers to 
 such questions as, ' What is heaven, or the place of de- 
 parted spirits ? Has it any relation to space ? Is it a 
 locality ? What is the soul ? ' In some way or other they 
 have been thinking of such matters all their lives, and 
 yet the probability is that some will be shocked, and all 
 will be puzzled by the demand. Or give them for text 
 St. Paul's Corinthian questionings and definings : ' How 
 are the dead raised up, and with what body do they 
 come?' — with the exquisite analogies of the seed which 
 can only quicken if it die. ' So also is the resurrection 
 of the dead. It is sown in corruption, it is raised in 
 incorruption ; it is sown in dishonour, it is raised in 
 glory ; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power ; it 
 is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body :' — 
 words which have sounded to so many in all their myste- 
 rious beauty and power, as with tearful eyes they have 
 looked their last on the loved ones of earth, and heard 
 those other words, ' earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust 
 to dust.' 
 
 As we return from thoughts so elevated and so 
 solemn, to survey once more the kingdom of living 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAX. 
 
 nature, and question it anew in relation to the novel but 
 singularly suggestive problems which science is ad- 
 vancing, all that is required of us is to admit what is 
 thus assumed to be indisputable. We must see, as every 
 one who admits the general principle of evolution does, 
 'that the mental powers of the higher animals are the 
 same in kind with those of mankind, though so different 
 in degree.' We start in the course of reasoning which 
 leads to the acceptance of the general principle referred 
 to, with such an infinitesimal minimum of capacity as 
 pertains to the Ascidian moluscoid, a mere sack adhering 
 to the rocks of primeval seas. From this we trace, or 
 assume, the gradual evolution of sensation, instinct, and 
 all else, up to the mental powers of the highest irrational 
 animal ; and then — while still acknowledging that the 
 difference between the mind of the very lowest savage 
 and that of the highest animal is enormous, — we are 
 required to grant that this is a mere difference of degree. 
 But why must this be granted ? It assuredly does not 
 seem a self-evident proposition. When I compare the 
 most wonderful evidence of canine intelligence with the 
 every-day operations of the savage or the child, they 
 seem to have such an essential difference between them, 
 that I cannot conceive of the one changing into the other. 
 They differ in kind : or if not, the proof is still wanting 
 which shows them to be the same ; and surely the 
 enormous difference acknowledged on all hands is not to 
 be dismissed, as though it were one mere missing link in 
 an otherwise continuous chain. At best there seems in 
 the highest animals but a scanty minimum of intellectual 
 power, and no adequate initiative for anything bearing 
 even a shadowy resemblance to the moral elements of 
 humanity, out of which to evolve the being only ' a 
 little lower than the angels.' 
 
136 CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 The transitional being vaguely dreamed of in the 
 visions of elder travellers, — human after some imperfect 
 fashion, yet not of the seed of Adam, — seems to task 
 the genius of Shakespeare for its realisation ; and when 
 clearly presented to us with his wondrous objective 
 power, it is still but the highest evolution of the brute, 
 and yet not without elements surpassing those of man's 
 hypothetical brute- progenitor. To the modern evo- 
 lutionist, however, no clear boundary-line is supposed 
 to have separated the evolutionary anthropoid from 
 the perfectly-developed man. ' Whether,' says Darwin, 
 ' primeval man, when he possessed very few arts of the 
 rudest kind, and when his power of language was 
 extremely imperfect, would have deserved to be called 
 man, must depend on the definition we employ. In a 
 series of forms graduating insensibly from some ape-like 
 creature to man as he now exists, it would be impossible 
 to fix on any definite points where the term "man" 
 ought to be used. But this is a matter of very little 
 importance.' Of very little importance ! And yet it 
 takes for granted the grand step resulting, not in a mere 
 gradation of form, but in a change so enormous as the 
 transition from the irrational brute to rational man ; or, 
 at the least, it assumes it to be an insensible graduation, 
 easy, natural, inevitable : a mere bursting into flower 
 of the ripened bud. 
 
 Our modern poet, Robert Browning, undesignedly 
 perhaps, but as becomes the true poet, mirroring the 
 thought of his own age, — an age begot of the French 
 and other revolutions ; by no means of the German 
 reformation, — has carried his Caliban far beyond the 
 irrational stage of being, into that of an advanced 
 reasoning savage : if not, indeed, in some respects be- 
 yond the highest point of definite reasoning in savage 
 
CALIBAN, THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 minds. Shakespeare, on the contrary, presents the ideal 
 of highest brutish evolution, artificially or supernaturally 
 endowed with the means of giving expression to its 
 thoughts ; yet neither a man, nor any link in the possible 
 pedigree of manhood : a fellow-being of the jay and the 
 marmoset, of the spotted oncelot, the blind mole, and 
 the crane. It is a true creation of genius ; wonderfully 
 distinctive, consistent, and well-defined. 
 
 In so far as the creative genius of the greatest of poets 
 has thus conceived for us the ideal of the anthropo- 
 morphoid, as far above the very highest known simiadse, 
 as that falls short of man — ' endued with intellectual 
 sense and soul,' — he has supplied a 'link more consistent 
 with any conceivable evolution of which the anthropo- 
 morpha are susceptible, than any ideal based on assumed 
 stages of lowest degradation of savage man. But the 
 lines of evolution of the anthropoid and the savage, 
 according to such ideal, are parallels. They may admit 
 of endless development, but they will not coalesce. 
 
 Dryden grossly travestied the wonderful ideal, when 
 he dared, with profane hands, to drag down the beauti- 
 ful comedy of Shakespeare's mature genius to the 
 impure standard of the Restoration^ stage ; yet even he 
 was struck with wonder at the profound truthfulness of 
 a creature of which nature furnished no type. Schlegel 
 pronounces the conception to be one of inconceivable 
 consistency and depth. Hazlitt, speaking of it as one of 
 the wildest and most abstracted of all Shakespeare's 
 impersonations, says : ' The character grows out of the 
 soil where it is rooted, uncontrolled, uncouth and wild, 
 uncramped by any of the meannesses of custom. It is 
 of the earth, earthy. It seems almost to have been dug 
 out of the ground, with a soul instinctively added to it, 
 answering to its wants and origin.' Gervinus, in a too 
 
CALIBAN THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 realistic interpretation of the offspring of the blear-eyed 
 hag Sycorax, and still more of the wrathful hyperboles 
 of Prospero, misses the full appreciation of this super- 
 natural being, belonging to a wholly different order and 
 genus from all the other varied conceptions of Shake- 
 spearean genius. Yet he, too, has aptly characterised 
 Caliban as an embryonic being, defiled, as it were, by 
 his earthly origin from the womb of savage nature. 
 
 The extreme contrast between the seventeenth and 
 the nineteenth century's conception of the reasoning 
 brute, with a brute-soul answering to its origin and 
 desires, is most noticeable. Shakespeare's Caliban 
 reasons throughout from the sheer animal point of view ; 
 and his dam's god is a mere embodiment of power ; no 
 object of faith or worship ; nor indeed a being with 
 whom he claims to have any personal relations. There 
 is no indication of belief in such unseen or spiritual 
 agencies as is admittedly all but universal with the most 
 degraded savages. We must, of course, except here the 
 dramatic machinery, with Ariel and the spirits who 
 bestow upon the eyes of the young lovers some vanity 
 of Prospero's art ; and of whom he says presently — 
 
 ' Our revels now are ended. These our actors, 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air.' 
 
 There is in the Caliban of Shakespeare no intellectual 
 recognition of the supernatural, such as in Browning's 
 Island Theologian makes him so essentially human. It 
 is a distinction coinciding with what we re-affirm in 
 relation to the present line of argument : that man in 
 the very lowest stage of savage degradation does in 
 so far recognise his immortal nature in the realisation, 
 however vaguely, of some idea of the human soul as 
 that which is the essence of the individual, and which 
 
CALIBAN THE THEOLOGIAN. 
 
 survives the death of the body. To him the spirit 
 means something wholly distinct from the breath ; and 
 death is very definitely the separation of soul and body. 
 This perception has all the appearance of an innate, 
 instinctive self-consciousness. It involves the belief in 
 a future life, and includes the germ of a faith in im- 
 mortality. It is the original endowment on which the 
 ennobling belief in an omnipotent, omniscient God, and 
 the vitalising faith in a divine Redeemer, are to be in- 
 grafted in the fulness of time. It is ' the substance of 
 things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen ;' man's 
 heritage as man ; and wanting which he would fitly 
 rank with the beasts that perish. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE SUPERNATURAL. 
 
 ' A thousand fantasies 
 Begin to throng into my memory 
 Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, 
 And airy tongues that syllable men's names.' — Covins. 
 
 THE belief in the supernatural, however it may be 
 explained, or even be sought to be explained 
 away, appears to be universal among mankind. In the 
 discussions which it has elicited in special reference to 
 the distinctive elements of humanity, the important 
 distinction between actual beliefs and their definition 
 has not always been kept in view. One of the difficulties 
 assigned by Sir John Lubbock in arriving at any clear 
 conception of the religious systems of strange races, is 
 traced by him to ' a confusion between a belief in ghosts 
 and that in an immortal spirit.' Captain Burton notes 
 this nice distinction in reference to the negro, that he 
 believes ' in a ghost, but not in spirit ; in a present 
 immaterial, but not in a future ; ' and the essential 
 diversity of the two opinions is accordingly assumed. 
 ' The spirit is not necessarily regarded as immortal 
 because it does not perish with the body.' This seems 
 an altogether artificial refinement, based on the dog- 
 matic creeds and beliefs of comparatively modern 
 centuries ; and in which the real significance of this 
 admitted belief in a human spirit, or soul, absolutely 
 distinct from the body, and capable of surviving it, is 
 slighted if not entirely ignored. If the spirit is believed 
 
THE SUPER XA TURAL. 
 
 to survive after death, then any idea of its subsequent 
 mortality can only be of a negative kind, the mere 
 result of the incapacity to grasp with any clearness the 
 idea of life immortal. In this respect it may aptly 
 enough compare with our ideas on the limitation or 
 infinity of space. M. Louis Figuier, who has undertaken, 
 in his ' Day after Death,' to solve the mysteries of a 
 future life, defines God as the Infinite in spirit, and the 
 universe as the Infinite in extent ; and then he locates 
 this infinite God at the mathematical centre of the 
 worlds which compose this infinite universe : which 
 seems very much like undertaking to construct a circle 
 which shall have no circumference, and yet finding for it 
 a centre ! The old doctrine of Anaximander of Miletus, 
 whereby he accounted for the suspension of the earth in 
 the centre of the universe, was that, being equidistant 
 from the containing heaven in every direction, there was 
 no reason why it should move in one direction rather 
 than another. Anaxagoras modified this doctrine, and 
 was accused of atheism, because of the physical ex- 
 planations he assigned to celestial phenomena. The 
 speculations of philosophy during all the later centuries 
 have not achieved a solution of the problem of limited 
 or unlimited space. Our ideas on such subjects are apt 
 to vanish in the effort at definition, like cloud-castles 
 when we attempt to draw them. 
 
 Religion and creed are by no means synonymous 
 terms. The medieval controversies on the special nature 
 and procession of the Holy Spirit, and the hopeless 
 schism of the Eastern and Western Church represented 
 by the single word Filioque, illustrate theological defini- 
 tions forcing into concrete form such details of belief as 
 no ordinary layman could define, or would probably 
 recognise any necessity for defining, till challenged by the 
 
H2 THE SUPERNATURAL. 
 
 exactions of ecclesiastical orthodoxy. The modern 
 scientific inquirer is apt at times to be little less dog- 
 matic in his demands for concrete forms of thought than 
 the old theologian. Our elaborated and long-defined 
 ideas of the human soul, a future state, life, immortality, 
 and God, are not only placed alongside the crude, wholly 
 undefined, instinctive beliefs of the savage as to the 
 survival of the spirit or soul of man after death : but a 
 logical consistency of detail is demanded in reference to 
 opinions which have been accepted like any other intui- 
 tive belief. So long as the savage recognises an immaterial 
 spirit distinct from the body, surviving its dissolution, 
 and perpetuating the personality and individuality iden- 
 tified with it, the precise conception he forms as to the 
 duration of this immaterial life is of secondary signi- 
 ficance. Experience has nothing to teach him in 
 reference to it. While the memory of the dead is fresh, 
 the idea of the surviving spirit will be strongly impressed 
 on the mind. But as the recollection of the deceased 
 fades away, the conception of his immaterial life will grow 
 correspondingly dim, until the two disappear together. 
 
 The clearly-defined belief in the life and immortality 
 of the Christian creed is due to the teachings of Christ 
 Himself, and to the doctrine educed and taught by its 
 first preachers, as the great lesson of the resurrection. 
 Sir John Lubbock, after affirming that ' the belief in an 
 universal, independent, and endless existence is confined 
 to the highest races,' quotes, in confirmation of the 
 absence of any belief in a future state, a reported en- 
 deavour to enforce the acceptance of this doctrine on a 
 savage. The instructor 'tried long and patiently to 
 make a very intelligent docile Australian Black under- 
 stand his existence without a body, but the Black never 
 could keep his countenance, and generally made an 
 
THE SUPERNA TUKAL. 
 
 excuse to get away. One day the teacher watched, and 
 found that he went to have a hearty fit of laughter at 
 the absurdity of the idea of a man living and going 
 about without arms, legs, or mouth to eat. For a long 
 time, he could not believe that the gentleman was serious, 
 and when he did realise it, the more serious the teacher 
 was the more ludicrous the whole affair appeared to the 
 Black.' This narrative may perhaps fairly exhibit the 
 actual condition of a savage mind to which the idea of 
 life apart from bodily existence was absurd. But had 
 the Australian been as subtle as Browning's Caliban, 
 he might have appealed to good authority on ' the 
 physical theory of another life,' and denied that the 
 active existence of the soul is conceivable apart from 
 some definite relation to space ; or he might have de- 
 manded an explanation of St. Paul's statement concern- 
 ing 'the spiritual body' of the resurrection. Possibly 
 enough, however, the teacher presented ideas which, in 
 the sense in which they were interpreted by the poor 
 Australian, were wholly ludicrous ; while, all the time, 
 he held to the belief of his people in an immaterial life 
 after death. The Swedenborgian ideal of a future state 
 is to some minds so gross as to excite ridicule. But 
 their mirth, however unseemly, would be very falsely 
 construed into laughter at the supposed absurdity of all 
 belief in a life beyond the grave. There is only too apt 
 a tendency to treat any incomprehensible faith as folly. 
 The doctrine of transubstantiation, or the real presence, 
 appears to thousands not only untenable, but absurd ; 
 to thousands more its denial is blasphemy and sheer 
 atheism. The scientific sceptic who laughs at spirit- 
 rapping and other kindred follies, exposes himself to 
 denunciation as an infidel materialist. In truth the 
 actual beliefs of the majority of men scarcely admit of 
 
THE SUPERNATURAL. 
 
 logical analysis; and the 'foolishness' of the belief in a 
 future life is neither confined to savages, nor to modern 
 discovery. 
 
 In his poem of ' Cleon,' Browning has embodied, in 
 the form of a letter from the Greek poet to his friend 
 Protos, the longings of a pagan Greek of the first century 
 for some revelation of that very immortality which, when 
 presented as the doctrine of the resurrection, he rejects 
 as folly. Reminded that he shall live as a poet, in the 
 immortality of his verse, Cleon repels such consola- 
 tion as a vain deception of mere words. As his soul 
 becomes intensified in power and insight, the increasing 
 weight of years warns him of life's close : — 
 
 'When all my works wherein I prove my worth, 
 Being present still to mock me in men's mouths, 
 Alive still, in the phrase of such as thou, 
 I— I, the feeling, thinking, acting man, 
 The man who loved his life so over much, 
 Shall sleep in my urn. It is so horrible, 
 I dare at times imagine to my need 
 Some future state revealed to us by Zeus, 
 Unlimited in capability 
 For joy, as this is in desire for joy, 
 To seek which, the joy-hunger forces us. 
 That, stung by straightness of our life made straight, 
 On purpose to make sweet the life at large — 
 Freed by the throbbing impulse we call death, 
 We burst there as the worm into the fly, 
 Who while a worm still, wants his wings. But, no! 
 Zeus has not yet revealed it ; and alas ! 
 He must have done so, were it possible ! ' 
 
 But Cleon, having thus given utterance to the earnest 
 longings of a vain desire, adds a postscript on some 
 trivial matters. The messenger of his correspondent, as 
 it seems, is the bearer of a letter from him to one called 
 Paulus, a barbarian Jew, who has much to say about one 
 ' Christus ' and this very immortality of which the poet 
 
THE SUPERNATURAL. 145 
 
 fain would learn. But with true Greek contempt for all 
 beyond the Hellenic pale, he writes — 
 
 ' Thou canst not think a mere barbarian Jew, 
 As Paulus proves to be. one circumcised, 
 Hath access to a secret shut from us? 
 Certain slaves 
 Who touched on this same isle, preached him and Christ; 
 And (as I gathered from a bystander) 
 Their doctrines could be held by no sane man.' 
 
 The search for defined or consistent creeds on such 
 matters of inquiry and belief, among nations in widely 
 differing stages of progress, is apt to prove illusory, and 
 among savage races is vain and deceptive. We trans- 
 mute their ideas in the alembic of our own creeds and 
 opinions, and obtain results unconsciously adulterated 
 by prejudice and misconception. We are trying in 
 prosaic literalness to do what the poet Browning has 
 done with the Caliban of Shakespeare : to enter as it 
 were into his brain, and think his own thoughts, wholly 
 unaffected by those of the actual thinker. It seems to me 
 sufficient for all that is attempted to be deduced from 
 such beliefs, that the rudest savage does realise the idea 
 of man's spirit as something at least ethereal, capable of 
 leaving the body, of existing apart from it, of haunting 
 the deserted dwelling, or hovering round the grave. 
 With a very vague conception of what is implied in the 
 idea of immateriality, his belief in the invisible ghost or 
 spirit does realise the essential ideas of an immaterial 
 existence, a spiritual life with the personality perpetuated 
 apart from the body, and surviving death. Whether 
 that survival shall be regarded as temporary or eternal 
 is much more a matter of definition of the instinctive 
 belief, than essential to its universality or significance 
 as one of the most characteristic attributes of human 
 reason. 
 
 L 
 
i 4 6 THE SUPERNATURAL. 
 
 So soon as we reach the stage of minutely denned 
 beliefs and formulated creeds, they prove to be full of 
 inconsistencies ; and before the printing-press superseded 
 tradition, and came provided with ready-made opinions 
 for all, the interblendings of ecclesiastical dogma and 
 popular folk-lore resulted in conceptions singularly 
 quaint and even grotesque. The instinctive belief is 
 one thing : the defined ideas, whether formulated into 
 vulgar beliefs, or into written creeds, are of a wholly 
 different nature. The medieval doctrine of purgatory, 
 so curiously interwoven into Shakespeare's ' Hamlet,' is 
 an illustration of the intermingling of those diverse 
 elements ; and hence the strange extravagances which it 
 involves. It had been adopted into the teachings of the 
 early Church, had modified the whole prevailing ideas of 
 a future life, and when developed by the opinions of 
 successive generations, had been reduced to a dogmatic 
 form by the teachings of centuries. This intermediate 
 state of the soul accordingly affected the superstitions of 
 thousands, long after it had ceased to be a part of their 
 accepted creed. 
 
 It is curious, for example, to turn to the current 
 popular ballads of Presbyterian Scotland, and to note 
 how ineradicable have been the impressions produced on 
 the popular mind by the ancient faith, in spite of the 
 vigorous crusade of ecclesiastical discipline and public 
 opinion conjoined, for upwards of three centuries. Pasch, 
 Yule, Halloween, Fasternseen, Rudeday, Whitsunday, 
 Candlemas, and other rustic anniversaries, all survive as 
 relics of the ancient faith; and are mostly commemorated 
 still by an unpremeditated yet universal consent, accord- 
 ing to the Old Style. Such a faithful popular tradition 
 thus running counter alike to modern almanacs and creeds, 
 has not unreasonably been advanced as confirmation of 
 
THE SUPERNATURAL. 147 
 
 the authenticity of the ballad-poems in which the same 
 ideas have been transmitted, mainly by oral tradition. 
 But there also the supernatural beliefs of earlier gene- 
 rations have proved no less tenacious than such eccle- 
 siastical traditions. In ' Tamlane ' and ' True Thomas ' 
 the apparition of the Queen of Elfland gives the special 
 character to these old ballads. But the Scottish elves 
 peopled the scaurs and dens of a wild country which for 
 centuries had been the scene of bloody feud and violence, 
 and reflect in their sombre hue the characteristics of 
 their source. They were esteemed a capricious, irritable, 
 and vindictive race, very different from the airy haunters 
 of England's moonlit glades. The Scottish Elfin Queen 
 is in part the embodiment of the same gloomy super- 
 stitions which begot the witch-hags and other coarse 
 imaginings of the national demonology. Nevertheless 
 the Queen of Elfland and her mischievous elves are 
 generally designated the Good People ; the canny pru- 
 dence of the Scot leading him to apply fair words in the 
 very naming of such testy and capricious sprites. Even 
 in the indictments of ecclesiastical courts this is adhered 
 to, as in that of Alison Pearson, convicted at St. An- 
 drews, in 1586, of witchcraft, and consulting with evil 
 spirits. She is charged with 'haunting and repairing 
 with the gude neighbours and Queene of Elfland, thir 
 divers years by-past, as she had confest;' and, among 
 other things, she had been warned by one she met in 
 Fairyland to ' sign herself that she be not taken 
 away, for the teind of them are tane to hell everie 
 year.' 
 
 The Scottish Elfin Queen is, accordingly, a very dif- 
 ferent character from the sportive Mab of Shakespeare's 
 Mercutio, who gallops night by night over lawyers' 
 fingers, courtiers' knees, and through lovers' brains ; and 
 L 2 
 
148 THE SUPERNATURAL. 
 
 only becomes ' the angry Mab ' when, as she drives o'er 
 slumbering ladies' lips she finds ' their breaths with 
 sweetmeats tainted are.' Still less does she resemble 
 that ethereal Queen of Shadows, Titania, in the ' Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream.' Her elfin court has indeed its 
 deceptive pleasures, its glamour, and its green-wood 
 revels ; but she and her elves are the vassals of Hell ; 
 and in the fanciful ballad, as in the prosaic indictment 
 for witchcraft, are described as paying their tithe, not 
 annually indeed, but every seven years to the devil. 
 Tamlane, for example, tells the Earl's daughter, who 
 meets this wanderer from Fairyland ' among the leaves 
 sae green ' — ■ 
 
 ' And never would I tire, Janet, 
 
 In Fairyland to dwell; 
 But aye, at every seven years, 
 
 They pay the teind to hell; 
 And I'm sae fat and fair of flesh, 
 
 I fear 'twill be raysell.' 
 
 The ballad of ' Tamlane ' is mentioned in the ' Com- 
 playnt of Scotland,' printed at St. Andrews in 1549, and 
 undoubtedly embodies the superstitions of a much 
 earlier date. 
 
 But it is more significant for our present purpose to 
 see reflected in the early Scottish ballads the popular 
 ideas of spirits, ghosts, and apparitions of the dead, 
 haunting the scenes of their unexpiated crimes, or the 
 grave where the murdered body had been laid. The 
 resemblance between these ill-defined incongruous ideas, 
 and some of those already referred to as characteristic of 
 the savage conception of death and the departed spirit, 
 is unmistakeable. But, besides the apparitions of the 
 dead who can find no repose in the grave till expiation 
 has been made for some deadly sin, or of the victim of 
 crime whose unresting spirit wanders abroad, like that 
 
THE SUPERXATURAL. 
 
 of the murdered Dane, demanding vengeance, there are 
 characteristic types of national superstition : as where 
 the dead are disquieted by the mourning of loving ones 
 refusing to be comforted because they are not ; or again 
 where rest is denied them till they recover their plighted 
 troth. In ' The Wife of Usher's Well,' her three stout 
 and stalwart sons, sent by her over the sea, are scarcely 
 a week gone from her when she learns that they are 
 drowned. In her agony at their loss, she prays that the 
 winds may never again be still, nor the floods be calmed, 
 till her sons return to her ' in earthly flesh and blood.' 
 The dread prayer disturbs the rest of her sons, and the 
 result is thus set forth in homely simplicity : — 
 
 ' It fell about the Martinmas, 
 
 When nights are lang and mirk, 
 The carline wife's three sons cam bame, 
 
 And their hats were o' the birk. 
 It neither grew in syke nor ditch, 
 
 Nor yet in ony sheugh ; 
 But at the gates o' Paradise, 
 
 That birk grew fair eneugh.' 
 
 And so the three drowned men remain, till the dawn 
 approaches, with their mother tending on them in her 
 short-lived joy, as seemingly her living sons restored to 
 her. She lays them to rest with all a mother's tender 
 care, wraps her mantle about them, and sitting down 
 by their bedside, at length yields to sleep, ere the red- 
 cock's crow warns them to begone. They cannot tarry 
 longer from Paradise ; but their consideration for her 
 is indicated with touching simplicity by their urging 
 one another to linger to the latest moment on her ac- 
 count : — 
 
 ' Up then crew the red red cock, 
 
 And up and crew the gray; 
 
 The eldest to the youngest said, 
 
 " 'Tis time we were away; 
 
S50 THE SUPERNATURAL. 
 
 The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, 
 
 The channering worm doth chide; 
 Gin we be miss'd out o' our place, 
 
 A sair pain we maun bide." 
 
 " Lie still, lie still but a little wee while, 
 
 Lie still but if we may ; 
 Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes, 
 
 She'll gae mad ere it be day.'" 
 
 In the confusion of ideas as shown in the birch 
 gathered at the gates of Paradise, the penance dreaded 
 in case of their absence being discovered, and the chiding 
 of the grave's channering, or fretting worm, there are 
 striking illustrations of the undefined blending of con- 
 ceptions of an immaterial existence wholly apart from 
 the body ; with the difficulty, as common to the mind 
 of the English peasant as to that of the Australian 
 savage, of conceiving any clear realisation of the dis- 
 embodied spirit, or of death distinct from the 'wormy 
 grave.' The same homely pathos and tenderness inter- 
 mingle with a like confused interblending of the grave 
 and the spiritual life, in ' Clerk Saunders,' ' William's 
 Ghost,' and other Scottish ballads of this class. In 
 both the dead are represented as reclaiming their faith 
 and troth, without which they cannqt rest in their graves. 
 In the former ballad, Clerk Saunders, a noble lover who 
 had been slain in the arms of May Margaret, the JCing's 
 daughter, returns after c a twelvemonth and a day,' and 
 standing at her bower window an hour before the dawn, 
 addresses her : — 
 
 ' Give me my faith and troth again, 
 True love, as I gi'ed them to thee.' 
 
 Before she will yield to his request, she insists on her 
 lover coming within her bower and kissing her, though 
 he warns her that his mouth is cold and smells of the 
 grave. She questions him about the other world, and 
 
THE SUPERNA TURAL. 
 
 especially of what comes of women ' who die in strong 
 travailing.' He replies in the same simple style of 
 homely pathos as in the ballad already quoted : — 
 
 ' Their beds are made in the heavens high, 
 
 Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee, 
 Weel set about wi' gillyflowers ; 
 
 I wot sweet company for to see. 
 O cocks are crowing a merry midnight, 
 
 I wot the wild-fowl are boding day ; 
 The psalms of heaven will soon be sung, 
 
 And I ere now will be missed away.' 
 
 May Margaret returns her lover's troth by a curiously 
 literal process, thereby freeing the disembodied spirit of 
 a tie which still bound it to earth, and then he leaves 
 her with the tender assurance that 
 
 ' Gin ever the dead come for the quick. 
 Be sure, Margaret, I'll come for thee.' 
 
 But she follows the departing spirit without waiting to 
 cover her naked feet ; and then there once more appears 
 the same simple child-like confusion of ideas which 
 makes the grave not merely the portal to the spirit-land, 
 but the sole spirit-world : — 
 
 ' " Is there ony room at your head, Saunders ? 
 
 Is there ony room at your feet? 
 Or ony room at your side, Saunders, 
 
 Where fain, fain, I wad sleep ? " 
 "There's nae room at my head, Margaret, 
 
 There 's nae room at my feet ; 
 My bed it is full lowly now : 
 
 Amang the hungry worms I sleep. 
 " Cauld mould is my covering now, 
 
 But, and my winding-sheet ; 
 The dew it falls nae sooner down 
 
 Then my resting-place is weet. 
 " But plait a wand o' the bonnie birk, 
 
 And lay it on my breast; 
 And gae ye hame, May Margaret, 
 
 And wish my saul gude rest." ' 
 
THE SUPERNATURAL. 
 
 Such confused ideas of Paradise and Purgatory, of the 
 world beyond the grave, the final resting-place of the 
 soul, and that where the body lies decaying in its 
 'wormy bed,' all illogically jumbled together without 
 any conscious inconsistency, is of common occurrence 
 in the early ballads. It represents the ideas of an age 
 in which a belief in the immortality of the soul had 
 been inculcated and inherited through many generations, 
 and was entertained unquestioningly by all. Such em- 
 bodiments of current popular thought may therefore 
 be accepted as apt illustrations of how impossible it is 
 to try by any standard of logical consistency the crude 
 attempts of the savage mind to define its beliefs on the 
 same subject. What shall we make — in view of such 
 illogical opinions perpetuated for centuries in the most 
 favourite popular forms, among a civilised Christian 
 peasantry,— of such nice distinctions as that attempted 
 to be drawn by Captain Burton, and quoted with highest 
 approval, of the negro's belief in a ghost but not in a 
 spirit ; in a present immaterial life, but not in a future 
 one ? On evidence which seems far more indisputable 
 than any definitions that he could possibly obtain of the 
 negro's discriminating belief between ghosts and spirits, 
 he may affirm that the Scottish peasantry of the six- 
 teenth and seventeenth centuries believed that heaven 
 and the grave were one and the same place. 
 
 Were our aim here to illustrate in detail the pecu- 
 liarities of Scottish superstition and the national fairy- 
 lore, the Gyre-Carline, or Scottish Hecate, the Kelpie, 
 the Shellycoat, the Wraith, the Brownie, or Billie Blin 
 of the ballads, the Daoine Shie or Men of Peace, as the 
 fairies of the Highlands are styled, and other cha- 
 racteristic national fancies would come under review. 
 But they are only referred to now in illustration of the 
 
THE SLTERXATURAL. 
 
 mode in which such beliefs have been reduced to definite 
 form in the traditions and popular rhymes handed down 
 by the peasantry through many generations. 
 
 To a great extent the belief in the supernatural, as 
 far as Scotland is concerned, has been transmitted to us 
 unmodified by the refinements of a more critical age. 
 It is otherwise with the corresponding superstitions and 
 folk-lore of England. There the creative imagination 
 of a rare group of poets who adorned her sixteenth 
 century, selected the elfin creed and the darker super- 
 stitions of popular belief as material on which their 
 fancy should work its will. Shakespeare especially made 
 them his own ; and they have been transmuted into 
 things of beauty which supersede the elves, witches, 
 and lubber fiends that scared the old rustic hearth, and 
 made darkness terrible. The Queen of Fairyland and 
 all her elfin train are accordingly associated with the 
 romantic epic of Spenser, and the elfin-dream of a 
 midsummer's night to which Shakespeare has given 
 enduring form. 
 
 But the distinction between the visions of the two 
 Elizabethan poets is great. The former is wholly the 
 romancer, and we must be content with the enjoyment 
 of his epic as a minstrel's tale. The dramas of Shake- 
 speare, on the "contrary, present an inexhaustible vein 
 of concrete philosophy ; though in a form so seductive 
 that its profound wisdom is apt to elude the ordinary 
 reader. They transmute some of the crudest incon- 
 gruities of vulgar superstition into definite forms no less 
 adapted for uses of pure science, than for the aesthetic 
 requirements of the stage. They transform into ideal 
 embodiments, available for all purposes of reasoning, 
 fancies before intangible as the creed of the savage, 
 which vanishes in the attempt to formulate it. 
 
THE SUPERNATURAL. 
 
 The Caliban of Shakespeare, as we have seen, realises 
 the ideal of a being intermediate between brute and 
 man, defined out of the vague beliefs entertained re- 
 garding the inhabitants of new-found lands in that six- 
 teenth century. To the same conceptive genius we owe 
 the no less definite realisations of popular folk-lore : the 
 trafficker with Satanic powers, the communer with the 
 dead, the disembodied intruder from the world of spirits, 
 and the like impersonations of what formed the English 
 counterpart to the superstitions embodied in early Scot- 
 tish ballads. All this the most objective of poets accom- 
 plished for us in an age wholly unaffected by ideas 
 which now influence our conceptions of the immaterial 
 and the supernatural ; and that in a way which renders 
 them available for fresh inquisition into the innate ideas 
 of the vulgar and the savage mind in relation to all that 
 is supra-natural. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 GHOSTS AND WITCHES. 
 
 ' Why, what should be the fear? 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
 And for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 Being a thing immortal as itself.' — Hamlet. 
 
 THE ease with which Shakespeare sports at will in 
 the purely ideal and supernatural world of his 
 own fancy's creation, is only rendered less astonishing 
 by that still greater marvel, the ease with which he 
 moves amid the real world of humanity, compassing in 
 exhaustless variety its every phase. Hence it is that 
 we dwell, above all things, on the supreme naturalness 
 of Shakespeare's dramatic art, his thorough truthfulness 
 and verisimilitude, his ever-renewing modernness and 
 universality. In a certain sense all this is simple enough, 
 — simple as Hamlet's playing upon the pipe : ' Govern 
 these ventages with your fingers and thumb, give it 
 breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most elo- 
 quent music' It is simple, since Jt springs from no 
 mere transfixing of temporary fashions, either of dress 
 or of thought, but is the impersonation of the human 
 soul, its affections, its passions, its aspirations, its faith, 
 hopes, and fears : things which can never grow old- 
 fashioned or go out of date so long as humanity 
 endures. 
 
 Hamlet's directions to the players are completed 
 'with this special observance, that they o'erstep not 
 the modesty of nature ; for anything so overdone is 
 from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the 
 first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere the mirror 
 
156 GHOSTS AND WIT CUES. 
 
 up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature ; scorn 
 his own image, and the very age and body of the time 
 its form and pressure.' He is, indeed, only dictating 
 the actor's part; yet in defining 'the purpose of playing,' 
 he has in view also that of the dramatist ; and not less 
 so when, protesting against the strut and rant of the 
 player who oversteps the modesty of nature, he exclaims, 
 ' I had thought some of nature's journeymen had made 
 men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity 
 so abominably' It is from the lips of the wise Ulysses 
 that we listen to the familiar aphorism, ' One touch of 
 nature makes the whole world kin.' To this all Shake- 
 speare's art is referred ; by this it is ever tested. 
 
 ' This to our blood is bom ; 
 It is the show and seal of nature's truth.' 
 
 But though Shakespeare never oversteps the modesty 
 of nature, his genius has nowhere more strikingly ex- 
 hibited its creative power than in his varied realisations 
 of beings lying beyond the pale of humanity, and 
 unfamiliar to all our experiences. The range in this 
 respect is no less ample than the wondrous variety 
 discernible in his delineations of men and women. They 
 have moreover not only as distinct an individuality, but 
 they have an equally impressive charm of verisimilitude. 
 They startle us less by any repelling strangeness than 
 his Shylock, Iago, Lady Macbeth, or Richard III. They 
 are not the mere offspring of an exuberant fancy wan- 
 toning in its wealth. Each has a purpose of its own, 
 and plays its needful and altogether fitting part in 
 relation both to the visible and spiritual world with 
 which man traffics here. ' Macbeth ' has its witches — 
 
 ' So withered and so wild in their attire ; 
 That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 
 And yet are on't.' 
 
GHOSTS AND WITCHES. 
 
 They are the visible promptings of criminal desires, 
 impersonated as the witches of popular folk-lore, in an 
 age when King James deemed his ' Daemonology' such 
 an embodiment of wisdom that it was reprinted for the 
 benefit of Shakespeare and his countrymen when that 
 ' wisest fool in Christendom ' succeeded to Elizabeth's 
 throne. It was, no doubt, as his exquisite tribute of 
 flattery to the sage king, that Shakespeare dramatised 
 the legendary history of Macbeth, and brought on to the 
 stage that Satanic agency in which his new sovereign 
 had proclaimed such implicit faith. This popular belief 
 was the very element on which Shakespeare delighted 
 to work. His was not the weak fancy which takes 
 refuge in that which is strange or unfamiliar, as therefore 
 original. That the fancy he was to sport with was 
 already familiar to the popular mind was one of the 
 strongest reasons for its selection ; and when he did 
 embody the ' airy nothing,' the very charm and triumph 
 of his art was that it seemed no more than the realisa- 
 tion of what all had known even from their cradle. 
 The art is so perfect that no artifice could be discerned ; 
 and as they looked from the cock-pit of the Globe or 
 Blackfriars, into that wonderful dramatic mirror, Shake- 
 speare's Englishmen fancied they saw no more than 
 what they had been familiar with all their lives. 
 
 When the poet introduced ' the weird sisters ' on the 
 stage, as beings of that antique and legendary world of 
 historic myth which it suited his purpose to dramatise, 
 he dealt with what was as realistically present to the 
 faith of his own age, as the fauns and satyrs, or the 
 Olympian deities, with which Sophocles or Aristophanes 
 peopled the Attic drama. His withered hags are sur- 
 rounded with all the properties of current superstition ; 
 and, with marvellous art, they are endowed with the 
 
158 GHOSTS AND WITCHES. 
 
 highest supernatural agency of such malignant emis- 
 saries of Satan, yet with no over-refined idealism to 
 rob them of their vulgar verisimilitude. Graymalkin 
 and Paddock are their familiars. Their incantations 
 are in perfect accordance with the folk-lore of the 
 seventeenth and later centuries. The brinded cat, the 
 hedge-pig and the toad, the potent charm of a wrecked 
 pilot's thumb, and the sieve in which to outweather the 
 storm ; while the bewitched sailor — for no better reason 
 than that his wife has withheld her chestnuts from the 
 hag — 
 
 'Shall live a man forbid; 
 Weary se'nnights nine times nine 
 Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : 
 Though his bark cannot be lost, 
 Yet it shall be tempest-tost,' — 
 
 as the king himself had been, on his homeward voyage 
 with his bride ; and, as he doubted not, through just 
 such agents of the powers of darkness. The very 
 meanness of the vulgar agency by which Macbeth is 
 seduced into disloyalty adds to the moral force of the 
 drama. If he is to stoop to such baseness, it is fitting 
 it should be at the promptings of such beldams as 
 trade and traffic with him. 
 
 With just enough of the supernatural for their 
 malignant vocation,- — the distillation of the moon's 
 ' vaporous drop,' the ' yew slivered in the moon's 
 eclipse,' and the like mystic charms, — they ' hover 
 through the fog and filthy air;' or again, the 'secret, 
 black, and midnight hags ' surround the cauldron, with 
 the boil and bubble of its hell-broth of newt and frog, 
 toad and snake, adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, 
 
 ' Tooth of wolf and maw of shark, 
 Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew, 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe,' 
 
GHOSTS AXD WITCHES. 
 
 and all else that seems most loathsome and horrible, 
 wherewith to work the incantations that are to lure 
 their victim to perdition. Thus while seemingly intro- 
 ducing no more than the familiar accessories of the 
 vulgar witch, Shakespeare elevates the weird sisters 
 who haunt the blasted heath into Satanic spirits, more 
 akin to the Eumenides of Greek tragedy : the agents 
 of hell sporting with the doomed soul, which has wel- 
 comed temptation, and so made itself their prey. 
 
 In ' Hamlet' again another phase of popular folk-lore 
 is transmuted with like ready art into the legitimate 
 agency of ' gorgeous tragedy in sceptred pall.' The 
 ghost of Hamlet's dead father haunts the old scenes 
 of life's fitful fever ; and, like vulgarest bugbear of the 
 village rustic, vanishes at the cock-crow. But with this 
 is interwoven another and more reverent dogma of the 
 popular creed, not yet wholly eradicated. The purga- 
 torial fires are rekindled to show by their light the 
 disembodied spirit of the dead king. It is, as we know, 
 a character which the author specially favoured. He 
 personated it himself ; revised its idealisation in the later 
 versions of the tragedy ; and perfected to his own high 
 ideal the impalpable spirit in visible incongruity, late 
 hearsed in death and quietly inurned, and now once 
 again abroad, ' revisiting the glimpses of the moon, 
 making night hideous.' It is, indeed, as this impersona- 
 tion of the dead king that the ever-living poet reappears 
 if we would recall him as the actor in his own dramas. 
 The majesty of buried Denmark, in complete steel, — 
 
 ' The very armour he had on 
 When he the ambitious Norway combated ; ' 
 
 and yet ' as the air invulnerable.' With no other cha- 
 racter can we so freely associate the personality of 
 Shakespeare. We may think of him, with the help of 
 
160 GHOSTS AND WITCHES. 
 
 Cornelius Jansen's fine portrait, in rich lace collar and 
 velvet doublet, such courtly dress as befitted the gentle- 
 man of Elizabeth's or James's reign ; or in plainer, yet 
 still becoming attire, as in the Chandos portrait, or 
 the Stratford bust. But with all of those the carping 
 critic intermeddles with doubts and questionings, such 
 as find no place when, to the mind's eye, the poet, 
 impersonating one of his most marvellous imaginings, 
 
 ' Armed at all points exactly, cap-a-pe, 
 Appears before us, and with solemn march 
 Goes slow and stately by.' 
 
 He has realised for himself how a spirit should 
 walk ; how it should speak. We hear for ourselves the 
 voice of that unresting ghost ; the disembodied spirit, 
 clothed in shadowy form and vestments of the dead 
 father, as, in spite of fate, he tells ' the secrets of his 
 prison-house ; ' and all that is vulgar, grotesque, or 
 incongruous, is at once exorcised from our minds. 
 
 ' We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
 To offer it the show of violence.' 
 
 But there is one appearance of the ghost in this subtle 
 tragedy, which invites special study. When first dis- 
 covered, it comes on the startled watch, stalking as it 
 were from out the void which lies beyond the castle 
 parapet, ' that beetles o'er his base into the sea.' We 
 look forth from the battlements of Elsinore Castle, into 
 the still night, with the ocean far beneath ; while over- 
 head 
 
 ' Yond same star that's westward from the pole 
 Has made his course to illume that part of heaven 
 Where now it burns.' 
 
 Though challenged in vain by Horatio, as with martial 
 stalk it has gone by, the ghost is visible to all. It has, 
 indeed, repeatedly appeared at the same dread hour, and 
 
GHOSTS AND WITCHES. 
 
 been the wonder of fresh observers, ere it faded ' at the 
 crowing of the cock.' But there is a later scene (Act iii. 
 Scene 4), where Hamlet upbraids his mother with her 
 complicity in the wrongs of his murdered father, until 
 she exclaims — 
 
 ' O Hamlet, speak no more ; 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul, 
 And there I see such black and grained spots 
 As will not leave their tinct.' 
 
 As he presses home the charge to which her own con- 
 science thus responds, in the midst of a contemptuous 
 anathema at the new king, Hamlet suddenly breaks off, 
 with the awe-struck invocation — 
 
 ' Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings 
 You heavenly guards ! ' 
 
 and then he demands, ' What would your gracious 
 figure ? ' for the spirit of his dead father is once more 
 present to his sight. But the queen sees nothing ; hears 
 only her son's words, addressed in deepest awe to ' the 
 incorporal air;' is all unconscious of the awful presence 
 and utterances of the visitant from the unseen world, 
 who owns an interest in her still. Are we to understand 
 that the disembodied spirit can be visible to whom it 
 will ; and that the love stronger than death, which sur- 
 vives in this ghostly compassion for her, manifests itself 
 in such forbearance ? In the midst of its charge to 
 Hamlet, it suddenly breaks off: — 
 
 ' But look, amazement on thy mother sits ; 
 O, step between her and her fighting soul; 
 Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works; 
 Speak to her, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. How is it with you, lady? 
 
 Queen. Alas, how is 't with you, 
 That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
 And with th 1 incorporal air do hold discourse? 
 Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; 
 M 
 
162 GHOSTS AND WITCHES. 
 
 And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, 
 Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements, 
 Start up and stand on end. O gentle son, 
 Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
 Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? 
 
 Ham. On him ! on him ! Look you, how pale he glares ! 
 His form and cause conjoin 'd, preaching to stones, 
 Would make them capable. Do not look upon me ; 
 Lest with this piteous action you convert 
 My stern effects : then what I have to do 
 Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood. 
 
 Queen. To whom do ye speak this? 
 
 Ham. Do you see nothing ther e ? 
 
 Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is, I see. 
 
 Ham. Nor did you nothing hear ? 
 
 Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you there ! look, how it steals away ! 
 My father, in his habit as he lived! 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! ' 
 
 And as the ghost disappears, the queen all unconsciously 
 turns on Hamlet with the exclamation — 
 
 ' This is the very coinage of your brain : 
 This bodiless creation ecstasy 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Ham. Ecstasy ! 
 
 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
 And makes as healthful music. It is not madness 
 That I have utter'd : bring me to the test 
 And I the matter will re-word; which madness 
 Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
 That not your trespass but my madness speaks.' 
 
 In the analogous scene in ' Macbeth,' where the ghost 
 of Banquo suddenly rises in the banquet hall — invisible 
 to all but the usurper, whose guilty soul it appals, — the 
 apparition utters no words ; and on the German stage, 
 where the dramas of Shakespeare excite an enthusiasm 
 akin to that of the old playgoers of the Elizabethan 
 Globe or Blackfriars, it is customary to introduce no 
 visible ghost, but to leave the effect to be realised as a 
 
GHOSTS AND WITCHES. [63 
 
 mere creation of Macbeth's fancy. In the realistic litc- 
 ralness of the English stage, the auditor has to reverse 
 the process, and assume the invisibility of Banquo to all 
 but the king. Lady Macbeth, after making light to 
 their ' worthy friends ' of this strange fit of her lord as 
 momentary, ' but a thing of custom ; 'tis no other ; only 
 it spoils the pleasure of the time,' turns on him with the 
 challenge — 
 
 ' Are you a man ? 
 
 Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
 Which might appal the devil. 
 
 Lady M. O proper stuff! 
 
 This is the very painting of your fear : 
 This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, 
 Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, 
 Impostors to true fear, would well become 
 A woman's story at a winter's fire, 
 Authorised by her grandam. Shame itself! 
 Why do you make such faces? When all's done 
 You look but on a stool. 
 
 Macb. Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo ! how say you? 
 Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.' 
 
 And so the scene proceeds, until at his 
 
 ' Hence, horrible shadow 
 Unreal mockery, hence ! ' 
 
 the ghost finally disappears, while the guests are sum- 
 marily desired by Lady Macbeth to stay all questioning 
 and go at once. To them it has been invisible through- 
 out the scene. It is an added marvel to the conscience- 
 stricken Macbeth that they should ( keep the natural 
 ruby of their cheeks ' in the presence of such a ' horrible 
 shadow.' To him it is too real to admit of a doubt that 
 it has glared on all alike. The impalpable apparition has 
 its ghostly presence anew impressed on our imaginations 
 by this capricious visibility. A discriminating criticism 
 can, indeed, assign other reasons for its invisibility to 
 the queen in 'Hamlet'; while to Lady Macbeth some 
 M 2 
 
1 64 GHOSTS AND WITCHES. 
 
 critics assume that the ghost of Banquo is not less mani- 
 fest than to her husband ; though she has gazed un- 
 blanched on that ' which might appal the devil,' being, 
 indeed, the very creature of his work and theirs. She 
 has schooled herself to the worst. To her ' the sleeping 
 and the dead are but as pictures ;' and she coldly re- 
 sponds to her husband's passion : ' When all's done, you 
 look but on a stool.' 
 
 The ghost in 'Julius Csesar' is still more nearly the 
 mere creation of a distempered fancy. It does, indeed, 
 speak, and tells the noble Roman of yet another meeting ; 
 but the ear may be as much ' made the fool o' the other 
 senses ' as the eye ; and so it is with reason that Brutus 
 exclaims — 
 
 ' I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 
 That shapes this monstrous vision.' 
 
 As to the ghosts that haunt the couch of Richard on 
 the eve of Bosworth's fatal day, — though they also utter 
 words more horrible than the vision which appals the 
 eye, — they may be regarded, like other nearly similar 
 presentations, as 'false creations, proceeding from the 
 heat-oppressed brain,' the dramatic embodiments of the 
 tyrant's nightmare dream. 
 
 ' Shadows to-night 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard 
 Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers 
 Armed in proof.' 
 
 So far however we see that the poet moves with 
 equal ease and clearness of vision in that shadowy world 
 of dreams and enchantments, as in his own sublunary 
 sphere ; and at the waving of his incentive wand, the 
 sports of fancy and the creatures of vulgar folk-lore 
 come forth and reveal themselves in consistent harmony 
 with all the highest aims of dramatic art. But the ghosts 
 
GHOSTS AND WITCHES. 165 
 
 and the witches of this strange realm of fancy constitute 
 but a small part of the supernatural elements in the 
 Shakespearean drama ; and stand indeed in striking 
 and purposed contrast to the wanderers from Fairy- 
 land, the creatures of the elements, or the like airy 
 sprites : beings as unsubstantial as ' the air-drawn 
 dagger' of Macbeth, and yet each with an individuality 
 as distinct as that of the usurping thane, 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 'Such sights as youthful poets dream 
 On summer eves by haunted stream.' — V Allegro. 
 
 WHEN Puck is commanded by Oberon, 'the King 
 of Shadows,' who rules supreme in the 'Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream,' to amend the mischief he has 
 wrought, by wilful knavery or mischance, upon the rival 
 Athenian lovers, and to work new pranks for their un- 
 doing, that fairies and mortals alike may be at peace, he 
 replies — 
 
 ' My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, 
 For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, 
 And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger : 
 At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, 
 Troop home to churchyards; damned spirits all, 
 That in crossways and floods have burial, 
 Already to their wormy beds are gone; 
 For fear lest day should look their shames upon, 
 They wilfully themselves exile from light, 
 And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.' 
 
 In this the poet glances at those gloomier superstitions 
 which are more or less characteristic of all rude concep- 
 tions of the invisible world. They constitute its pre- 
 dominating aspect in the savage mind, and were by no 
 means wanting in English folk-lore. It is not to be sup- 
 posed that the rude peasantry of England had fashioned 
 out of the Feld-celfen or Dvergar of their Saxon or 
 Norsk fathers the airy haunters of their moonlit glades, 
 devoid of all such repulsive features as survive in 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 167 
 
 the ballad-pictures of Scottish Elfland. To both they 
 were objects of vague apprehension. But the English 
 fairy, fashioned under more genial circumstances than 
 the wild social life and the rugged landscape of their 
 northern neighbours, was a tricksy and mischievous, but 
 not a malignant sprite. In Chaucer's ' Rime of Sire 
 Topas,' purposely written to ridicule the extravagances 
 of the romancers, the knight sets forth in search of ad- 
 ventures, and, in 'the countree of Faerie' meets with 
 the 'gret geaunt Sire Oliphant,' on whom his prowess 
 is to be shown. But, though it is a land of wonders, 
 where, as in Spenser's later visions, giants, dragons, and 
 monsters of all sorts may be looked for, its true fairy- 
 folk have no such repulsive characteristics ; and of its 
 elfin queen we learn : — 
 
 ' Here is the Quene of Faerie, 
 With harpe, and pipe, and simphonie, 
 Dwelling in this place.' 
 
 The charms of Fairyland, which were left in Scotland 
 to rude nameless ballad minstrels, who perpetuated 
 without disguise the current superstitions of the people, 
 thus early took the fancy of England's greatest poets ; 
 and hence whatever was coarse, gloomy, and fit only to 
 ' consort with black-browed night," was eliminated from 
 its airy beings. But the gloom of this supernatural 
 element clung to the northern folk-lore. The persecu- 
 tions of the seventeenth century, and the grave aspects 
 of their later religious belief and forms of worship, doubt- 
 less helped to beget that mood of mind in the Scottish 
 peasantry which continued to find a charm in the 
 darkest superstitions of their forefathers. 
 
 Burns, in his ' Halloween,' perpetuates, towards the 
 close of the eighteenth century, with mingled humour 
 and gravity, the unsophisticated superstitions of the 
 
1 68 FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 peasantry with reference to that grand anniversary 
 of witches, fiends, and all the powers of evil, which 
 by a curious association of ideas had been assigned 
 to All Saints' Eve. Then also the fairies were reputed 
 to hold high festival, and to be specially active in their 
 good or evil doings for mankind. They had power to 
 prosper or blight according to their humour. Household, 
 flock and field were at their mercy ; and they were 
 believed never to overlook a slight or forget a favour. 
 But though ' Halloween ' is specially noted by the 
 peasant bard as falling 
 
 'Upon that night, when faeries light, 
 On Cassilis Downans dance, 
 Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 
 On sprightly coursers prance,' 
 
 yet the fairies are displaced by more prosaic and bane- 
 ful agents of darkness, in the incidents of the night. 
 They were already falling into disrepute ; while ghosts, 
 witches, and the emissaries of Satan were denounced, 
 but by no means discredited, by the ecclesiastical censors 
 of the age. With a curious definiteness, unusual in rela- 
 tion to such shadowy beings as the fairies of Scottish 
 Elfland, Allan Cunningham tells us, ' it is generally ad- 
 mitted that they left our land about seventy years ago. 
 Their mournings and moanings among the hills on the 
 Hallowmass night of their departure— according to the 
 assertion of an old shepherd, — were melancholy to hear.' 
 Allan Cunningham wrote thus in 1834 ; so that it is now 
 a full century since the rocky downs of Cassilis, and the 
 coves and moonlit valleys of Scotland, ceased to echo to 
 the ringing of the fairies' bridle-reins and the music of 
 their corn-pipes and bog-reeds.- 
 
 But ere the last echoes of fairy music had died away, 
 another peasant poet shaped their most favourite legend- 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. .69 
 
 ary prank into a rhyme of sweetest fancy and pathos. 
 The dreaded mischief of the Scottish fairy was the 
 transporting of children to Elfland, and leaving in their 
 place the unsightly changeling which figures in many a 
 village tale. But out of this rude superstition, common 
 to the Scottish and Irish peasantry, the Ettrick Shepherd 
 wrought his exquisite legend of ' Kilmeny,' a virgin pure, 
 carried off to Fairyland, beyond the reach of sin and 
 sorrow ; and returning but for a month and a day, to 
 charm all nature with a glimpse of perfect purity and 
 peace. 
 
 ' When seven lang years had come and fled, 
 
 When grief was calm, and hope was dead; 
 When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, 
 Late, late in a gloamin Kilmeny cam hame!' 
 
 But the vision of her return, though exceedingly beau- 
 tiful, is wholly fancy-wrought, and need not detain us 
 here. It is otherwise with Shakespeare's picturings of 
 Fairyland. In his day the fairy held his unchallenged 
 place in popular belief, and his bridle bells were still 
 listened for in Charlecote chace. The poet accordingly 
 pictured the actual Fairyland of his age, though what- 
 ever gloomy phantoms still haunted English glades and 
 dells were banished from his poetic vision. Hence when 
 the lord of Fairyland responds to the exhortation of 
 Puck for needful haste, since night's fitting time, when 
 ghosts and damned spirits alone venture abroad, is almost 
 past, it is to disown all such affinities. He acknowledges 
 no such restraints as those which made the ghost of 
 buried Denmark haunt ' the dead vast and middle of the 
 night,' and start ' like a guilty thing upon a fearful sum- 
 mons,' at the first morning cock-crow ; and hence he 
 thus repels Puck's reasons for haste, as wholly inappli- 
 cable to spirits such as they arc. From choice they 
 
1 70 FAIR Y FOLK-I ORE. 
 
 court the paler light, and make their favourite haunts in 
 the moonlit glade : — 
 
 1 But we are spirits of another sort ; 
 I with the morning's love have oft made sport; 
 And like a forester, the groves may tread, 
 Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, 
 Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
 Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams.' 
 
 The cock's shrill clarion has no warning dread for them ; 
 but when they hear the morning lark their pleasure is to 
 run before the dawn, 
 
 ' Tripping after the night's shade 
 Swifter than the wandering moon.' 
 
 They are shadowy beings, unsubstantial as the moon- 
 beam, and therefore such as soft stillness and the night 
 become ; but with no affinity to the murky gloom which 
 Macbeth associates with his ' secret, black, and midnight 
 hags.' There is no confusion of the widely diverse ele- 
 ments of that supernatural world which played so familiar 
 a part in the realisations of popular credulity. With 
 nicest delicacy the poet discriminates between the witches 
 and other traffickers with the poAvers of hell ; or the 
 'sheeted dead,' and the unresting spirits of murdered 
 men, which haunted the age with gloomy superstitions : 
 and those widely diverse creations wherewith the fanciful 
 folk-lore, inherited from elder generations, had peopled 
 grove and flowery dell, woodland, marsh and lake, with 
 goblins, sprites and fays, best fitted to sport in poet's 
 visions. Of this wholly different class are such ethereal 
 imaginings as flit like rainbow gleams, playing their part 
 among the mortals who, ' in nightly revels and new 
 jollity' celebrate Hippolyta's nuptials in 'A Midsum- 
 mer Night's Dream ;' or in ' The Tempest ' help to light 
 Hymen's lamps for Prospero's more gentle daughter, 
 
FA TRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 They are the refined creations of an exquisite poetic 
 fancy, working with the current material of what had 
 doubtless charmed the boy in the familiar fairy-lore of 
 the old Stratford ingle-nook, or haunted his moonlit 
 wanderings among the glades of Charlecote Chase. 
 
 Among such familiar fairy-folk, Puck, or Robin Good- 
 fellow, stands out with exceptional clearness and strongly 
 marked individuality, playing his pranks on the odd 
 ' human mortals ' — 
 
 'The crew of patches, rude mechanicals, 
 That work for bread upon Athenian stalls ' — 
 
 who chance to cross the path of Oberon and Titania, 
 amid their revels, and their chidings over the sweet 
 changeling whom the fairy king would have as knight 
 of his train. The elves and fays, with the jealous 
 Oberon and his wilful queen, are beings such only 
 
 ' As youthful poets dream 
 On summer eves by haunted stream. 5 
 
 But the Puck of this midsummer night's dream is 
 such as could pertain only to one poet's vision. The 
 ' drudging goblin,' is indeed introduced by Milton in 
 the 'L' Allegro,' among the fire-side tales told over the 
 spicy nut-brown ale. But the youthful poet is dream- 
 ing by no haunted stream ; but only telling, daintily 
 enough, the oft-told tale of 
 
 ' How the drudging goblin sweat 
 To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 
 When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 
 His shadowy flail hath thrash'd the corn 
 That ten day-labourers could not end : 
 Then lies him down, the lubber fiend, 
 And stretched out all the chimney's length; 
 Basks at the fire his hairy strength; 
 And crop-full out of door he flings 
 Ere the first cock his matin rings.' 
 
172 FAIRY FOLK-L ORE. 
 
 Here we have the popular conception of the rude 
 goblin, a huge, ungainly lubber fiend, hairy as a satyr, 
 drudging with loutish perseverance for his cream- 
 bowl ; and when the bribe is earned, flinging his 
 unwieldy length before the chimney-log, like the 
 rudest toil-worn hind. But Shakespeare's Robin Good- 
 fellow is no lubber fiend, but a rare poetical embodi- 
 ment of the comedy of mischfef. ' My gentle Puck,' 
 as Oberon calls that merry wanderer of the night, is 
 a knavish elf, who esteems it choice sport to have set 
 the fondest lovers a-jangling by mistake. He delights 
 to play madcap pranks around the wassail bowl ; or 
 even to lurk in it, ' in very likeness of a roasted crab,' 
 cozening the old gossip in her posset, or toppling the 
 spinster aunt, who in the midst of her saddest tale 
 has been cheated into fancying him a three-foot stool. 
 He is, in fact, the originator of all the mirthful mis- 
 chances that seeming accident produces : — 
 
 'And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh; 
 And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there.' 
 
 The fairy messenger of Queen Titania does indeed 
 address him on their meeting as 'thou lob of spirits;' 
 but he has scarcely spoken ere she recognises Oberon's 
 henchman, who, at his bidding, ' will put a girdle round 
 about the earth in forty minutes.' The mad sprite 
 who frights the maidens of the villagery, and misleads 
 night-wanderers, laughing at their harm, is ready 
 to play his pranks on the Fairy Queen herself, now 
 that Titania and her fairy lord have quarrelled. For, 
 as he tells Titania's messengers — 
 
 ' Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 
 Because that she as her attendant hath 
 A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king; 
 She never had so sweet a changeling: 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 173 
 
 And jealous Oberon would have the child 
 
 Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild ; 
 
 But she perforce withholds the loved boy, 
 
 Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy. 
 
 And now they never meet in grove or green, 
 
 By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, 
 
 But they do square: that all their elves for fear, 
 
 Creep into acorn cups and hide them there. 
 
 Fairy. Either I mistake your shape and making quite, 
 Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite 
 Call'd Robin Goodfellow : are not you he 
 That frights the maidens of the villagery ; 
 Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern, 
 And bootless make the breathless housewife churn; 
 And sometime make the drink to bear no barm ; 
 Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm ? 
 Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 
 You do their work, and they shall have good luck : 
 Are not you he ? 
 
 Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; 
 
 I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
 I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, 
 When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
 Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : 
 And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl.' 
 
 And so the madcap sprite gleefully recounts his mis- 
 chief-makings, until Oberon summons him to spoil 
 Titania's moonlight revels, and bewitch her with 
 deceitful fantasies. The gravest meanings not infre- 
 quently lurk under the humours of Shakespeare's 
 comedy. The natural and supernatural are inter- 
 blended there, as in the living world and all the 
 simplest mysteries of life. ' Nothing happens by chance' 
 is a canon of the rustic creed ; ' Every effect has 
 a cause,' says the village philosopher : in illustration 
 of which, the poet, sporting with the folk-lore of his 
 time, educes harmonious solutions in relation to in- 
 cidents too homely for the theologian's care ; and by 
 agencies as remote from his ample faith in the super- 
 
1 74 FAIR Y FOLK-LORE. 
 
 natural as from the dynamics of modern philosophy. 
 The mishaps of the dairy, the good luck of the barn, 
 or the laughter-moving accident to the gossip by the 
 hearth, are all the work of Hobgoblin or Sweet 
 Puck. The graver mischances of seed-time and har- 
 vest, which perplex the husbandman and rob him of 
 the fruits of his toil, are in like manner traceable to 
 fairy brawls. Oberon and Titania have fallen out, and 
 
 ' Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 
 As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
 Contagious fogs : which falling in the land, 
 Have every pelting river made so proud, 
 That they have overborne their continents ; 
 The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, 
 The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn 
 Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard; 
 The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
 And crows are fatted with the murrion flock; 
 The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud, 
 And the quaint mazes in the wanton green 
 For lack of tread are undistinguishable. 
 The human mortals want their winter here; 
 No night is now with hymn or carol blest: 
 Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
 Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
 That rheumatic diseases do abound; 
 And thorough this distemperature, we see 
 The seasons alter: hoary- headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
 And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown 
 An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 Is, as in mockery, set ; the spring, the summer, 
 The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
 Their wonted liveries ; and the 'mazed world, 
 By their increase, now knows not which is which ; 
 And this same progeny of evil comes 
 From our debate, from our dissension ; 
 We are their parents and original.' 
 
 And so, to amend such 'forgeries of jealousy,' Puck 
 steps in with his glamour. Titania becomes the victim 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 of his pranks, and is beguiled of her Indian boy by 
 a fraud as simple as the roasted crab in the gossip's 
 bowl. The juice of the little western flower ' now 
 purple with love's wound,' is laid on her sleeping 
 eyelids ; Bottom the weaver, ' shallowest thick-skin ' of 
 all the crew of rude mechanicals from Athenian stalls, 
 befitted with ' an ass's nowl ' instead of his own con- 
 ceited pate, is laid to sleep near the bower where the 
 fairy Queen reposes in fitting state, on 
 
 ' A bank where the wild thyme blows, 
 Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows; 
 Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, 
 With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine. 
 
 . And so it came to pass 
 Titania waked, and straightway loved an ass.' 
 
 The harmonious interblending of such strange incon- 
 gruities leads to ever-new phases of gracefullest fan- 
 tasy. The love-beglamoured fairy forthwith entertains 
 her monster-lover with all queenly courtesies. She 
 engages to purge his mortal grossness so that he shall 
 thenceforth be like airy spirit. A bevy of fantastic 
 sprites, more insubstantial than the gossamer-web — 
 Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed, are 
 commissioned to tend on him with such services as 
 only fairies can render ; and the incongruities of the 
 enamoured fairy and the gross Athenian mechanical, 
 are wrought out in details in which broad fantastic 
 humour and the most delicate grace interblend in per- 
 fect harmony. Peaseblossom and his fairy comrades answer 
 their mistress's summons, and receive her orders : — 
 
 ' Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
 Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes; 
 Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, 
 With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; 
 The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, 
 
176 FAIRY FOLK-L ORE. 
 
 And for night tapers crop their waxen thighs 
 And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes. 
 To have my love to bed and to arise; 
 And pluck the wings from painted butterflies 
 To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes ; 
 Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.' 
 
 And so the airy shadows of this poet-dream disport 
 themselves beneath the wandering moon, till the mortals 
 have closed their revels and withdrawn ; Oberon, recon- 
 ciled to Titania, has followed with their fairy train ; and 
 Puck, ere he too vanishes, thus addresses us : — 
 
 ' If we shadows have offended, 
 Think but this, and all is mended, 
 That you have but slumber 'd here, 
 While these visions did appear, 
 And this weak and idle theme, 
 No more yielding but a dream.' 
 
 It is the same sportive inexhaustible fancy which 
 squanders its lavish wealth in ' Romeo and Juliet ' 
 when Mercutio describes the dream-freaks of Queen 
 Mab, ' the fairy's midwife.' Yet Queen Mab and Queen 
 Titania has each a realm of her own ; and the two stand 
 out in striking contrast, with equally diverse functions and 
 individuality. Titania is, throughout, the refined ideal 
 of the moon-lit dreamland over which she reigns. She 
 looses none of her queenly dignity by the pranks which 
 Robin Goodfellow is allowed to play on her. She yields 
 herself so absolutely to the potent spell of that 'little 
 western flower,' that under its glamour, she can disport 
 herself with queenly grace in the very arms of her 
 monster-lover. The charm of the comedy indeed lies 
 in the curious interblendings of exquisite fancy and the 
 sweetest glimpses of nature, with the lighter humour of 
 the play : as when Oberon is moved to pity as he watches 
 the favours which Titania is lavishing on the transformed 
 lout. The elves over whom they reign are wont, like the 
 
FAIR Y FOLK-L ORE. 1 7 7 
 
 bee, to ' murmur by the hour in fox-glove bells.' On 
 duty bent, they ' hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear ;' or, 
 when affrighted by the wrath of Oberon and his queen, 
 'creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.' It is in 
 exquisite harmony with such revellers among the zephyrs 
 and the flowers, that their repentant fairy lord exclaims 
 at sight of his queen toying with her Athenian swain, 
 and sticking musk-roses on his ass's head : — ■ 
 
 ' Her dotage now I do begin to pity ; 
 For meeting her of late behind the wood, 
 Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool, 
 I did upbraid her, and fall out with her ; 
 For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
 And that same dew, which sometimes on the buds 
 Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, 
 Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes, 
 Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.' 
 
 The incongruities of those ' four nights which quickly 
 dream away the time ' between the opening scene and 
 the arrival of the fair Hippolyta's nuptial hour, are in 
 perfect harmony with the wonderland of any midsummer 
 night's dream. The fair Hermia betricked by Puck ; 
 Theseus of Athens and his Amazonian Queen enter- 
 tained on their wedding-night with the interlude of 
 ' Pyramus and Thisbe,' played by Quince, Bottom, 
 Starveling, and poor Snug with his extempore roaring ; 
 and the Fairy Queen pursuing with the soul of love the 
 transmogrified weaver, her ear not less enchanted with 
 his singing than her eye with the grace of his hairy 
 nowl : all blend together as in the gay romance of the 
 dreamer. 
 
 The contrasts are equally striking, yet of a different 
 kind, which furnish the bold dramatic antithesis of ' The 
 Tempest.' The princely magician, Prospero, engrossed 
 N 
 
178 FAIRY FOLK-L ORE. 
 
 by his researches into the mysteries of nature and occult 
 science, has been robbed of his dukedom by the per- 
 fidious brother whom he had appointed as his deputy. 
 Escaping the death to which he had been consigned, we 
 find him with the sharer of his ' sea-sorrow,' an only 
 daughter, and his magical books, transported to that 
 desert island the localisation of which has already been 
 attempted in the geography of that ideal hemisphere 
 where such enchanted islands are found. There Pros- 
 pero reigns lord of nature and all her mysteries. His 
 daughter Miranda, so peerless in her perfect innocency, 
 has tempted us to some notice in a previous chapter. 
 Not quite three years old when borne with her father to 
 this lone retreat, she remembers only ' far off and like a 
 dream,' the face of woman ; and there she has grown 
 up, her father's sole companion, like a pure lily, the 
 unconscious embodiment of maidenly delicacy, a very 
 child of nature. She is not indeed without some fitting 
 education ; for, as her father says, — 
 
 'Here 
 Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
 Than other princesses can, that have more time 
 For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.' 
 
 But though Miranda is her father's sole companion ; and 
 Shakespeare, or his first editors, have styled it an unin- 
 habited island : they are neither its first settlers nor its 
 sole inhabitants. The foul witch Sycorax, who with 
 age and envy was grown into a hoop, ' for mischiefs 
 manifold and sorceries too terrible to enter human hear- 
 ing,' would have been put to death, but for some un- 
 named redeeming deed for which they would not take 
 her life. So the sailors brought her from her native 
 Argier and left her on the island. This blear-eyed hag, 
 in the working of her unearthly spells, had enthralled an 
 
FA IR i ' FOLK-L ORE. 
 
 U9 
 
 ethereal being, too refined to be turned by her to any- 
 serviceable account, and dying, left behind her that most 
 refined and daintiest of sylphs, Ariel. Prospero, in 
 whom he has found a more congenial master, and to 
 whom, therefore, he has done worthy service, is never- 
 theless the stern exacting lord, though he claims the 
 gratitude of his ethereal slave, and angrily taunts him 
 that he 
 
 ' Thinks it much to tread the ooze 
 Of the salt deep, 
 
 To run upon the sharp wind of the north, 
 To do me business in the veins o' the earth 
 When it is baked with frost ; ' 
 
 and so Prospero demands— 
 
 ' Hast thou forgot 
 The foul witch, Sycorax? .... 
 
 Thou, my slave, 
 
 As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant ; 
 
 And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
 
 To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, 
 
 Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, 
 
 By help of her more potent ministers, 
 
 And in her most immitigable rage, 
 
 Into a cloven pine; within which rift 
 
 Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain 
 
 A dozen years ; within which space she died, 
 
 And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans 
 
 As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island — 
 
 Save for the son that she did litter here, 
 
 A freckled whelp, hag-born, — not honour'd with 
 
 A human shape. 
 
 Ariel. Yes ; Caliban, her son. 
 
 Pros. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban, 
 Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
 What torment I did find thee in : thy groans 
 Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
 Of ever-angry bears ; it was a torment 
 To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 
 Could not again undo : it was mine art, 
 N 2 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape 
 The pine, and let thee out. 
 
 Ariel. I thank thee, master. 
 
 Pros. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, 
 And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
 Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 
 
 Ariel. Pardon, master; 
 
 I will be correspondent to command, 
 And do my spiriting gently.' 
 
 And so the airy sylph, subject to the exactions of this 
 imperious master, but now promised his liberty on the 
 third day, joyfully departs to assume the character of a 
 nymph of the sea, and in that shape to do his bidding. 
 
 Ariel is as ethereal as that other strange island- 
 dweller, Caliban, ' the freckled whelp, hag-born,' is of the 
 earth earthy. Yet he has a well-defined individuality 
 among the beings of that airy world which is his natural 
 element. He is a gay, sprightly, and even frolicsome 
 spirit, not wholly without the mischievous qualities 
 of Puck, but gentler and more refined in his spiriting, 
 and of his own choice seeking his pastimes far from 
 mortal haunts. His joyous nature does indeed derive a 
 pleasure from the successful mischief-makings on which 
 he is commissioned ; but all the while he is envying the 
 free lark and butterfly, and rather sports with his poor 
 dupes because of the commands of Prospero, than that, 
 like the madcap goblin Puck, he finds his own delight 
 in such pranks. For such 'earthy and abhorred com- 
 mands ' as the Argier witch alone had to lay on him, he 
 was a spirit too delicate ; but, though all the while long- 
 ing and thirsting for freedom, as we might fancy a 
 captive butterfly or honey-bee, there is nothing re- 
 pulsive to him in the quaintest of Prospero's tasks. 
 He tells with manifest glee of his having performed to 
 a point the tempest he was commissioned to raise ; 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 yea, to every article he has accomplished his strange 
 bidding : — 
 
 ' I boarded the King's ship ; now on the beak, 
 Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
 I flamed amazement : sometimes I'd divide, 
 And burn in many places ; on the topmast, 
 The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, 
 Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors 
 O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
 And sight-outrunning were not : the fire and cracks 
 Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune 
 Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, 
 Yea, his dread trident shake.' 
 
 ' My brave spirit ! ' Prospero responds, in admiration of 
 such perfect fulfilment of his wishes, ' who was so 
 constant, that this coil would not infect his reason ? ' to 
 which Ariel thus gleefully answers : — 
 
 ' Not a soul 
 But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
 Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners 
 Plunged in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, 
 Then all afire with me : the King's son, Ferdinand, 
 With hair up-staring, — then like reeds, not hair, — 
 Was the first man that leap'd ; crying " Hell is empty, 
 And all the devils are here ! " ' 
 
 And so, having thus fulfilled the utmost wishes of his 
 master in relation to the tempest, he is now able further 
 to report that all are safe, ' not a hair perished : on their 
 sustaining garments not a blemish, but fresher than be- 
 fore ;' and all, as he had ordered, are dispersed in troops 
 about the island, the king's son by himself ' cooling the 
 air with sighs, in an odd angle of the isle.' 
 
 Again Ariel recounts with liveliest satisfaction the 
 rougher play with which he has outwitted the drunken 
 conspiracy of Trinculo arid Stephano under the guidance 
 of the poor monster Caliban. They are such pranks as 
 would have been peculiarly acceptable to Puck, and 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 seem to have proved in no way distasteful to the daintier 
 spirit to whom the commands of the Argier witch were 
 so abhorrent : — 
 
 'I told you, Sir, they were red-hot with drinking; 
 So full of valour that they smote the air 
 For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
 For kissing of their feet ; yet always bending 
 Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor; 
 At which like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
 Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses 
 As they smelt music: so I charmed their ears, 
 That, calf-like, they my lowing followed through 
 Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking gorse, and thorns, 
 Which entered their frail shins. At last I left them 
 I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell, 
 There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
 O'erstunk their feet.' 
 
 Puck would have desired no choicer sport. But with 
 Ariel, though done promptly, and with a pride in the 
 execution of it to his master's utmost wishes, it is at best 
 but pleasant task-work, performed under the promise 
 ■ thou shalt be free as mountain winds.' His gentler 
 nature is shown in the child-like simplicity with which 
 he recalls to Prospero this promised boon : — 
 
 ' I prithee, 
 
 Remember that I have done thee worthy service; 
 
 Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served 
 
 Without or grudge or grumblings ; thou didst promise 
 
 To bate me a full year.' 
 
 Miranda does not differ more clearly from Viola, Portia, 
 or the wilful and witty Beatrice, than Ariel does from 
 Puck, or any other of Shakespeare's airy creations. He 
 is wholly incapable of the wanton mischief of that 
 knavish sprite, who on learning that by preposterous 
 mischance he has made Helena 'all fancy-sick and pale 
 of cheer,' by apportioning to her the wrong lover ; and 
 set the whole wooers in the piece a-j angling : is even 
 more delighted at the mischief he has wrought, than 
 
FAIR Y FOLK-L ORE. 1 83 
 
 when anticipating the meeting of the charmed lovers, 
 he exclaims — ■ 
 
 ' Shall we their fond pageant see ? 
 Lord, what fools these mortals be!' 
 
 In striking contrast to this, Ariel is touched by the 
 human sufferings with which he can have no fellow- 
 feeling. When he tells of the usurping duke and his 
 companions driven to distraction by their griefs, and 
 above all, the good old lord Gonzalo, with tears running 
 down his beard, ' like winter's drops from eaves,' he thus 
 addresses Prospero — 
 
 ' Your charm so strongly works 'em, 
 That if you now beheld them, your affections 
 Would become tender. 
 
 Pros. Dost thou think so, spirit? 
 
 Ariel. Mine would, sir, were I human. 
 
 Pros. And mine shall. 
 
 Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
 Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, 
 One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, 
 Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art ? 
 Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, 
 Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury 
 Do I take part ; the rarer action is 
 In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent, 
 The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
 Not a frown further. Go, release them, Ariel.' 
 
 To Ariel we are plainly left to assume that this is the 
 more welcome duty ; to Puck it would have been alto- 
 gether the reverse. Their troubles would have been 
 sport to ' that shrewd knavish sprite,' who tells even 
 Oberon, when he has challenged him for his blundering 
 
 mischief — 
 
 ' That must needs be sport alone ; 
 And those things do best please me 
 That befal preposterously.' 
 
 And so, while we seem to feel a sympathetic joy at 
 Ariel's own release, as at the freedom of a caged lark, 
 
1 84 FAIR Y FOLK-L ORE. 
 
 listening in fancy to his delighted song dying away as 
 he soars into the limitless blue ; we are all the more 
 fully prepared to enter into the feeling of Prospero : — 
 
 • Why, that 's my dainty Ariel ! I shall miss thee ; 
 But yet thou shalt have freedom.' 
 
 All other duties fulfilled, Prospero at the last com- 
 missions him to satisfy the promise already made, of 
 calm seas and auspicious winds to waft them homeward, 
 and catch the royal fleet far off, and so — 
 
 'My Ariel, chick, 
 That is thy charge : then to the elements, 
 Be free, and fare thou well ! ' 
 
 and with a swoop like that of the humming-bird which 
 .has dallied long over some favourite flower, and then 
 darts swift as thought out of sight, we seem to see 
 Ariel float and soar away into the golden light of the 
 setting sun. The song of Ariel realises for us the very 
 thoughts and aspirations of such an embodied joy. It 
 dies away on the mind's ear like the thrilling quiver of 
 the mounting lark : — 
 
 ' Where the bee sucks, there suck I : 
 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie; 
 
 There I couch when owls do cry. 
 
 On the bat's back I do fly 
 
 After summer merrily. 
 Merrily, merrily shall I live now, 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.' 
 
 For this exquisite creation Shakespeare had no more 
 material to work upon than the same crude shapings of 
 popular fancy and rustic superstition which gave him 
 the lubber fiend out of which his Puck is fashioned. But 
 there is a higher art in ' The Tempest ' than in 'A Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream,' beautiful as both are. The 
 pure poetry of richest fancy seems to entrance us into 
 the very spirit of fairy revelling, amid the marvels raised 
 
FAIR Y FOLK-LORE. 
 
 for us by Prospero's potent wand ; and then the poet dis- 
 misses all back to the realm of dreams. As in the 
 lighter comedy of ' A Midsummer Night's Dream,' Puck 
 lingers, after Oberon, Titania, and their fairy train have 
 vanished, to suggest that offence is needless, since per- 
 chance you have but slumbered here ; so, with a more 
 solemn earnestness, suited to the dignity of the speaker 
 and the incidents of the drama, Prospero tells us how 
 all ' are melted into thin air ; ' and then, moralising on 
 the ' insubstantial pageant,' the ' baseless fabric of this 
 vision,' as but the type of all that seems to us most 
 real : even 'the great globe itself,' yea all which it in- 
 habit ; he adds — 
 
 ' We are such stuff 
 
 As dreams are made on; and our little life 
 
 Is rounded with a sleep.' 
 
 We have thus analysed certain objective creations that 
 stand out with exceptional beauty or distinctive indi- 
 viduality of character, among the supernatural dramatis 
 persona which people the world of art created for us 
 by the genius of Shakespeare. His witches, ghosts, and 
 other impersonations of purely superstitious fancy, have 
 their value in relation to the speculations of modern 
 science ; for the belief in unseen or spiritual agencies, 
 and in sorcerers or wizards by whom they can be in- 
 fluenced or controlled, is acknowledged to be almost 
 universal among the lowest savage races. As to his 
 Oberon and Titania, his Mab, Puck, and Ariel ; the 
 king of shadows and queen of dreams, the fairy, goblin 
 and sprite of popular folk-lore : they too have an 
 interest for the modern student of science, who can 
 value the transformation of the crude imaginings of 
 rustic superstition into concrete forms of refined poetic 
 art. Artistically they command our admiration by their 
 
1 86 FAIRY FOLK-L ORE. 
 
 realisation in clearly defined individuality of what, till 
 Shakespeare embodied them, had flitted before the 
 mind's eye as ghostly phantoms, vaguer than the crea- 
 tures of our dreams. In this they only share with all 
 the other characters of Shakespeare's drama, that charm 
 of individual portraiture which makes each of them a 
 study replete with hidden truth. 
 
 Hence the embodied zephyr of ' The Tempest ' pos- 
 sesses a personality so consistently defined, that we feel, 
 while entranced in the evolution of the drama, that the 
 doings of Ariel are no whit more improbable than those 
 of Ferdinand and Miranda, even in the exquisitely 
 natural glimpse flashed on us in the midst of a scene 
 which opens with Prospero in his magic robes, and 
 Ariel acting out his most potent charms. The magician 
 promises to Alonzo of Naples — 
 
 'I will requite you with as good a thing; 
 At least bring forth a wonder to content you : ' 
 
 and so he discloses to the glad father's eyes the two 
 lovers seated at the chess-board : — 
 
 'Mir, Sweet lord, you play me false. 
 
 Fer. No, my dearest love, 
 
 I would not for the world. 
 
 Mir. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, 
 And I would call it fair play.' 
 
 Yet the moment we escape from the thrall of the poet's 
 enchantment, and its world of fancy fades into the light 
 of common day, we own to ourselves that ' our actors 
 were all spirits, and are melted into air.' They are 
 mere sports of fancy ; things of beauty for a perpetual 
 joy ; but impossibilities in the sober reality of this world 
 of fact and scientific realism. 
 
 So far we have dealt with Ariel, and the beings of 
 which he is the type, as fit subjects for literary criticism. 
 
FAIR Y FOLK-L ORE. 1 8 7 
 
 Viewed as an illustration of synthetic power, this creature 
 of a poet's fancy commends itself to every mind capable 
 of appreciating the highest forms of art. Shakespeare 
 had, as it were, the problem thus placed before him : — 
 Assuming the four primary elements of the ancients ; 
 and that they are peopled by such creatures as the 
 Rosicrucian Sylphs, Gnomes, Naiads, and Pyroads, — 
 beings endowed with natures each suited to the element 
 which it inhabits : what would be the characteristics of 
 an ethereal being, the dweller of the air ? The poet ac- 
 cepts the task, animates a zephyr, brings it into intimate 
 relations with the philosophic impersonation of active 
 human intellect, and places it alongside of the em- 
 bodiment of perfect feminine purity. It is a marvellous 
 creation of genius, which the longer it is studied yields 
 the more admiration and delight at the perfectness of a 
 conception so thoroughly self-originated. But what has 
 science to do with Rosicrucian sylphs or gnomes : the 
 airy nothings fashioned to people the elements of an 
 obsolete creed, which chemical analysis long since dis- 
 sipated ? So far from modern science accepting the 
 antique creed of the four elements : its gases, metals, 
 earths, and other simplest chemical .constituents of the 
 globe, already exceed sixty in number ; go on in ever 
 increasing multiplicity ; and yet include among them as 
 simple elements neither air, fire, earth, nor water. And 
 for such elements as it owns, chemistry has its own 
 spectrum analyses, eloquent in the truths they reveal. 
 With its respirators, its diving bells, its balloons, and 
 Davy lamps, science now makes its own sylphs, naiads, 
 and gnomes : free enough from competition with the airy 
 nothings begot in the fine frenzy of a poet's brain. 
 
 We resign, then, all claim to the scientific recognition 
 of these poetic creations, and dismiss them back to the 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 realm of fancy. But what of that being which the same 
 creative genius has produced for us in clearly defined 
 impersonation, as though he had received and accepted 
 this other problem also : — Assuming that the highest 
 forms of animal life and organisation are nothing more 
 than the results of evolution from the lowest, what would 
 be the characteristics of the brute when developed into 
 that nearest approximation to man of which the mere 
 animal is capable ? It reads like the old enigma of 
 the Theban sphinx ; and to it accordingly our modern 
 CEdipus, the most objective of poets, bent all the powers 
 of his genius. He has created for us a being fully 
 realising the ideal of that seeming contradiction in terms, 
 the rational brute ; and in doing so seems in all respects 
 to anticipate that hypothetical product of evolution 
 which modern science reproduces as the brute progenitor 
 of man. Yet Shakespeare least of all dreamt of a 
 human ancestor while working out this portraiture in 
 minutest nicety of detail. To him of all men the 
 distinction between man and his lower fellow-creatures 
 seemed clear and ineffaceable. Hamlet, in his depre- 
 ciatory self-torturings does indeed ask himself the 
 question : — 
 
 ' What is a man, 
 If his chief good and market of his time 
 Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.' 
 
 But it is only that he may the more clearly infer that" 
 man is no such mere animal, but, on the contrary, is the 
 sole living creature endowed with 'god-like reason ;' the 
 one being that exists in conscious relationship to the 
 'before and after ;' and by virtue of such an inheritance 
 is responsible for the use of it as a man, and not as 
 a mere beast that feeds and sleeps. And so he thus 
 replies to his own challenge : — 
 
FA IR Y FOLR'-L ORE. 1 89 
 
 ' Sure, he that made us with such large discourse, 
 Looking before and after, gave us not 
 That capability and god-like reason 
 To fust in us unused.' 
 
 But, as Trinculo says, so soon as he casts eyes on 
 Caliban : ' Were I in England now, there would this 
 monster make a man ; any strange beast there makes 
 a man.' 
 
 The new theory of the origin of species, after meeting 
 with the wonted reception of all great discoveries, — being 
 hastily and rashly condemned in its earlier stages, and 
 little less hastily accepted by many so soon as the shock 
 of its novel comprehensiveness had passed away, — has 
 proceeded by rapid process of evolution to the hypothesis 
 of the descent of man. It has found for us an ancestry 
 which by its antiquity puts the line of the Conqueror to 
 shame. Nor will it allow of any evasion of this pedigree. 
 Only a very few years have passed since ethnologists 
 were divided into monogenists and polygenists ; and 
 the believer in the unity of the human race was laughed 
 at for his credulity. But all that is at an end. ' If the 
 races of man were descended, as supposed by some 
 naturalists, from two or more distinct species, which had 
 differed as much, or nearly as much, from each other, 
 as the orang differs from the gorilla, it can hardly be 
 doubted that marked differences in the structure of 
 certain bones would still have been discoverable in man 
 as he now exists.' So says Mr. Darwin ; and so his 
 Caliban of evolution must needs find admission into 
 our pedigree as the undoubted progenitor and sole 
 Adam of the whole human race. 
 
 The Court of Heraldry has ever been wont to assume 
 an authority which admitted of no dispute. You shall 
 take its pedigree, or none. It had its three kings for 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 settling such matters, when England was apt to find 
 one rather more than she could manage in all the rest 
 of her affairs ; and our Garter King in the new Herald's 
 College of science has determined a pedigree for us 
 even more dogmatically than Garter, Clarencieux, and 
 Norroy combined. We are ready with the admission 
 that all life starts from a cell ; that the primary rule 
 of embryonic development is to all appearance common 
 to animal life ; that the human embryo in early stages 
 is not readily discernible from that of inferior animals 
 very remote from man ; and recognise the whole very 
 remarkable homologous structure in man and the lower 
 animals. We admit that, up to a certain stage, develop- 
 ment proceeds with many striking analogies and some 
 startling homologies. But what we have to complain of 
 in the treatment of a question involving such far-reaching 
 results is that the modern evolutionist, leading us on 
 clearly, and on the whole convincingly, through many 
 remarkable evidences of development and seeming 
 evolution of species ; and recognising in so far the 
 essential element of humanity as to push research 
 beyond mere physical structure in search of intellect, 
 the social virtues, and a moral sense : just at the final 
 stage where the wondrous transformation is to be looked 
 for on which the verdict depends, we are directed solely 
 to physical evidence, as though brain, reason, mind, and 
 soul, were convertible terms. 
 
 Mind is the true standard of man. The perfection 
 of form is insignificant in comparison with the living 
 soul. We are not prepared to admit that the deve- 
 lopment of the brain of an orang or gorilla to a perfect 
 structural equality with that of man must necessarily be 
 followed by a corresponding manifestation of intelligence, 
 reason, and moral sense. Professor Huxley has come 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 to the conclusion that man in all parts of his organisation 
 differs less from the higher apes than these do from the 
 lower members of the same group. Consequently, says 
 the evolutionist, ' there is no justification for placing 
 man in a distinct order.' But may we not also say : 
 Consequently something else than mere organisation 
 must determine man's place, even according to the 
 classification of the naturalist ? But here it is, just at 
 the all-important point on which the whole novel pedi- 
 gree of humanity depends, that the needful links are 
 assumed, and the supreme difficulties ignored. The 
 conclusion is thus dogmatically stated : — ' Man is de- 
 scended from some less highly-organised form. The 
 grounds upon which this conclusion rests will never 
 be shaken, for the close similarity between man and 
 the lower animals in embryonic development, as well 
 as in innumerable points of structure and constitution, 
 both of high and of the most trifling importance — the 
 rudiments which he retains, and the abnormal rever- 
 sions to which he is occasionally liable, — are facts which 
 cannot be disputed. They have long been known, but 
 until recently they told us nothing with respect to the 
 origin of man. Now, when viewed by the light of our 
 knowledge of the whole organic worl'd, their meaning is 
 unmistakeable. The great principle of evolution stands 
 up clear and firm, when these groups of facts are 
 considered in connection with others, such as the 
 mutual affinities of the members of the same group, 
 their geographical distribution in- past and present 
 times, and their geological succession. It is incredible 
 that all these facts should speak falsely. He who is not 
 content to look, like a savage, at the phenomena of 
 Nature as disconnected, cannot any longer believe that 
 man is the work of a separate act of creation.' 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 1 It may be so,' said Newton ; ' there is no arguing 
 against facts,' when Molyneux communicated to him 
 a discovery by which he fancied he had upset the whole 
 Newtonian system. But the curious thing with Newton 
 himself, as the type of man regarded from an intellectual 
 point of view, is that as science proceeds on that path 
 on which, to apply the words of his own epitaph, 
 ' mathematics of his own invention have lighted the 
 way,' it seems as if by intuition he had anticipated 
 later discoveries at every step. Lagrange's Calculus of 
 Variations, Euler's Integrals, with other more recent 
 and beautiful discoveries, appear to have been already 
 his own. He was wise beyond the capacity of his own 
 generation ; and ' by an almost divine power of mind,' 
 sounded the depths of philosophy, and revolutionised 
 the world of thought. And so is it with Shakespeare. 
 He was wiser even than all the requirements of that 
 grand era, which was in many respects so worthy of 
 him ; and, in the Caliban of his ' Tempest,' anticipates 
 and satisfies the most startling problem of the nine- 
 teenth century. 
 
 In the quaint setting of that beautiful comedy, amid 
 the fanciful triumphs of a spurious science that once 
 had its believers, and the creatures of the elements, 
 which then commanded philosophic faith : his rational 
 brute appears no less consistent and truthful to the 
 ideal of his art, than the Ariel or the Miranda along- 
 side of which it is placed. But when the revels of the 
 magician are ended, and the naturalist undertakes to 
 deal with the transitional being in its relation to the 
 sober realities of science and of fact, what place will he 
 assign to this Caliban of fancy ; and what can we accord 
 to the equally fanciful Caliban of evolution ? Is not the 
 latter rather a mere Frankenstein, still inanimate, the 
 
FAIRY FOLK-LORE. 
 
 counterfeit presentment of undeveloped man, with its in- 
 tellectual and moral possibilities an unsolved problem ? 
 
 Whether we study Shakespeare's harmoniously con- 
 sistent embodiment of the faith of the sixteenth century 
 in beings native to the strange islands of the new-found 
 world ; or turn to that progenitor of man, limned so 
 definitely by Mr. Darwin, so far as mere physical 
 characteristics are concerned — a hairy quadruped, 
 furnished with tail and pointed ears, arboreal in its 
 habits, a creature which, if naturalists had then existed 
 to examine it, would have been classed among the 
 quadrumana, as surely us would the common, and still 
 more ancient progenitor of the monkeys ; — whether, 
 I say, we study the one Caliban or the other, is it less 
 a creature of the imagination ; is it more a possibility 
 of this world of our common humanity, than the Ariel 
 of the poet's animated and embodied zephyr? 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE COMMENTATORS. 
 
 'Some have at first for wits, then poets, pass'd; 
 Turn'd critics next, and proved plain fools at last.' — Pope. 
 
 THE labours of a Shakespearean commentator take 
 a very modest and humble rank among the varied 
 products of literary adventure ; and the reception they 
 have met with has too frequently been such as might 
 well deter any but the boldest from following in his 
 steps. 
 
 ' If aught of things that here befall 
 Touch a spirit among things divine,' 
 
 it would be pleasant to think of Louis Theobald reading 
 the reversal of the old sentence which doomed him to 
 the literary pillory for his patient and useful critical toil. 
 It had been his habit to communicate the results of his 
 Shakespearean annotations to the weekly columns of 
 'Mist's Journal,' and hence the allusion, erased from later 
 editions of the 'Dunciad': — 
 
 ' Nor sleeps one error in its father's grave ; 
 Old puns restore, lost blunders nicely seek, 
 And crucify poor Shakespeare once a week.' 
 
 Theobald's patient diligence was unquestionable, but it 
 was sneered at as the mere grubbing among waste rub- 
 bish of a plodding antiquary. He lived in an age when 
 the amenities of literary controversy were unknown; 
 and the friends of his great rival, recognising his infe- 
 riority in every element of wit and fancy to the satirist 
 
THE CO.VJ/EXT,! TORS. 
 
 with whom he had unhappily provoked comparison as 
 a writer of verse, adopted all Pope's prejudices in refer- 
 ence to his powers as a critic. Hence the disadvantage 
 at which he was placed in the battle of the books which 
 ensued. Warton styles him ' a cold, plodding, and 
 tasteless writer and critic' But in this he confounded 
 two essentially distinct elements. As a would-be poet 
 and playwright Theobald undoubtedly merited the 
 epithets of cold and tasteless assigned to him. As the 
 claimant to the discovery of ' The Double Falsehood,' 
 included as a genuine production of Shakespeare's pen, in 
 his edition of the poet's works ; and then as the blushing 
 confessor to the authorship of the one belauded passage 
 in its text, as his own finishing touch to what he still per- 
 sisted in assigning as a whole to the great dramatist : he 
 takes pre-eminence among the literary forgers of the 
 strange age to which he belonged. There is a touch of 
 sublimity in the apt impudence of the title, as though he 
 meant a bit of covert irony in his ' Double Falsehood ' ! 
 As a literary era it is difficult for us now to realise all 
 the strange inconsistencies of that Augustan age over 
 which Pope reigned supreme. There must have seemed 
 to Theobald's contemporaries and rival critics a fitness, 
 and even a poetical justice, in his advancement to the 
 dunce's throne, such as is lost sight of now. For nobody 
 thinks of Theobald as a poet, or recalls a single line of 
 his verse : unless, indeed, his own reclaimed forgery, 
 ' Strike up my masters,' &c, in which he was supposed 
 to have added another hue to Shakespeare's rainbow ! 
 But that, in spite of his promotion to that ' bad emi- 
 nence,' he should now be recognised as one of the most 
 judicious and even brilliant among all the Shakespearean 
 commentators, is a proof of how great his merit must 
 be in his own legitimate sphere. In place and point 
 o 2 
 
196 THE COMMENTATORS. 
 
 of time he stands, as a critic of Shakespeare, between 
 Pope and the arrogant presumptuous Warburton. In 
 point of merit he is the suggester of not a few in- 
 genious conjectural emendations, now universally ac- 
 cepted, which the author of ' The Essay on Criticism ' 
 might well have envied ; while his plodding industry, 
 in alliance with learning and critical discrimination, was 
 sufficient to have rescued the author of ' The Divine 
 Legation ' from his undisputed claim to Mallett's ' Fa- 
 miliar Epistle to the Most Impudent Man living ' ! 
 
 Bishop Warburton is a warning to all Shakespearean 
 critics. Of veneration, modesty, or diffidence, he took no 
 account. His aim seemed less to produce a ' Shake- 
 speare restored ' than to create a remodelled Shakespeare, 
 reformed from what the poet did write to what, in the 
 superior judgment of his right reverend commentator, 
 he should have written. Without some reverential ap- 
 preciation of the genius of the author, a revision of his 
 text can only lead to presumptuous impertinences ; and 
 not a few of Warburton's dogmatic recensions are sheer 
 nonsense, as where he declares of the line in Hamlet's 
 soliloquy, 
 
 ' Or to take arms against a sea of troubles ' — 
 
 ' without question Shakespeare wrote " against assail of 
 troubles," i.e. assault'; or again, in Act iii. Sc. 4, 
 where Hamlet charges his mother with 
 
 'Such an act 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;' 
 
 and in the same vein proceeds to a climax, which never- 
 theless leaves the act unnamed : the Queen demands 
 in reply — 
 
 ' Ay me, what act, 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?' 
 
THE COMMENTA TORS. 
 
 The sense and aptness of the last line seem obvious 
 enough ; but in Warburton's hands it undergoes this 
 ludicrous travesty : — 
 
 ' That roars so loud, it thunders to the Indies ! ' 
 
 It is a warning to all who may venture where he so 
 boldly trod. Yet whatever may have been the pre- 
 sumptions and shortcomings of the 'critical herd,' their 
 labours have removed many obscurities and blemishes 
 from the Shakespearean text ; while even the assumed 
 authority of an annotated 1632 folio, seemingly in a 
 contemporary hand, and edited with eulogistic con- 
 firmation by a veteran commentator, has failed to give 
 currency to a single reading that cannot win general 
 consent as a needful illumination of the original text. 
 
 But there is one class of corrections in which, in some 
 cases a happy hit, in others a felicitous acumen, has led 
 to valuable elucidations with the smallest amount of 
 change in the literal text. The experience of every 
 author much accustomed to proof-reading, familiarises 
 him with that mischievous class of misprints which sub- 
 stitutes an apparent sense wholly different from the 
 intended meaning. Among my own experiences in this 
 way is the conversion of ' brutified savages ' into ' beauti- 
 fied savages ;' or again the change of a sentence in which 
 I had purposed to characterise certain plausible asser- 
 tions as no better than ' clever guesses at truth' into the 
 transformed statement of ' eleven guesses at truth ' ! — 
 changes literally trifling, which nevertheless wholly de- 
 stroyed the meaning. Shakespeare's text not only 
 abounds with such ; but they go on, in certain cases, 
 undergoing successive transformations in new editions, 
 both by early and modern writers, until the blunder 
 of a later edition is made the basis of an imaginary 
 
i 9 8 THE COMMENTATORS. 
 
 restoration, very plausible at times, and yet altogether dif- 
 fering from what we have the means of shewing Shake- 
 speare actually did write. The temptation to the critic, 
 enamoured of his work, to fancy every ingenious literal 
 transformation not only an improvement, but an actual 
 discovery and restoration of the text, has of course to 
 be guarded against. Examples of such fallacious dis- 
 coveries are plentiful. When Macbeth retorts to the 
 contemptuous upbraidings of his wife that he is 
 
 'Letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would," 
 Like the poor cat i' the adage,' 
 
 his reply is — 
 
 ' I dare do all that may become a man ; 
 Who dares do more is none.' 
 
 Whereupon Lady Macbeth asks in the same con- 
 temptuous tone : — 
 
 ' What beast was't then 
 That made you break this enterprise to me ? ' 
 
 The antithesis of Lady Macbeth's beast, to what 'may 
 become a man^ in her husband's exclamation, is so 
 obvious and telling, that the passage might be thought 
 safe from any critical tampering. But the amended 
 1632 folio converts the beast into boast ; and its editor, 
 Mr. John Payne Collier, goes into ecstasies over the 
 happy correction of what, he says, ' reads like a gross 
 vulgarism.' In similar fashion Warburton travesties 
 a simile which least of all might have been supposed 
 to lie beyond the appreciation of a bishop. The dis- 
 consolate Rosalind, in ' As You Like It,' says of her 
 absent lover, ' His kissing is as full of sanctity as the 
 touch of holy bread.' So at least read the folios. But 
 not so, says the clerical censor ; this is ' impious and 
 absurd,' and so he converts the beautiful allusion to 
 
THE COMMENT A TORS. 
 
 the holy touch of sacramental bread, into what he 
 calls a ' comparison just and decent,' by rendering it 
 holy beard, that is, the kiss of an holy saint or her- 
 mit ' ! In my own copy of the 1632 folio, some previous 
 possessor has drawn his pen through the word bread, 
 and written in the margin hand: a better reading than 
 the bishop's, though poor as a substitute for the original 
 text. 
 
 The editors of the ' Cambridge Shakespeare ' remark 
 in their final preface : ' The more experience an editor 
 has, the more cautious he will be in the introduction 
 of conjectural emendations : not, assuredly, because his 
 confidence in the earliest text increases, but because 
 he gains a greater insight into the manifold and far 
 removed sources of error. The insertions, marginal 
 and interlinear, and doubtless occasional errors, of the 
 author's own manuscript, the mistakes, deliberate altera- 
 tions and attempted corrections of successive transcri- 
 bers and of the earliest printer, result at last in 
 corruptions which no conjecture can with certainty 
 emend.' It is one thing, however, to actually thrust 
 into the most authoritative text of Shakespeare which 
 we possess, the fancies and guesses of the student ; 
 another and wholly different course is to offer such 
 guesses — when the results of careful and reverent study, — 
 apart from the text, as hints for the consideration of 
 fellow-students. In this fashion Theobald communi- 
 cated his early notes to ' Mist's Journal ' ; and in our 
 own day many a useful hint has been contributed to 
 the columns of 'The Athenaeum,' 'Notes and Queries,' 
 or other literary periodicals. 
 
 In previous chapters certain of Shakespeare's dramas 
 have been carefully reviewed under special aspects, 
 and brought to bear on some points of interest in a 
 
THE COMMENTATORS. 
 
 novel field of criticism. As it has been my habit as 
 a student of Shakespeare to note, from time to time, 
 such conjectural emendations as occurred to me in the 
 course of my reading, I venture to cull from these the 
 notes on the text of the two comedies which have 
 been chiefly referred to in the previous discussion. 
 The principle is a sound one which admits no con- 
 jectural emendations into the text because they seem 
 to make better rhythm, grammar, or sense, so long as 
 the reading of the folio is a possible one. Were the 
 prosaic rendering of Dame Quickly's description of 
 Falstaff's death, as given in the marginal notes of 
 Collier's 1632 folio, actually in the printed text, we 
 should feel compelled to accept it in lieu of Theo- 
 bald's felicitous suggestion, ' For his nose was as sharp 
 as a pen, and a babbled of green fields.' But when 
 the text actually reads, 'and a table of greene fields,' 
 it is so obviously blundered that we are free to accept 
 any good suggestion ; and few indeed are likely to 
 hesitate between Theobald's happy thought, and the 
 poor commonplace of the unknown annotator : ' for his 
 nose was as sharp as a pen on a table of green 
 frieze.' 
 
 The case is reversed in another example of conjec- 
 tural emendation. In 'The Taming of the Shrew,' 
 Tranio says : — ■ 
 
 ' Let 's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray ; 
 Or so devote to Aristotle's checks 
 As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured; 
 Balk logic with acquaintance that you have, 
 And practice rhetoric in your common talk.' 
 
 Rowe converts balk logic into talk logic ; while Capel, 
 and an anonymous critic quoted in the Cambridge 
 notes, respectively suggest chop and hack. But we 
 
THE COMMENTA TORS. 
 
 owe to Blackstone the happy thought of converting 
 Aristotle's checks into Aristotle s e thicks. ' Ethics ' comes 
 in so fittingly, along with logic and rhetoric, and the 
 argument so obviously is — 'Do not let us so austerely 
 devote ourselves to philosophy as wholly to abjure 
 love,' that the emendation seems one that might be 
 welcomed by the most cautious editor. But checks 
 makes good sense ; and as it is found both in the 
 folios and quarto, it is retained in the text of the 
 Cambridge edition ; while Blackstone's conjecture takes 
 its place as a foot-note. 
 
 This is at once the safe and true course. All such 
 changes are open to diversity of opinion. The text of the 
 folios, supplemented in certain cases by the quartos, 
 excepting where the language is notoriously corrupt 
 and meaningless, is the only authoritative one we can 
 ever hope to appeal to ; or at .any rate must ever be 
 of higher authority than any mere conjectural emen- 
 dation. Nevertheless it may be thought at times that 
 the Cambridge editors have carried their conservative 
 adherence to the earliest text to an extreme : as 
 where in ' A Midsummer Night's Dream,' a line in Ly- 
 sander's well-known commentary on ' The course of 
 true love,' is printed after the quartos, thus : — 
 
 ' Making it momentany as a sound, 
 Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; ' 
 
 though the folios render the word momentarie. Where 
 so obvious a choice lay before them, the later text of 
 the folio might safely be followed. The sole legiti- 
 mate aim of the Shakespearean editor is to restore, and 
 if needs be, to explain, but not to amend the actual 
 text ; to give, as far as possible, what Shakespeare 
 did write, not to assume a censorship on his writings 
 
THE COMMENTATORS. 
 
 which would be presumptuous when dealing with far 
 inferior authors. 
 
 Much of Pope's, as of Steevens' emendations of the 
 metre of Shakespeare partakes of the censorial cha- 
 racter. -No two things professing to be the same could 
 differ more widely than the heroic measure of Shake- 
 speare and of Pope. The structure of Shakespeare's 
 verse is strictly dramatic, prosody and all else being 
 subordinated to the higher purposes of the dialogue. He 
 displaced the rhyming couplets of the early drama ; 
 and, following in the wake of ' Marlow's mighty line,' 
 he constructed a free dramatic versification, partaking 
 of the licence derived from the Old English deca- 
 syllabics of Chaucer. Where the sense is better ex- 
 pressed by such means, the line frequently begins with 
 an accent, making thereby the first foot a trochee 
 instead of an iambus. A still more impressive effect 
 is produced by adding on to the beginning of a full 
 heroic line an extra emphatic syllable. Some editors 
 adopt the plan of printing this in a line by itself ; as is 
 done with the numerous half-lines purposely introduced. 
 Marked pauses of different kinds break the monotony of 
 a succession of heroic lines, and give pleasing irregu- 
 larity and naturalness to the dialogue. In some cases 
 the line is broken by the sense into two distinct parts, 
 with an extra syllable at the break, so as to compel 
 a pause in the voice. In others an unaccented syllable 
 is omitted, so that the voice rests on the final accent 
 preceding the caesura, before starting on the first accent 
 of the second half. Lines of twelve syllables are com- 
 mon, both with and without an accent in the super- 
 fluous syllables. An occasional verse occurs even with 
 two additional feet, while others frequently want a 
 foot. The licence of slurring or suppressing syllables 
 
THE COMMENTATORS. 203 
 
 is used to an extent which could not now be indulged 
 in. Prose and verse intermingle, according to the sub- 
 ject, and the character of the speaker. A dialogue 
 begins at times in prose, as in Act i. Sc. 3. of ' The 
 Merchant of Venice,' where Shylock and Bassanio dis- 
 cuss the prosaic piece of business concerning the three- 
 months' interest for three thousand ducats ; but the 
 moment that the entrance of Antonio awakens the jealous 
 hatred of Shylock, the language becomes impassioned 
 and metrical. Falstaff never speaks in verse but in 
 his mock heroics, as where, in ' Henry IV (Part II. Act 
 ii. Sc. 4.) he plays the royal father to the prince, and 
 ' will do it in King Cambyses' vein ; ' or again, where 
 in loftiest fashion he addresses the new king, Henry V, 
 with the purpose of showing Master Shallow how he can 
 make ' King Hal ' do him grace. The prince, on the 
 contrary, passes from prose to verse, according as he 
 condescends to the society of his boon companions, or 
 unveils the traits of a noble nature, and gives expres- 
 sion to his higher emotions. Even so in ' The Tempest,' 
 Caliban, though rude, is never prosaic ; and except in 
 the mere exchange of question and answer with Ste- 
 phano and Trinculo, he speaks in verse, while they and 
 the rude sailors are absolutely restricted to prose. 
 
 The rhythmical effect of varying pauses gives further 
 variety to Shakespeare's dramatic verse ; and additional 
 freedom is secured by the frequent use of the hemistich, 
 or imperfect line, not only at the end but in the middle 
 of a speech. By such means particular passages are 
 rendered more emphatic, and a natural ease is given to 
 the language of dialogue, while retaining the elevated 
 dignity which pertains to the measured structure of 
 verse. Shakespeare in fact subordinates the sound to 
 the sense, as he adapts the language to the character 
 
2o 4 THE COMMENTATORS. 
 
 of the speaker. The rhythm is made in each case to 
 respond to the exigencies of the dialogue, instead of 
 forcing every variety of utterance to subject itself to 
 the same artificial constraints of verse. The editors of 
 the Cambridge Shakespeare remark, in reference to 
 certain imperfect lines in ' The Tempest,' ' The truth 
 is that in dialogue Shakespeare's language passes so 
 rapidly from verse to prose and from prose to verse, 
 sometimes even hovering, as it were, over the confines, 
 being rhythmical rather than metrical, that all attempts 
 to give regularity to the metre must be made with 
 diffidence and received with doubt' 
 
 Of all this, however, Pope, and the successors of his 
 school who undertook the textual criticism of Shake- 
 speare, had not the slightest appreciation. They dealt 
 with him as an author of a ruder age than their own. 
 Hanmer is more irreverent than Pope in the censorship 
 exercised over the poet's metres ; and as to Warburton, 
 who subsequently united his labours with those of the 
 author of ' The Dunciad,' as a joint effort for the restora- 
 tion of the genuine text : he coolly sets them forth as the 
 fruits of his younger pastimes, when he ' used to turn 
 over those sort of writers to unbend himself from more 
 serious applications ! ' From such irreverent critics little 
 that was good, and nothing that was trustworthy in 
 the form of literary criticism, was to be looked for. But 
 the condition of the text both in the quartos and folios 
 invited to metrical reconstruction, for many passages of 
 verse are there printed as prose. Guided by the arti- 
 ficial standard of their day, their vain efforts to force 
 the measure of Shakespeare into the Procrustean bed of 
 their heroic pentameters, tempt them to endless cobbling. 
 Short lines are eked out with an added syllable, long 
 ones are abbreviated, by elision, by omission, or change 
 
THE COMMENT A TORS. 
 
 of words ; and after all, the baffled critics find that the 
 ' native wood-notes wild ' will not be constrained within 
 their prescribed bounds. The increasing study of the 
 elder poets, along with a truer appreciation of Shake- 
 speare himself, as well as the familiarity with a freer line 
 in the practice of our living poets, all combine to induce 
 a juster estimation of the versification of the Elizabethan 
 drama. 
 
 Amongst other progressive features in the develop- 
 ment of Shakespeare's genius, certain characteristics of 
 his verse clearly distinguish the earliest from some at 
 least of his later dramas ; and have an interest for us 
 here as adding further confirmation to the idea that the 
 literary executors of the poet took the virgin manuscript 
 of ' The Tempest ' fresh from its author's pen, and placed 
 it foremost in the collected works of their deceased 
 friend. The Rev. Joseph Hunter, in his ' Disquisition on 
 the Scene, Origin, Date, etc. of Shakespeare's Tempest,' 
 enters into an elaborate argument to prove that ' The 
 Tempest' is not only not Shakespeare's last work, but 
 he aims from internal and other evidence at fixing the 
 year 1596 as the date of its production. He indeed 
 claims it to be the actual 'Love's Labour's Won' of 
 Meres' ' Palladis Tamia, Wit's Treasury,' published in 
 1598, in which that writer commends Shakespeare as 
 the most excellent among the English, alike for comedy 
 and tragedy ; and, enumerating certain comedies in 
 proof of this, he names his ' Gentlemen of Verona,' his 
 ' Errors,' his ' Love Labours Lost,' his ' Love Labours 
 Won,' his ' Midsummer Night's Dream,' and his 'Merchant 
 of Venice.' Dr. Farmer "imagined that the 'All's Well 
 that Ends Well ' is the play referred to. In reality there 
 is no evidence, beyond such fancied fitness of the title to 
 one or other of his known comedies, as may readily 
 
THE COMMENTATORS. 
 
 enough be assumed in the love's labour won of more 
 than one of their plots. 
 
 The precise date of the production of 'The Tempest' 
 is not a question of any moment in reference to the 
 points chiefly discussed here ; and indeed the attempts 
 hitherto made to determine the order of production of 
 Shakespeare's dramas from internal evidence have ended 
 in very conflicting results. But it is worthy of note in 
 reference to the verse of ' The Tempest,' that it bears a 
 striking resemblance in one notable characteristic to that 
 of ' Coriolanus,' another of the plays which appeared for 
 the first time in the 1623 folio, and which is recognised 
 on all hands as among the later productions of the 
 poet's pen. It is indeed named by Mr. Joseph Hunter 
 along with three, or possibly four others, of his latest 
 plays, written when in his maturity 'his muse grew 
 severe.' Professor Craik, in his ' English of Shakespeare,' 
 dwells on the peculiarity now referred to, as a habit of 
 versification very sparingly introduced in the earliest 
 plays, and which seemed to grow upon the poet in his 
 later works. This is the termination of the line on the 
 tenth syllable, where ordinarily the true stress and most 
 marked accent should be found, with a slight unemphatic 
 monosyllable. Not only has this a certain unexpected 
 effect, by the absence of that rest and dwelling on the 
 syllable which the normal rhythm of the verse leads us 
 to anticipate ; but this effect is further heightened, and 
 indeed owes its chief force, to the use generally of 
 relative or conjunctive monosyllables, such as and, have, 
 that, with, for, is, &c, words which lead mind and voice 
 alike onward to the succeeding line. The effect is in some 
 degree startling from the absence of the expected rest ; 
 but its true value lies in the increasing variety and flow 
 of language, and the additional freedom of structure, in 
 
THE COMMENTATORS. 207 
 
 which dramatic verse legitimately deviates from the more 
 stately epic. In this respect Shakespeare's first produc- 
 tions differed from those of earlier English dramatists ; 
 and the whole tendency of his mind was towards further 
 change in the same direction. Professor Craik remarks 
 of this specialty, 'it is a point of style which admits of 
 precise appreciation to a degree much beyond most 
 others ; and there is no other single indication which 
 can be compared with it as an element in determining 
 the chronology of the plays.' It seems somewhat in- 
 consistent with his idea that examples of this unemphatic 
 tenth syllable are so rare in the 'Julius Caesar,' that he 
 cites seven as the whole which occur in that play. He 
 does indeed use it as an argument for assigning an 
 earlier date to this latter play than to the ' Coriolanus ' ; 
 but the 'Julius Caesar' is one of those which appears 
 for the first time in the posthumous folio ; and whatever 
 its precise place may be in the chronological order of the 
 plays, it certainly is not an early production. 
 
 Before citing from 'The Tempest' examples of this 
 characteristic peculiarity of verse, it may be well to note 
 that it is not to be confounded with the universal licence 
 of ending a heroic line with the -If, -ing, -ucss, or other 
 like termination of a large class of* words ; though more 
 frequently this constitutes in Shakespeare's verse an extra 
 unemphatic syllable following the fifth accent. In this, 
 as in all other prolongations of the line beyond the final 
 accent, the effect is to give richness and variety without 
 interfering with the rhythmical pause at the end of the 
 line. Below are a few instances of the kind of verse 
 referred to, as it occurs in ' The Tempest.' The opening 
 line of the second scene is one not of ten but twelve 
 syllables, but it illustrates the peculiar effect resulting 
 from the closing of a line with an auxiliary verb, con- 
 
THE COMMENTATORS. 
 
 stituting by grammatical structure a part of the verb with 
 which the next line begins. In this respect it has some 
 analogy to the terminating a line, and rinding a rhyme, 
 in the middle of a word : which, though now employed 
 only as the extreme licence of burlesque extravaganzas, 
 was used by Spenser in the mottoes of his 'Faerie 
 Queen,' e. g. 
 
 ' The Redcross Knight is captive made, 
 By gyaunt proud opprest ; 
 Prince Arthure meets with Una great- 
 ly with those newes distrest.' 
 
 If the student of Shakespeare whose attention has not 
 been hitherto called to this peculiarity in the verse of 
 'The Tempest,' compare it in this respect with the 
 known early works of the dramatist, such as his ' Romeo 
 and Juliet,' 'Love's Labour's Lost,' and 'A Midsummer 
 Night's Dream,' he will perceive that it is a very notice- 
 able characteristic of a change in the rhythmical structure 
 of his dramatic dialogue, unquestionably pertaining to 
 the latest structure of his heroic line, as in the following 
 examples : — 
 
 ' If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.' 
 
 'It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and 
 The fraughting souls within her.' 
 
 ' Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
 She said thou wast my daughter.' 
 
 'I pray thee mark me, that a brother should 
 Be so perfidious.' 
 
 ' Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 
 A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
 Out of his charity, who being then appointed 
 Master of this design, did give us with 
 Rich garments.' 
 
 ' From mine own library with volumes that 
 I prize above my dukedom.' 
 
THE COMMENT A TORS. 
 
 !0 9 
 
 * A freckled whelp, hag-bom, not honour'd with 
 A human shape.' 
 
 ' Would'st give me 
 Water with berries in't; and teach me how 
 To name the bigger light, and how the less. 
 
 ' "When thou didst not, savage, 
 Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like 
 A thing most brutish.' 
 
 'Why speaks my father so ungently? This 
 Is the third man that ere I saw.' 
 
 'I will resist such entertainment, till 
 Mine enemy has more power.' 
 
 These examples, all culled from a single scene, abun- 
 dantly suffice to illustrate the use of this peculiar metrical 
 licence throughout 'The Tempest.' In no case does 
 the final monosyllable admit of a rhetorical accent ; 
 unless possibly in the eighth: — 'and teach me how To 
 name the bigger light,' &c. But even here it is rather 
 the habit of resting on the tenth syllable, than the 
 meaning or structure of the sentence, that would sug- 
 gest an accent; for indeed this is one of t the numerous 
 specimens of dramatic dialogue specially adapted to the 
 character of the speaker, and which might be treated 
 as rhythmical prose. 'When thou earnest first thou 
 strokedst me and madest much of me ; wouldst give 
 me water with berries in't, and teach me how to name 
 the bigger light, and how the less, that burn by day and 
 night : and then I loved thee.' In all the other examples 
 the line terminates with a word on which the voice 
 cannot dwell without doing violence to the sense ; and 
 hence the unemphatic break, with the necessity of 
 passing on to the next line, gives a novel variety and 
 freedom to passages of the dialogue. 
 
 Of an opposite class of lines referred to above, in 
 which the line is broken, both by sense and metrical 
 P 
 
THE COMMENTATORS. 
 
 structure, into two parts, by the omission of an un- 
 accented syllable, the introduction of an extra syllable, 
 or the bringing of two accents together, so as to compel 
 the voice to rest between the one and the other, and so 
 make the first emphatic, examples abound in 'The 
 Tempest' Of these a few may be quoted. 
 
 'But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, 
 Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered 
 With those that I saw suffer !'— i. 2. 
 
 ' Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
 A time before we came unto this cell?' — i. 1. 
 
 'And executing the outward face of royalty 
 With all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing.' — i. 2. 
 
 ' We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made on, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd.' — iv. 1. 
 
 ' Who most strangely 
 Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed 
 To be the Lord on't. No more yet of this.' — v. i. 
 
 In both the characteristics specially illustrated in the 
 above examples, as well as in the general structure of 
 its verse, ' The Tempest ' is distinguished from ' A Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream.' Much of the dialogue in the 
 latter is in rhyming couplets, and the regularity and 
 prevailing uniformity of its measure recall the verse 
 of the 'Venus and Adonis' or others of the first heirs 
 of the poet's invention. Whatever be the precise date 
 of 'The Tempest' it is not to be doubted that those 
 two comedies so much akin in the fanciful originality of 
 their dramatis persona, and the rich imaginative luxu- 
 riance of their verse, belong in point of time to two 
 widely separated eras of the poet's literary life. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE FOLIOS. 
 
 ' Prospero. So of his gentleness, 
 
 Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me 
 From mine own library with volumes Tbat 
 I prize above my dukedom.' — The Tempest. 
 
 THE first folio of Shakespeare, which issued from 
 the press in 1623, seven years after the poet's 
 death, is the first complete and authorised collection 
 of Shakespeare's dramas, — complete, with the one ex- 
 ception of ' Pericles, Prince of Tyre.' It is a handsomely 
 printed volume, issued with all accompaniments which, 
 according to the fashion of that age, could give eclat 
 to such a literary monument of genius. One half of his- 
 dramatic works, and some of these among the very best, 
 such as : — ' Cymbeline,' ' Macbeth,' ' Measure for Mea- 
 sure,' ' The Tempest,' ' Julius Caesar, ' Antony and 
 Cleopatra,' ' Coriolanus,' 'King John,' and ' Henry VIII,' 
 appeared there for the first time in print. The preface 
 shows that its joint editors, John Heminge and Henry 
 Condell, were actuated by all loving veneration for 
 their deceased friend ; and when they there declare that 
 those plays which had already appeared in print 'are 
 now offer'd to view cured and perfect of their limbs: 
 and all the rest, absolute in their numbers as he con- 
 ceived them,' it is not to be doubted that they honestly 
 believed what they affirmed. They were actors, not 
 authors ; and apparently regarded the printer's share of 
 the work as a thing with which they had nothing to do. 
 
THE FOLIOS. 
 
 ' It had beene a thing, we confesse, worthy to have 
 beene wished, that the Author himselfe, had liv'd to 
 have set forth, and overseene his owne writings. But 
 since it hath been ordain'd otherwise, and he by death 
 departed from that right, we pray you doe not envy his 
 Friends, the office of their care and paine, to have col- 
 lected and publish'd them.' So say the poet's literary 
 executors in reference to their labour of love. They 
 had, we may presume, obtained possession of all the 
 manuscripts left by Shakespeare at his death ; had 
 added to these the original manuscripts, or copies of 
 others, in the Blackfriars or Globe stage-libraries ; and 
 completed the series, as the text abundantly proves, 
 by means of some of the very quartos which they 
 denounce in their preface as ' stolne and surreptitious 
 copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealths 
 of injurious impostors.' But all proof-reading was evi- 
 dently left to the printers ; and wild work they have 
 made of it, as many an obscure or absolutely meaning- 
 less passage shews ! 
 
 It has been a favourite idea of Shakespeare's com- 
 mentators that the folios supply, on the whole, an 
 authoritative critical text of Shakespeare ; and unques- 
 tionably, as the earliest edition of the collected plays, and 
 the sole original text for one half of them, the first folio 
 must constitute the basis of all texts of the plays. Again, 
 there is no doubt that the second, or 1632 folio, is cor- 
 rected to some small extent from the first, though also 
 it introduces blunders of its own. Yet it is, upon the 
 whole, the highest authority where no quartos exist ; 
 and it is on the margins of a copy of this edition that 
 the manuscript notes of Mr. J. P. Collier's famous text 
 occur. It is not necessary to enter here on the vexed 
 question of the genuineness or value of these notes. 
 
THE FOLIOS. 
 
 But it will suffice to shew to how very limited an 
 extent the original text of the folio can be relied upon, 
 when it is remembered that the correction of minor 
 errors alone in this annotated copy are estimated by its 
 editor at twenty thousand. Many of these are palpable 
 blunders in spelling, punctuation, or such manifest trans- 
 position of letters or words as could scarcely escape 
 the eye of the first corrector, and had already been 
 amended by Rowe, Pope, Theobald, and other editors. 
 But besides those, the volume abounds in every kind 
 of error of omission or commission. The dialogue is 
 misplaced as to speakers, in part or whole. Verse is 
 printed as prose, and prose as verse. Words are 
 blundered and displaced, lines are transposed, words, 
 and it is believed whole lines, have been dropped out. 
 Sentences are cut in two by periods and capitals : 
 making in some cases a sort of bungling sense utterly 
 mystifying to the reader ; as in a well-known instance 
 in ' Henry VIII,' Act iv. Sc. 2, where Griffith, speaking 
 her best for the dead cardinal, says, according to the 
 folios : — 
 
 ' This Cardinal, 
 Though from a humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fashioned to much honour. From his cradle 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one.' 
 
 To Theobald is due the simple but effective transpo- 
 sition of the periods which reconverted the plausible 
 nonsense of the printer into the true sense of the poet, 
 reading thus : — 
 
 'This Cardinal, 
 Though from a humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fashioned to much honour from his cradle. 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; 
 Exceeding wise, fair-spoken and persuading.' 
 
 This being the condition of the best text we have to 
 appeal to, with such aid as the traduced quartos supply 
 
2i 4 THE FOLIOS. 
 
 for collation and correction of the folio misprints of 
 one half of the plays, it is obvious that abundant room 
 is left for the labours of the commentators. Their work 
 began in 1709, with the revised and corrected edition 
 of Shakespeare's plays by Nicholas Rowe, the first 
 attempt at a critical restoration of the text. A host 
 of zealous, if not always judicious critics have followed 
 in his steps. Poets, antiquaries, and scholars have 
 rivalled one another in the search for blemishes, and 
 exhausted their ingenuity in attempts to remove them. 
 Their joint labours and rival criticisms have accom- 
 plished much which is valuable. Yet even now, after 
 a century and a half devoted to such efforts, it cannot 
 be assumed that all has been done that patient diligence 
 and sagacity may hope to achieve. There are, doubt- 
 less, corruptions which no conjecture can with certainty 
 remove ; for even when the intelligent student is able 
 to offer a substitute for some meaningless- phrase, which 
 illuminates the whole passage, it lies beyond possibility 
 of proof that this is what Shakespeare actually wrote. 
 But while a becoming reverence for the poet will re- 
 strain the most critical editor from unduly tampering 
 with the text, it need not preclude the most modest 
 student from communicating the results of his labours. 
 Any even plausible amendment of an obscure passage 
 may find admission into a foot-note, and be there left 
 to the judgment of the reader as a possible suggestion 
 or elucidation. Amendments in themselves inadmissible 
 have repeatedly suggested others of value ; and, even 
 when rejected as worthless, by tempting the reader to 
 renewed study, they often reward him with more com- 
 prehensive appreciation of the meaning of the original 
 text. In this sense alone are the following notes and 
 conjectural emendations put forth. 
 
THE FOLIOS. 
 
 In general accuracy the text of ' The Tempest ' com- 
 pares favourably with most of the plays in the first or 
 second folios ; and as it appeared in the former of these 
 for the first time, it is not improbable that it may have 
 been printed as already suggested, from the author's own 
 manuscript. But from the little we know of Shake- 
 speare's handwriting, it may be assumed that it was 
 not of the most readable character ; and proof-reading 
 seems to have been carried on in the seventeenth century 
 under little or no editorial oversight, in a fashion which 
 admitted of very strange misprints passing muster in the 
 text. In truth the 1623 folio may be pronounced with- 
 out hesitation to be one of the handsomest and worst 
 printed books that issued from the press in the whole 
 century. The persevering efforts to restore a pure 
 text have not been expended without a fair per- 
 centage of very happy results. Sometimes by the mere 
 change of a single letter sense has been found in what 
 was before meaningless, and Shakespeare's own text, 
 we can scarcely doubt, restored. That many textual 
 imperfections still remain is not to be doubted. The 
 majority of these, however, lie beyond the reach of any 
 such certainty of correction, since the hand of the 
 master has been, not merely blurred, but defaced be- 
 yond all decypherment by some careless blunderer. Yet 
 even with them carefully studied conjectural criticism 
 may still find room left for useful work : not indeed by 
 tampering with the text, but by supplementing it with 
 suggestive notes, which may at times restore the mean- 
 ing, even if it leave doubtful the actual words of the 
 great master, 'whose mind and hand went together.' 
 The severe critical test to which every such suggestion 
 is certain to be subjected, is a sure guarantee that no 
 merely plausible change will secure general acceptance ; 
 
THE FOLIOS. 
 
 though where the text has been blundered into absolute 
 meaninglessness, any sense is better than none. 
 
 In reference to 'The Tempest,' the version of it as 
 revised by Dryden and D'Avenant has a certain value 
 textually, though worthless in a literary point of view. 
 Dryden was born only fifteen years after the death of 
 Shakespeare at the comparatively early age of fifty-two. 
 As to D'Avenant, a scandal of the time reputed him to 
 be a son of the great dramatist. To such men, inti- 
 mately acquainted with all the traditions of the stage, 
 and to whom the language of Shakespeare 'was no less 
 familiar in its colloquial freedom, than in its choicest 
 phraseology, the correction of a misprint, or the sub- 
 stitution of a more intelligible or expressive word for 
 a doubtful one, could be done with a confidence per- 
 taining now alone to the diligent student of the Eliza- 
 bethan literature. Yet, as we shall have occasion to note, 
 the language was even then undergoing rapid change, 
 and Dryden kept no critical eye on the points in which 
 the usage of his own day already differed from that of 
 the Elizabethan age. Rowe, Pope, and others of the 
 earliest commentators, availed themselves of Dryden's 
 amendments on the folio text, and some of them have 
 been generally adopted. To him we owe the arrange- 
 ment of portions, such as the talk of Caliban, into verse, 
 in lieu of the prose of the folios. Of his verbal amend- 
 ments an example may be quoted, where Caliban ex- 
 claims, on the entrance of Trinculo, according to the 
 folio : — 
 
 ' Lo, now, lo ! 
 Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me.' 
 
 Pope reads ' now to torment me,' thinking perhaps the 
 repetition of the now, as of the lo, characteristic. 
 Dryden had already rendered it ' sent to torment me.' 
 
THE FOLIOS. 
 
 In similar points, more particularly noted hereafter, 
 changes are due to Dryden's revision, but they are not 
 of great importance, and some of them are not improve- 
 ments. In the same scene, for example, Prospero, in 
 describing to his daughter his brother's treachery, says — 
 
 ' Whereon 
 A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
 Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
 The gates of Milan.' 
 
 The idea manifestly is, that on that fatal or fated night 
 Antonio accomplished his treacherous deed ; and, as 
 Prospero proceeds to say, 
 
 ' I' the dead of darkness 
 The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
 Me and they crying self.' 
 
 But Dryden feebly substitutes mated for fated. Other 
 emendations and suggestions will help to illustrate the 
 condition of the text. Prospero, having narrated to his 
 daughter the treacherous proceedings of his uncle, adds 
 thus : — 
 
 ' Mark his condition and the event ; then tell me 
 If this might be a brother ; ' 
 
 to which, according to the appropriation of the dialogue 
 in the folios, Miranda replies : — 
 
 ' I should sin 
 To think but nobly of my grandmother: 
 Good wombs have borne bad sons.' 
 
 Theobald proposed the transference of the last line to 
 Prospero, as more consistent with the previous dialogue, 
 and with the age and innocent simplicity of Miranda, 
 as shown e. g. in the preceding interrogative : e Sir, are 
 not you my father ?' along with his response. When he 
 describes their hurried banishment from Milan, he tells 
 her, according to the original text — which may be given 
 
THE FOLIOS. 
 
 here, with orthography, capitals, and punctuation, as a 
 sample of that of the folio : — 
 
 ' In few, they hurried us a-boord a Barke, 
 Bore us some Leagues to Sea, where they prepared 
 A rotten carkasse of a Butt, not rigg'd, 
 Nor tackle, nor sayle, nor mast ; the very rats 
 Instinctiuely have quit it.' 
 
 The Butt of the third line is rendered boat by Dryden, 
 and in this he is followed by Rowe. The Cambridge 
 editors, usually so conservative, adopt the alteration. 
 Mr. Joseph Hunter, on the contrary, argues for a literal 
 wine-butt cut in two, in spite of the inconsistency of 
 its desertion by the rats ; while Knight retains the butt 
 as, at least, more strikingly conveying the idea of a 
 vessel even less secure than the most rotten boat : as 
 it is common enough now to speak of a poor, ill- 
 appointed vessel as a tub. The ' nor sayle' of the fourth 
 line is a reading in which the second folio varies from 
 the first ; and most editors adhere to the latter as equally 
 indisputable in metre and sense ; but Mr. Joseph Hunter 
 thinks ' the second nor is added to the reading of the 
 first folio, to the improvement of the spirit.' It is an 
 illustration of much else of the same kind ; for here a 
 learned and most critical commentator adopts, I cannot 
 doubt, a mere compositor's blunder, and finds in it the 
 essence of Shakespeare's verse. Another example of 
 doubtful appropriation of the dialogue occurs in the 
 same scene. Prospero having described the services 
 rendered to him at the last by Gonzalo, the speakers 
 thus proceed, according to the folios : — 
 
 'Mir. Would I might 
 
 But ever see that man ! 
 
 Pros. Now I arise : 
 
 Sit still, and hear the last of our sea sorrow.' 
 
THE FOLIOS. 
 
 After the ' now I arise ' of Prospero, the stage direction, 
 ' Resumes his mantle] has been added by Rowe and 
 later editors. Collier's MS. notes render it ' Put on robe 
 again'' ; but Blackstone regards the 'now I arise' as a 
 part of Miranda's remark, as though conceiving she has 
 heard all her father has to tell her ; and to this he 
 naturally responds ' sit still,' &c. Another example of 
 the original text will suffice to illustrate the orthography 
 and punctuation, in the slovenly fashion in which it re- 
 mains uncorrected in the second folio, where Ariel tells 
 Prospero, 
 
 'Not a soule 
 But felt a Feaver of the madde, and plaid 
 Some trickes of disperation ; all but Mariners 
 Plung'd in the foaming bryne, and quit the vessell ; 
 Then all a fire with me the Kings sonne Ferdinand, 
 With hairfe up-staring (then like reeds, not haire) 
 Was the first man that leapt; cride hell is empty, 
 And all the Divells are heere.' 
 
 Dryden here changes the text to ' a fever of the mind,' 
 and is followed in this by Pope ; but the best later 
 editors retain it unchanged further than the indis- 
 pensable correction of the punctuation. Again, Prospero, 
 according to the folio, addresses Caliban thus : — 
 
 'Thou most lying slave, 
 Whom stripes may move, nor kindness !' 
 
 The substitution of not for nor by modern editors seems 
 to me a weakening of the text. Caliban is neither 
 moved by stripes nor kindness to any good purpose, in 
 Prospero's estimation. The address to him immediately 
 following, in the same vituperative style, beginning 
 ' Abhorred slave,' is assigned in the folios to Miranda, 
 but modern editors have followed Dryden in transfer- 
 ring it to Prospero, of the correctness of which there 
 
THE FOLIOS. 
 
 is no doubt. In this passage Prospero says, according 
 
 to the folio : — 
 
 ' When thou didst not (sauage) 
 Know thine owne meaning; but wouldst gabble, like 
 A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
 With words that made them knowne: But thy vild race 
 (Tho thou didst learn) had that in't, which good natures 
 Could not abide to be with,' &c. 
 
 Vild is rendered vile, without the Cambridge editors 
 thinking it necessary to note the change. It agrees 
 with the ' abhorred slave,' &c, of the opening part of 
 the sentence, but wild would accord as well, in some 
 respects, with the immediate context. It may be worth 
 noting here a similar misprint in ' A Midsummer 
 Night's Dream,' Act i. Sc. i, where, according to the 
 second folio, Helena, speaking of Demetrius, says — 
 
 ' So I, admiring of his qualities : 
 Things base and vilde, holding no quantity, 
 Love can transpose to forme and dignity.' 
 
 Here Knight reads ' base and vild,' explaining the word 
 in a foot-note as vile. No commentator, so far as I am 
 aware, has suggested another change, which appears to 
 me worthy of consideration, and may as well be noted 
 now as later, viz. quality for quantity. I may notice 
 here also an example of the way in which the blunders 
 of one edition are liable to be made the basis of 
 false emendations in another. In Act i. Sc. 2, where 
 Prospero suddenly changes his manner towards Fer- 
 dinand, ' lest too light winning make the prize light,' 
 Miranda demands, appealingly, 'Why speaks my father 
 so ungently?' but this, by a misprint in the second 
 folio, becomes urgently ; and some former possessor of 
 my copy has drawn his pen through it, and written in 
 the margin grudgingly. The paucity of stage directions 
 is another evidence of the absence of proper editorial 
 
THE FOLIOS. 
 
 oversight in the folios, as where, in Act i. Sc. I, 
 Prospero says — 
 
 ' It works : come on, 
 
 Thou hast done well, fine Ariel : follow me. 
 
 Hark what thou else shalt do me.' 
 
 So it is printed in the folio, whereas the context clearly 
 shews that the first two words are an aside, — Prospero's 
 thought uttered audibly. The two commands, ' come 
 on,' and ' follow me,' are addressed to Ferdinand, the 
 rest is for Ariel. Two alterations on Ariel's song were 
 made by Theobald, and have taken their place in the 
 current text, though neither is justified by any ob- 
 scurity in the original. He reads, ' Where the bee sucks 
 there lurk I,' instead of ' suck I,' and ' After sunset 
 merrily,' instead of summer, or, as it is in the folio 
 sommer. The associations with the fine music of Dr. 
 Arne have so familiarised all with the altered version ; 
 and both in sound, and in association with the bat's wing, 
 there is such an aptness in the latter change, that the 
 restored text is apt to be felt unacceptable at first. But 
 on any principle of sound criticism this seems an 
 attempt to change, so far as we know, what Shakespeare 
 did write, into what he ought to have written. 
 
 The following are the results of the author's own 
 reading and annotation of the two plays specially re- 
 ferred to. They are by no means produced as undoubted 
 emendations of the text, but merely as the conjectures 
 of a Shakespeare student, on points which are for the 
 most part admittedly doubtful or obscure. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST.' 
 
 ' The best in this kind are but shadows ; and the worst are no worse 
 if imagination amend them.' — A Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 THE sole authority for the text of 'The Tempest' is 
 the 1623 folio, with whatever editorial supervision 
 or appeal to an original manuscript may be supposed 
 to have guided the revisers of the second and subse- 
 quent folios. The text is, on the whole, free from gross 
 blunders, and much more correct than other plays in the 
 volume ; but obscurities and undoubted errors do exist, 
 with some of which the following notes attempt to deal 
 conjecturally. 
 
 ACT I. Scene I. 
 
 The rough dialogue of the first scene is purposely 
 constructed in striking contrast to what follows, and is 
 less open to rigid criticism. But Mr. Richard Grant 
 White has not thought even the ' Boson,' or ' Boatswain,' 
 undeserving of note in his ' Shakespeare's Scholar.' Fol- 
 lowing his example, a trifling change may be noted as 
 perhaps admissible in the Boatswain's words : ' Bring 
 her to try with main-course.' In the folio it is printed 
 ' bring her to Try with Maine-course.' The capital 
 suggests this as possibly the true reading : ' Bring her 
 too. Try with main course.' 
 
A'OTES ON ' THE TEMPEST.' 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 ' Pros. Being once perfected how to grant suits, 
 How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom 
 To trash for overtopping.' 
 
 Knight explains trash as 'a term still in use among 
 hunters, to denote a piece of leather, couples, or any 
 other weight, fastened round the neck of a dog, when 
 his speed is superior to the rest of the pack ; i. e. when 
 he overtops them, when he hunts too quick.' This in- 
 terpretation seems more like an afterthought, devised to 
 make the explanation fit on to the text. The meaning 
 seems rather that the crafty deputy had learned how 
 to grant and how to deny suits ; whom to promote and 
 whom to overtop, i. e. over whom to promote others, his 
 own creatures. The only other example of the use of 
 the latter word is where, in ' Antony and Cleopatra,' 
 Antony exclaims, ' All is lost,' and then adds, ' this pine 
 is barked that overtopped them all.' This is in ac- 
 cordance with the use ascribed to it in Prospero's allusion. 
 As to the doubtful word trash, it is repeatedly used by 
 Shakespeare in its ordinary sense of worthless. But 
 in one passage in which, as usually rendered, Knight's 
 interpretation of its special significance in 'The Tempest' 
 seems borne out, he finds an entirely new meaning for 
 it. In ' Othello,' Act ii. Sc. I, where Iago is meditating 
 his purposed use of Cassio's name to awaken in the 
 Moor his fatal jealousy, he exclaims, according to the 
 Cambridge, as well as earlier texts : — 
 
 ' Which thing to do, 
 If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash 
 For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
 I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip.' 
 
 In reality, however, the use of the same word in two 
 
224 NOTES ON ' THE TEMPEST' 
 
 totally different senses is the work of the commentators. 
 The first quarto has crush in place of the latter trash; 
 while the second and third quartos and the folios have 
 trace. Knight accordingly, adopting the latter reading, 
 adds this note : ' The noun trash, and the verb trace, are 
 used with perfect propriety. The trash is the thing traced, 
 put in traces, confined — as an untrained worthless dog 
 is held ; and hence the present meaning of trash" This 
 is not the only case where Knight seems to fit a meaning 
 for the occasion. The commentators, dissatisfied with 
 either of the old readings, have variously suggested 
 leash, train, trash, cherish ; the last, and most unsuitable 
 one, being Warburton's. It is in its ordinary sense, as 
 where Iago speaks of 'this poor trash of Venice,' that 
 the word is everywhere else used by Shakespeare, unless 
 in the reference by Prospero to his brother's perfidious 
 policy. When, in a later scene (Act iv. Sc. i.), Stephano 
 and Trinculo yield to the temptation of the ' glistering 
 apparel' purposely hung up by Ariel 'for stale to catch 
 these thieves,' Caliban exclaims. ' Let it alone ; it is but 
 trash.' But the passage in Prospero's speech appears to 
 have been recognised as obscure or faulty by the first 
 editors ; and it is accordingly changed conjecturally in 
 the second folio. As printed in the 1623 folio, the text 
 reads ' who t' advance, and who to trash,' which suggests 
 to me a very possible misprint for — 
 
 'Being once perfected how to grant suits, 
 How to deny them ; who to advance, and who 
 Too rash for overtopping.' 
 
 That is to say, who were fit to be promoted, and who 
 were too rash to be advanced over old servitors. Pros- 
 pero accordingly goes on to say that he ' new created 
 the creatures that were mine ; ' either ' changed them, 
 or else new formed them.' In this way the original text 
 
NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST: 
 
 is adhered to more closely ; and yet, by the alteration of 
 a single letter, a clear meaning is given to what was 
 formerly obscure. 
 
 'Pros. He being thus lorded, 
 
 Not only with what my revenue yielded, 
 But what my power might else exact, like one 
 Who having into truth, by telling of it, 
 Made such a sinner of his memory, 
 To credit his own lie, he did believe 
 He was indeed the duke.' 
 
 This passage has occupied the commentators with 
 very diverse efforts at its elucidation. Hanmer reads, 
 loving an untruth, and telling V oft; Warburton, having 
 unto truth, by telling oft ; Musgrave, having sinn'd to 
 truth by telling 't oft ; the Collier folio, besides changing 
 lorded into loaded, renders the later line, Who having 
 to untruth, by telling of it; and its editor adds, 'There 
 cannot be a doubt that this, as regards untruth at least, 
 is the language of Shakespeare.' 
 
 Query :— 
 
 Who hating an untruth. 
 
 Prospero says, ' My trust, like a good parent, did beget 
 of him a falsehood.' It seems in the same vein of 
 reasoning to say of him so trusted,' that he resembled 
 one who, originally hating an untruth, ended by 
 believing his own lie. 
 
 ' Me, poor man, my library 
 Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties 
 He thinks me now incapable; confederates, 
 So dry he was for sway, wi' the King of Naples 
 To give him annual tribute,. do him homage, 
 Subject his coronet to his crown.' 
 
 It may be worth noting, that in the first folio it is 
 temporall roalties ; in the second folio it becomes 
 Q 
 
NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST! 
 
 roialties. But why 'temporal royalties'? There were 
 no spiritual ones in question. The reference may be 
 presumed to be to Prosperous supernatural rule, but to 
 this he has made no allusion. He has only spoken of 
 himself as ' rapt in secret studies,' and 
 
 ' Neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated 
 To closeness and the bettering of my mind 
 "With that which, but by being so retired, 
 O'erprized all popular rate.' 
 
 Probably royalties is the true word ; but the change of 
 a single letter, in the first folio, would give realties, a 
 word contrasting with the supernatural things to which, 
 by any interpretation, temporal must have reference ; 
 and to which, as afterwards appears, the ' secret studies ' 
 refer. 
 
 ' Subject his coronet to his crown.' As in Shake- 
 speare's day his was the neuter, as well as the masculine 
 possessive form, this may be read as equivalent to — 
 ' Subject its coronet to his crown.' It was the coronet of 
 Milan, but not yet of Antonio. There remains one other 
 word, more clearly open to objection — ' So dry he was 
 for sway.' In the folios it is drie. 
 
 Query :— 
 
 So ripe he was for sway. 
 
 'Pros. Now the condition. 
 
 This king of Naples, being an enemy 
 To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; 
 Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises, ■ 
 Of homage and I know not how much tribute.' 
 
 Knight explains this, in £\\e premises of homagg, &c. — the 
 circumstances of homage premised! 
 
 Query:— 
 
 in view o' the promises 
 Of homage. 
 
NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST.' 
 
 ' Pros. Thou didst smile, 
 
 Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
 When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, 
 Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me 
 An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
 Against what should ensue.' 
 
 The commentators have manifested their recognition 
 of some defect by proposing such changes as these : 
 Hanmer reads for ' deck'd,' bracked ; Warburton, mocked ; 
 ] ohnson, fleck' d; and Reed, degg'd. 
 
 Query : — 
 
 Thou didst smile, 
 Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
 When I have lack'd. The sea, with drops full salt, 
 Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me, &c. 
 
 'Pros. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child.' 
 
 Sycorax is spoken of with every term of loathing : as 
 a ' foul witch,' a ' hag,' a ' damned witch,' &c. There 
 seems no propriety in coupling with these the term 
 blue-eyed — one of the tokens, according to Rosalind, in 
 ' As You Like It,' whereby to know a man in love. In 
 the first and second folios it is ' blew ey'd.' Query : — 
 blear-eyed, or bleared. 
 
 'Pros. Thy groans 
 
 Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
 Of ever-angry bears.' 
 
 Query : — of even angry bears. 
 
 ' Pros. Urchins 
 
 Shall, for that vast of night that they may work 
 All exercise on thee.' 
 
 Query : — shall forth at vast of night. 
 
 The term vast is sanctioned by its use in ' Hamlet,' 
 where Horatio says, ' In the dead vast and middle of the 
 Q 2 
 
NOTES ON < THE TEMPEST.' 
 
 night ; ' so at least it stands in three of the quartos, 
 though in two others it is rendered wast. This becomes 
 in the folios waste, and by Malone is converted into 
 waist. 
 
 ' Pros. One word more ; I charge thee 
 
 That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp 
 The name thou owest not.' 
 
 Query :— 
 
 One word more : I charge thee — 
 Dost thou attend me? — thou dost here usurp, &c. 
 
 'Mir. O, dear father, 
 
 Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
 He's gentle and not fearful. 
 
 Pros. What! I say, 
 
 My foot my tutor? ' 
 
 In this passage the former owner of my 1632 folio 
 has changed rash into harsh — an ingenious, but certainly 
 false conjecture ; for Miranda, not less regardful of her 
 father than her lover, says : — Do not too rashly put his 
 forbearance to the test, for he is no churl, but of gentle 
 blood and courage. Another correction by the same 
 hand deals with a word already recognised as doubtful. 
 Dryden changes /<?#/ into child; Walker suggests/^/; 
 the same unknown annotator corrects it thus : — ' What, 
 I say, foolish, — my tutor ! ' 
 
 ACT II. Scene I. 
 
 ' Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks ! how green ! ' 
 
 The word lush is of doubtful origin and significance. 
 Henley affirms it to mean 'rank'; Malone, 'juicy'; Knight 
 quotes the word lushy as applied to a drunkard ; 
 R. Grant White suggests it to be a corruption of 
 
NOTES OiV 'THE TEMPEST' 
 
 luscious. Is it too simple a suggestion that the word 
 was fresh ? The manuscript would readily admit of 
 such a misreading. 
 
 ' Seb. Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, 
 Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. 
 
 Alon. Prithee, peace. 
 
 Seb. You were kneel'd to and importun'd otherwise, 
 By all of us ; and the fair soul herself 
 W T eigh'd between loathness and obedience, at 
 Which end o' the beam should bow.' 
 
 Query : — 
 
 to weigh the grief on't. 
 
 Swayed between loathness and obedience, at 
 Which end o' the beam she 'd bow. 
 
 The folios have the word waigltd, which I had noted 
 conjecturally on my own copy as a misprint for swayed. 
 From the Cambridge Shakespeare it appears that S. 
 Verges has already suggested this, though its editors 
 overlook the suggestive orthography of the folio. The 
 she'd, instead of shoidd, is Malone's, and adopted by 
 Knight. By dropping the at of the previous line, the 
 should would be more expressive. But, as has already 
 been shewn, the at, so placed, is highly characteristic of 
 the peculiar metre of this and one or two other of 
 Shakespeare's latest plays. 
 
 'Ant. I am more serious than my custom; you 
 Must be so too, if heed me; which to do 
 Trebles thee o'er.' 
 
 What does Trebles thee der mean here ? Looking at it 
 in its relation to the context, it has to be borne in re- 
 membrance that Antonio, himself a traitorous usurper, is 
 making the first suggestion of treason, in purposedly 
 obscured hints, to Sebastian, the king of Naples' brother. 
 The king lies asleep ; his son, the heir to the crown, is 
 
2 3 o NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST' 
 
 believed to be drowned ; and a few sentences further on 
 the suggestion assumes this undisguised shape : — 
 
 ' Here lies your brother, 
 No better than the earth he lies upon, 
 If he were that which now he 's like, that 's dead ; 
 Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, 
 Can lay to bed for ever.' 
 
 In the folios the text reads — Trebbles thee dre. Pope 
 renders it Troubles thee o'er; Hanmer, Troubles thee not. 
 
 Query 
 
 I am more serious than my custom ; you 
 Must be so too, if — heed me, — which to do 't 
 Rebels thee o'er. 
 
 The previous talk with Gonzalo, and the darker hints 
 since, have been carried on with quip, pun, and inuendo. 
 If we understand Sebastian's reply, ' Well, I am standing 
 water,' as a play on the word rebels, i. e. ' ripples thee 
 o'er' it is no worse pun than others which have preceded 
 it ; and hence follows metaphorical talk of flowing, 
 ebbing, and running near the bottom. 
 
 'Ant. She that from Naples 
 
 Can have no note, unless the sun were post, — 
 The man i' the moon's too slow, — till new-born chins 
 Be rough and razorable ; she that from whom 
 We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again.' 
 Query :— 
 
 She from whom we 
 All were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again. 
 
 This is equivalent to ' She, coming from whom,' &c. 
 Otherwise it might read, ' She for whom we.' The 
 earlier line, ' She that from Naples,' may have misled 
 the compositor in this subsequent line, as in similar 
 cases. Mr. Spedding suggests to the Cambridge editors, 
 ' She that — From whom ? All were sea-swallow'd,' &c, 
 
NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST: 
 
 making the ' From whom ' an interjectional reference to 
 the previous ' She can have no note from Naples till 
 new-born babies have beards to shave ! ' Rowe, Pope, 
 Singer, and other commentators, all concur in recog- 
 nising some defect in the text 
 
 'Ant. There be that can rule Naples 
 
 As well as he that sleeps: lords that can prate 
 As amply and as unnecessarily 
 As this Gonzalo : I myself could make 
 A chough of as deep chat. 
 Query : — 
 
 A chough give as deep chat. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 ' Cal. I'll bring thee 
 
 To clustering filberts, and sometimes I'll get thee 
 Young scamels from the rock.' 
 
 Scamels is the word in the folios It has been con- 
 jecturally amended, seamalls, sea-mews, staunels, and 
 shamois ; the last being Theobald's. Hunter thinks 
 the word scamels genuine, because 'as it stands it 
 gives us a very melodious line,' and also from ' the 
 difficulty of finding a word which the printer may 
 be supposed to have mistaken.' Nevertheless he 
 suggests samphire. Caliban has said just before, ' I 
 with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts,' so that 
 something simple may be assumed. 
 
 Query muscles. It fulfils one of Mr. Hunter's 
 requirements, being nearly a transposition of the 
 letters, and is more likely than either shamois or 
 samphire. The special luxury of ' young muscles from 
 the rock ' may also fitly contrast with the previous 
 threat of Prospero to Ferdinand : ' Thy food shall be 
 the fresh-brook muscles.' 
 
NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST? 
 
 ACT III. Scene I. 
 
 ' Fer. My sweet mistress 
 
 Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness 
 Had never like executor. I forget : 
 But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours 
 Most busy lest, when I do it.' 
 
 The reading of the last line has been the subject of a 
 multitude of conjectures. The lest of the first folio 
 becomes least in the second. Pope reads least busy, 
 Theobald, most busie-less, and so on, through busiest, busy 
 felt, busy still, busiliest, of a succession of commentators, 
 crowned with Collier's folio marginal note of most busy- 
 blest. 
 
 Query : — 
 
 Do even refresh my labour 
 Most baseless when I do it. 
 
 Baseless would thus stand in apposition to the baseness 
 of his previous comment : ' Some kinds of baseness are 
 nobly undergone,' &c. 
 
 ' Fer. Would no more endure 
 
 This wooden slavery, than to suffer 
 The flesh-fly blow my mouth.' 
 
 In the first folio it is wodden, in the second it becomes 
 woodden. 
 
 Query:— 
 
 This sudden slavery. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 ' Trin. Why thou debosh'd fish, thou.' 
 
 The Cambridge editors, contrary to their usual adher- 
 ence to the original text, undertake here to improve on 
 
iVOTES 0A r l TIIE TEMPEST: 
 
 the drunken talk of Trinculo, by the change of dcbostid 
 to debauched — a questionable improvement. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 ' Gon. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir ; 
 My old bones ache : here 's a maze trod, indeed, 
 Through forth-rights and meanders ! ' 
 
 The only other example of the use of forth-right occurs 
 in ' Troilus and Cressida,' Act iii. Sc. 3, where Ulysses 
 says to Achilles : — 
 
 ' If you give way, 
 Or hedge aside from the direct forth right.' 
 
 Here ' the direct forth right ' means undoubtedly the 
 straight course, and so it is supposed to stand in the 
 same sense, in Gonzalo's use of it, in apposition to 
 ' meanders.' But treading a maze through direct courses 
 does not seem the most likely expression. In the first 
 folio it is fourth rights. According to the Cambridge 
 editors it becomes forth-rights in the second, third and 
 fourth folios. So far, at least, as my copy of the second 
 folio is concerned, it is forth rights without the hyphen. 
 Bearing in view the previous experiences, to which 
 Gonzalo refers, I venture to suggest 
 
 Through sore frights and meanders. 
 
 'Ariel. You three 
 
 From Milan did supplant good Prospero; 
 Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it, 
 Him and his innocent child.' 
 
 Query :- 
 
234 NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST.' 
 
 ACT IV. Scene I. 
 
 ' Pros. Now come, my Ariel ! bring a corollary 
 Rather than want a spirit ; appear and pertly ! ' 
 
 What is a corollary here ? Knight explains it as 'a 
 surplus number.' In the folio it is printed with a capital, 
 as though it were the name of some spirit. But capitals 
 are employed too freely by the early printers to make 
 this of much moment. The word is used nowhere else 
 by Shakespeare, is unmusical where it stands, and is 
 probably a misprint. The concluding word of the next 
 line, pertly, seems also inapt. Ariel has just before 
 asked if the masque is expected presently. This I 
 imagine to be the word repeated, abbreviated probably in 
 the original manuscript, at the end of a long line. As 
 to the other conjectural change suggested here: it will 
 be remembered that Prospero's command to Ariel is 
 
 ' Go bring the rabble, 
 O'er whom I give thee power, here to this place: 
 Incite them to quick motion.' 
 
 Query :— 
 
 Now come, my Ariel ! bring a whole array 
 Rather than want a spirit; appear, and presently.' 
 
 ' Ceres [Song]. Vines with clustering bunches growing; 
 Plants with goodly burthen bowing; 
 Spring come to you at the farthest 
 In the very end of harvest.' 
 
 Spring can scarcely be the word here. Collier's folio 
 notes substitute rain. But an apt change is suggested 
 if we consider the nature of the invitation to which Ceres 
 
 is responding : Juno says : — 
 
 ' Go with me 
 To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, 
 And honour'd in their issue.' 
 
 Query :— 
 
 Offspring come to you at farthest. 
 
/VOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST.' 
 
 ' Fer. Let me live here ever ; 
 
 So rare a wonder'd father and a wife 
 Makes this place paradise.' 
 
 The Cambridge editors seem to imply that the word 
 rendered wife here, is one of those in which different 
 copies of the first folio vary, some giving it as wife, and 
 some as wise ; and they accordingly adopt the former, 
 with the punctuation as given above. Judging from the 
 photozincographic facsimile of the first folio, to which 
 alone I have access, it reads wise. But owing to the use 
 of the long s, the difference between the two letters is 
 exceedingly slight ; and where the printing is not per- 
 fectly clear, it is just one of the rare cases where the 
 facsimile might mislead. In the second folio it is un- 
 questionably wise, and is punctuated accordingly, thus : — 
 
 So rare a wonder'd father, and a wise, 
 Makes this place paradise. 
 
 This, I cannot doubt, is the true reading. Pope, who 
 adopts wife, changes makes to make, to agree with 
 the two nominatives. But it is common enough with 
 Shakespeare to make the verb agree with the nearest 
 nominative. Collier parades his folio annotator as 
 giving what he assumes to be ' the final decision in favour 
 of wife? Prospero has just replied' to a question of 
 Ferdinand, that the majestic vision they have witnessed 
 is the work of spirits, called forth by his art to enact his 
 present fancies ; and he naturally responds : ' Let me 
 ever live in a place which so wonderful and wise a father 
 converts into a paradise.' 
 
 'Ariel. At last I left them 
 
 I' the filthy- mantled pool beyond your cell, 
 There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
 O'erstunk their feet.' 
 
 Feet cannot be the word here, when they were up to their 
 
236 NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST! 
 
 chins. Spedding suggests fear. Should it not be fell ? 
 Macbeth speaks of the time when his ' fell of hair 
 would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir, as life were in't;' 
 and Corin, in ' As You Like It,' speaking to Touchstone 
 of the ewes, says ' their fells you know are greasy/ 
 
 ' Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! ' 
 
 In the folio it is dropsie. Query deep sea. 
 
 'Pros. Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints 
 With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews 
 With aged cramps.' 
 
 Query — 
 
 wry convulsions . . . agned cramps. 
 
 ACT V. Scene I. 
 
 'Pros. My charms crack not; my spirits obey.' 
 
 Query: — break not. He says shortly after, ' My charms 
 I '11 break.' 
 
 ' Ariel. The king, 
 
 His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, 
 And the remainder mourning over them, 
 Brimful of sorrow and dismay.' 
 
 So it is in the Cambridge and in other editions. But in 
 the folios it is brim full, which makes better rhythm, 
 and no worse meaning. 
 
 'Pros. A solemn air, and the best comforter 
 To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, 
 Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! ' 
 
 The folios have boile and boil. BoiVd is the suggestion 
 of Pope. 
 
NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST.' 
 
 Query ' now useless coil,' as in Act i. Sc. 2, 
 
 • My brave spirit 
 Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
 Would, not affect their reason.' 
 
 ' Pros. O good Gonzalo, 
 
 My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
 To him thou follow'st.' 
 
 Collier's MS. substitutes servant for sir. Query suitor. 
 It is not his loyalty or service to the usurper that Pros- 
 pero commends ; but he may refer, in calling him a loyal 
 suitor, to the fidelity with which he sued to Antonio, the 
 usurping duke, on Prospero's behalf. 
 
 ' Pros. Their understanding 
 
 Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 
 Will shortly fill the reasonable shore 
 That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them 
 That yet looks on me, or would know me.' 
 
 The first and second folios both read : ' That now ly 
 foule.' Assuming that some change is necessary, I 
 should prefer adhering to this, and reading : ' The rea- 
 sonable shores that now lie foul.' The repetition of 
 That at the beginning of two successive lines suggests 
 the possibility of a compositor's misreading here, as in 
 similar instances. Query, ' E'en yet looks on me.' 
 
 ' Alon. You the like loss! 
 
 Pros. As great to me as late ; and supportable 
 To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
 Than you may call to comfort you.' 
 
 Query reparable. Prospero is replying to Alonzo's 
 exclamation ' Irreparable is the loss.' Supportable is 
 unmusical and mars the rhythm. 
 
238 NOTES ON 'THE TEMPEST.' 
 
 ' Pros. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, 
 
 Then say if they be true 
 
 These three have robb'd me ; and this demi-devil — 
 For he's a bastard one — hath plotted with them 
 To take my life.' 
 
 My 1632 folio bears on its margin the substitution of 
 visages for badges. But the badges which shewed they 
 were not true, were, I presume, the stolen apparel in 
 which Stephano and Trinculo are decked. But as 
 Caliban would ' have none on't,' it should read ' these 
 two have robb'd me.' 
 
 ' Alon. Where should they find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em ? ' 
 
 Shakespeare repeatedly uses the word gilded, but no- 
 where else in this sense. Query guiled. 
 
 The epilogue which is appended to 'The Tempest' 
 seems an impotent afterpiece to this beautiful comedy. 
 It embodies in lame verse a feeble re-echo of the pre- 
 vious sentiments, without a single novel or apt idea. It 
 resembles in no respect Shakespeare's own epilogues, 
 and may be unhesitatingly assigned to some nameless 
 playwright of the seventeenth century. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 ' Bottom. I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, — past 
 the wit of man to say what dream it was : man is but an ass if he go 
 
 about to expound this dream. Methought I was there is no man can 
 
 tell what.' — A Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 THE text of ' A Midsummer Night's Dream' rests on 
 different authority from that of ' The Tempest,' 
 which appeared for the first time in the 1623 folio, seven 
 years after its author's death. A quarto edition of ' A 
 Midsummer Night's Dream ' was printed for Thomas 
 Fisher, and ' soulde at his shoppe, at the Signe of the 
 White Hart, in Fleetestreete,' in the year 1600. It bears 
 the name of William Shakespeare on the title ; was duly 
 entered at Stationers' Hall ; and, though characterised 
 by the usual carelessness of the press at that date, was, 
 we may presume, set up from the author's manuscript. 
 This was followed during the same year by another, and 
 probably surreptitious reprint, by James Roberts, in which 
 the printer's errors of the first quarto are corrected, and 
 the stage directions somewhat augmented, but with a due 
 crop of misreadings of its own. The Cambridge editors 
 surmise that it was a pirated reprint of Fisher's quarto, 
 for the use of the players. As such it got into the hands 
 of those two special players who issued the first folio as 
 'Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and 
 Tragedies. Published according to the True Originall 
 Copies ; ' and who, in the preface, pray their readers that 
 they ' doe not envy his friends the office of their care 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 and paine to have collected and published them.' They 
 accordingly gave proof of their painstaking, so far as 
 this comedy is concerned, by following the surreptitious 
 copy. The first quarto thus appears to be the better au- 
 thority for the text of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream ;' 
 and the folios have little more value than what is due 
 to contemporary conjectural emendation. This is fully 
 illustrated in the variations of the quarto and folio texts 
 in a passage immediately to be noticed, from the first 
 scene. 
 
 It is perhaps due to the early place which ' A Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream' undoubtedly occupies among 
 the dramatic works of Shakespeare, that in all the older 
 texts it is divided into acts, but not into scenes. The 
 stage directions also are meagre, and have been re- 
 peatedly confused with the text ; and no list of dramatis 
 persona is given. Hence those points have remained to 
 be supplied at the discretion of successive editors ; and 
 considerable diversity prevails. The same scene, for 
 example, which Capell and other editors make the 
 second scene in Act ii. becomes the third of Steevens 
 and Knight, and the fifth of Pope. 
 
 In many ways it is apparent that this play is the work 
 of a different period from that in which its author wrote 
 'The Tempest ;' and it has even been supposed to embody 
 recollections of the author's own boyish years. Young 
 Shakespeare was in his twelfth year when the Earl of 
 Dudley entertained Queen Elizabeth with the famous 
 allegorical pageants produced at Kenilworth in honour 
 of her visit. The preparations for this magnificent recep- 
 tion of royalty enlisted the services of the inhabitants of 
 the surrounding country; and it is not to be doubted that 
 those of Stratford, only a few miles distant, bore their 
 full share alike in the labours and the pastimes of this 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 grand local event. Among the characteristic allegorical 
 devices introduced on the occasion, Triton, in likeness of 
 a mermaid, paid obeisance to her Majesty; and Arion, 
 seated on a dolphin's back, enchanted her with a song, 
 ' aptly credited to the matter.' It is a pleasant fancy to 
 believe that the gifted boy actually witnessed this ; and 
 recalling the delights of his youthful fancy at the en- 
 chanting scene, he reproduced it in the well-known piece 
 of delicate flattery introduced into his ' Dream,' as a 
 more lasting tribute to the Maiden Queen : — 
 
 ' Oberon. My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb'rest 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
 And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
 And certain stars shpt madly from their spheres, 
 To hear the sea-maid's music. 
 
 Pitch. I remember. 
 
 Oberon. That very time I saw, but thou couldst not, 
 Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
 Cupid all arm'd ; a certain aim he took 
 At a fair vestal throned by the west ; 
 And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
 As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
 But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
 Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon ; 
 And the imperial votaress passed on, 
 In maiden meditation, fancy-free.' 
 
 Malone, judging from internal evidence, regards this 
 delicately fanciful drama as revealing all ' the warmth 
 of a youthful and lively imagination ;' and therefore he 
 concludes it to be one of his earliest attempts at comedy. 
 But there is nothing crude or immature in it. On the 
 contrary, much of its poetry is of the rarest beauty : yet 
 dallying with the innocence of love, and fancifully inter- 
 blending its mishaps with ' such sights as youthful poets 
 dream.' Its light and airy, yet exquisitely charming 
 verse, has received the highest meed of appreciation ; for 
 R 
 
242 A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 it has passed beyond the region of dramatic dialogue 
 into that current popular poetry which is familiar as 
 household words ; and is scarcely assigned to individual 
 authorship, but rather constitutes a part of the living 
 language, an universal property wherever the English 
 tongue is spoken. The wonderful exuberance of fancy 
 which characterises this comedy has already attracted 
 our notice ; but many portions of _ the_dialogue are in 
 rhyme, and much both of the prose and verse is pur- 
 posely wrought into a gay medley, which scarcely admits 
 of the same strict critical analysis as ' The Tempest.' 
 Indeed not a little of the charm of the prose dialogue 
 lies in the unconscious blunderings of the Athenian 
 mechanics. It has been subjected, nevertheless, to the 
 same critical revision as others of the plays. Rowe, 
 Pope, Theobald, Hanmer, Warburton, Johnson, and later 
 commentators, down to Collier, with his antique MS. 
 notes, have all tried their hands at the work of restoration. 
 Some of their emendations are welcome elucidations of 
 obscure or blundered passages. Others, especially those 
 on the lighter dialogue of the 'hempen homespuns 
 swaggering here,' are of a piece with the sage comments 
 of the censorious Bottom himself on ' the tedious brief 
 scene of young Pyramus and his love Thisbe : very 
 tragical mirth.' Little more is attempted here than the 
 production of a few notes and comments on obscure 
 passages, the fruits of careful and reverent study of 
 the play. 
 
 ACT I. Scene I. 
 
 "■Bern. Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield 
 Thy crazed title to my certain right.' 
 
 Query razed title. The decision of Theseus has just 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 been given, by which all claim or title of Lysander to 
 Hermia's hand is erased. The word razed repeatedly 
 occurs in this sense in the dramas. 
 
 ' Lys. And she, sweet lady, dotes, 
 
 Devoutly* dotes, dotes in idolatry, 
 Upon this spotted and inconstant man.' 
 
 Spotted is a Shakespearean word, the opposite of spot- 
 less : as Richard II. speaks of the spotted souls of his 
 disloyal nobles. No one therefore would venture to 
 disturb the text. But I may note here the conjectural 
 change pencilled by me on the margin as harmonising, 
 by antithesis, with Helena's 'devout idolatry' to her for- 
 sworn lover. 
 
 'Pon ibis apostate and inconstant man. 
 
 The following example of variations in the quarto and 
 folio texts will illustrate how little authority can be 
 attached to the latter as fulfilling the promise of the 
 editors that where the readers of Shakespeare had before 
 been ' abus'd with divers stolne and surreptitious copies, 
 maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealths of 
 injurious impostors, even those are now offer'd to their 
 view cured and perfect of their limbes.' The passage is 
 here given according to the text of the 1632 folio, in 
 which some attempts are made to remove the careless 
 blunders of the first folio : — 
 
 ' Lysander. How now my love ? Why is your cheek so pale ? 
 
 How chance the Roses there do fade so fast? 
 Hermia. Belike for want of raine, which I could well 
 
 Beteeme them, from the tempest of mine eyes. 
 Lysander. Hermia for ought that ever I could reade, 
 
 Could ever heare by tale or history, 
 
 The course of true love never did run smooth, 
 
 But either it was different in blood. 
 Hermia. O crosse! too high to be enthral'd to love. 
 R 2 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Lysander. Or else misgraffed, in respect of yeares. 
 
 Hermia. O spight ! too old to be ingag'd to yong. 
 
 Lysander. Or else it stood upon the choise of merit. 
 
 Hermia. O hell! to choose love by anothers eye.' 
 
 The only other example of the use of the word beteem 
 by Shakespeare, is where Hamlet, speaking of his 
 father's loving care for his mother, says : ' He might not 
 beteem the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly.' 
 It can scarcely admit of any common meaning applicable 
 in the two cases. But it is used by Spenser as equivalent 
 to bestow, in which sense it suits the text, and as it has 
 the authority both of the quartos and folios, must stand. 
 I had noted bestrewn as a conjectural reading. Bestow 
 would accord with another passage, where Henry V. in 
 his prayer before the battle of Agincourt, says of the 
 dead Richard's body — 
 
 ' And on it have bestowed more contrite tears 
 Than from it issued forced drops of blood.' 
 
 The quartos have ' Eigh me, for ought that I could 
 ever read.' The first folio, omitting the ' Eigh me,' 
 simply has : ' For ought that euer I could reade,' and 
 the second folio replaces the ejaculation of the quartos 
 with the name, nearly equivalent in sound, of Hermia. 
 
 The change of love (in the first folio lone) into low — 
 
 ' O cross ! too high to be enthrall'd to low ' — 
 
 is due to Theobald, and commends itself to nearly every 
 reader as a restoration of Shakespeare's own word. 
 
 ' Or else it stood upon the choice of friends ' 
 
 is the text of the quartos ; 3^et it is changed, undoubtedly 
 for the worse, to merit, as shewn in the above version of 
 the folio text. This example of variation between the 
 quartos and folios serves to shew how little authority can 
 be attached to the latter ; and at the same time illustrates 
 
A MIDSUMMER XIGHT'S DREAM. 245 
 
 the impossibility in some cases of amending undoubted 
 errors by conjectural changes based on any probable 
 misprint. Hermia's response perfectly accords with the 
 original reading of the quartos, while it has little or no 
 meaning in reply to ' the choice of merit,' which is never- 
 theless retained in the first and subsequent folios. Here 
 there can scarcely be a doubt that the latter is an un- 
 designed change for the worse. But nothing in the con- 
 text helps to any conjecture as to the origin of the 
 blunder, while its retention in the second and later folios 
 indicates that the original quarto text was, so far at 
 least, neglected in the corrections of the press. Collier's 
 MS. annotator makes the feeble emendation of men for 
 merit. It is a good illustration of the guesswork restora- 
 tions based on supposed typographical errors ; and is an 
 instance where, if the word friends had not the authority 
 of the quartos to sustain it, the feebler word might have 
 found favour, owing to its seeming resemblance to the 
 objectionable merit. Mr. Collier, who does not seem to 
 have been aware of the earlier authority for the received 
 reading, says 'friends has ordinarily been substituted 
 for merit; but men, inserted in the margin by the 
 corrector of the folio, is likely to have been the real 
 word, misheard by the copyist.' 
 
 ' Hel. Sicknesse is catching: O were favour so, 
 Your words Ide catch, faire Hermia ere I go. 
 My eare should catch your voice, my eye, your eye, 
 My tongue should catch your tongues sweet melodic' 
 
 So the text stands in the second folio ; and as it 
 makes good sense, it might be allowed to remain. But 
 alike in the quartos and first folio it reads, ' Your words 
 I catch,' and Hanmer made on this the apt emendation, 
 ' Yours would I catch,' which more fully accords with 
 the whole context. 
 
246 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 ACT II. Scene I. 
 
 'Fairy. And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the green.' 
 
 Knight, as his fashion is, explains the word orbs here 
 by devising a meaning suited ToThe context, and fitting 
 it to the word. He accordingly says : ' Orbs, the fairy 
 rings, as they are popularly called. It was the fairy's 
 office to dew these orbs, which had been parched under 
 the fairy feet in the moonlight revels.' The word J s re- 
 peatedly used by Shakespeare, but neverlrPany such 
 sense ; and what follows" IfTthe fairy's speech implies 
 that it is the flowers that, in some way, he speaks of. 
 The cowslips are her special favourites, 'her pensioners' ; 
 and so he says — 
 
 'I must go seek some dewdrops here, 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.' 
 
 This is fitter work than dewing orbs, or parched fairy- 
 rings. Grey suggests herbs. 
 
 Query— 
 
 To dew her cups upon the green. 
 
 'Puck. And now they never meet in grove or green, 
 By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, 
 But they do square, that all their elves, for fear, 
 Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.' 
 
 Unless doubtfully in a passage in ' Titus Andronicus,' 
 the word square is not used in such a sense as would 
 suit the text, especially in reference to the fairy king 
 and queen. P eck sug gests jar, or sparre. 
 Query quarrel. 
 
 ' Tit. And never since the middle summer's spring, 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead.' 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 
 
 Knight explains ( thgjniddle summer's spring ' as the 
 beginning of midsummer ; but it seems a cumbrous 
 tautology in this sense. Looking to the context, which 
 describes, as the fruit of Oberon and Titania's brawls, 
 contagious fogs, the green corn rotting in the drowned 
 field, and 'the nine men's morris' filled up with mud, 
 I had noted as a conjectural reading ' this muddy sum- 
 mer's spring.' But_.£L_- slighter change would be ' the 
 middle summer's prime' 
 
 ' Tit. The human mortals want their winter here ; 
 No night is now with hymn or carol blest.' 
 
 Various conjectures have been offered in amendment 
 of the somewhat pointless ' winter here! Johnson changes 
 it to wonted year ; Warburton to winter 'j Jicrycd. Theo- 
 bald had already proposed the better amendment of 
 winter chear, or cheer, which suits very well the context ; 
 and closely accords with the old spelling of the folios, 
 heere. Looking to the previous statements, that ' The 
 ox hath stretch'd his yoke in vain,' 'The ploughman 
 lost his sweat,' ' The green corn hath rotted,' and ' The 
 folds stand empty in the drowned field,' I am led to 
 suggest their winter hire. 
 
 ' Dem. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 
 Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; 
 But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
 Is true as steel; leave you your power to draw, 
 And I shall have no power to follow you.' 
 
 This passage has not hitherto been challenged ; but 
 the meaning of ' you draw not iron, for my heart is true 
 as steel ' is obscure. If it were rendered. ' But yet you 
 draw not iron, though my heart is true as steel,' the 
 idea might be that she had no heart of iron, hard as 
 
248 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 his was. But I suspect the iron to be a printer's blunder, 
 suggested by the steel following. In the folios Iron is 
 printed with a capital, which, in the second folio is some- 
 what displaced, and separated from the ron. This has 
 apparently suggested to the former possessor of my copy 
 an ingenious emendation, which he has written on the 
 margin thus : You draiv, not I run, for, &c. Among my 
 own annotations are included this conjectural reading : — 
 ' But yet you draw no truer ; for my heart 
 Is true as steel.' 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 ' Tit. Come, now a roundel and a fairy song ; 
 Then, for the third part of a minute, hence: 
 Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds : 
 Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings, 
 To make my small elves coats; and some keep back 
 The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders 
 At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; 
 Then to your offices, and let me rest.' 
 
 The idea of the third part of a minute dedicated to 
 the fulfilment of the fairy queen's behests, by the com- 
 panions of Puck, who could ' put a girdle round the earth 
 in forty minutes,' admirably accords with the movements 
 of such airy beings, swift as thought. But Warburton so 
 utterly misses the meaning, that he converts such fairy 
 pastimes into a toil for the third part of the midnight. 
 
 'Her. Lie further off: in human modesty, 
 Such separation as may well be said 
 Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid.' 
 
 Titania's use of the phrase 'human mortals' is very 
 expressive, but 'human modesty' seems a needless 
 pleonasm. The word stands humane in the quartos, and 
 in three out of the four folios. Nicholas Rowe, the 
 earliest reviser of Shakespeare's text, made the fourth 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 249 
 
 folio the basis * of all his restorations, and no doubt 
 adopted this without being aware of any variation. The 
 elder form of humane would be preferable, though it can 
 scarcely be claimed as a purposed change, for this is 
 the usual mode of spelling human in Shakespeare's day. 
 If any change is to be made, common modesty would 
 better suit the context. 
 
 ACT I'll. Scene II. 
 
 1 Obe. This falls out better than I could devise ; 
 But hast thou yet latch't the Athenian's eyes 
 With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ? ' 
 
 The word is variously latcht, lacht, in the quartos and 
 folios. Hanmer makes it lech'd, another commentator 
 laced; while Knight, seeking as usual a meaning in the 
 context, explains it licked o'er. But is there any such 
 word ? Puck is elsewhere commanded to ' anoint his 
 eyes ;' or he is to ' crush this herb into Lysander's eye.' 
 Oberon speaks of the juice as 'on sleeping eye-lids laid,' 
 and himself undertakes to ' streak ' Titania's eyes with the 
 same potent fluid. But no such word as latch't is used 
 elsewhere in any similar sense. Oberon's term, streaked, 
 would here also suit the rhythm. But latch't may pos- 
 sibly be a misprint for battid. 
 
 'Her. I'll believe as soon 
 
 This whole earth may be bor'd; and that the moon 
 May through the centre creep, and so displease 
 Her brother's noontide with the Antipodes.' 
 
 Hanmer suggests disease in lieu of displease. The idea 
 in relation to which Hermia introduces this quaint 
 analogy is the substitution of Demetrius for her favoured 
 lover Lysander, of whom she says, ' The sun was not so 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 true unto the day as he to me;' and therefore she will as 
 soon believe that at this very time of night, while the 
 moon is here, the sun may be supplanted by it, on the 
 other side of the world. 
 
 Query : — 
 
 ' That the moon 
 May through the centre creep, and so displace 
 Her brother's noontide with the Antipodes.' 
 
 ' Hel. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, 
 But you must join in souls to mock me too?' 
 
 ' Join in souls ' has been recognised as, in some way or 
 other, wrong. Hanmer substitutes flouts for souls, and 
 probably some such word is the true reading. Warbur- 
 ton renders it must join insolents ; T 'y rwhitt, must join 
 ill souls ; and Mason, with the slightest change on the 
 text, You must join in soul. 
 
 Query -.—join in sports. She accuses them of being all 
 set against her for their merriment ; { all to make you 
 sport;' and when Hermia enters, she charges her as 
 one of this confederacy, joined ' all three to fashion this 
 false sport.' 
 
 'Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, 
 The ear more quick of apprehension makes ; 
 Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, 
 It pays the hearing double recompense.' 
 
 The his in the first line is undoubtedly the old Anglo- 
 Saxon neuter genitive, and is as Shakespeare wrote it. 
 Where, however, in this and many other lines, there is 
 obviously no rhetorical gender, and the nominative it 
 follows close at hand, it would be no greater liberty 
 with the text to substitute the modern form its, than 
 many orthographical changes universally approved of. 
 Another passage in this comedy v/ill serve to illustrate 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 the old use of his. Titania is detailing to Oberon the 
 fruits of their brawls : — 
 
 1 The ox hath therefore stretch'd bis yoke in vain. 
 The ploughman lost bis sweat; and the green corn 
 Hath rotted, ere bis youth attained a beard.' 
 
 The new form was adopted in a single generation. 
 Milton evades the obscurity in rhetorical impersona- 
 tion consequent on his being in use as a neuter form, by 
 falling back, whenever he can do so, on the gender of 
 the Latin derivative ; e.g. ' Paradise Lost,' Bk. I, Lat. 
 
 forma : — 
 
 ' His form had not yet lost 
 All her original brightness.' 
 
 But by the time that Dryden succeeded him as the 
 poet of a new era — though he was in his forty-fourth 
 year at Milton's death, — the change had been so univer- 
 sally adopted, that in challenging the grammatical 
 English of Ben Jonson he quotes this line from his 
 ' Catiline ' 
 
 ' Though heaven should speak with all his wrath at once,' 
 
 and says of it ' Heaven is ill syntax with his.' 
 
 This proof of how thoroughly a grammatical usage 
 of Shakespeare's age had passed out of knowledge in a 
 single generation, shews that Dryden's emendations on 
 the text of ' The Tempest ' rest on little better authority 
 than the guesses of modern commentators. He would 
 have converted the his into its, not as a change rendered 
 desirable by altered grammatical forms, but as the 
 correction of a positive blunder. But many passages 
 occur where the retention of the old neuter form is apt 
 to mislead ; and as Shakespeare does occasionally em- 
 ploy the new form, its substitution in other cases is 
 allowable. Take, for example, the following lines from 
 Oberon's directions to Puck : — 
 
2 5 2 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 ' Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 
 "Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, 
 To take from thence all error with his might, 
 And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.' 
 
 ' With its might ' would be a legitimate emendation. 
 The first his undoubtedly refers to the liquor, the second 
 to Lysander ; yet as the text stands, it suggests the 
 idea that, along with Lysander's ' error,' the liquor was to 
 take away his might. 
 
 ' Hel. We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 
 Have with our needles created both one flower, 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion.' 
 
 Pope needlessly takes in hand to amend the harmony 
 of the second line, which is thoroughly Shakespearean. 
 He reads ' Created with our needles both one flower.' 
 Steevens, with the same object in view, abbreviates needles 
 to neelds. But no commentator notices the extravagant 
 simile, 'like two artificial gods.' I had noted on my 
 own annotated copy the conjecture, like to artificer gods. 
 But gods seems altogether alien to the general current 
 of Helena's thoughts. Query, two artificial buds. 
 
 ' Hel. So we grew together, 
 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, 
 But yet a union in partition ; 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem ; 
 So with two seeming bodies, but one heart; 
 Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
 Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.' 
 
 To any one acquainted with heraldry, the phrase ' two 
 of the first' seems such unmistakeable heraldic language, 
 that he is apt to fancy he understands the whole allu- 
 sion. But reduced to a defined solution, it does not 
 appear by any means so clear. Monk Mason says ' two 
 of the first means two coats of the first house, which are 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 253 
 
 properly due but to one;' and Knight says, 'there is 
 a double comparison here — first, of the two bodies com- 
 pared to two coats of heraldry ; and secondly, of the 
 one heart compared to the one crest, and the one 
 owner.' But this can only end in the impaling of two 
 similar coats of arms, and leaves the ' due but to one,' 
 on which the whole force of the simile rests, unaccounted 
 for. Douce and Grant White reject the heraldic signifi- 
 cance of ' first,' and hold it to be used in its ordinary 
 sense, referring to two bodies. Of the general meaning 
 there can be no doubt. Helena tells Hermia that, with 
 their ' sisters' vows ' and closest friendship, they had been 
 as if with two bodies, yet but one heart. As, however, 
 the heraldic interpretations seem to fail according to the 
 received version, it may be worth while reconsidering 
 the original text. The first folio reads, ' Two of the 
 first life coats in heraldry.' The only change in the 
 second folio is the insertion of a comma after life. 
 Theobald changed the life to like. It seems to me that 
 the text as it stands in the second folio, makes at least 
 as good sense as the other, and no worse heraldry. Two 
 bodies of the first life, would be moulded on one parental 
 stem, and two coats in heraldry of the first life, would 
 be due to one and the same descendant. 
 
 ' So with two seeming bodies, but one heart, 
 Two of the first life : coats in heraldry- 
 Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.' 
 
 'Her. I understand not what you mean by this. 
 Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, 
 Make mouths upon me when I turn my back.' 
 
 The first quarto, according to the Cambridge editors, 
 reads, / doe. Persever. The second quarto and the 
 folios are stated, on the same authority, to read /, do, 
 
254 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 persever. The first folio, in so far as the photozinco- 
 graphic facsimile may be appealed to, reads — 
 
 ' I, doe, perseuer, counterfeit sad lookes, 
 Make mouthes vpon me when I turne my backe.' 
 
 In the second folio it becomes, I, do, persever, &c. The 
 capital /, however, is the usual way of rendering the ay 
 of our later orthography, and is not, therefore, any sure 
 guide to the true reading. Rowe rendered it, Ay, do, 
 persevere ; but modern critical editors have restored the 
 persever, as essential to the rhythm. It seems to me 
 more effective, as Helena's answer to Hermia, and not 
 without some justification from the original text, to 
 read — 
 
 ' I do ; — perceive you counterfeit sad looks.' 
 
 She has already exclaimed shortly before, ' Now I per- 
 ceive they have conjoin'd, all three ;' and when he says, 
 ' I understand not what you mean,' she replies, ' But I 
 do ; I perceive you counterfeit sad looks, make mouths 
 upon- me,' &c. 
 
 ' Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this ? 
 
 Lys. Away, you Ethiope ! 
 
 Bern. No, no ; he'll 
 
 Seem to break loose ; take on as you would follow, 
 But yet come not : you are a tame man, go ! ' 
 
 This passage has given the commentators no little 
 trouble. In the first quarto it is No, no.; heele Seeme to 
 breake loose. The second, finding something wrong, 
 renders it as one line — No, no, heel seeme to breake loose. 
 The folio editors, or press reader, try another change, 
 and it there reads, still as one line — No, no, Sir, seeme to 
 breake loose. Pope rearranges the verse, and reads, No, 
 no he'll seem To break away ; Capell makes it, No, no ; 
 hell not come. Seem to break loose ; Malone, No, no ; 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT S DREAM. 
 
 he'll — sir, Seem to break loose; Steevens, No, no; sir: — he 
 will, Seem to break loose ; while Jackson furnishes an 
 amusing example of the misspent ingenuity which so 
 often makes the error of one editor or commentator the 
 basis of another's conjectures. Taking the sir of the 
 folios as his guide, he renders it, No, no, he '// not stir ; 
 Seem to break loose. The Cambridge editors, distracted 
 with the multitude of counsellors, after exhausting a 
 long foot-note, take up the question anew in the appen- 
 dix, where they say, ' In this obscure passage we have 
 thought it best to retain substantially the reading of the 
 quartos. The folios, though they alter it, do not re- 
 move the difficulty, and we must conclude that some 
 words, perhaps a whole line, have fallen out of the text.' 
 They accordingly indicate the supposed hiatus thus : — 
 
 No, no; he'll . . . 
 Seem to break loose ; &c. 
 
 It seems presumptuous to follow such varied and high 
 authorities with a new suggestion ; and still more, to 
 fancy, as I am tempted to do, that a very trifling altera- 
 tion clears up the whole difficulty, without any missing 
 line. A pair of distracted lovers, set at cross purposes 
 by Puck's knavish blundering, are giving vent to the 
 most extravagant violence of language. Helena says, a 
 very little before — 
 
 ' O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent 
 To set against me for your merriment.' 
 
 In like fashion, as it appears to me, Demetrius now 
 exclaims, in language perfectly consistent with the rude 
 epithets Lysander is heaping on Hermia — 
 
 ' No, no ; hell 
 Seems to break loose; take on as you would, fellow ! 
 But yet come not; you are a tame man, go!' 
 
256 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Lysander's reply, though addressed seemingly to Hermia, 
 is amply consistent with such violent hyperbole : — 
 
 ' Hang off, thou cat, thou burr ! vile thing, let loose, 
 Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent.' 
 
 ACT IV. Scene I. 
 
 ' Obe. And gentle Puck take this transformed scalp 
 From off the head of this Athenian swain; 
 That he awaking when the others do, 
 May all to Athens back again repair.' 
 
 All may to Athens is suggested by the context, but it is 
 more musical as it stands. Query transforming scalp. 
 
 It cannot but seem presumptuous to venture on any 
 emendation of Nick Bottom's exquisite soliloquy, which 
 he places far beyond reach of all carping critics by his 
 solemn decision that ' man is but an ass if he go about 
 to expound this dream.' Yet one little particle does 
 seem to admit of change. His resolution is, ' I will get 
 Peter Quince to write a ballad,' or, as the folios have it, 
 a ballet, 'of this dream. It shall be called Bottom's 
 Dream, because it hath no bottom, and I will sing it in 
 the latter end of a play, before the duke. Peradventure, to 
 make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.' 
 At her death is doubtless at the death of Thisbe, when 
 he, being already the dead Pyramus, would all the more 
 characteristically turn up again with his own ballad, 
 instead of the Bergomask dance which he does actually 
 volunteer. Whether it be safe to venture on the change 
 of a single letter in his inimitable confusions of all the 
 senses may well be questioned ; but doubtless he means 
 ' in the latter end of the play ' of Pyramus and Thisbe, 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 with a view to add one more climax to its ' very tragical 
 mirth' : and not at the close of some possible future 
 appearance before the duke. 
 
 ACT V. Scene I. 
 
 The comedy closes with a fairy dance and song, 
 which the Cambridge editors, following the quartos, 
 assign to Oberon. But this is obviously an error, 
 though parts of it may be properly enough assigned 
 to him to sing in solo. Johnson preceded them in re- 
 storing the song to Oberon. But having by this means 
 converted it into a part of the dialogue, he proceeds 
 naively to enquire after the song which Titania calls 
 for, and comes to the conclusion that ' it is gone after 
 many other things of greater value. The truth is that 
 two songs are lost,' one called for by Oberon and the 
 other by Titania, because, as Johnson supposes, ' they 
 were not inserted in the players' parts, from which the 
 drama was printed.' All this is a mistake, founded 
 on the revival of the original error of assigning the song 
 to Oberon. On the contrary, his orders are given to 
 ' every elf and fairy sprite ' to perform various favouring 
 services within the hallowed house of Duke Theseus and 
 his bride, and then he a,dds : — 
 
 ' And this ditty after me 
 Sing and dance it trippingly.' 
 
 Titania thereupon joins in with her commands to their 
 fairy train ; — 
 
 ' First rehearse your song by rote, 
 To each word a warbling note ; 
 Hand in hand with fairy grace, 
 Will we sing and bless this place.' 
 
 In the folios the song immediately follows this, printed 
 S 
 
258 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 as such in italics, and headed The Song. It was no 
 doubt at the date of the first folio, if not at that of 
 the quartos, set to music, with its various parts appor- 
 tioned to different fairy singers. Oberon and Titania 
 doubtless had a prominent share assigned to them ; 
 and the fairy chorus taking up alternate lines, repeating, 
 and singing in parts, the verse would be arranged, in 
 accordance with the exigencies of the music, and in all 
 probability transcribed therefrom with no very critical 
 attention to the order of the lines. In the folios the 
 closing lines stand thus : — 
 
 ' With this field dew consecrate, 
 Every fairy take his gate, 
 And each severall chamber blesse, 
 Through this pallace with sweet peace, 
 Ever shall in safety rest, 
 And the owner of it blest. 
 Trip away, make no stay; 
 Meet me all by breake of day.' 
 
 It has been seen from the first that some change is 
 needed here. Mr. R. Grant White says : ' " Ever shall 
 in safety rest" is neither sense nor English, ancient or 
 modern.' Rowe renders the line Ever shall it safely 
 rest ; Malone, E*er shall it in safety rest ; Warburton, 
 Ever shall it safely rest. Staunton appears to have 
 first detected the true source of error, and suggested 
 the transposition of the fifth and sixth lines, after at- 
 tempting amendment in another way, by changing 
 Ever shall into Every hall. Without being aware of 
 his proposed transposition, I had already noted on 
 the margin : ' These lines to be sung by different 
 fairies'; and assuming them thus to be taken up by 
 different singers, whereby the logical sequence might 
 be disarranged, I had marked a more comprehensive 
 re-arrangement. At the point where these lines begin 
 
A MIDSUMMER X/GIIT'S DREAM 
 
 there is a change of theme. Oberon and Titania may- 
 be assumed to take the lead, up to this point, with their 
 special blessings on the bridal bed and the promised 
 issue. The earlier portion correctly arranges itself in 
 couplets, and may be supposed to be sung as a duet by 
 Oberon and Titania. The scene lies in the palace of 
 Theseus. ' The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve ;' 
 and the irrepressible Bottom, whose death-stab 
 
 'In that left pap, 
 Where heart doth hop,' 
 
 was supposed to have made an end of him in a previous 
 scene, has in vain come alive again with his proffered 
 epilogue. ' No epilogue, I pray you,' exclaims the Duke, 
 ' for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for 
 when the players are all dead, there need none be 
 blamed :' and so his commands are — 
 
 ' Lovers to bed ; 'tis almost fairy-time, 
 I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn.' 
 
 Puck accordingly appears forthwith, broom in hand, to 
 prepare 'the hallow'd house' for its supernatural visitants: 
 
 ' The fairies that do run, 
 
 By the triple Hecate's team, 
 From the presence of the sun, 
 Following darkness like a dream.' 
 
 Oberon despatches ' every elf and fairy sprite' to illumine 
 
 the palace with their glimmering light. Titania invites 
 
 them first to a rehearsal of their song of blessing ; and 
 
 then, the whole fairy band being commissioned to wander 
 
 through the house and fulfil their errand there till break 
 
 of day, Oberon says : 
 
 ' To the best bride-bed will we, 
 Which by us shall blessed be;' 
 
 and so he proceeds with a succession of fairy bene- 
 dictions in rhyming couplets. But how, at the close, 
 
 S 2 
 
a6o A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 
 
 the fairy train are anew commissioned to go through 
 the palace of Theseus and bless every chamber, conse- 
 crating it with their elfin field-dew. Arranged in the 
 following order, the consecutive relation of ideas seems 
 to be more clearly expressed : — 
 
 'Through this palace with sweet peace 
 Every fairy take his gait, 
 And each several chamber bless, 
 With this field-dew consecrate; 
 And the owners of it blest, 
 Ever shall in safety rest ; 
 Trip away ; 
 Make no stay; 
 Meet me all by break of day.' 
 
 Oberon begins his part of this elfin consecration- 
 service thus : — 
 
 'Through the house give glimmering light 
 By the dead and drowsy fire, 
 Every elf and fairy sprite, 
 
 Hop as light as bird from brier.' 
 
 We have accordingly spoken above of Oberon despatch- 
 ing his train to illumine the palace thus. But the first 
 couplet seems to involve a confusion of ideas, which 
 early attracted the attention of the commentators. 
 Warburton makes the first line, Through this house; 
 Johnson further changes it to, Through this house in 
 glimmering light ; while Mr. R. Grant White offers the 
 slight but apt change of Tho?/gh, for Through. My own 
 conjectural reading suggests a different change, also in- 
 volving no great literal variation : — Through the house- 
 wives' glimmering light. The couplet of Puck which 
 immediately precedes, sufficiently harmonises with such 
 an idea, where with broom he sweeps the dust behind 
 the door. 
 
 It seems a piece of hypercriticism to subject the light 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 fairy songs and the epilogue of Puck, with its rhyming 
 couplets, to any severe verbal analysis. Where, however, 
 the language seems obscure, the efforts at amending the 
 text are sometimes rewarded by catching its meaning, 
 without the necessity for any change. The notoriously 
 careless way in which this comedy appears to have 
 been edited from the first justifies suspicion of blundering 
 whenever a difficulty occurs ; for none of all the plays of 
 Shakespeare surpass 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' in 
 the simple beauty of its charming verse. What, then, is 
 the meaning of this line — 'No more yielding but a dream'} 
 Like other readings where the text has been corrupted, 
 it has a seeming significance in relation to the context 
 till the meaning is challenged. Not a little of the beau- 
 tiful fancy of the whole comedy turns on the way in which 
 the supernatural elements seem to hover indefinitely 
 between reality and a dream ; and so Puck says at parting, 
 with this slight conjectural emendation : — 
 
 ' If we shadows have offended, 
 Think but this, and all is mended, 
 That you have but slumber'd here, 
 While these visions did appear; 
 And this weak and idle theme, 
 No mere idling, but a dream, 
 Gentles do not reprehend.' 
 
 So much for conjectural revision and emendation of 
 ' A Midsummer Night's Dream.' In this, as in all other 
 of the great master's works, the beauties are so manifold 
 and so striking, that the few undoubted blemishes with 
 which the textual critic is free to deal, are but as motes 
 in the sunshine ; and Shakespeare can be enjoyed, with 
 little sense of imperfection, in the most corrupt text of 
 old quarto or folio. 
 
 The marvellous piece of fancy thus subjected to cold 
 critical supervision, is so wonderful an embodiment of 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 sportive idealism ; such a happy blending of the utmost 
 extremes of incongruity : that it seems as much to set 
 analytical acumen at defiance as if it were an actual 
 dream. That Lysander and Demetrius, Hermia and 
 Helena, should so disport themselves, so woo, so rail, 
 scorn and anathematise each other, prove faithless, 
 proclaim loathing, and yet, after all, share in the fairy 
 blessings whereby 
 
 ' Shall all the couples three 
 Ever true in loving be,' 
 
 would seem inconceivable, had not Shakespeare wrought 
 the whole into such perfect consistency, that the imagina- 
 tion welcomes it as the realisation of its own rarest 
 fancy-flights, and claims for it a charmed circle within 
 which imagination shall hold its own, and reason dispense 
 with all censorious anatomisings. We yield ourselves to 
 the charm, and then imagination sees no more incon- 
 gruity in the perverse wooings of the Athenian lovers, 
 than in the pranks of Puck, and the quaint devices of 
 Oberon for outwitting his wilful Queen of Shadows. 
 Shakespeare once believed it all himself, when by the 
 Stratford ingle-nook he listened as a boy to nursery 
 tales of elves and fairies, such as doubtless some of the 
 narrators were ready to swear they had themselves seen 
 when the moonlight glanced through the oak-branches, 
 and played with flitting light and shadow among the 
 cowslips and daisies of Charlecote Chace. 
 
 But there is one character least of all seemingly fitted to 
 consort with beings light as air: that most prosaic of 
 ' rude mechanicals ' and ' human mortals,' Nick Bottom. 
 Yet what inimitable power and humorous depth of irony 
 are there in the Athenian weaver and prince of clownish 
 players ! Vain, conceited, consequential : he is neverthe- 
 less no mere empty lout, but rather the impersonation of 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 263 
 
 characteristics which have abounded in every age, and 
 find ample scope for their display in every social rank. 
 Bottom is the work of the same master hand which 
 wrought for us the Caliban and Miranda, the Puck and 
 Ariel, of such diverse worlds. He is the very embodi- 
 ment and idealisation of that self-esteem which is a 
 human virtue by no means to be dispensed with, though 
 it needs some strong counterpoise in the well-balanced 
 mind. In the weak vain man, who fancies everybody is 
 thinking of him and looking at him, it takes the name of 
 shyness, and claims nearest kin to modesty. With 
 robust insensitive vulgarity it assumes an air of uni- 
 versal philanthropy and good-fellowship. In the man of 
 genius it reveals itself in very varying phases : gives 
 to Pope his waspish irritability as a satirist, and crops 
 out anew in the transparent mysteries of publication 
 of his laboured-impromptu private letters ; betrays 
 itself in the self-laudatory exclusiveness which carried 
 Wordsworth through long years of detraction and neglect 
 to his final triumph ; in the morbid introversions of 
 Byron, and his assumed defiance of 'the world's dread 
 laugh ' ; in the sturdy self-assertion of Burns, the honest 
 faith of the peasant bard, that 
 
 ' The rank is but the guinea stamp, 
 The man 's the gowd for a' that ! ' 
 
 In Ben Jonson it gave character to the whole man. 
 Goldsmith and Chatterton, Hogg and Hugh Miller only 
 differed from their fellows in betraying the self-esteem 
 which more cunning adepts learn to disguise under 
 many a mask, even from themselves. It shines in 
 modest prefaces, writes autobiographies and diaries by 
 the score, and publishes poems by the hundred — 
 
 ' Obliged by hunger and request of friends.' 
 
264 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Nick Bottom is thus a representative man, ' not one, 
 but all mankind's epitome.' He is a natural genius. If 
 he claims the lead, it is not without a recognised fitness 
 to fulfil the duties he assumes. He is one whom nothing 
 can put out. ' I have a device to make all well,' is his 
 prompt reply to every difficulty, and the device, such as 
 it is, is immediately forthcoming. A duke is but a duke 
 after all ; and we may be well assured, when Theseus 
 tells the Queen of the Amazons of his welcomers col- 
 lapsing in ' the modesty of fearful duty,' Nick Bottom 
 had no place in his thoughts : — 
 
 ' Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
 To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
 Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
 Make periods in the midst of sentences, 
 Throttle their practised accent in their fears, 
 And in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, 
 Not paying me a welcome.' 
 
 As to Bottom, were he the duke, and Theseus the 
 clown, he could not take it more coolly. He comes back 
 from the fairy brake, ready as ever for the minutest 
 details, and prompt for action. No time for talk now. 
 ' The duke hath dined ; get your apparel together, good 
 strings to your beards,' — for a pretty thing it were, if 
 your aptly- chosen orange -tawny or French -crown- 
 coloured beard were to drop off in the very crisis of the 
 tragedy ! ' In any case let Thisby have clean linen ;' and 
 poor Snug, the extempore lion, beware of paring his nails. 
 ' And, most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we 
 are to utter sweet breath, and I do not doubt but to have 
 them say it is a sweet comedy.' Bottom is as completely 
 conceived, in all perfectness of consistency, as any 
 character Shakespeare has drawn : ready-witted, un- 
 bounded in his self-confidence, and with a conceit nursed 
 into the absolute proportions which we witness by the 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 265 
 
 admiring deference of his brother clowns. Yet this is no 
 more than the recognition of true merit. Their admira- 
 tion of his parts is rendered ungrudgingly, as it is received 
 by him simply as his due. Peter Quince appears as 
 responsible manager of the theatricals, and indeed is 
 doubtless the author of ' the most lamentable comedy.' 
 For Nick Bottom, though equal to all else, makes no 
 pretensions to the poetic art. He is barely awakened 
 out of his fairy-trance, when he begins to cudgel his 
 brains. ' Methought I was — there is no man that can 
 tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had — but 
 man is but a patched fool if he will offer to say what 
 methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the 
 ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to 
 taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what 
 my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of 
 this dream ; it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because 
 it hath no bottom ; and I will sing it in the latter end of 
 a play, before the duke.' Here there is no mistaking 
 the poet of the company. All due recognition of his 
 powers is conceded as a matter of course ; but the result 
 leads none the less to Bottom's own pre-eminence. The 
 ballad is to be ' Bottom's Dream,' and with it he is to 
 come in as the climax of the whole performance, before 
 the admiring duke. 
 
 Peter Quince is as it were proprietor or lessee of the 
 improvised theatre, and assumes accordingly such 
 authority as ' the only begetter ' of their comedy must 
 needs do. He apportions to Bottom his part of 
 Pyramus, and persists in his cast of the play in spite of 
 the weaver's ambition to hide his face and play Thisbc ; 
 or shew his face and roar in the lion's part, till the duke 
 shall say, 'Let him roar again! let him roar again!' 
 But it is a point manifestly conceded by all as beyond 
 
266 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 dispute, that without Nick Bottom nothing can be done. 
 To the very colour of his beard he is ready for the 
 perfect discharge of the lover's part, much as he should 
 prefer to play the tyrant. He is prepared for any daring, 
 any sacrifice ; if needs be, can undertake Thisbe, and 
 speak her to the very life, ' in a monstrous little voice' ; 
 or, since his threatened roarings were enough ' to fright 
 the duchess and the ladies, and to hang us all,' he ' will 
 aggravate his voice so, that he will roar you as gently 
 as any sucking dove ; he will roar you an 'twere any 
 nightingale.' As to his own specialty of Pyramus, ■ a 
 lover that kills himself most gallantly for love,' — rather 
 than the ladies shall be put beside themselves with 
 fear at the sight of a drawn sword, or the grave tragical 
 suicide omitted, he is prepared to announce to the duke 
 and his noble auditors, 'for the more better assurance, 
 that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the 
 weaver.' 
 
 Quince is throughout the literary man. He is to 
 ' draw a bill of properties such as our play wants ;' and 
 to him Bottom turns, as a matter of course, to ' write me 
 a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say ' what he 
 forthwith dictates. As to the weaver himself, he doubt- 
 less does not use to write his name, but has a mark to 
 himself, like an honest plain-dealing man. Nevertheless 
 poets must be content to be guided by their betters. 
 He will dictate the very measure of his prologue, in 
 spite of Peter Quince's vocation as laureat. He will 
 have none of your alternating eights and sixes ; nothing 
 will please him but that it be written in verses of 
 eight and eight. He anticipates every difficulty, and is 
 ever equal to the occasion. ' To bring in, God shield us ! 
 a lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing ; for there 
 is not a more dreadful wild-fowl than your lion living, 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 267 
 
 and we ought to look to 't ;' and so he decides that Snug 
 must name his name, and shew half his face through the 
 lion's neck, and with all soothing entreaties to the ladies 
 not to fear, not to tre ble, he is to tell them plainly 
 he is Snug the joiner. He looks into the almanac, and 
 finds moonshine for them just when wanted ; devises a 
 wall for Pyramus and Thisbe, and a cranny through which 
 they may whisper ; and when at last Puck sends him 
 back from his tiring-room in the thorn-brake, translated 
 with the ass's head, the scare of the whole company 
 leaves him wholly unaffected. 'I will not stir from this 
 place do what they can ; I will walk up and down here 
 and I will sing, that they shall here I am not afraid.' 
 
 No wonder, when Bottom could nowhere be heard 
 of, all further hope of the performance was at an end. 
 There are those in every rank in life whose self- 
 reliance is a prop on which all lean. ' If he come 
 not,' says Flute, 'then the play is marred. It goes 
 not forward, doth it ? ' ' It is not possible,' is Quince's 
 reply. He doubtless had him in his eye when he 
 wrote the character. ' You have not a man in all 
 Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he.' There is 
 neither dubiety nor jealousy as to his pre-eminent 
 abilities; ' No,' says Flute, as spokesman for the whole, 
 ' he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man 
 in Athens ; ' and indeed the only point of difference 
 between them is whether ' sweet bully Bottom ' shall 
 indeed be pronounced, according to Peter Quince's 
 eulogium, ' a very paramour for a sweet voice ; ' or 
 whether, as Flute will have it, they should not rather 
 call him a paragon ; for ' a paramour is, God bless us, 
 a thing of naught ! ' Had their sport but gone on, 
 they were all made men. Sixpence a day had been 
 the undoubted award of such a genius. ' Sixpence a- 
 
268 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 day during life ; he could not have 'scaped sixpence 
 a-day. An the Duke had not given him sixpence a- 
 day for playing Pyramus,' says the admiring Bellows- 
 mender, ' I'll be hanged! He would have deserved it. 
 Sixpence a-day in Pyramus, or nothing.' But now 
 all is ruined without him, when — ' O most courageous 
 day! O most happy hour!' — to the unbounded delight 
 of Quince and his whole company, the transmogrified 
 weaver turns up again, and all is well. 
 
 But fully to appreciate the ability and self-posses- 
 sion of Nick Bottom in the most unwonted circum- 
 stances, we must follow the translated mechanical to 
 Titania's bower, where the enamoured queen lavishes 
 her favours on her strange lover. His cool prosaic 
 commonplaces fit in with her rhythmical fancies as 
 naturally as the dull grey of the dawn meets and em- 
 braces the sunrise. His valiant song awakes Titania 
 from her flowery bed amid the fragrance of the wild 
 thyme and the nodding violets, while woodbine, sweet 
 musk-roses and the eglantine overcanopy her couch ; 
 and to her charmed eye the transformed weaver, with 
 his ass's nowl, appears an angel. 'What hempen home- 
 spuns have we swaggering so near the cradle of the 
 fairy Queen?' is Puck's exclamation when he first gets 
 sight of Quince's company. Titania, on the contrary, 
 awakened by Bottom's carol, exclaims, 'What angel 
 wakes me from my flowery bed ?' and so she forthwith 
 addresses him : — 
 
 ' I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again ; 
 Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note, 
 So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
 And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me, 
 On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.' 
 
 ' Methinks, mistress,' he replies, — in no way put out by 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 269 
 
 such advances, — 'you should have little reason for that. 
 And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little 
 company together now-a-days. The more the pity 
 that some honest neighbours will not make them 
 friends.' He is at home at once with the whole fairy 
 court, and condescends to his airy attendants with an 
 easy gracious familiarity worthy of one to whom the 
 favours of Queen Titania come as though they were 
 his by right. ' I shall desire more of your acquaint- 
 ance, good Master Cobweb,' he says, with a play upon 
 his name. Turning to another of the fairy train, 
 ' Your name, honest gentleman ? ' is his easy salutation. 
 With him, in like manner, he has his jest; as apt as 
 that of the wise King James, when it pleased him to 
 pun in learned fashion with admiring courtiers at Holy- 
 rood or Whitehall. ' I pray you commend me to Mis- 
 tress Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod 
 your father. Good Master Peaseblossom I shall desire 
 you of more acquaintance ; ' and presently the whole 
 delicate fairy band are engaged in scratching his ass's 
 muzzle. For, as he says to good Monsieur Mustard- 
 seed, ' I must to the barber's, monsieur ; for, methinks 
 I am marvellous hairy about the- face ; and I am 
 such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me I must 
 scratch.' 
 
 Here we cannot but note the quaint blending of the 
 ass with the rude Athenian 'thick-skin': as though the 
 creator of Caliban had his own theory of evolution ; 
 and has here an eye to the more fitting progenitor of 
 man. Titania would know what her sweet love desires 
 to eat. ' Truly a peck of provender : I could munch 
 your good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to 
 a bottle of hay. Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.' 
 The puzzled fairy queen would fain devise some fitter 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 dainty for her lover. ' I have a venturous fairy,' she 
 tells him, 'that shall seek the squirrel's hoard, and 
 fetch thee new nuts.' But no ! Bottom has not 
 achieved the dignity of that sleek smooth head, and 
 those fair large ears, which Titania has been caress- 
 ing, and decorating with musk-roses, to miss their befit- 
 ting provender. ' I had rather have a handful or two of 
 dry peas.' It comes so naturally to him to be an ass ! 
 As for the coying of his amiable cheeks, and all the 
 other choice attentions of fairy royalty, he takes them 
 as a matter of course. ' I pray you, let none of your 
 people stir me ; I have an exposition of sleep come 
 upon me ; ' and so he dozes off to sleep, with a gentle 
 bray, enwound in the doting fairy's arms. When he 
 awakes again, he is all alone in the hawthorn brake. 
 His first thought is his cue ; as though he had, but 
 the moment before, gone, as Peter Quince says, ' to see 
 a noise that he heard, and is to come again.' But as he 
 finds that all have stolen hence, and left him to his sleep, 
 he falls back on his experiences in Wonderland. ' I 
 have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, 
 past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man 
 is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream.' 
 
 Yet though Bottom is an ass, he is no fool. He is 
 indeed wrapped up in the supremest ignorance of ' rude 
 mechanicals that work for bread upon Athenian stalls.' 
 Of such wisdom as belongs to the schools, or was 
 taught in the porch, he makes no pretence ; but of 
 mother wit he has his full share. His sublime con- 
 ceit rests in part on a certain consciousness of innate 
 power. He is unabashed by rank, undaunted by diffi- 
 culties, ready at a moment's notice for all emergencies, 
 thoroughly cool and self-reliant. No wonder that he 
 can look a duke in the face. He has been accustomed 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 to take the lead among his fellow mechanics, and to 
 have his counsels followed as a matter of course. Nick 
 Bottom is a natural genius, of a type by no means 
 rare. There is a consequential aldermanic absolutism 
 about him, familiar to many a civic council-board. He 
 gives his opinions on the play, in all its intricacies 
 and perplexities, with an infallibility which no Shake- 
 spearean commentator could surpass. ' Tis a very good 
 piece of work, and a merry ; ' though his own part 
 ' will ask some tears in the true performing of it.' 
 Duke Theseus, when witnessing the actual performance, 
 ventures on a comment ; but Bottom, in the midst of 
 his most tender Pyramus-vein, is ready with his ' No, 
 in truth, sir,' and will play, not only actor, but com- 
 mentator too. 
 
 There are Bottoms everywhere. Nor are they with- 
 out their uses. Vanity becomes admirable when carried 
 out with such sublime unconsciousness ; and here it is 
 a vanity resting on some solid foundation, and finding 
 expression in the assumption of a leadership which 
 his fellows recognise as his own by right. If he will 
 play the lion's part, ' let him roar again ! ' Look 
 where we will, we may chance to come on ' sweet 
 bully Bottom.' In truth there is so much of genuine 
 human nature in this hero of ' A Midsummer Night's 
 Dream,' that it may not always be safe to peep into 
 the looking-glass, lest evolution reassert itself for our 
 special behoof, and his familiar countenance greet us, 
 ' Hail fellow, well met, give me your neif ! ' 
 
INDEX 
 
 Anaxagoias, 141. 
 Anaximander, 141. 
 Andaman Islanders, 14. 
 Anthropophagi. 45, 73. 
 Antipodes, 70. 
 Arafuras, 103. 
 Arbrousset, M., 105. 
 Ariel, 46, 48, 60, 81, 1; 
 Atlantis, the, 37. 
 Australian, the, 28, 142 
 
 [46; 
 
 Bacon, 10. 
 Ballads, Scottish, : 
 Berkeley, 3. 
 Bik, M., 103. 
 Borneo, 43. 
 Bottom, Nick, 175 
 Brain, Gorilla's, 2: 
 „ Orang's, 24. 
 Human, 21, 24. 
 Browne, Sir T., 4, 11. 
 Browning, 12, 94, 107 
 Burns, 167. 
 Burton, Captain, 140, 
 
 2, 264. 
 
 24. 
 
 [36, 144. 
 
 Carib, 72. 
 
 Collier, J. P., 200, 225, 2, 
 Columbus, 70, 79. 
 Commentators, the, 194. 
 Craik, Prof., 206. 
 Creeds, 133, 139, 143. 
 Cunningham, Allan, 168. 
 
 D'Avenant, 59, 6r, 62. 206. 
 Davy, Sir H., 8, 123. 
 Death, 114, 121. 
 Democritus, 2. 
 Dog, the, 96. 
 Dreams, 128. 
 Driopethecus, 19. 
 Dryden, 10, 59, 61, 137, 216. 
 Duncan, Dr. J., 94. 
 
 Eden, R., 53. 
 Engis skull, 22. 
 Ewaipanoma, 45. 
 
 Fairies, 166. 
 Faith, 125. 
 Figuier, L./7. 
 Fire-making, 16, 80. 
 Fletcher, 62. 
 Folios, the, 211. 
 Fuegians, 31, 32. 
 
 Gervinus, 80, [37. 
 Ghosts, 155. 
 God, Idea of, 95, 133. 
 Gorilla, 21, 24, 29. 
 Griffon, the, 15. 
 
 Harriott, Thos., 49. 
 Hazlitt, So, 137. 
 His, the neuter, 250. 
 
2/4 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Hobbes, 10. 
 
 Hogg, 169. 
 
 Horn, Franz, 14. 
 
 Hunter, Mr. J., 45, 50, 74, 205, 218. 
 
 Huxley, 20, 23. 
 
 Immortality, belief in, 125, 
 Indians, American, 33, 104. 
 Ipotaynes, 15. 
 
 Kaffirs, 106. 
 
 Knight, C, 218, 220, 240. 
 
 Lampedusa, 45. 
 
 Lane, Ralph, 49. 
 
 Laud, Dr., 101. 
 
 Linnseus, 17. 
 
 Lubbock, 23, 95, 140, 142. 
 
 Lyell, 23. 
 
 Magic, 81, 82. 
 Mandeville, 14. 
 Meres, 191. 
 Metre, 200, 209. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 
 239- 
 Milton, 171. 
 Mind, 92, 137. 
 Miranda, 56, 59, 76. 
 Montaigne, 52. 
 Moral Sense, the, 20, 1 34. 
 More, Sir T., 52. 
 
 Neanderthal skull, 22. 
 
 134- 
 106. 
 
 67, 165, 
 
 Orang, the, 17. 
 Owen, 21. 
 
 Polo, Marco, 14. 
 Pongo, the, 16, So. 
 Pope, 58, 195, 204, 263. 
 Prospero, 13, 76, 80. 
 Puck, 166, 182. 
 Purchas, 15, 
 Purgatory, 146, 156. 
 
 Raleigh, 45, 69. 
 Religion, 95, 101, 139. 
 Rhythm, 200, 209. 
 Rowe, Nicholas, 213, 242. 
 
 Salamanca council, 70. 
 Schlegel, 80, 137. 
 Scottish ballads, 146, 148. 
 Sekesa, 105. 
 Setebos, 53, 98, 100. 
 Spencer, H., 128. 
 Spenser, 69. 
 Supernatural, the, 124, 140. 
 
 Tamlane, 147, 148. 
 
 Tempest, the 13, 55, 147, 222. 
 
 Tennyson, 126. 
 
 Theobald, 58, 194, 200, 221. 
 
 Utopia, 52. 
 
 Warburton, 196. 
 White, R. G., 222, 2; 
 Witches, 147, 222. 
 
Bedford Street, Covent Garden, London, 
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 veniently investigated without the use of the Differential Calculus, 
 and so render it suitable as a manual for the junior classes in the 
 University and the higher classes in Schools, With one or two short 
 exceptioits, the student is not presumed to require a knowledge of any 
 branches of Mathematics beyond the elements of Algebra, Geometry, 
 
MA THEM A TICS. 
 
 Parkinson (S.)— continued. 
 
 and Trigonometry. Several additional propositions have been in- 
 corporated in the work for the purpose of rendering it more complete, 
 and the collection of Examples and Problems has been largely in- 
 creased. 
 
 A TREATISE OX OPTICS. Third Edition, revised and en- 
 larged. Crown Svo. cloth. 10s. 6d. 
 
 A collection of Examples and Problems has been appended to this work, 
 ■which are sufficiently numerous and varied in character to afford 
 useful exercise for the student. For the greater part of them, re- 
 course has been had to the Examination Papers set in the University 
 and the several Colleges during the last twenty years. 
 
 Phear.— ELEMENTARY HYDROSTATICS. With Numerous 
 Examples. By J. E. Phear, M.A., Fellow and late Assistant 
 Tutor of Clare College, Cambridge. Fourth Edition. Crown Svo. 
 cloth. 5-f. 6d. 
 
 This edition has been carefully rei'ised throughout, and many new 
 Illustrations and Examples added, which it is hoped will increase 
 its usefulness to students at the Universities and in Schools. In ac- 
 cordance with suggestions from many engaged in tuition, answers to 
 all the Examples have been given at the end of the booh. 
 
 Pratt. — A TREATISE ON ATTRACTIONS, LAPLACE'S 
 FUNCTIONS, AND THE FIGURE OF THE EARTH. 
 By John H. Pratt, M.A., Archdeacon of 'Calcutta, Author of 
 "The Mathematical Principles of Mechanical Philosophy. " Fourth 
 Edition. Crown Svo. cloth. 6s. 6d. 
 
 The author's chief design in this treatise is to give an answer to the 
 question, " Has the Earth acquired Us present form from being 
 originally in a fluid state?'' This edition is a complete revision of 
 the former ones. 
 
 Puckle.— AN ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON CONIC SEC- 
 TIONS AND ALGEBRAIC GEOMETRY. With numerous 
 Examples and Hints for their Solution ; especially designed for the 
 Use of Beginners. By G. II. Puckle, M.A., Head Master of 
 
SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Windermere College. New Edition, revised and enlarged. 
 Crown 8vo. cloth. Js. 6d. 
 
 This work is recommended by the Syndicate of the Cambridge Local 
 Examinations, and is the text-book in Harvard University, U.S. 
 The Athenaeum says the author "displays an intimate acquaint- 
 ance with the difficulties likely to. be felt, together with a singular 
 aptitude hi removing them." 
 
 Routh. — AN ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON THE DYNA- 
 MICS OF THE SYSTEM OF RIGID BODIES. With 
 numerous Examples. By Edward John Routh, M.A., late 
 Fellow and Assistant Tutor of St. Peter's College, Cambridge ; 
 Examiner in the University of London. Second Edition, enlarged. 
 Crown 8vo. cloth. 14s. 
 
 In this edition the author has made several additions to each chapter : 
 he has tried, even at the risk of some little repetition, to make each 
 chapter, as far as possible, complete in itself, so that all that relates 
 to any one part of the subject may be found in the same place. This 
 arrangement will enable every student to select his own order in 
 which to read the subject. The Examples which will be found at 
 the end of each chapter have been chiefly selected from the Examina- 
 tion Papers which have been set in the University and the Colleges 
 in the last few years. 
 
 Smith's (Barnard) Works. — See Educational Cata- 
 logue. 
 
 Smith (J. Brook.)— ARITHMETIC IN THEORY AND 
 PRACTICE. By J. Brook Smith, M.A., LL.B., St. John's 
 College, Cambridge ; Barrister-at-Law ; one of the Masters of 
 Cheltenham College. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 Writers on Arithmetic at the present day feel the necessity of explaining 
 the principles on which the rules of the subject are based, but few as 
 yet feel the necessity of making these explanations strict and complete ; 
 or, failing that, of distinctly pointing out their defective character. 
 If the science of Arithmetic is to be made an effective instrument in 
 developing and strengthening the mental powers, it ought to be 
 worked out rationally and conclusively ; and in this work the 
 author has endeavoured to reason out in a clear and accurate 
 
MATHEMATICS. 13 
 
 manner the leading propositions of the science, and to illustrate and 
 apply those prepositions in practice. In the practical part of the 
 subject he has advanced somewhat beyond the majority of pr, 
 writers ; particularly in Division, in Greatest Common, Measure, 
 in Cube Root, in the chapters on Decimal Money and the Metric 
 System, and more especially in the application of Decimals to Per- 
 centages and cognate subjects. Copious examples, original and 
 selected, are given. 
 
 Snowball.— THE ELEMENTS OF PLANE AND SPHERI- 
 CAL TRIGONOMETRY ; with the Construction and Use of 
 Tables of Logarithms. By J. C. Snowball, M.A. Tenth 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. cloth, js. 6d, 
 
 In preparing the present edition for the press, the text has been sub- 
 jected to a careful revision ; the proofs of some of the more import- 
 ant propositions have been rendered more strict and general ; and 
 a considerable addition of more than /too hundred examples, taken 
 principally from the questions set of late years in the public exami- 
 nations of the University and of individual Colleges, has been made 
 to the collection of Examples and Problems for practice. 
 
 Tait and Steele. — dynamics of a particle. With 
 
 numerous Examples. By Professor Tait and Mr. Steele. New 
 
 Edition. Crown . 8vo. cloth. IOt. 6d, 
 
 In this treatise will be found all the ordinary propositions, connected 
 with the Dynamics of Particles, which can be conveniently deduced 
 without the use of D'Alembert's Principle. Throughout the book 
 will be found a number of illustrative examples introduced in the 
 text, and for the most part completely worked out ; others with occa- 
 sional solutions or hints to assist the student are appended to each 
 chapter. For by far the greater portion of these, the Cambridge 
 Senate-House and College Examination Papers have been applied to. 
 
 Taylor. — GEOMETRICAL CONICS ; including Anharmonic 
 Ratio and Projection, with numerous Examples. By C. Taylor, 
 B. A., Scholar of St. John's College, Cambridge. Crown Svo. 
 cloth, p. 6d. 
 
 This iaork contains elementary proof of the principal properties op 
 1 ' nic Sections, together with chapters on Projection and Anharmonic 
 Ratio. 
 
14 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Todhunter.— Works by I. Todhunter, M.A., F.R.S., of 
 St. John's College, Cambridge : — 
 
 "Perspicuous language, vigorous investigations, scrutiny of difficulties, 
 and methodical treatment, characterize Mr. Todhunter 1 s works." — 
 Civil Engineer. 
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF EUCLID; MENSURATION FOR 
 BEGINNERS; ALGEBRA FOR BEGINNERS; TRIGO- 
 NOMETRY FOR BEGINNERS; MECHANICS FOR 
 BEGINNERS. — See Educational Catalogue. 
 
 ALGEBRA. For the Use of Colleges and Schools. Fifth Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. cloth, "js. 6d. 
 
 This work contains all the propositions which are usually included in 
 elementary treatises on Algebra, and a large number of Examples 
 for Exercise. The author has sought to render the work easily in- 
 telligible to students, without impairing the accuracy of the demon- 
 strations, or contracting the limits of the subject. The Examples, 
 about Sixteen hundred and fifty in number, have been selected with 
 a view to illustrate every fart of the subject. The work will be 
 found peculiarly adapted to the wants of students who are without 
 the aid of a teacher. The Answers to the Examples, with hints 
 for the solution of some in which assistance may be needed, are 
 given at the end of the book. In the present edition two New 
 Chapters and Three hundred miscellaneous Examples have been 
 added. "It has merits which unquestionably place it first in the 
 class to which it belongs." — Educator. 
 
 KEY TO ALGEBRA FOR THE USE OF COLLEGES AND 
 SCHOOLS. Crown Svo. iar. 6d. 
 
 AN ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON THE THEORY OF 
 EQUATIONS. Second Edition, revised. Crown 8vo. cloth. 
 is. 6d. 
 
 This treatise contains all the propositions which are usually included 
 in elementary treatises on the theory of Equations, together with 
 Examples for exercise. These have been selected fro?n the College 
 and University Examination Papers, and the results have been 
 given when it appeared necessary. In order to exhibit a compre- 
 hensive view of the subject, the treatise includes investigations which 
 are not found in all the preceding elementary treatises, and also 
 
MATHEMATICS. 
 
 Todhunter {I.)— continued. 
 
 some investigations which are not to be found in any of them. For 
 the second edition the toork has been revised and some additions 
 have been made, the most important being an account of the Re- 
 searches of Professor Sylvester respecting Neiutoiis Rule. "A 
 thoroughly trustworthy, complete, and yet not too elaborate treatise." 
 — Philosophical Magazine. 
 
 PLANE TRIGONOMETRY. For Schools and Colleges. Fourth 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. cloth. $s. 
 
 TTie design of this work has been to render the subject intelligible 
 to beginners, and at the same time to afford the student the oppor- 
 tunity of obtaining all the information which he will require on 
 this branch of Mathematics. Each chapter is follotved by a set 
 of Examples : those which are entitled Miscellaneous Examples, 
 together with a few in some of the other sets, may be advantageously 
 reserved by the student for exercise after he has made some progress 
 in the subject. In the Second Edition the hints for the solution of 
 the Examples have been considerably increased. 
 
 A TREATISE ON SPHERICAL TRIGONOMETRY. Third 
 Edition, enlarged. Crown 8vo. cloth. 4s. 6d. 
 
 The present work is constructed on the same plan as the treatise on 
 Plane Trigonometry, to which it is intended as a sequel. In the 
 account of Napier's Rules of circidar parts, an explanation has 
 been given of a method of proof devised by Napier, which seems to 
 have been overlooked by most modern writers on the subject. Con- 
 siderable labour has been bestmved on the text in order to retider it 
 comprehensive and accurate, and the Examples (selected chiefly 
 from College Examination Papers) have all been carefidly verified. 
 " For educational purposes this work seems to be superior to any 
 others on the subject." — Critic. 
 
 PLANE CO-ORDINATE GEOMETRY, as applied to the Straight 
 Line and the Conic Sections. With numerous Examples. Fourth 
 Edition, revised and enlarged. Crown 8vo. cloth, fs. 6d. 
 
 The author has here endeavoured to exhibit the subject in a simple 
 manner for the benefit of beginners, and at the same time to include 
 in one volume all that students usually require. In addition, 
 therefore, to the propositions which have always appeared in such 
 
i6 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Todhunter (I.)— continued. 
 
 treatises, he has introduced the methods of abridged notation, 
 which are of more recent origin : these methods, which are of a 
 less elementary character than the rest of the work, are placed in 
 separate chapters, and may be omitted by the student at first. 
 
 A TREATISE ON THE DIFFERENTIAL CALCULUS. 
 With numerous Examples. Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. cloth. 
 10s. 6d. 
 
 The author has endeavoured in the present work to exhibit a compre- 
 hensive view of the Differential Calculus on the method of limits. 
 In the more elementary portions he has entered into considerable 
 detail-in the explanations, with the hope-that a reader who is without 
 the assistance of a tutor may be enabled to acquire a competent ac- 
 quaintance with the subject. The method adopted is that of Dif- 
 ferential Coefficients. To the different chapters are appended 
 Examples sufficiently nume?-ous to render another book unnecessary ; 
 these Examples being mostly selected from College Examination 
 Tapers. This and the following work have been translated into 
 Italian by Trofessor Battaglini, who in his Treface speaks thus :- — 
 "In publishing this translation of the Differential and Integral 
 Calculus of Air. Todhunter, we have had no other object than to 
 add to the books which are in the hands of the students of our Uni- 
 versities, a work remarkable for the clearness of the exposition, the 
 rigour of the demonstrations, the just proportion in the parts, and 
 the rich store of examples which offer a large field for useful 
 exercise." 
 
 A TREATISE ON THE INTEGRAL CALCULUS AND ITS 
 APPLICATIONS. With numerous Examples. Third Edition,, 
 revised and enlarged. Crown 8vo. cloth. 10s. 6d. 
 
 This is designed as a work at once elementary and complete, adaptea 
 for the use of beginners, and sufficient for the wants of advanced 
 students. In the selection of the propositions, and in the mode of 
 establishing them, it has been sought to exhibit the principles clearly, 
 and to illustrate all their most important results. The process of 
 summation has been repeatedly brought for-ward, with the view 
 of securing the attention of the student to the notioits which form the 
 true foundation of the Calculus itself, as well as of its most 
 valuable applications. Every attempt has been made to. explain those- 
 
MATHEMATICS. 17 
 
 Todhunter (I.)— continued. 
 
 difficulties which usually perplex beginners, especially with reference 
 to the limits of integrations. A new method has been adopted in 
 regard to the transformation of multiple integrals. The last chapter 
 deals with the Caladus of Variations. A large collection of Exer- 
 cises, selected from College Examination Papers, has been appended 
 to the several chapters. 
 
 EXAMPLES OF ANALYTICAL GEOMETRY OF THREE 
 DIMENSIONS. Second Edition, revised. Crown Svo. .cloth. 4s. 
 
 A TREATISE ON ANALYTICAL STATICS. With numerous 
 Examples. Third Edition, revised and enlarged. Crown Svo. 
 cloth. 10s. 6d. 
 
 In this work on Statics (treating of the laws of the equilibrium 
 bodies) will be found all the propositions which usually appear in 
 treatises on Theoretical Statics. To the different chapters Examples 
 are appended, which have been principally selected from University 
 Examination Papers. In the Third Edition many additions have 
 been made, in order to illustrate the application of the principles of 
 the subject to the solution of problems. 
 
 A HISTORY OF THE MATHEMATICAL THEORY OF 
 PROBABILITY, from the Time of Pascal to that of Laplace. 
 Svo. iSs. 
 
 The subject of this work has high claims to consideration 071 account 
 of the subtle problems which it involves, the valuable contributions 
 to analysis which it has produced, its important practical applica- 
 tions, and the eminence of those who have cultivated it; nearly 
 every great mathematician within the range of a century and 
 a half comes under consideration in the course of the history. The 
 author has endeavoured to be quite accurate in his statements, and 
 to reproduce the essential elements of the original works which he 
 has analysed. Besides being a history, the work may claim the title 
 of a comprehensive treatise on the Theory of Probability, for it 
 assumes in the reader only so much knenvledge as can be gained from 
 an elementary book on Algebra, and introduces him to almost every 
 p?-ocess and every special problein which the literahire of the subject 
 can furnish. 
 
 RESEARCHES IN THE CALCULUS OF VARIATIONS, 
 Principally on the Theory of Discontinuous Solutions : An Essay 
 
SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Todhuilter (I.)— continued. 
 
 to which the Adams' Prize was awarded in the University of 
 Cambridge in 1871. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 The subject of this Essay was prescribed in the following terms by the 
 Examiners : — "A determination of the circumstances under which 
 discontinuity of any kind presents itself in the solution of a problem 
 of maximum or minimum in the Calculus of Variations, and 
 applications to particular instances. It is expected that the discus- 
 sion of the instances should be exemplified as far as possible geo- 
 metrically, and that attention be especially directed to cases of real or 
 supposed failure of the Calculus.'''' While the Essay is thus mainly 
 devoted to the consideration of discontinuous solutions, various 
 other questions in the Calculus of Variations are examined and 
 elucidated ; and the author hopes he has definitely contributed to the 
 extension and impi-ovement of our knowledge of this refined depart* 
 ment of analysis. 
 
 Wilson (W. P.) — A TREATISE ON DYNAMICS. By 
 W. P. Wilson, M.A., Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge, 
 and Professor of Mathematics in Queen's College, Belfast. 8vo. 
 gs. 6d. 
 
 Wolstenholme. — A BOOK OF MATHEMATICAL 
 PROBLEMS, on Subjects included in the Cambridge Course. 
 By Joseph Wolstenholme, Fellow of Christ's College, some 
 time Fellow of St. John's College, and lately Lecturer in Mathe- 
 matics at Christ's College. Crown 8vo. cloth. 8s. 6d. 
 
 Contents : — Geometry (Euclid) — Algebra — Plane Trigonometry — 
 Geometrical Conic Sections — Analytical Conic Sections — Theory of 
 Equations — Differential Calculus — Integral Calculus — Solid Geo- 
 metry — Status — Elementary Dynamics — Newton — Dynamics of a 
 Point — Dynamics of a Rigid Body — Hydrostatics — Geometrical 
 Optics — Spherical Trigonometry and Plane Astronomy. In some 
 cases the author has prefixed to certain classes of problems frag- 
 mentary notes on the mathematical subjects to which they relate. 
 il Judicious, symmetrical, and well arranged.'" — Guardian. 
 
PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Airy (G. B.) — POPULAR ASTRONOMY. With Illustrations. 
 By G. B. Airy, Astronomer Royal. Seventh 'and cheaper Edition. 
 iSmo. cloth. 45-. 6d. 
 
 This work consists of Six Lectures, which are intended ' ' to explain 
 to intelligent persons the principles on -which the instruments of an 
 Observatory are constructed (omitting all details, so far as they are 
 merely subsidiary), and the principles on which the observations 
 made with these instruments are treated for deduction of the distances 
 and weights of the bodies of the Solar System, and of a few stars, 
 omitting all minutiez of formulae, and all troublesome details of 
 calculation." The speciality of this volume is the direct reference of 
 every step to the Observatory, and the full description of the methods 
 and instruments of observation. 
 
 Bastian (H. C. M.D., F.R.S.)— TPIE MODES OF 
 ORIGIN OF LOWEST ORGANISMS : Including a Discussion 
 of the Experiments of M. Pasteur, and a reply to some Statements 
 by Professors Huxley and Tyndall. By H. Charlton Bastian, 
 M.D., F.R.S., Professor of Pathological Anatomy in University 
 College, London, etc. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 The present volume contains a fragment of the evidence which will be 
 embodied in a much larger work — now almost completed — relating to 
 the nature and origin of living matter, and in favour of what is 
 termed the Physical Doctrine of Life. ' ' It is a work worthy of the 
 highest respect, and places its author in the very first class of scientific 
 physicians. . . . It would be difficult to name an instance in which 
 skill, knowledge, perseverance, and great reasoning pozver have been 
 more happily applied to the investigation of a complex biological 
 problem." — British Medical Journal. 
 
SCIENTIFIC CATALO G US. 
 
 Birks (R. B.)— ON MATTER AND ETHER; or, The Secret 
 Laws of Physical Change. By Thomas Rawson Birks, M.A., 
 Rector of Kelshall, Herts, formerly Fellow of Trinity College, 
 Cambridge. Crown 8vo. $s. 6d. 
 
 The author believes that the hypothesis of the existence of besides matter, 
 a luminous ether, of immense elastic force, supplies the true and suf- 
 ficient key to the remaining secrets of inorganic matter, of the phe- 
 nomena of light, electricity, etc. In this treatise the author endea- 
 vours first to form a clear and definite conception with regard to the 
 real nature both of matter and ether, and the laws of mutual action 
 which must be supposed to exist between them. He then endeavours 
 to trace out the main consequences of the fundamental hypothesis, 
 and their correspondence with the known phenomena of physical 
 change. 
 
 Blanford (W. T.)— GEOLOGY AND ZOOLOGY OF 
 ABYSSINIA. By W. T. Blanford. Svo. 21s. 
 
 This work contains an account of the Geological and Zoological Obser- 
 vations made by the author in Abyssinia, when accompanying the 
 British Army on its march to Magdala and back in 1868, and 
 during a short journey in Northern Abyssinia, after the departure 
 of the troops. Part I. Personal Narrative; Part II. Geology; 
 Part III. Zoology. With Coloured Illustrations and Geological 
 Map. ' ' The result of his labours, " the Academy says, " is an 
 i7?iportant contribution to the natural history of the country." 
 
 Cooke (Josiah P., Jun.)— FIRST PRINCIPLES OF 
 CHEMICAL PHILOSOPHY. By Josiah P. Cooke, Jun., 
 . Ei-vine Professor of Chemistry and Mineralogy in Harvard College. 
 Crown 8vo. 12s. 
 
 The object of the author in this book is to pj-esent the philosophy of 
 Chemistry in such a form that it can be made with profit the subject 
 of College recitations, and furnish the teacher with, the means of 
 testing the shident's faithfulness and ability. With this view the 
 subject has been developed in a logical order, and the principles of 
 the science are taught independently of the experimental evidence on 
 which they rest. 
 
PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Cocke (M. C.)— HANDBOOK OF BRITISH FUNGI, 
 with full descriptions of all the Species, and Illustrations of the 
 Genera. By M. C. Cooke, M.A. Two vols, crown Svo. 24J. 
 
 During the thirty -five years that have elapsed since the appearance of 
 the last complete Mycologic Flora no attempt has been made to revise 
 it, to incorporate species since discovered, and to bring it up to the 
 standard of modern science. A T o apology, therefore, is necessary for 
 the present effort, since all will admit that the -want of such a 
 manual has long been felt, and this work makes its appearance 
 tinder the advantage that it seeks to occupy a place which has long 
 been vacant. No effort has been spared to make the work worthy 
 of confidence, and, by the publication of an occasional supplement, 
 it is hoped to maintain it for many years as the "Handbook" 
 for every student of British Fungi. Appended is a complete alpha- 
 betical Index of all the divisions and subdivisions of the Fungi 
 noticed in the text. The book contains 400 figures. " Will main- 
 tain its place as the standard English book, on the subject of which 
 it treats, for many years to come.' 1 '' — Standard. 
 
 Dawson (J. W.)— ACADIAN GEOLOGY. The Geologic 
 Structure, Organic Remains, and Mineral Resources of Nova 
 Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island. By John 
 William Dawson, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S., F.G.S., Principal and 
 Vice-Chancellor of M'Gill College and University, Montreal, &c. 
 Second Edition, revised and enlarged. With a Geological Map 
 and numerous Illustrations. Svo. i8j. 
 
 The object of the first edition of this work was to place within the 
 reach of the people of the districts to which it relates, a popular 
 account of the more recent discoveries in the geology and mineral 
 resources of their country, and at the same time to give to geologists 
 in other countries a connected view of the structure of a very in- 
 teresting portion of the American Continent, in its relation to 
 general and theoretical Geology. In the present edition, it is hoped this 
 design is still more completely fulfilled, with reference to the present 
 more advanced condition of knowledge. The author has endea- 
 voured to convey a knowledge of the structure and fossils of the 
 region in such a manner as to be intelligible to ordinary readers, 
 and lias devoted much attention to all questions relating to the nature 
 and present or prospective value of deposits of useful minerals. 
 
SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Besides a large coloured Geological Map of the district, the work 
 is illustrated by upwards of 260 cuts of sections, fossils, animals, 
 etc. "The book will doubtless find a place in the library, not only 
 of the scientific geologist, but also of all who are desirous of the in- 
 dustrial progress and commercial prosperity of the Acadian pro- 
 vinces." — Mining Journal. "A style at once popular and scientific. 
 . . . A valuable addition to our store of geological knowledge." — 
 Guardian. 
 
 Flower (W. H.)— AN INTRODUCTION TO THE OSTE- 
 OLOGY OF THE MAMMALIA. Being the substance of the 
 Course of Lectures delivered at the Royal College of Surgeons 
 of England in 1870. By W. H. Flower, F.R.S., F.R.C.S., 
 Hunterian Professor of Comparative Anatomy and Physiology. 
 With numerous Illustrations. Globe 8vo. Js. 6d. 
 
 Although the present work contains the substance of a Course of Lectures, 
 the form has been changed, so as the better to adapt it as a hand- 
 book for students. Theoretical vieivs have been almost entirely ex- 
 cluded: and while it is impossible in a scientific treatise to avoid the 
 employment of technical terms, it has been the author's endeavour to 
 use no 7nore than absolutely necessary, and to exercise due care in 
 selecting only those that seem most appropriate, or which have re- 
 ceived the sanction op general adoption. With a very few) excep- 
 tions the illustrations have been drawn expressly for this work from 
 specimens in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. 
 
 GaltOtl. — Works by Francis Galton, F.R.S. :— 
 
 METEOROGRAPHICA, or Methods of Mapping the Weather. 
 Illustrated by upwards of 600 Printed Lithographic Diagrams. 
 4to. gs. 
 
 As Mr. Galton entertains strong views on the necessity of Meteorolo- 
 gical Charts and Maps, he determined, as a practical proof of what 
 could be done, to chart the entire area of Europe, so far as meteorological 
 stations extend, during one month, vis. the month of December, 1861. 
 Mr. Galton got his data from authorities in every part of Britain 
 and the Continent, and on the basis of these has here drawn up 
 nearly a hundred different Maps and Charts, showing the state of 
 the weather all over Europe during the above period. ' ' If the 
 various Governments and scientific bodies would perform for the 
 
PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 23 
 
 Galton (F.)— continued. 
 
 -whole world for two or three years what, at a great cost and labour, 
 Mr. Gallon has done for a part of Europe for one month, Meteoro- 
 logy would soon eease to be made a joke of." — Spectator. 
 
 HEREDITARY GENIUS : An Inquiry into its Laws and Con- 
 sequences. Demy 8vo. \2s. 
 
 " J propose," the author says, "to show in this book that a man's 
 natural abilities are derived by inheritance, under exactly the same 
 limitations as are the form and physical features of the whole organic 
 world. I shall show that social agencies of an ordinary character, 
 whose influences are little suspected, are at this moment -working 
 irds the degradation of human nature, and that others are 
 working towards its improvement. The general plan of my argu- 
 ment is to shozu that high reputation is a pretty accurate test of high 
 ability ; next, to discuss the relationships of a large body of fairly 
 eminent men, and to obtain from these a general survey of the lazvs 
 of heredity in respect of genius. Then will follow a short chapter, 
 by way of comparison, on the hereditary transmission of physical 
 gifts, as deduced from the relationships of certain classes of oarsmen 
 and wrestlers. Lastly, 1 shall collate my results and draw conclu- 
 sions." The Times calls it "a -most able and most interesting 
 book;" and Mr. Darwin, in his "Descent of Man" (vol. \. p. inj, 
 says, ' ' We know, through the admirable labours of Mr. Galton, 
 that Genius tends to be inherited." 
 
 Geikie(A.)— SCENERY OF SCOTLAND, Viewed in Connec- 
 tion with its Physical Geography. With Illustrations and a new 
 Geological Map. By Archibald Geikie, Professor of Geology 
 in the University of Edinburgh. Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 " We can confidently recommend Mr. Geikie 's -work to those who wish 
 to look bclcnu the surface and read the physical history of the Scenery 
 of Scotland by the light of modern science." — Saturday Review. 
 "Amusing, picturesque, and instructive." — Times. 
 
 Hooker (Dr.)— THE STUDENT'S FLORA OF THE 
 BRITISH ISLANDS. By J. D. Hooker, C.B., F.R.S., 
 M.D., D.C.L., Director of the Royal Gardens, Kew. Globe Svo. 
 XOs. 6d. 
 
24 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 The object of this zvork is to supply students and field-botanists with a 
 fuller account of the Plants of the British Islands than the manuals 
 hitherto in use ai?n at giving. The Ordinal, Generic, and Specific 
 characters have been re-written, and are to a great extent original, 
 and drawn from living or dried specimens, or both. ' ' Cannot fail to 
 perfectly fulfil the purpose for which it is intended" — Land and 
 Water. ' ' Containing the fullest and most accurate manual of the 
 kind that has yet appeared." — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 Huxley (Professor). — LAY SERMONS, ADDRESSES, 
 AND REVIEWS. By T. H. Huxley, LL.D., F.R.S. New 
 and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. Js. 6d. 
 
 Fourteen Discourses on the following subjects: — (i) On the Advisable- 
 ness of Improving Natural Knowledge : — (2) Emancipation — 
 Black and White: — (3) A Liberal Education, and where to find 
 it:- — (4) ScientificEducation : — (5) On the Educational Value of 
 the Natural History Sciences: — (6) On the Study of Zoology: — 
 (7) On the Physical Basis of Life: — (8) The Scientific Aspects of 
 Positivism: — (9) On a Piece of Chalk: — (10) Geological Contem- 
 poraneity and Persistent Types of Life : — ( 11) Geological Reform : — 
 (12) The Origin of Species ."—(13) Criticisms on the " Origin of 
 Species:" — (14) On Descartes' " Discourse touching the Method of 
 using One's Reason rightly and of seeking Scietttific Truth. " The 
 momentous influence exercised by Mr. Huxley 's writings on physical, 
 mental, and social science is universally acknowledged ; his works 
 must be studied by all who would comprehend the various drifts of 
 modern thought. 
 
 ESSAYS SELECTED FROM LAY SERMONS, ADDRESSES, 
 AND REVIEWS. Crown 8vo. u. 
 
 This volume includes Nwnbers 1, 3, 4, 7, 8, and 14, of the above. 
 
 LESSONS IN ELEMENTARY PHYSIOLOGY. With numerous 
 Illustrations. Fourteenth Thousand. i8mo. cloth. 45-. 6d. 
 
 This book describes and explains, in a series of graduated lessons, the 
 principles of Human Physiology, or the Structure and Functions 
 of the Human Body. The first lesson supplies a general view of- 
 the subject. This is followed by sections on the Vascular or Venous 
 System, and the Circulation ; the Blood and the Lymph ; Respira- 
 
PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Hon : Soitrces of Loss and of Gain to the Blood ; the Function of 
 Alimentation ; Motion and Locomotion ; Sensations and Sensory 
 Organs ; the Organ of Sight ; the Coalescence of Sensations with 
 one another and with other States of Consciousness ; the Nervous 
 System and Innervation ; Histology, or the Minute Structure of 
 the Tissues. A Table of Anatomical and Physiological Constants 
 is appended. The lessons are fully illustrated by numerous en 
 gravings. " Pure gold throughout." — Guardian. " Unquestion- 
 ably the clearest and most complete elementary treatise on this subject 
 that we possess in any language." — Westminster Review. 
 
 Kirchhoff (G.)— RESEARCHES ON THE SOLAR SPEC- 
 TRUM, and the Spectra of the Chemical Elements. By. G. 
 Kirchhoff, Professor of Physics in the University of Heidelberg. 
 Second Part. Translated, with the Author's Sanction, from the 
 Transactions of the Berlin Academy for 1862, by Henry R. 
 Roscoe, B.A., Ph.D., F.R.S., Professor of Chemistry in Owens 
 College, Manchester. 
 
 "It is to Kirchhoff we are indebted for by far the best and most accurate, 
 observations of these phenomena.'" — Edin. Review. " This memoir 
 seems almost indispensable to every Spectrum observer." — Philo- 
 sophical Magazine. 
 
 Lockyer (J. N.)— ELEMENTARY LESSONS IN AS- 
 TRONOMY. With numerous Illustrations. By J. Norman 
 Lockyer, F.R.S. Eighth Thousand. iSmo. $s.6d. 
 
 The author has here aimed to give a connected view of the whole subject, 
 and to supply facts, and ideas founded on the facts, to serve as a basis 
 for subsequent study and disctission. The chapters treat of the 
 Stars and Nebula:; the Sun; the Solar System ; Apparent Move- 
 ments of the Heavenly Bodies ; the Measurement of Time; Light; 
 the Telescope and Spectroscope ; Apparent Places of the Heavenly 
 Bodies ; the Real Distances and Dimensions ; Universal Gravitation. 
 The most recent Astronomical Discoveries are incorporated. Mr. 
 Lockyer s work supplements that of the Astronomer Royal. " The 
 book is full, clear, sound, and worthy of attention, not only as a 
 popular exposition, but as a scientific ' Index :■' — Athenaeum. 
 "The most fascinating of elementary books on the Sciences." — 
 Nonconformist. 
 
26 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Macmillan (Rev. Hugh). — For other Works by the same 
 Author, see Theological Catalogue. 
 
 HOLIDAYS ON HIGH LANDS ; or, Rambles and Incidents in 
 search of Alpine Plants. Crown 8vo. cloth. 6s. 
 
 The aim of this book is to impart a general idea of the origin, cha- 
 racter, and distribution of those rare and beautiful Alpine plants- 
 which occur on the British hills, and which are found almost every- 
 where on the lofty mountain chains of Europe, Asia, Africa, and 
 America. In the first three chapters the peculiar vegetation of the 
 Highland mountains is fully described ; while in the remaining 
 chapters this vegetation is traced to its northern cradle in the moun- 
 tains of No? way, and to its southern Etiropean termination in the 
 Alps of Switzerland. The information the author has to give is 
 conveyed in a setting of personal adventure. "One of the most 
 charming books of its kind ever written.'''' — Literary Churchman. 
 "Mr. M.'s glowing pictures of Scandinavian scenery." — Saturday 
 Review. 
 
 FOOT-NOTES FROM THE PAGE OF NATURE. With 
 numerous Illustrations. Fcap. 8vo. $s, 
 
 " Those who have derived pleasure and profit from the study of flowers 
 and ferns — subjects, it is pleasing to find, now everywhere popular 
 — by descending lower into the arcana of the vegetable kingdom, 
 will find a still more interesting and delightful field of research in 
 the objects brought under review in the following pages." — Preface. 
 ' ' The naturalist and the botanist will delight in this volume, and 
 those who understand little of the scientific parts of the work will 
 linger over the mysterious page of nature here unfolded to their 
 ■view." — John Bull. 
 
 Mansfield (C. B.)— A THEORY OF SALTS. A Treatise 
 on the Constitution of Bipolar (two-membered) Chemical Com- 
 pounds. By the late Charles Blachford- Mansfield. Crown 
 8vo. 14s-. 
 
 "Mansfield," says the editor, "wrote this book to defend the prin- 
 ciple that the fact of voltaic decomposition afforded the true indi- 
 cation, if properly interpreted, of the nature of the saline structure, 
 and of the atomicity of the elements that built it up. No chemist 
 will peruse this book without feeling that he is in the presence of an 
 
PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 27 
 
 original thinker, whose pages are continually suggestive, even 
 though their general argument may not be entirely concurrent in 
 direction with that of modern chemical thought.'''' 
 
 Mivart (St. George).— on THE GENESIS OF SPECIES. 
 By St. George Mivart, F.R.S. Crown 8vo. Second Edition, 
 to which notes have been added in reference and reply to Darwin's 
 "Descent of Man." With numerous Illustrations, pp. xv. 296. 
 gs. 
 
 The aim of the author is to support the doctrine that the various 
 species have been evolved by ordinary natural lazvs (for the most 
 part unknown) controlled by the subordinate action of "natural 
 selection," and at the same time to remind some that there is and 
 can be absolutely nothing in physical science which forbids them to 
 regard those natural laws as acting with the Divine concurrence, 
 and in obedience to a creative fiat originally imposed on the primeval 
 cosmos, " in the beginning," by its Creator, its Upholder, and its 
 Lord. Nearly fifty zuoodcuts illustrate the letter-press, and a com- 
 plete index makes all references extremely easy. Canon Kingsley, 
 in his address to the " Devonshire Association," says, "Let me re- 
 commend earnestly to you, as a specimen of what can be said on the 
 other side, the ' Genesis of Species,' by Mr. St. George Mivart, 
 jF.R.S., a book which I am happy to say has been received elsewhere 
 as it has deserved, and, L trust, will be received so among you." 
 "In no work in the English language has this great controversy 
 been treated at once with the same broad and vigorous grasp 
 of facts, and the same liberal and candid temper." — Saturday 
 Review. 
 
 Nature.— A WEEKLY ILLUSTRATED JOURNAL OF 
 SCIENCE. Published every Thursday. Price 4^. Monthly 
 Parts, is./^d. and is. Sd. ; Half-yearly Volumes, 10s. 6d. Cases for 
 binding vols. Is. 6d. 
 
 " Backed by many of the best names among English philosophers, and 
 by a few equally valuable supporters in America and on the Conti- 
 nent of Europe." — Saturday Review. " This able and well-edited 
 Journal, which posts up the science of the day promptly, and 
 promises to be of signal service to students and savants." — British 
 Quarterly Review. 
 
28 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Oliver—Works by Daniel Oliver, F.R.S., F.L.S., Professor of 
 Botany in University College, London, and Keeper of the Herba- 
 rium and Library of the Royal Gardens, Kew : — 
 
 LESSONS IN ELEMENTARY BOTANY. With nearly Two 
 Hundred Illustrations. Twelfth Thousand. i8mo cloth. 4s. 6d. 
 
 This book is designed to teach the elements of Botany on Professor 
 Henslow 1 's plan of selected Types and by the use of Schedules. The 
 earlier chapters, embracing the elements of Structural and Physio- 
 logical Botany, introduce us to the methodical study of the Ordinal 
 Types. The concluding chapters are entitled, " How to Dry 
 Plants " and " How to Describe Plants. " A Valuable Glossary is 
 appended to the volume. In the preparation of this work free use 
 has been made of the manuscript materials of the late Professor 
 Henslow. 
 
 FIRST BOOK OF INDIAN BOTANY. With numerous 
 Illustrations. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 6d. 
 
 This manual is, in substance, the author's " lessons in Elementary 
 Botany," adapted for use in India. In preparing it he has had in 
 view the want, often felt, of some handy resume of Indian Botany, 
 vjhich might be serviceable not only to residents of India, but also to 
 any one about to p'oceed thither, desirous of gettiitg some pre- 
 liminary idea of the botany of the country. It contains a weK- 
 digested summary of all essential knowledge pertaining to Indian 
 Botany, wrought out hi accordance with the best principles of 
 scientific arrangement." — Allen's Indian Mail. 
 
 Penrose (F. C.)— ON A METHOD OF PREDICTING BY 
 GRAPHICAL CONSTRUCTION, OCCULTATIONS OF 
 STARS BY THE MOON, AND SOLAR ECLIPSES FOR 
 ANY GIVEN PLACE. Together with more rigorous methods 
 for the Accurate Calculation of Longitude. By F. C. Penrose, 
 F.R.A.S. With Charts, Tables, etc. 4to. \zs. 
 
 The author beliroes that if , by a graphic method, the prediction of 
 occultations can be rendered more inviting, as well as more expedi- 
 tious, than by the method of calculation, it may prove acceptable to 
 the nautical profession as well as to scientific travellers or amateurs. 
 The author has endeavoured to make the whole process as intelli- 
 gible as possible, so that the beginner, instead of tnerely having to 
 
PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 29 
 
 follow directions imperfectly understood, may readily comprehend 
 the meaning of each step, and be able to illustrate the practice by the 
 theory. Besides all necessary charts and tables, the work contains 
 a large number of skeleton forms for working out cases in 
 practice. 
 
 Roscoe. — Works by Henry E. Roscoe, F.R.S., Professor of 
 Chemistry in Owens College, Manchester : — 
 
 LESSONS IN ELEMENTARY CHEMISTRY, INORGANIC 
 AND ORGANIC. With numerous Illustrations and Chromo- 
 litho of the Solar Spectrum, and of the Alkalies and Alkaline 
 Earths. New Edition. Thirty-first Thousand. i8mo. cloth. 
 4?. 6d. 
 
 It has been the endeavour of the author to arrange the most important 
 facts and principles of Modern Chemistry in a plain but concise 
 and scientific form, suited to the present requirements of elementary 
 instruction. For the purpose of facilitating the attainment of 
 exactitude in the kncnvledge of the subject, a series of exercises and 
 questions upon the lessons have been added. The metric system of 
 weights and measures, and the centigrade thermometric scale, are 
 used throughout this work. The new edition, besides neiu wood- 
 cuts, contains many additions and improvements, and includes the 
 most important of the latest discoveries. " We unhesitatingly pro- 
 nounce it the best of all our elementary treatises on Chemistry"— 
 Medical Times. 
 
 SPECTRUM ANALYSIS. Six Lectures, with Appendices, En- 
 gravings, Maps, and Chromolithographs. Royal 8vo. z\s. 
 
 A Second Edition of these popular Lectures, containing all the most 
 recent discoveries and several additional illustrations. "In six 
 lectures he has given the history of the discovery and set forth the 
 facts relating to the analysis of light in such a way that any reader 
 of ordinary intelligence and information will be able to understand 
 what '■Spectrum Analysis' is, and what are its claims to rank 
 among the most signal triumphs of science." — Nonconformist. 
 ' ' The lectures themselves furnish a most admirable elementary 
 treatise on the subject, whilst by the insertion in appendices to each 
 lecture of extracts from the most important published memoirs, the 
 author has rendered it equally valuable as a text-book for advanced 
 students." — Westminster Review. 
 
3o SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Stewart (B.)— LESSONS IN ELEMENTARY PHYSICS. 
 By Balfour Stewart, F.R.S., Professor of Natural Philosophy 
 in Owens College, Manchester. With numerous Illustrations and 
 Chromolithos of the Spectra of the Sun, Stars, and Nebulae. Second 
 Edition. i8mo. 4^. 6d. 
 
 A description, in an elementary manner, of the most important of 
 those laws which regulate the phenomena of nature. The active 
 agents, heat flight, electricity, etc., are regarded as varieties of 
 energy, and the work is so arranged that their relation to one 
 another, looked at in this light, and the paramount importance of 
 the lazvs of energy, are clearly brought out. The volume contains 
 all the necessary illustrations. The Educational Times calls this 
 "the beau-ideal of a scientific text-book, clear, accurate, and 
 thorough." 
 
 Thudichum and Dupre. — a TREATISE ON THE 
 ORIGIN, NATURE, AND VARIETIES OF WINE. 
 Being a Complete Manual of Viticulture and CEnology. By. J. L. 
 W. Thudichum, M.D., and August Dupre, Ph.D., Lecturer 
 on Chemistry at Westminster Hospital. Medium 8vo. cloth 
 gilt. 25^. 
 
 In this elaborate work the subject of the manufacture of wine is 
 treated scientifically in minute detail, from every point of view. A 
 chapter is devoted to the Origin and Physiology of Vines, two to the 
 Principles of Viticulture ; while other chapters treat of Vintage and 
 Vinificatiou, the Chemistry of Alcohol, the Acids, Ether, Sugars, 
 and other matters occurring in wine. This introductory matter 
 occupies the first nine chapters, the remaining seventeen chapters 
 being occupied with a detailed account of the Viticulture and the 
 Wines of the various countries of Europe, of the Atlantic Islands, 
 of Asia, of Africa, of America, and of Australia. Besides a 
 number of Analytical and Statistical Tables, the work is enriched 
 with eighty-five illustrative woodcuts. ' 'A treatise almost unique 
 for its usefulness either to the wine-grower, the vendor, or the con- 
 sumer of wine. The analyses of wine are the most complete we 
 have yet seen, exhibiting at a glance the constituent principles of 
 nearly all the wines known in this country" — Wine Trade Review. 
 
 Wallace (A. R.)— CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE THEORY 
 OF NATURAL SELECTION. A Series of Essays. By 
 
PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 31 
 
 Alfred Russel Wallace, Author of " The Malay Archipelago," 
 etc. Second Edition, with Corrections and Additions. Crown 
 8vo. §s.6d. (For other Works by the same Author, see CATA- 
 LOGUE of History and Travels.) 
 
 Mr. Wallace has good claims to be considered as an independent 
 originator of the theory of natural selection. Dr. Hooker, in 
 his address to the British Association, spoke thus of the author; 
 * ' Of Mr. Wallace and his many contributions to philosophical 
 biology it is not easy to speak -without enthusiasm; for, putting 
 aside their great merits, he, throughoict his writings, with a 
 modesty as rare as I believe it to be unconscious, forgets his own 
 zinquestioned claim to the honour of having originated, indepeu~ 
 dently of Mr. Darwin, the theories which he so ably defends." 
 The Saturday Review says : "He has combined an abundance of 
 fresh and original facts with a liveliness and sagacity of reasoning 
 which are not often displayed so effectively on so small a scale." 
 The Essays in this volume are : — /. "On the Law which has regu- 
 lated the introduction of New Species." II. "On the Tendencies of 
 Varieties to depart indefinitely from the Original Type." III. "Mi- 
 micry, and other Protective Resemblances among Animals." IV. 
 " The Malayan Papilionida;, as illustrative of the Theory of 
 Natural Selection." V. "On Instinct in Man and Animals." 
 VI. "The Philosophy of Birds' Nests." VII. "A Theory of 
 Birds' Nests" VIII. " Creation by Law >." IX. " The Develop- 
 ment of Human Races under the law of A r atural Selection." 
 X. " The limits of Natural Selection as applied to Man." 
 
 Warington.— THE WEEK OF CREATION; OR, THE 
 COSMOGONY OF GENESIS CONSIDERED IN ITS 
 RELATION TO MODERN SCIENCE. By George War- 
 ington, Author of " The Historic Character of the Pentateuch 
 Vindicated." Crown Svo. 45-. 6d. 
 
 The greater part of this work it taken up with the teaching of the 
 Cosmogony. Its purpose is also investigated, and a chapter is 
 devoted to the consideration of the passage in which the difficulties 
 occur. ' 'A very able vindication of the Mosaic Cosmogony, by a 
 writer who unites the advantages of a critical knoivledge of the 
 Hebrew text and of distinguished scientific attainments." — 
 Spectator. 
 
32 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Wilson.— Works by the late George Wilson, M.D., F.R.S.E., 
 Regius Professor of Technology in the University of Edinburgh ;— 
 
 RELIGIO CHEMICI. With a Vignette beautifully engraved after 
 a design by Sir Noel Paton. Crown 8vo. Ss. 6d. 
 
 ' ' George Wilson," says the Preface to this volume, ' 'had it in his heart 
 for many years to write a book corresponding to the Religio Medici 
 of Sir Thomas Browne, zvith the title Religio Chemici. Several 
 of the Essays in this volume we>-e intended to form chapters of it. 
 These fragments being in most cases like finished gems waiting to be 
 set, some of them are now given in a collected form to his friends 
 and the public. In living remembrance of his purpose, the name 
 chosen by himself has been adopted, although the original design 
 can be but very faintly represented." The Contents of the volume ■ 
 are: — ■" Chemistry and Natural Theology." " The Chemistry of 
 the Stars; an Argument touching the Stars and their Inhabitants." 
 " Chemical Final Causes; as illustrated by the presence of Phos- 
 phorus, Nitrogen, and Iron in the Higher Sentient Organisms." 
 " Robert Boyle." " Wollaston." " Life and Discoveries of Dalton." 
 " Thoughts on the Resurrection; an Address to Medical Students." 
 "^4 more fascinating volume," the Spectator says, "has seldom 
 fallen into our hands." The Freeman says: " These papers are all 
 valuable and deeply interesting. The production of a profound 
 thinker, a suggestive and eloquent writer, and a man whose piety 
 and genius Went hand in hand." 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF THE TELEGRAPH. Fcap. 8vo. is. 
 
 " While a complete view of the progress of the greatest of human 
 inventions is obtained, all its suggestions are brought out with a 
 rare thoughtfulness, a genial humour, and an exceeding beauty of 
 utterance." — Nonconformist. 
 
 Winslow.— FORCE AND NATURE : ATTRACTION AND 
 REPULSION. The Radical Principles of Energy graphically 
 discussed in their Relations to Physical and Morphological De- 
 velopment. By C. F. Winslow, M.D. 8vo. 145-. 
 
 The author having for long investigated Nature in many directions, 
 has ever felt tmsatisfied with the physical foundations upon which 
 some branches of science have been so long compelled to rest. . The 
 question, he believes, must have occurred to many astronomers and 
 
PHYSIOLOGY, AX ATOMY, ETC. 33 
 
 physicists whether some subtle principle antagonistic to attraction 
 docs not also exist as an all-pervading element in nature, and so 
 operate as in some way to disturb the action of what is generally 
 considered by the scientific world a unique force. The aim of the 
 present work is to set forth this subject in its broadest aspects, and 
 in such a manner as to invite thereto the attention of the learned. 
 The subjects of the eleven chapters are : — /. "Space." II. "Mattery 
 III. "Inertia, Force, and Mind." IV. "Molecules." V. 
 " Molecular Force." VI. "Union and Inseparability of Matter 
 and Force." VII. and VIII. " Nature and Action of Force — 
 Attraction — Repulsion." IX. " Cosmical Repulsion. X. "Me- 
 chanical Force." XI. "Central Forces and Celestial Physics." 
 "Deserves thoughtful and conscientious study." — Saturday Review. 
 
 Wurtz.— A HISTORY OF CHEMICAL THEORY, from the 
 Age of Lavoisier down to the present time. By Ad. Wurtz. 
 Translated by Henry Watts, F.R.S. Crown Svo. 6j. 
 
 " The discourse, as a resume of chemical theory and research, unites 
 singular luininousness and grasp. A few judicious notes are added 
 by the translator." — Pall Mall Cazette. " The treatment of the 
 subject is admirable, and the translator has evidently done his duly 
 most efficiently." — Westminster Review. 
 
 WORKS IN PHYSIOLOGY, ANATOMY, AND 
 MEDICAL WORKS GENERALLY, 
 
 Allbutt (T. C.)— ON THE USE OF THE OPHTHALMO- 
 SCOPE in Diseases of the Nervous System and of the Kidneys ; 
 also in certain other General Disorders. By Thomas Clifford 
 Allbutt, M.A., M.D. Cantab., Physician to the Leeds General 
 Infirmary, Lecturer on Practical Medicine, etc. etc. Svo. i^s. 
 
 The Ophthalmoscope has been found of the highest value in the inves- 
 tigation of nervous diseases. But it is not easy for physicians who 
 have left the schools, and are engaged in practice, to take up a new 
 
34 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 instrument -which requires much skill in using ; it is therefore 
 hoped that by such the present volume, containing the results of the 
 author 's extensive use of the instrument in diseases of the nervous 
 system, will be found of high value ; and that to all students it may 
 prove a usefoil hand-book. After four introductory chapters on the 
 history and value of the Ophthalmoscope, and the manner of investi- 
 gating the states of the optic nerve and retina, the author treats of 
 the various diseases with which optic changes are associated, and 
 describes the way in which such associations take place. Besides 
 the cases referred to throughout the volume, the Appendix con- 
 tains details 0/123 cases illustrative of the subjects discussed in the 
 text, and a series of tabulated cases to show the Ophthalmoscopic 
 appearances of the eye in Insanity, Mania, Dementia, Melancholia 
 and Monomania, Idiotcy, and General Paralysis. The volume is 
 illustrated with two valuable coloured plates of morbid appearances 
 of the eye under the Ophthalmoscope. " By its aid men will no 
 longer be compelled to work for years in the dark ; they will have a 
 definite standpoint whence to proceed on their course of investigation." 
 — Medical Times. 
 
 Anstie (F. E.)— neuralgia, and diseases which 
 
 RESEMBLE IT. By Francis E. Anstie, M.D., M.R.C.P., 
 
 Senior Assistant Physician to Westminster Hospital. 8vo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 Dr. Anstie is well known as one of the greatest living authorities on 
 Neuralgia. The present treatise is the result of many years' careful 
 independent scientific investigation into the nature and proper treat- 
 ment of this most painful disease. The author has had abundant 
 means of studying the subject both in his own person and in the 
 hundreds of patients that have resorted to him for treatment. He 
 has gone into the whole subject indicated in the title ab initio, and 
 the publishers believe it will be found that he has p'esented it in an 
 entirely original light, and done much to rob this excruciating and 
 hitherto refractory disease of many of its terrors. The Introduction 
 treats briefly of Pain in General, and contains some striking and 
 even original ideas as to its nature and in reference to sensation 
 generally. 
 
 Barwell. — THE CAUSES AND TREATMENT OF LATERAL 
 CURVATURE OF THE SPINE. Enlarged from Lectures 
 published in the Lancet. By Richard Barwell, . F.R.C.S., 
 
PHYSIOLOGY, ANATOMY, ETC. 35 
 
 Surgeon to and Lecturer on Anatomy at the Charing Cross Hospital. 
 Second Edition. Crown Svo. 45-. 6d. 
 
 Having failed to find in books a satisfactory theory of those conditions 
 which produce lateral curvature, Mr. Harwell resolved to investi- 
 gate the subject for himself ab initio. The present work is the 
 result of long and patient study of Spines, normal and abnormal. 
 He believes the views which lie has been led to form account for those 
 essential characteristics which have hitherto been left unexplained ; 
 and the treatment which he advocates is certainly less irksome, and 
 will be found more efficacious than that which has hitherto been 
 pursued. Indeed, the mode in which the first edition has been 
 received by the profession is a. gratifying sign that Mr. Harwell's 
 principles have made their value and their weight felt. Many 
 pages and a number of woodcuts have been added to the Second 
 Edition. 
 
 Corfield (Professor W. H.) — a DIGEST OF FACTS 
 RELATING TO THE TREATMENT AND UTILIZATION 
 OF SEWAGE. By W. H. Corfield, M.A., B.A., Professor 
 of Hygiene and Public Health at University College, London. 
 Svo. 10s. 6d. Second Edition, corrected and enlarged. 
 
 The author in the Second Edition has revised and corrected the entire 
 work, and made many important additions. The headings of the 
 eleven chapters are as follcnu: — /. "Early Systems: Midden-Heaps 
 and Cesspools." II. "Filth and Disease — Cause and Effect." 
 III. "Improved Midden-Pits and Cesspools ; Midden-Closets, Pail- 
 Closets, etc. " IV. " The Dry- Closet Systems. V. ' ' If ater- Closets. ' ' 
 VI. "Sewerage," VII. "Sanitary Aspects of 'the Water- Carrying 
 System." VIII. " Value of Sei.ua ge; Injury to Pivers." IX. 
 "Town Sewage; Attempts at Utilization." X. "Filtration and 
 Irrigation." XI. "Influence of Sewage Farming on the Public 
 Health." An abridged account of the more recently published 
 researches on the subject zuill be J'ound in the Appendices, while 
 the Summary contains a concise statement of the views which the 
 author himself has been led to adopt: references liave been inserted 
 throughout to shenv from what sources the numerous quotations have 
 bee?i derived, and an Index has been added. "Mr. Corfield 's work 
 is entitled to rank as a standard atitho7'ity, no less than a con- 
 venient handbook, in all matters relating to sewage." — Athenaeum. 
 
36 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Elam (C.)— A PHYSICIAN'S PROBLEMS. By Charles 
 
 ELAM, M.D., M.R.C.P. Grown 8vo. 9s. 
 
 Contents -.^"Natural Heritage." " On Degeneration in Man." 
 " On Moral and Criminal Epidemics." "Body v. Mind." "Il- 
 lusions and Hallucinations." " On Somnambulism. "Reverie 
 and Abstraction." These Essays are intended as a contribution to 
 the Natural History of those outlying regions of Thought and 
 Action whose domain is the debateable ground of Brain, Nerve, 
 and Mind. They are designed also to indicate the origin and mode 
 of perpetuation of those varieties of organizatioii, intelligence, and 
 general tendencies towards vice or virtue, which seem to be so 
 capriciously developed among mankind. They also point to causes 
 for the infinitely varied forms of disorder of nerve and brain — 
 organic and functional— far deeper and more recondite than those 
 generally believed in. " The book is one which all statesmen, ■ 
 magistrates, clerg)'tnen, medical mejt, and parents should study and 
 inwardly digest." — Examiner. 
 
 Fox. — Works by Wilson Fox, M.D. Lond., F.R.C.P., Holme 
 ■Professor of Clinical Medicine, University College, London, 
 Physician Extraordinary to her Majesty the Queen, etc. : — 
 
 ON THE DIAGNOSIS AND TREATMENT OF THE 
 VARIETIES OF DYSPEPSIA, CONSIDERED IN RELA- 
 TION TO THE PATHOLOGICAL ORIGIN OF THE 
 DIFFERENT FORMS OF INDIGESTION. Second Edition. 
 8vo. "js. 6d. 
 
 ON THE ARTIFICIAL PRODUCTION OF TUBERCLE IN 
 THE LOWER ANIMALS, With Coloured Plates. 4to. 5j. 6d. 
 In this Lecture Dr. Fox describes in minute detail a large number of 
 experiments made by him on guinea-pigs and rabbits for the pur- 
 pose of inquiring into the origin of Ticbercle by the agency of direct 
 b'7-itation or by septic mattejs. This method of inquiry he believes 
 to be one of the most i7nportant advances which have been recently 
 made in the pathology of the disease. The work is illustrated by 
 three plates, each containing a number of carefully coloured illus- 
 trations from nature. 
 ON THE TREATMENT OF HYPERPYREXIA, as Illustrated 
 in Acute Articular Rheumatism by means of the External Applica- 
 tion of Cold. 8vo. is. 6d. 
 
PH i SJOLOGY, AAA TOM] ) ETC. 37 
 
 The object of this work is to show that the class of cases included under 
 the title, ami which have hitherto hem invariably fatal, may, by 
 a judicious use of the cold bath and without venesection, 'be brmtght 
 to a favourable termination. Minute details are given of the 
 successful treatment by this method of two patients by the author, 
 followed by a Commentary on the cases, in which the merits of the 
 mode of treatment are discussed and compared with those of methods 
 /allowed by other eminent practitioners. Appended are tables of the 
 observations made on the temperature during- the treatment; a table 
 showing (he effect of the immersion of the patients in the baths em- 
 ployed, in order to exhibit the rate at -which the temperature was 
 lowered zu each case; a table of the chief details of twen 
 cases 0/ this class recently published, and which are referred to m 
 various Jarts of the Commentary. Two Charts are also introduced, 
 giving a connected view of the progress of the two successful cases, 
 and a series of sphygvuographic tracings of the pulses of the two 
 Pate" 1 *. "A clinical study of rare value. Should be read by 
 «<?.' —-Medical Press and Circular. 
 
 Galton (D.)_ AN ADDRESS ON THE GENERAL PRIN- 
 CIPLES WHICH SHOULD BE OBSERVED IN THE 
 CONSTRUCTION OF HOSPITALS. Delivered to the British 
 Medical Association at Leeds, July 1S69. By Douglas Galton 
 C. B. , F. R. S. Crown Svo. 3 s. 6d. 
 
 In tills Address the author endeavours to enunciate what are those 
 principles -which seem to him to form the starting-point from which 
 all architects should proceed in the construction if hospitals. Be- 
 sides Mr. Galton' s paper the book^contalns the opinion/ expressed in 
 the subsequent discussion by several eminent medical men, such as 
 Dr. Kennedy, Sir James Y. Simpson, Dr. Hughes Ben net, and 
 others. The work is illustrated by a number of plans, sections, and 
 other cuts. ' <A n admirable exposition of those conditions of struc- 
 ture -which most conduce to cleanliness, economy, and convenience." 
 — Times. 
 
 Harley ( J.>— THE OLD VEGETABLE NEUROTICS, Hem- 
 lock, Opium, Belladonna, and Henbane; their Physiological 
 Action and Therapeutical Use, alone and in combination. Being 
 the Gulstonian Lectures of 1S6S extended, and including a Complete 
 Examination of the Active Constituents of Opium. By foiix 
 Harley, M.D. LoncT./F.R.C.P., F.L.S., 6tc. '8voi 12s. 
 
38 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 The authors object throughout the investigations and experiments on 
 which this volume is founded has been to ascertain, clearly and 
 definitely, the action of the drugs employed on the healthy body in 
 medicinal doses, from the smallest to the largest ; to deduce simple 
 practical conclusions from the facts observed ; and then to apply the 
 drug to the relief of the particular' conditions to which its action 
 appeared suited. Many experiments have been made by the author 
 both on men and the lower animals ; and the author's endeavour 
 has been to prresent to the mind, as far as words may do, impres- 
 sions of the actual condition of the individual subjected to the 
 drug. " Those who are interested generally in the progress of 
 medical science will find much to repay a careful perusal. 1 ' — 
 Athenaeum. 
 
 Hood (Wharton). — ON BONE-SETTING (so called), and 
 its Relation to the Treatment of Joints Crippled by Injury, Rheu- 
 matism, Inflammation, etc. etc. By Wharton P. Hood, 
 M.D., M.R.C.S. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 Hie author for a period attended the London practice of the late Mr. 
 Hutton, the famous and successful bone-setter, by whom he was 
 initiated into the mystery of the art and practice. Thus the author 
 is amply qualified to write on the subject from the practical point of 
 view, while his professional education enables hiin to consider it in 
 its scientific and surgical bearings. In the present work he gives a 
 brief account of the salient features of a bone-setter 's method of pro- 
 cedure in the treatment of damaged joints, of the results of that treat- 
 ment, and of the class of cases in which he has seen it prove successful. 
 The author's aim is to give the rationale of the bone-setter' s practice, 
 to reduce it to something like a scientific method, to show when force 
 should be resorted to and when it should not, and to initiate 
 surgeons into the secret of Mr. Huttoris successful manipulation. 
 Throughout the work a great number of authentic instances of 
 successful treatment are given, with the details of the method of 
 cure ; and the Chapters on Manipulations and Affections of the 
 Spine are illustrated by a number of appropriate and well-executed 
 cuts. " Dr. HoooT s book is full of instruction, and should be read 
 by all surgeons." — Medical Times. 
 
 Humphry.— THE HUMAN SKELETON (including the joints). 
 By G. M. Humphry, M.D., F.R.S. With 260 Illustrations, 
 drawn from nature. Medium 8vo. 28j. 
 
PHYSIOLOGY, ANATOMY, ETC. 39 
 
 In lecturing on the Skeleton it has been the author 's practice, instead 
 of giving a detailed account of the several parts, to request his 
 students to get up the descriptive anatomy of certain bones, with the 
 aid of some work on osteology. He afterwards tested their acquire- 
 ments by examination, endeavouring to supply deficiencies and 
 correct errors, adding also such information —physical, physiologi- 
 cal, pathological, and practical — as he had gathered from his own 
 observation and researches, and -which was likely to be useful and 
 excite an interest in the subject. This additional information 
 forms, in great part, the material of this volume, -which is intended 
 to be supplementary to existing -works on anatomy. Considerable 
 space has been devoted to the description of the joints, because it is 
 less fully given in other -works, and because an accurate knowledge 
 of the structure and peculiar form of the joints is essential to a 
 correct knowledge of their movements. The numerous illustrations 
 were all drawn jtpon stone from nature; and in most instances, 
 from specimens prepared for the purpose by the author himself 
 "Bearing at once the stamp of the accomplished scholar, and 
 evidences of the skilful anatomist. We express our admiration of 
 the drawings." — Medical Times and Gazette. 
 
 Huxley's Physiology.— See P . 24, preceding. 
 
 Journal of Anatomy and Physiology. 
 
 Conducted, by Professors Humphry and Newton, and Mr. Clark 
 of Cambridge, Professor Turner of Edinburgh, and Dr. 
 Wright of Dublin. Published twice a year. Old Series, Parts 
 I. and II., price Js. 6d. each. Vol. I. containing Parts I. and II., 
 Royal Svo., i6.s\ New Series, Parts I._to IX. 6.?. each, or yearly 
 Vols. 12s. 6d. each. 
 
 Lankester.— COMPARATIVE LONGEVITY IN MAN AND 
 THE LOWER ANIMALS. By E. Ray Lankester, B.A. 
 Crown Svo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 This Essay gained the prize offered by the University of Oxford for 
 the best Paper on the subject of which it treats. This interesting 
 subject is here treated in a thorough manner, both scientifically and 
 statistically. 
 
 Maclaren.— TRAINING, IN THEORY AND PRACTICE. 
 By Archibald Maclaren, the Gymnasium, Oxford. Svo. 
 Handsomely bound in cloth, Is. 6d. 
 
40 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 The ordinary agents of health are Exercise, Diet, Sleep, Air, Bath- 
 ing, and Clothing. In this work the author examines each of 
 these agents in detail, and from two different points of view. First, 
 as to the manner in %vhich it is, or should be, administered under 
 ordinary circumstances : and secondly, in what manner and to 
 what extent this mode of administration is, or should be, altered for 
 purposes of training ; the object of "training," according to the 
 author, being ' ' to put the body, with extreme and exceptional care, 
 under the influence of all the agents which promote its health and 
 strength, in order to enable it to meet extreme and exceptional de- 
 mands upon its energies." Appended are various diagrams and 
 tables relating to boat-racing, and tables connected zuith diet and 
 training. " The philosophy of human health has seldom received 
 so apt an exposition."— Globe. " After all the nonsense that has 
 been written about training, it is a comfort to get hold of a 
 thoroughly sensible book at last." — John Bull. 
 
 Macpherson,— Works by John Macpherson, M.D. :— 
 
 THE BATHS AND WELLS OF EUROPE; Their Action and 
 Uses. With Hints on Change of Air and Diet Cures. With a 
 Map. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 6d. 
 
 This work is intended to supply information which will afford aid in 
 the selection of such Spas as are suited for particular cases. It 
 exhibits a sketch of the present condition of our knotvledge on the 
 subject of the operation of mineral waters, gathered from the 
 author's personal observation, and from every other available 
 source of information. It is divided into four books, and each 
 book into several chapters : — Book I. Elements of Treatment, in 
 which, among other matters, the external and internal uses oj 'water- 
 are treated of . II. Bathing, treating of the. various kinds of baths. 
 
 III . Wells, treating of the various kinds of mineral waters. 
 
 IV. Diet Cures, in which various vegetable, milk, and other 
 " cures " are discussed. Appended is an Index of Diseases noticed, 
 and one of places named. Prefixed is a sketch map of the principal 
 baths and places of health-resort in Europe. "Dr. Macpherson 
 has given the kind of information which eve7-y medical practitioner 
 ought to possess." — The Lancet. " WJioever wants to know the 
 real character of any health-resort must read Dr. Macpherson" 's 
 book." — Medical Times. 
 
PHYSIOLOGY, AX ATOMY, ETC, 41 
 
 Macpherson (J.) -continued. 
 
 OUR BATHS AND V\ ELLS : The Mineral Waters of the 
 
 Islands, with a List of Sea-bathing Places. Extra fcap. Svo. 
 pp. xv. 205. 3.C 6;/. 
 
 Dr. Macpherson has divided his ; parts. He is 
 
 a few introductory observations on bath life, its circumstances, 
 and pleasures ; lie then explains in detail the composition of the 
 various mineral waters, and points out the special curative pro- 
 perties of each class. A chapter on "The J history of British 
 Wells" from the earliest period to th, e for?ns the 
 
 natural transition to the second part of this voh . ; eats of 
 
 the different kinds of mineral waters in England, whether pure, 
 thermal and earthy, saline, chalybeate, or sulphur. Wales, Scot- 
 laud, and Ireland .aterials for distinct sections, .in 
 Index of mineral waters, one of sea-bathing places, and a third of 
 wells of pure or nearly pure water, terminate the book. "This little 
 volume forms a very available handbook for a large class of 
 invalids.'" — Nonconformist. 
 
 Maudsley.— Works by Henry Maudsley, M.D., Professor of 
 Medical Jurisprudence in University College, London : — 
 
 BODY AND MIND : An Inquiry into their Connection and 
 Mutual Influence, specially in reference to Mental Disorders ; being 
 the Gulstonian Lectures for 1870. Delivered before the Royal 
 College of Physici ins. ' T-nvn Svo. $s. 
 
 The volume consists of three Leetuns an lees, the 
 
 general plan of the whole being to bring Man, both it, 
 and mental relations, as much as possible under the scope 0/' scientific 
 inquiry. The first Lecture is devoted to a . f the physical 
 
 conditions of mental function in health. In the second Lecture are 
 sketchied the features* of some fo?-ms of degeneracy ■ hibited 
 
 in morbid varieties of the human kind, with the purpose of bringing 
 prominently into notice the operation of physical causes prom 
 generation to generation, and the relations/tip of mental to other 
 diseases of the nervous system. In the third Lecture are displayed 
 the relations of morbid states of the body and disordered mental 
 function. Appendix I. is a criticism of the Archbishop of York's 
 ess on " The /Limits of Philosophical Inquiry." J pp. na'ix LI. 
 ■ with the "Theory of Vitality," in which the author en- 
 
42 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 Maudsley (H.)— continued. 
 
 deavours to set forth the reflections which facts seem to warrant. 
 "■It distinctly marks a step in the progress of scientific psychology :" 
 — The Practitioner. 
 
 THE PHYSIOLOGY AND PATHOLOGY OF MIND. 
 Second Edition, Revised. 8vo. 16s. 
 
 This work is the result of an endeavour on the author 's part to arrive 
 at some definite conviction with regard to the physical conditions of 
 mental function, and the relation^ of the phenomena of sound and 
 unsound mind. The author's aim throughout has been twofold : 
 I. To treat of mental phenomena from a physiological rather than 
 
 from a metaphysical point of view. II. To bring the manifold 
 instructive instances presented by the unsound mind to bear upon 
 the interpretation of the obscure problems of mental science. In the 
 
 first part, the author pursues his independent inquiry into the 
 science of Mind in the same direction as that followed by Bain, 
 Spencer, Laycock, and' Carpenter ; and in the second, he studies 
 the subject in a light which, in this country at least, is almost 
 entirely novel. "Dr. Maudsley' 's work, which has already become 
 standard, we most urgently recommend to the careful study of 
 all those who are interested in the physiology and pathology of the 
 brain. " — Anthropological Review. 
 
 Practitioner (The). — A Monthly Journal of Therapeutics. 
 Edited by Francis E. Anstie, M. D. 8vo. Price u. 6d. 
 Vols. I to VII. 8vo. cloth. lev. 6d. each. 
 
 Radcliffe.— DYNAMICS OF NERVE AND MUSCLE. By 
 Charles Bland Radcliffe, M.D., F.R.C.P., Physician to the 
 Westminster Hospital, and to the National Hospital for the 
 Paralysed and Epileptic. Crown 8vo. 8s. 6d. 
 
 This work contains the result of the author's long investigations into the 
 Dynamics of 'Nerve and Muscle, as connected with Animal Electricity : 
 The author endeavours to show from these researches that the state 
 of action in nerve and muscle, instead of being a manifestation of 
 vitality, must be brought under the domain of physical law in order 
 to be intelligible, and that a different meaning, also based upon pure 
 physics, must be. attached to the state of rest. " The practitioner 
 
PHYSIOLOGY, ANATOMY, ETC. 
 
 will find in Dr. Radcliffe a 'guide, philosopher, and friend,' from 
 whose teaching he cannot Jail to reap a plentiful harvest of new and 
 valuable ideas." — Scotsman. 
 
 Reynolds.— A SYSTEM OF MEDICINE. Vol. I. Edited 
 by J. Russell Reynolds, M.D., F.R.C.P. London. Second 
 Edition. Svo. 2$s. 
 
 Part I. General Diseases, or Affections of the Whole System. 
 § /. — Those determined by agents operating from without, such as 
 the exanthemata, malarial diseases, and their allies. § II. — Those 
 determined by conditions existing within the body, such as Jon/, 
 Rheumatism, Rickets, etc. Part II. Local Diseases, or affections 
 of particular Systems. § I. — Diseases of the Skin. 
 
 A SYSTEM OF MEDICINE. Vol. II. Second Edition in the 
 Press. Svo. 255. 
 
 Part II. Local Diseases (continued). § I.— Diseases of the Nervous 
 System. A. General Nervous Diseases. B. Partial Diseases of 
 the Nervous System. 1. Diseases of the Head. 2. Diseases of the 
 Spinal Column. 3. Diseases of the A T erzvs. § II. — Diseases of 
 the Digestive System. A. Diseases of the Stomach. 
 
 A SYSTEM OF MEDICINE. Vol. III. 8vo. 25* 
 
 Part IT. Local Diseases (continued). § II. Diseases of the Digestirr 
 System (continued). B. Diseases of the Mouth. C. Diseases of 
 the Fauces, Pharynx, and (Esophagus. D. Diseases of the In- 
 testines. E. Diseases of the Peritoneum. F. Diseases of the 
 Liver. G. Diseases of the Pancreas. § III. — Diseases of the 
 Respiratory System. A. Diseases of the Larynx. B. Diseases of 
 the Thoracic Organs. " One of the best and most co?nprehensive 
 treatises on Medicine which have yet been attempted in any country." 
 — Indian Medical Journal. "Contains some of the best essays 
 that have lately appeared, and is a complete library in itself." — 
 Medical Press. 
 
 Seaton.— A HANDBOOK OF VACCINATION. By Edward 
 C. Seaton, M.D., Medical Inspector to the Privy Council. Extra 
 fcap. 8vo. 8.?. 6d. 
 
 The autlwrs object in putting forth this work is twofold : First, to 
 provide a text-book On the science and practice of Vaccination for 
 
44 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 the use of younger practitioners and of medical students ; secondly, 
 to give what assistance he could to those engaged in the administra- 
 tion of the system of Public Vaccination established in England. 
 For many years past, from the nature of his office, Dr. Seaton has 
 had constant intercourse in reference to the subject of Vaccination, 
 ■with medical men who are interested in it, and especially with that 
 large part of the profession who are engaged as Public Vacci- 
 nators. All the varieties of pocks, both in men and the lower 
 animals, aretreated- of in detail, and much valuable information 
 given 011 all points connected with lymph, and minute instructions 
 as to the niceties and cautions which so greatly influence success 
 in Vaccination. The administrative sections of the work will be 
 of interest and value, not only to medical practitioners, but to 
 many others to whom a right understanding of the principles on 
 which a system of Public Vaccination should be based is indis- 
 pensable. "Henceforth the indispensable handbook of Public Vacci- 
 nation, and the standard authority on this great subject." — British 
 Medical Journal. 
 
 Symonds (J. A., M.D.}— MISCELLANIES. By John 
 Addington Symonds, M.D. Selected and Edited, with an 
 Introductory Memoir, by his Son. 8vo. Js. 6d. 
 
 The late Dr. Symonds of Bristol was a man of a singularly versatile 
 and elegant as well as powerful and scientific intellect. In order 
 to make this selection from his many works generally interesting, 
 the editor has confined himself to works of pure literature, and to 
 such scientific studies as had a general philosophical or social 
 interest. Among the general subjects are articles on " 'the Principles 
 of Beauty," on "Knowledge" and a " Life of Dr. Pric/iard;" 
 among the Scientific Studies are papers on " Sleep and Dreams," 
 "Apparitions," "the Relations between Mind and Muscle," 
 "Habit," etc.; there are several papers on "the Social and 
 Political Aspects of Medicine ; " and a few Poems and. Transla- 
 tions selected from a great number of equal merit. "A collection of 
 graceful essays on general and scientific subjects, by a very accom- 
 plished physician." — Gi-aphic. 
 
WORKS ON MENTAL AND MORAL 
 PHILOSOPHY, AND ALLIED SUBJECTS. 
 
 Aristotle.— AN INTRODUCTION TO ARISTOTLE'S 
 RHETORIC. With Analysis, Notes, and Appendices. By E. 
 M. Cope, Trinity College, Cambridge. 8vo. 14.S. 
 
 This work is introductory to an edition of the Greek Text of Aristotle's 
 Rhetoric, which is in course of preparation. Its object is to render 
 that treatise thorougJily intelligible. The author has aimed to 
 illustrate, as preparatory to the detailed explanation of the work, the 
 general bearings and relations of the Art of Rhetoric in itself, as 
 well as the special mode of treating it adopted by Aristotle in his 
 peculiar system. The evidence upon obscure or doubtful questions 
 connected with the subject is examined ; and the relations which 
 Rhetoric bears, in Aristotle's view, to the kindred art of Logic are 
 fully considered. A connected Analysis of the work is given, and 
 a few important matters are separately discussed in Appendices. 
 There is added, as a general Appendix, by way of specimen of the 
 antagonistic system of Isocrates and others, a complete analysis oj 
 the treatise called "?i)Topixh irpos 'A\^ai/Spou, with a discussion oj 
 its authorship and of the probable results of its teaching. 
 
 ARISTOTLE ON FALLACIES ; OR, THE SOPHISTICI 
 ELENCHI. With a Translation and Notes by Edward Poste, 
 MA., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. Svo. 8s. 6d. 
 
 Besides the doctrine of Fallacies, Aristotle offers, either in this treatise 
 or in other passages quoted in the Commentary, various glances 
 over the world of science and opinion, various suggestions or pro- 
 blems which are still agitated, and a vivid picture of the ancient 
 system of dialectics, which it is hoped may be found both Interesting 
 
46 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 and instructive. "It will be an assistance to genuine students of 
 Aristotle.' 1 '' — Guardian. "It is indeed a work of great skill." — ■ 
 Saturday Review. 
 
 Butler (W. A.), Late Professor of Moral Philosophy in the 
 University of Dublin : — 
 
 LECTURES ON THE HISTORY OF ANCIENT PHILO- 
 SOPHY. Edited from the Author's MSS., with Notes, by 
 William Hepworth Thompson, M.A., Master of Trinity 
 College, and Regius Professor of Greek in the University of 
 Cambridge. Two Volumes. 8vo. il. $s. 
 
 These Lectures consist of an Introductory Series on the Science of Mind 
 generally, and five other Series on Ancient Philosophy, the greater 
 part of which treat of Plato and the Platonists, the Fifth Series 
 ■being an unfinished course on the Psychology of Aristotle, contain- 
 ing an able Analysis of the well known though by no means well 
 unda-stood Treatise, irepl ipvxys. These Lectures are the result of 
 patient and conscientious examination of the original documents, 
 and may be considered as a perfectly independent contribution to our 
 knowledge of the great master of Grecian wisdom. The author's 
 intimate familiarity with the metaphysical writings of the last 
 century, and especially with the English and Scotch School of 
 Psychologists, has enabled him to illustrate the subtle speculations 
 of which he treats in a manner calculated to render them more 
 intelligible to the English mind than they can be by writers -trained 
 solely in the technicalities of modern German schools. The editor 
 has verified all the references, and added valuable Notes, in which 
 he points out sources of more complete information. The Lectures 
 constitute a History of the Platonic Philosophy — its seed-time, 
 maturity, and decay. 
 
 SERMONS AND LETTERS ON ROMANISM.— See Theo- 
 logical Catalogue. 
 
 Calderwood.— PHILOSOPHY OF THE INFINITE: A 
 Treatise on Man's Knowledge of the Infinite Being, in answer to 
 Sir W. Hamilton and Dr. Mansel. By the Rev. Henry 
 Calderwood, M.A., LL.D., Professor of Moral Philosophy in 
 the University of Edinburgh. Cheaper Edition. 8vo. 75. 6d. 
 
MENTA L A ND M ORA L PHIL OSOPH 1 ', £ TC. 47 
 
 The purpose of this volume is, by a careful analysis of consciousness, 
 
 to prove, in opposition to Sir W. Hamilton and Mr. Mansel, that 
 man possesses a notion of an Infinite Being, and to ascertain the 
 peculiar nature of the conception and the particular relations in 
 •which it is found to arise. The province of Faith as related to that 
 of Knowledge, and the characteristics of Knowledge and Thought 
 as bearing on this subject, are examined ; and separate chapters are 
 devoted to the consideration of our knowledge of the Infinite as 
 First Cause, as Moral Governor, and as the Object of Worship. 
 "A book of great ability .... written in a clear style, and may 
 be easily understood by even those who are not versed in such 
 discussions." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 Elam.— A PHYSICIAN'S PROBLEMS. —See Medical 
 Catalogue, preceding. 
 
 Galton (Francis).— HEREDITARY GENIUS : An Inquiry 
 into its Laws and Consequences. See Physical Science 
 Catalogue, preceding. 
 
 Green (J. H.)— SPIRITUAL PHILOSOPHY: Founded on 
 the Teaching of the late Samuel Taylor Coleridge. By the 
 late Joseph Henry Green, F.R.S., D.C.L. Edited, with a 
 Memoir of the Author's Life, by John Simon, F.R.S., Medical 
 Officer of Her Majesty's Privy Council, and Surgeon to St. 
 Thomas's Hospital. Two Vols. Svo. 25J. 
 
 The late Mr. Green, the eminent surgeon, was for many years the 
 intimate friend and disciple of Coleridge, and an ardent student of 
 philosophy. The language of Coleridge's will imposed on Mr. 
 Green the obligation of devoting, so far as necessary, the remainder 
 of his life to the one task of systematising, developing, and establish- 
 ing the doctrines of the Coleridgian philosophy. With the assist- 
 ance of Coleridge's manuscripts, but especially from the knowledge 
 he possessed of Coleridge's doctrines, a nd independent study of at least 
 the basal principles and metaphysics of the sciences and of all the 
 phenomena of human life, he proceeded logically to work out a 
 system of universal philosophy such as he deemed would in the main 
 accord with- his master's aspirations. After many years of pre- 
 paratory labour he resolved to complete in a compendious form a 
 work which should give in system the doctrines most distinctly 
 Coleridgian. The result is these two volumes. The first volume 
 
4" SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 is devoted to the general principles of philosophy ; the second aims at 
 vindicating a priori (on principles for which the first volume has 
 contended) the essential doctrines df Christianity. The zvork is 
 divided into four parts: I. "On the Intellectual Faculties and 
 processes which are concerned in the Investigation of Truth." 
 II "Of First Principles in Philosophy:'' III. " Truths of 
 Religion." IV. " The Idea of Christianity in relation to Con- 
 troversial Philosophy. " 
 
 Huxley (Professor.) — lay SERMONS, ADDRESSES, 
 AND REVIEWS. See Physical Science Catalogue, 
 preceding. 
 
 JeVOnS. — Works by W. Stanley Jevons, M.A., Professor of 
 Logic in Owens College, Manchester : — 
 
 THE SUBSTITUTION OF SIMILARS, the True Principle of 
 Reasoning. Derived from a Modification of Aristotle's Dictum. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 " All acts of reasoning" the author says, "seem to me to be dif- 
 ferent cases of one uniform process, which may perhaps be best 
 described as the substitution of similars. This phrase clearly 
 expresses that familiar mode in which we continually argue by 
 analogy from like to like, and take one thing as a representative 
 of another. The chief difficulty consists in showing that all the 
 forms of the old logic, as well as the fomdamental rules of mathe- 
 matical reasoning, may be explained upon the sai?ie principle ; and 
 it is to this difficult task I have devoted the most attention. Should 
 my notion be true, a vast mass of technicalities may be swept from 
 our logical text-books and yet the small remaining part of logical 
 doctrine will prove far more ziseful than all the learning of the 
 Schoolmen:'' Prefixed is apian of a nezv reasoning machine, the 
 Logical Abacus, the construction and working of which is fully 
 explained in the text and Appendix. "Mr. fevons' book is very 
 clear and intelligible, and quite worth consulting." — Guardian. 
 
 ELEMENTARY LESSONS IN LOGIC.-See Educational 
 Catalogue. 
 
 Maccoll. — THE GREEK SCEPTICS, from Pyrrho to Sextiis. 
 An Essay which obtained the Hare Prize in the year 1868. By 
 
MENTAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY, ETC. 49 
 
 NORMAN Maccoll, B.A., Scholar of Downing College, Cam- 
 bridge. Crown Svo, y. 6d. 
 
 This Essay consists of five parts: I. '■'Introduction.''' II. "Pyrrho 
 and Timon" III. "The New Academy." IV. "The Later 
 Sceptics." V. " The Pyrrhoueaus and New Academy con- 
 trasted." — "Mr. Maccoll has produced a monograph which malts 
 the gratitude of all students of p/ulosophy. His style is clear and 
 vigorous; he has mastered the authorities, and criticises them in a 
 modest but independent spirit." — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 M'Cosh — Works by James M'Cosh, LL.D., President of Princeton 
 College, New Jersey, U.S. 
 
 ' ' lie certainly shows himself skilful in that application of logic to 
 psychology, in that inductive science of the human mind which is 
 the fine side of English philosophy. His philosophy as a whole is 
 worthy of attention." — Revue de Deux Mondes. 
 
 THE METHOD OF THE DIVINE GOVERNMENT, Physical 
 and Moral. Tenth Edition. Svo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 This work is divided into four books. The first presents a general 
 view of the Divine Government as fitted to throw light- -on the 
 character of God; the second deals with the method of the Divine 
 Government in the physical world; the third treats of the principles 
 of the human mind through which God governs mankind; and the 
 fourth is on Pastoral and Revealed Religion, and the Restoration 
 of Man. An Appendix, consisting of seven articles, investigates 
 the fundamental principles which underlie the speculations of the 
 treatise. " This work is distinguished from other similar ones by 
 its being based npon a thorough study of physical science, and an 
 accurate knowledge of its present condition, a?td by its entering in a 
 deeper and more unfettered manner than its predecessors upon the dis- 
 cussion of the app'op-iate psychological, ethical, and theological ques- 
 tions. The author keeps aloof at once from the a priori idealism and 
 dreaminess of German speculation since Schelling, and from the 
 onesideduess and narrowness of the empiricism and ptsitivism 
 which have so prevailed in England." — Dr. Uh'ici, in "Zeitschrift 
 fur Philosophic" 
 
 THE INTUITIONS OF THE MIND. A New Edition. Svo. 
 eloth. \os. Gd. 
 
 D 
 
So SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 M^Cosh (J.)— continued. 
 
 The object of this treatise is to determine the true nature of Intuition, 
 and to investigate its laws. It starts with a general view of 
 intuitive convictions, their character and the method in which they 
 are employed, and passes on to a more detailed examination of 
 them, treating them under the various heads of "Primitive Cogni- 
 tions" " Primitive Beliefs," " Primitive Judgments" and " Moral 
 Convictions." Their relations to the various sciences, mental and- 
 physical, are then examined. Collateral criticisms are thrown 
 into preliminary and supplementary chapters and sections. ' ' The 
 unde?-taking to adjust the claims of the sensational and intuitional 
 philosophies, and of the a posteriori and a. priori methods, is 
 accomplished in this work with a great amount of success." — 
 Westminster Review. "I value it for its large acquaintance 
 with English Philosophy, zvhich has not led him to neglect the 
 great German works. I admire the moderation and clearness, as 
 well as comprehensiveness, of the author's views" — Dr. Dorner, of 
 Berlin. 
 
 AN EXAMINATION OF MR. J, S. MILL'S PHILOSOPHY: 
 Being a Defence of Fundamental Truth. Crown 8vo. Js. 6d. 
 This volume is not put forth by its author as a special reply to Mr. 
 Mill's "Examination of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy." 
 In that work Mr. Mill has furnished the means of thoroughly 
 estimating his theory of mind, of which he had only given hints 
 and glimpses in his logical treatise. It is this theory which Dr. 
 M'Cosh professes to examine in this volume; his aim is simply to 
 defend a portion of primary truth which has been assailed by an 
 acute thinker who has extensive influence in England. "In 
 such points as Mr. Mill's notions of intuitions and necessity, he 
 will have the voice of mankind with him."— Athenaeum. "Such 
 a work greatly needed to be done, and the author was the man to 
 do it. This volume is i?nportant, not merely in reference to the 
 views of Mr. Mill, but of the whole school of writers, past and 
 present, British and Continental, he so ably represents." — Princeton 
 Review. 
 
 THE LAWS OF DISCURSIVE THOUGHT : Being a Text- 
 book of Formal Logic. Crown 8vo. $s. 
 
 The main feature of this logical Treatise is to be found in the more 
 thorough investigation of the nature of the notion, in regard to 
 
MENTAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY, ETC. 5 1 
 
 M'Cosh (J.)— continued. 
 
 -which the views of the school of Locke and Whatcly are regarded 
 by the author as very defective, and the views of the school of Kant 
 and Hamilton altogether erroneous. The author believes thai 
 errors spring far more frequently from obscure, inadequate, indis- 
 tinct, and confused Notions, and from not placing the Notions in 
 their proper relation in judgment, than from Ratiocination. In 
 this treatise, therefore, the Notion (with the term, and the Relation 
 of Thought to Language) will be found to occupy a- larger relative 
 place than in any logical work written since the time of the famous 
 Art of Thinking. "The amount of summarized information 
 which it contains is very great; and it is the only work on the very 
 important subject with which it deals. Never was such a -work 
 so much needed as in the present day." — London Quarterly 
 Review. 
 
 CHRISTIANITY AND POSITIVISM : A Series of Lectures to 
 the Times on Natural Theology and Apologetics. Crown 8vo. 
 >js. 6d. 
 
 These Lectures were delivered in New York, by appointment, in the 
 beginning of 1871, as the second course on the foundation of 
 the Union Theological Seminary. There are ten Lectures in all, 
 divided into three series : — /. "Christianity and Physical Science" 
 (three lectures). II "Christianity and Mental Science" (four 
 lectures). III. " Christianity and Historical Investigation" (three 
 lectures). The Appendix contains articles on "Gaps in the Theory 
 of Development ;" "Darwin's Descent of Man." "Principles 
 of Herbert Spencer's Rhilosophy." In the course of the Lectures 
 Dr. M'Cosh discusses all the most impoi-tant scientific problems 
 which are supposed to affect Christianity. 
 
 Masson. — RECENT BRITISH PHILOSOPHY : A Review, 
 with Criticisms ; including some Comments on Mr. Mill's Answer 
 to Sir William Hamilton. By David Masson, M.A., Professor 
 of Rhetoric and English Literature in the University of Edinburgh. 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 The author, in his usual graphic and forcible man tier, reviews in 
 considerable detail, and points out the drifts of the philosophical 
 speculations of the previous thirty years, bringing under notice the 
 -work of all the principal philosophers 7C>l>o have been at work during 
 
5-2; SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 MasSOn (D .)— continued. 
 
 that period on the highest problems which concern humanity: The 
 four chapters are thus titled: — 7". "A Survey of Thirty Years." 
 II. ' ' The Traditional Differences : how repeated in Carlyle, 
 Hamilton, and Mill." III. "Effects of Recent Scientific Con- 
 ceptions on Philosophy.''' 1 IV. "Latest Drifts and Groupings.'" 
 The last seventy -six pages are devoted to a Review of Mr. Mill's 
 criticism of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy. " We can 
 nowhere point te a work which gives so clear an exposition of 
 the course of philosophical speculation in Britain, during the past 
 century, or which indicates so instructively the mutual influences of 
 philosophic and scientific thought." — Fortnightly Review. 
 
 BRITISH NOVELISTS.— See Belles Lettres Catalogue. 
 
 LIFE OF MILTON.— See Biographical Catalogue. 
 
 Maudsley. — Works by Henry Maudsley, M.D., Professor of 
 Medical Jurisprudence in University College, London : — 
 
 BODY AND MIND : An Inquiry into their Connection and 
 Mutual Influence, specially in reference to Mental Diseases. See 
 Medical Catalogue, preceding. 
 
 THE PHYSIOLOGY AND PATHOLOGY OF MIND. 
 See Medical Catalogue, preceding. 
 
 Maurice. — Works by the Rev. Frederick Denison Maurice, 
 M.A., Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Cam- 
 bridge. (For other Works by the same Author, see Theological 
 Catalogue.) 
 
 SOCIAL MORALITY. Twenty-one Lectures delivered in the 
 University of Cambridge. 8vo. 14s-. 
 
 In this series of Lectures, Professor Maurice considers, historically 
 and critically, Social Morality in its three main aspects : I. " The 
 Relations which spring from the Family — Domestic Morality. " 
 II. ' ' The Relations which subsist among the various constituents 
 of a Nation — National Morality.'" III. "As it concerns Uni- 
 versal Humanity — Universal Morality." Appended to each series 
 ., is a chapter on " Worship : " first, "Family Worship;" second, 
 
MENT. XL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY, ETC. 5-3 
 
 Maurice (F. D .) — continued. 
 
 " National Worship ;" third, "Universal Worship." " Whilst 
 reading it -we are charmed by the freedom from exclusiveness and 
 prejudice, the large charity, the loftiness of thought, the eagerness to 
 recognize and appreciate -wtta'cver there is of real worth extant in 
 the -world, which animates it from one end to the other. We gain 
 new thoughts and new ways of 'virwing things, even more, perhaps, 
 from being brought for a time under the influence of so noble and 
 spiritual a mind." — Athenaeum. 
 
 THE CONSCIENCE : Lectures on Casuistry, delivered in the 
 University of Cambridge. New and Cheaper Edition. Crown Svo. 
 5* 
 
 In this series of nine Lectures, Professor Maurice, with his wonted 
 force and breadth and freshness, endeavours to settle what is meant 
 by the word " Conscience," and discusses the most important 
 questions immediately connected with the subject. Taking " Casu- 
 istry " in its old sense as being the '■'■study of cases of Conscience," 
 he endeavours to show in what way it may be brought to bear at 
 the present day upon the acts and thoughts of our ordinary 
 existence. He shores that Conscience asks for laws, not rules ; 
 for freedom, not chains ; for education, not suppression, die 
 has abstained from the use of philosophical terms, and has touched 
 on philosophical systems only -when he fancied "they -were inter- 
 fering -with the rights and duties of -wayfarers." The Saturday 
 Review says: "We rise from them -with detestation of all that is 
 selfish and mean, and with a living impression that there is such a 
 thing as goodness after ail." 
 
 MORAL AND METAPHYSICAL PHILOSOPHY. New 
 Edition and Preface. Vol. I. Ancient Philosophy and the First to 
 the Thirteenth Centuries ; Vol. II. the Fourteenth Century and the 
 French Revolution, with a glimpse into the Nineteenth Century. 
 2 "Vols. Svo. 2$s. 
 
 This is an Edition in t-wo volumes of Professor Maurice's History of 
 Philosophy from the earliest period to the present time. It was 
 formerly scattered throughout a number of separate volumes, and it 
 is believed that all admirers of the author and all students of 
 philosophy will welcome this compact Edition. The subject is One 
 o-f the highest importance, and it is treated here with fulness and 
 
54 SCIENTIFIC CATALOGUE. 
 
 candour, and in a clean and interesting manner. In a long intro- 
 duction to this Edition, in the form of a dialogue, Professor Maurice 
 justifies some of his own peculiar views, and touches upon some of 
 the most important topics of the time. 
 
 Murphy.— HABIT AND INTELLIGENCE, in Connection 
 with the Laws of Matter and Force : A Series of Scientific Essays. 
 By Joseph John Murphy. Two Vols. 8vo. i6j. 
 
 The author 's chief purpose in this work has been to state and to dis- 
 cuss what he regards as the special and characteristic principles of 
 life. The most important part of the work treats of those vital 
 principles which belong to the inner domain of life itself, as dis- 
 tinguished from the principles which belong to the border-land 
 where life comes into contact with inorganic matter and force. lit 
 the inner domain of life we find two principles, which are, the 
 author believes, coextensive with life and peculiar to it : these are 
 Habit and Intelligence. lie has made as full a statement as 
 possible of the laws under which habits form, disappear, alter under 
 altered circumstances, and vary spontaneously. He discusses that 
 most important of all questions, whether intelligence is an ultimate 
 fact, incapable of being resolved into any other, or only a resultant 
 from the laws of habit. The latter part of the first volume is 
 occupied with the discussion of the question of the Origin of Species. 
 The first part of the second volume is occupied with an inquiry 
 into the process of mental growth and development, and the nature 
 of mental intelligence. In the chapter that follows, the author dis- 
 cusses the science of history, and the three concluding chapters 
 contain some ideas on the classification, the history, and the logic, of 
 the sciences. The author's aim has been to make the subjects treated 
 of intelligible to any ordinary intelligent man. " We are pleased 
 to listen," says the Saturday Review-, "to a writer who has so firm 
 a foothold ttpon the ground within the scope of his immediate 
 survey, and who can enunciate with so much clearness and force 
 propositions which come within his grasp." 
 
 Thring (E., M. A.)— THOUGHTS ON LIFE-SCIENCE. 
 By Edward Thring, M.A. (Benjamin Place), Head Master ©f 
 Uppingham School. New Edition, enlarged and revised. 
 Crown 8vo. Js. 6d. 
 
 In this volume are discussed in a familiar manner some of the most 
 interesting problems between Science and Religion, Reason and 
 
MENTAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY, ETC. 55 
 
 Feeling. " Learning and Science," says the author, "are claiming 
 the right of building up and pulling down a'crything, especially 
 the latter. It has seemed to me no useless task to look steadily at 
 zvhat has happened, to take stock as it were of men's gains, and to 
 endeavour amidst new circumstances to arrive at some rational 
 estimate of the bearings of things, so that the limits of what is 
 possible at all events may be clearly marked out for ordinary 
 
 readers This book is an endeavour to bring out some of the 
 
 main facts of the world." 
 
 Venn. — THE LOGIC OF CHANCE: An Essay on the Founda- 
 tions and Province of the Theory of Probability, with especial 
 reference to its application to Moral and Social Science. By John 
 Venn, M.A., Fellow of Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge. 
 Fcap. 8vo. "js. 6d. 
 
 This Essay is in no sense mathematical. Probability, the author 
 thinks, may be considered to be a portion of the province of Logic 
 regarded from the material point of view. The principal objects of 
 t/iis Essay are to ascertain how great a portion it comprises, where 
 we are to draw the boundary between it and the contiguous branches 
 of the general science of evidence, what are the Ultimate foundations 
 upon which its rules rest, what the nature of the evidence they are 
 capable of affording, and to what class of subjects they may most 
 fitly be applied. The general design of the Essay, as a. special 
 treatise on Probability, is quite original, the author believing that 
 erroneous notions as to the real nature of the subject are disastrously 
 prevalent. "Exceedingly well thought and well written," says the 
 Westminster Review. The Nonconformist calls it a "masterly 
 
 LONDON : K. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL. 
 
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