that the subjects themselves would rather join with us in laughing than be angered or hurt at the exhibition.  Moreover the high and the low are here seen moving in free and familiar intercourse, without any apparent consciousness of their respective ranks:  the humours and comicalities of the play keep running and frisking in among the serious parts, to their mutual advantage; the connection between them being of a kind to be felt, not described.

Thus the piece overflows with the genial, free-and-easy spirit of a merry Twelfth Night.  Chance, caprice, and intrigue, it is true, are brought together in about equal portions; and their meeting and crossing and mutual tripping cause a deal of perplexity and confusion, defeating the hopes of some, suspending those of others:  yet here, as is often the case in actual life, from this conflict of opposites order and happiness spring up as the final result:  if what we call accident thwart one cherished purpose, it draws on something better, blighting a full-blown expectation now, to help the blossoming of a nobler one hereafter:  and it so happens in the end that all the persons but two either have what they will, or else grow willing to have what comes to their hands.

Such, I believe, as nearly as I know how to deliver it, is the impression I hold of this charming play; an impression that has survived, rather say, has kept growing deeper and deeper through many years of study, and after many, many an hour spent in quiet communion with its scenes and characters.  In no one of his dramas, to my sense, does the Poet appear to have been in a healthier or happier frame of mind, more free from the fascination of the darker problems of humanity, more at peace with himself and all the world, or with Nature playing more kindly and genially at his heart, and from thence diffusing her benedictions through his whole establishment.  So that, judging from this transpiration of his inner poetic life, I should conclude him to have had abundant cause for saying,—­

    “Eternal blessings on the Muse,
    And her divine employment;—­
    The blameless Muse who trains her sons
    For hope and calm enjoyment.”

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

All’s Well that End’s Well was first published in the folio of 1623, and is among the worst-printed plays in that volume.  In many places the text, as there given, is in a most unsatisfactory state; and in not a few I fear it must be pronounced incurably at fault.  A vast deal of study and labour has been spent in trying to rectify the numerous errors; nearly all the editors and commentators, from Rowe downwards, have strained their faculties upon the work:  many instances of corruption have indeed yielded to critical ingenuity and perseverance, and it is to be hoped that still others may; but yet there are several passages which give little hope of success, and seem indeed too hard for any efforts of corrective sagacity and skill.  This is not the place for citing examples of textual difficulty:  so I must be content with referring to Dyce’s elaborate annotation on the play.