The beauty of Shakspeare’s art is in its comprehensiveness.  It takes in every quality of excellence.  It looks at the great whole, and admits the little charms and graces.  It includes constructiveness in story, character-drawing, picturesqueness, musicalness, naturalness,—­in fine, whatever art may combine with poetry or the soul of poetry admit in art.  To the young and unobservant, and all who are unable to consider the poet’s writing, as we have in this article endeavoured to study a single passage of it, from his position, the art is not apparent; the mimic scene is reality, or some supernatural inspiration or schoolboy-like enthusiasm has produced the work.  But there are others, created with different faculties, who begin to perceive the art almost as soon as they feel its power, and who love to study it and to live in the spirit of poetry that breathes through it; these come gradually to think of the man, as well as of his works,—­to feel more and more the influence upon them of his greatness and beauty of soul, and, as years pass by, to find consolation and repose in the loftiness of his wisdom.

* * * * *

MIEN-YAUN.

I.

Young Mien-yaun had for two years been the shining centre of the aristocratic circles of Pekin.  Around him revolved the social system.  He was the vitalizing element in fashionable life,—­the radiant sun, diffusing conventional warmth of tone and brilliancy of polish.  He created modes.  He regulated reputations.

His smile or his frown determined the worldly fate of thousands.  His ready assurance gave him preeminence with one sex, and his beauty made him the admiration of the other.  When he talked, Mandarins listened; when he walked, maidens’ eyes glistened.  He was, in short, the rage,—­and he knew it, and meant to remain so.  He was a wonderful student, and understood politics like a second Confucius.  With the literature of all ages, from the Shee-king, written four thousand years ago, down to the latest achievements of the modern poets, he was intimately acquainted.  His accomplishments were rich and varied, and his Tartar descent endowed him with a spirit and animation that enabled him to exhibit them to every advantage.  He sang like a veritable Orpheus, and sensitive women had been known to faint under the excitement of his Moo-lee-wha, or national song.  He even danced,—­a most rare faculty in Pekin, as in all China,—­but this was frowned upon, as immoral, by his family.  Comely indeed he was, especially on state occasions, when he appeared in all the radiance of rosy health, overflowing spirits, and the richest crapes and satins,—­decorated with the high order of the peacock’s feather, the red button, and numberless glittering ornaments of ivory and lapis-lazuli.  Beloved or envied by all the men, and with all the women dying for him, he was fully able to appreciate the comforts of existence.  Considering the homage universally accorded him, he was as little of a dandy as could reasonably be expected.