in their use of them.  First, that the characters and the play of mind and passion in them are thoroughly English and of the modern time.  And second, and this seems at first a paradox, they are truer to the classic spirit than the characters in the contemporary French drama.  This results from the fact that they are truer to the substance of things, to universal human nature, while the French seem to be in great part an imitation, having root neither in the soil of France nor Attica.  M. Guizot confesses that France, in order to adopt the ancient models, was compelled to limit its field in some sort to one corner of human existence.  He goes on to say that the present “demands of the drama pleasures and emotions that can no longer be supplied by the inanimate representation of a world that has ceased to exist.  The classic system had its origin in the life of the time; that time has passed away; its image subsists in brilliant colors in its works, but can no more be reproduced.”  Our own literary monuments must rest on other ground.  “This ground is not the ground of Corneille or Racine, nor is it that of Shakespeare; it is our own; but Shakespeare’s system, as it appears to me, may furnish the plans according to which genius ought now to work.  This system alone includes all those social conditions and those general and diverse feelings, the simultaneous conjuncture and activity of which constitute for us at the present day the spectacle of human things.”

That is certainly all that any one can claim for Shakespeare and his fellow-dramatists.  They cannot be models in form any more than Sophocles and Euripides; but they are to be followed in making the drama, or any literature, expressive of its own time, while it is faithful to the emotions and feeling of universal human nature.  And herein, it seems to me, lies the broad distinction between most of the English and French literature of the latter part of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth centuries.  Perhaps I may be indulged in another observation on this topic, touching a later time.  Notwithstanding the prevalent notion that the French poets are the sympathetic heirs of classic culture, it appears to me that they are not so imbued with the true classic spirit, art, and mythology as some of our English poets, notably Keats and Shelley.

Ben Jonson was a man of extensive and exact classical erudition; he was a solid scholar in the Greek and Roman literatures, in the works of the philosophers, poets, and historians.  He was also a man of uncommon attainments in all the literary knowledge of his time.  In some of his tragedies his classic learning was thought to be ostentatiously displayed, but this was not true of his comedy, and on the whole he was too strong to be swamped in pseudo-classicism.  For his experience of men and of life was deep and varied.  Before he became a public actor and dramatist, and served the court and fashionable society with his entertaining, if pedantic, masques, he had been student,