but entirely his own as to dialogue, with all the vivacity of wit, and the elasticity of youth and animal spirits. No man, even in the middle period of life, he thought, could have produced it. 'Midsummer Night's Dream' and 'Twelfth Night' hardly appeared to belong to the complete maturity of his genius: Shakespeare was then ripening his powers for such works as Troilus and Cressida,' 'Coriolanus,' 'Julius Cæsar,' Cymbeline,' and 'Othello.' Coleridge professed that he could not yet make up his mind to assign a period to The Merchant of Venice,' to 'Much Ado about Nothing,' nor to Measure for Measure;' but he was convinced that Antony and Cleopatra,'' Hamlet,' 'Macbeth,' 'Lear,' 'The Tempest,' and 'The Winter's Tale,' were late productions, -especially The Winter's Tale.' These belonged to the third group.

"When asked what he would do with the historical plays, he replied that he was much at a loss. Historical plays had been written and acted before Shakespeare took up those subjects; and there was no doubt whatever that his contributions to the three parts of Henry VI. were very small; indeed he doubted, in opposition to Malone, whether he had had anything to do with the first part of Henry VI.: if he had, it must have been extremely early in his career. 'Richard II.' and 'Richard III.'-noble plays, and the finest specimens of their kind-must have preceded the two parts of Henry IV.'; and Henry VIII.' was decidedly a late play. Dramas of this description ought to be treated by themselves; they were neither tragedy nor comedy, and yet at times both. Though far from accurate as to events, in point of character they were the essential truth of history.

6

'Let no man (said Coleridge) blame his son for learning history from Shakespeare.'*"

I felt that this last sentence was so very applicable to myself, that it will always be impressed upon my mind, and I never shall forget the peculiarly emphatic tone, and rich voice in which Coleridge delivered it. He continued in this strain :

"He did not agree with some Germans (whom he had

* I have no note of my own of Coleridge's fourth Lecture, but among my mother's papers I met with a memorandum by her (she took the liveliest interest in literary people and literary questions, without the slightest tinge of bluestockingism) which she had made after that Lecture, from which I learn, that in it Coleridge especially treated of the order in which Shakespeare had written his dramas. They there stand thus

He proposed to speak of the historical dramas separately, but it is not stated in what order he meant to take them. We see above, that "As You Like it" he placed among the plays written in manhood, and there is no mention of "Titus Andronicus," "The Two Gentlemen of Verona," "Coriolanus," "Timon of Athens," "Julius Cæsar," and some others. As above, Coleridge might not intend to enumerate all.

heard talk upon the subject) that Shakespeare had had much to do with the doubtful plays imputed to him in the third folio on the contrary, he was sure that, if he had touched any of them, it was only very lightly and rarely. Being asked whether he included the Two Noble Kinsmen,' among the doubtful plays, he answered, 'Decidedly not: there is the clearest internal evidence that Shakespeare importantly aided Fletcher in the composition of it. Parts are most unlike Fletcher, yet most like Shakespeare, while other parts are most like Fletcher, and most unlike Shakespeare. The mad scenes of the Jailor's daughter are coarsely imitated from Hamlet': those were by Fletcher, and so very inferior, that I wonder how he could so far condescend. Shakespeare would never have imitated himself at all, much less so badly. There is no finer, or more characteristic dramatic writing than some scenes in The Two Noble

Kinsmen.'

The above is what I registered under the date of 13th October, but I find from my Diary that I was again in Coleridge's company at Charles Lamb's on the 16th October, and the next day I wrote as follows:

Thursday, 17th Oct.-Yesterday, at Lamb's, I met Coleridge again. I expected to see him there, and I made up my mind that I would remember as much as possible of what he said. I went into the apartment, where he and others were assembled, at 8, and before 9 my recollection was so burdened that I was obliged to leave the room for some time, that I might lighten the weight. However, I could not prevail upon myself to stay away long, and returned to the company with a resolution to take the matter more easily. Few others

talked, although Hazlitt, Lloyd,* Rickman, t Dyer, and Burney, with Lamb and his sister, now and then interposed a remark, and gave Coleridge, as it were, a bottom to spin upon: they all seemed disposed to allow him sea-room enough, and he availed himself of it, and, spreading canvas, sailed away majestically. The following is the bare skeleton, and mere bone of what fell from him. He was speaking of Shakespeare when I entered the room:

"He said that Shakespeare was almost the only dramatic poet, who by his characters represented a class, and not an individual: other writers for the stage, and in other respects good ones too, had aimed their satire and ridicule at particular

* Charles Lloyd, the son of a banker at Birmingham. Lloyd and Lamb published a small volume in conjunction, and he was thus hitched into the Anti-Jacobin Review, under the poetical firm of "Lloyd, and Lamb and Co." He was a tall man, with a large nose, and as far as quantity (I cannot speak of quality) was concerned, a small talker.

+ Rickman at this time, I think, filled the office of Secretary to the Speaker of the House of Commons. He was an untalkative, but a very cheerful man, who delighted to hear others talk, when they talked well. He afterwards became one of the Clerks of the House, and before his death Chief Clerk. Lamb had, at first, rather an exaggerated opinion of his merits, as appears from his Letters. George Dyer, a most amiable man, of child-like simplicity of mind. He was afterwards the author of two volumes of poetry, and was a great favourite with Lamb and all his friends.

§ Martin Burney, son to Admiral Burney, who was constantly one of the party at Lamb's, but who said little, and played at cards a great deal. Martin Burney was very clever, especially at any matter of calculation, such as the odds at games of chance, &c. He was afterwards called to the bar; but he was idle and irresolute, and died some years ago. He had been one of the favourite pupils of the late Lord Truro, before he became a sergeant, and was most serviceable in looking up cases, for he had a very acute perception of legal distinctions and niceties. Martin Burney (whom I well knew for twenty or thirty years) was kind, benevolent, companionable, and generous, and thus usually kept himself poor. Latterly he lived chiefly upon an annuity bequeathed to him by (I believe) his aunt, Miss Burney, the author of 'Cecilia,' &c.

foibles and particular persons, while Shakespeare at one stroke lashed thousands: Shakespeare struck at a crowd; Jonson picked out an especial object for his attack. Coleridge drew a parallel between Shakespeare and a geometrician the latter, when tracing a circle, had his eye upon the centre as the important point, but included also in his vision a wide circumference; so Shakespeare, while his eye rested upon an individual character, always embraced a wide circumference of others, without diminishing the separate interest he intended to attach to the being he pourtrayed. Othello was a personage of this description; but all Shakespeare's chief characters possessed, in a greater or less degree, this claim to our admiration. He was not a mere painter of portraits, with the dress, features, and peculiarities of the sitter; but a painter of likenesses so true that, although nobody could perhaps say they knew the very person represented, all saw at once that it was faithful, and that it must be a likeness.

"Lamb led Coleridge on to speak of Beaumont and Fletcher : he highly extolled their comedies in many respects, especially for the vivacity of the dialogue, but he contended that their tragedies were liable to grave objections. They always proceeded upon something forced and unnatural; the reader never can reconcile the plot with probability, and sometimes not with possibility. One of their tragedies was founded upon this: A lady expresses a wish to possess the heart of her lover, terms which that lover understands, all the way through, in a literal sense; and nothing can satisfy him but tearing out his heart, and having it presented to the heroine, in order to secure her affections, after he was past the enjoy