hood, and good conditions of the said Cordilla, desired to have her in marriage, and sent over to her father, requiring that he might have her to wife; to whom answer was made, that he might have his daughter, but for any dowry he could have none, for all was promised and assured to her other sisters already.

Aganippus, notwithstanding this answer of denial to receive anything by way of dower with Cordilla, took her to wife, only moved thereto (I say) for respect of her person and amiable virtues. This Aganippus was one of the twelve kings that ruled Gallia in those days, as in the British history it is recorded. But to proceed: after that Leir was fallen into age, the two dukes that had married his two eldest daughters, thinking it long ere the government of the land did come to their hands, arose against him in armour, and reft from him the governance of the land, upon conditions to be continued for term of life by the which he was put to his portion; that is, to live after a rate assigned to him for the maintenance of his estate, which in process of time was diminished, as well by Maglanus as by Henninus.

"But the greatest grief that Leir took was to see the unkindness of his daughters, who seemed to think that all was too much which their father had, the same being never so little, in so much that, going from the one to the other, he was brought to that misery that they would allow him only one servant to wait upon him. In the end, such was the unkindness, or, as I may say, the unnaturalness, which he found in his two daughters, notwithstanding their fair and pleasant words uttered in time past, that, being constrained of necessity, he fled the land, and sailed into Gallia, there to seek some comfort of his youngest daughter, Cordilla, whom before he

hated.

"The lady Cordilla, hearing he was arrived in poor estate, she first sent to him privately a sum of money to apparel himself withall, and to retain a certain number of servants, that might attend upon him in honourable wise, as appertained to the estate which he had borne. And then, so accompanied, she appointed him to come to the court, which he did, and was so joyfully, honourably, and lovingly received, both by his son-in-law Aganippus, and also by his daughter Cordilla, that his heart was greatly comforted: for he was no less honoured than if he had been king of the whole country himself. Also, after that he had informed his

son-in-law and his daughter in what sort he had been used by his other daughters, Aganippus caused a mighty army to be put in readiness, and likewise a great navy of ships to be rigged to pass over into Britain, with Leir his father-inlaw, to see him again restored to his kingdom.

"It was accorded that Cordilla should also go with him to take possession of the land, the which he promised to leave unto her, as his rightful inheritor after his decease, notwithstanding any former grants made unto her sisters, or unto their husbands, in any manner or wise; hereupon, when this army and navy of ships were ready, Leir and his daughter Cordilla, with her husband, took the sea, and, arriving in Britain, fought with their enemies, and discomfirted them in battle, in the which Maglanus and Henninus were slain, and then was Leir restored to his kingdom, which he ruled after this by the space of two years, and then died, forty years after he first began to reign. His body was buried at Leicester, in a vault under the channel of the river Dore, beneath the town."

The subsequent fate of Cordelia is also narrated by Holinshed. She became Queen after her father's death; but her nephews "levied war against her, and destroyed a great part of the land, and finally took her prisoner, and laid her fast in ward, wherewith she took such grief, being a woman of a manly courage; and, despairing to recover liberty, there she slew herself." Spenser, in the second book of The Fairy Queen,' canto 10, has told the story of Lear and his daughters, in six stanzas, in which he has been content to put in verse, with very slight change or embellishment, the narrative of the chroniclers. The concluding stanza will be a sufficient specimen :

"So to his crown she him restor❜d again,

In which he dy'd, made ripe for death by eld,
And after will'd it should to her remain;
Who peaceably the same long time did weld,
And all men's hearts in due obedience held;
Till that her sisters' children, woxen strong,
Through proud ambition against her rebell'd,
And overcomen, kept in prison long,
Till, weary of that wretched life, herself she
hong."

The story of Lear had unquestionably been dramatised before Shakspere produced his

tragedy. The true Chronicle History of King Leir and his three Daughters, Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordella, as it hath been divers and sundry times lately acted,' was printed, probably for the first time, in 1605; but there can be no doubt that it belongs to a period some ten, fifteen, or perhaps twenty years earlier. In 1594 an entry was made at Stationers' Hall, of 'The moste famous Chronicle Hystorie of Leire King of England, and his Three Daughters.' Theobald calls this old play "an execrable performance;" Percy, "a very poor and dull performance; and Capell, "a silly old play." It is certainly all these, when compared with the wonderful production of Shakspere; but we are by no means certain that it is not as good as half the pieces which occupied the stage, and not unsuccessfully, at the very time that Shakspere had produced some of his most glorious works. We subjoin a scene which will enable our readers to compare it with the first scene of Shakspere's 'Lear.'

"Lear. Dear Gonoril, kind Regan, sweet Cordelia,

Ye flourishing branches of a kingly stock, Sprung from a tree that once did flourish green,

Whose blossoms now are nipt with winter's frost, And pale grim death doth wait upon my steps, And summons me unto his next assizes. Therefore, dear daughters, as ye tender the safety

Of him that was the cause of your first being, Resolve a doubt which much molests my mind, Which of you three to me would prove most kind;

Which loves me most, and which at my

request

Will soonest yield unto their father's hest. "Gonoril. I hope, my gracious father makes no doubt

Of any of his daughters' love to him:

Yet, for my part, to show my zeal to you,
Which cannot be in windy words rehears'd,
I prize my love to you at such a rate,
I think my life inferior to my love.
Should you enjoin me for to tie a millstone
About my neck, and leap into the sea,
At your command I willingly would do it:
Yea, for to do you good, I would ascend
The highest turret in all Brittany,

And from the top leap headlong to the ground:

Nay, more, should you appoint me for to marry The meanest vassal in the spacious world, Without reply I would accomplish it: In brief, command whatever you desire, And, if I fail, no favour I require. "Lear. Oh, how thy words revive my dying soul!

"Cordelia. Oh, how I do abhor this flattery! "Lear. But what saith Regan to her father's will?

"Regan. Oh, that my simple utterance could suffice

To tell the true intention of my heart,
Which burns in zeal of duty to your grace,
And never can be quench'd, but by desire
To show the same in outward forwardness.
Oh, that there were some other maid that
durst

But make a challenge of her love with me;
I'd make her soon confess she never loved
Her father half so well as I do you.

I then my deeds should prove in plainer case,
How much my zeal aboundeth to your grace:
But for them all, let this one mean suffice
To ratify my love before your eyes:

I have right noble suitors to my love,
No worse than kings, and haply I love one:
Yet, would you have me make my choice anew,
I'd bridle fancy, and be ruled by you.

Lear. Did never Philomel sing so sweet a note.

"Cordelia. Did never flatterer tell so false a tale.

"Lear. Speak now, Cordelia, make my joys at full,

And drop down nectar from thy honey lips. "Cordelia. I cannot paint my duty forth in words,

I hope my deeds shall make report for me: But look what love the child doth owe the father,

The same to you I bear, my gracious lord.

"Gonoril. Here is an answer answerless indeed:

Were you my daughter, I should scarcely brook it.

"Regan. Dost thou not blush, proud peacock as thou art,

To make our father such a slight reply?

"Lear. Why how now, minion, are you

grown so proud?

Doth our dear love make you thus peremptory?
What, is your love become so small to us,
As that you scorn to tell us what it is?

Do you love us, as every child doth love
Their father? True indeed, as some,
Who by disobedience short their father's days,
And so would you; some are so father-sick,
That they make means to rid them from the
world;

And so would you: some are indifferent,
Whether their aged parents live or die;
And so are you. But, didst thou know,
proud girl,

What care I had to foster thee to this,

Ah, then thou wouldst say as thy sisters do:
Our life is less, than love we owe to you.
"Cordelia. Dear father, do not so mistake
my words,

Nor my plain meaning be misconstrued;
My tongue was never used to flattery.

"Gonoril. You were not best say I flatter: if you do,

My deeds shall shew, I flatter not with you. I love my father better than thou canst. "Cordelia. The praise were great, spoke from another's mouth:

But it should seem your neighbours dwell

far off.

"Regan. Nay, here is one, that will confirm as much

As she hath said, both for myself and her. I say, thou dost not wish my father's good. "Cordelia. Dear father

"Lear. Peace, bastard imp, no issue of
king Lear,

I will not hear thee speak one tittle more.
Call not me father, if thou love thy life,
Nor these thy sisters once presume to name:
Look for no help henceforth from me or mine;
Shift as thou wilt, and trust unto thyself:
My kingdom will I equally divide
"Twixt thy two sisters to their royal dower,
And will bestow them worthy their deserts:
This done, because thou shalt not have the hope
To have a child's part in the time to come,
I presently will dispossess myself,
And set up these upon my princely throne.
"Gonoril. I ever thought that pride would
have a fall.

"Regan. Plain-dealing sister: your beauty
is so sheen,

You need no dowry, to make you be a queen. [Exeunt LEAR, GONORIL, REGAN."

Mr. Skottowe has, with great diligence and minuteness, attempted to trace Shakspere in what he is supposed to have borrowed from

the old play, and also in the points of difference. Our readers will easily imagine, from the extract with which we have furnished them, that Shakspere had, at all events, to create the poetical diction of 'Lear,' without any obligation to his lumbering predecessor. In the conduct of the plot he is equally original. It may be sufficient for us to state that of the madness of Lear we have no trace in the old play; and that, like the chronicle, it ends with the triumphant restoration of Lear to his kingdom.

There is a ballad, printed in Percy's 'Reliques,' on the story of Lear. It is without a date, and Percy says, "Here is found the hint of Lear's madness, which the old chronicles do not mention, as also the extravagant cruelty exercised on him by his daughters. In the death of Lear they likewise very exactly coincide. The misfortune is, that there is nothing to assist us in ascertaining the date of the ballad but what little evidence arises from within." We print the passages to which Percy alludes:

"Her father, old king Leir, this while
With his two daughters staid;
Forgetful of their promised loves,
Full soon the same decay'd;

And living in queen Ragan's court,

The eldest of the twain,

She took from him his chiefest means,

And most of all his train.

"For, whereas twenty men were wont
To wait with bended knee,
She gave allowance but to ten,

And after scarce to three:

Nay, one she thought too much for him:
So took she all away,

In hope that in her court, good king,
He would no longer stay.

"Am I rewarded thus,' quoth he,

'In giving all I have
Unto my children, and to beg
For what I lately gave?
I'll go unto my Gonorell;

My second child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful,

And will relieve my woe.'
"Full fast he hies then to her court;

Where when she hears his moan,
Return'd him answer, That she griev'd
That all his means were gone:

But no way could relieve his wants;
Yet if that he would stay
Within her kitchen, he should have
What scullions gave away.

*

"And calling to remembrance then
His youngest daughter's words,
That said, the duty of a child
Was all that love affords;
But doubting to repair to her,

Whom he had banish'd so,

Grew frantic mad; for in his mind

He bore the wounds of woe:

"Which made him rend his milk-white locks

And tresses from his head,

And all with blood bestain his cheeks,
With age and honour spread;

To hills and woods and wat'ry founts

He made his hourly moan,

Till hills and woods and senseless things
Did seem to sigh and groan.

*

"And so to England came with speed,

To re-possess king Leir,

And drive his daughters from their thrones
By his Cordelia dear:

Where she, true-hearted noble queen,
Was in the battle slain:

Yet he, good king, in his old days,
Possess'd his crown again.
"But when he heard Cordelia's death,
Who dy'd indeed for love

Of her dear father, in whose cause

She did this battle move;
He swooning fell upon her breast,
From whence he never parted:
But on her bosom left his life,

That was so truly hearted.
"The lords and nobles, when they saw
The ends of these events,
The other sisters unto death

They doomed by consents;
And being dead, their crowns they left
Unto the next of kin:

Thus have you seen the fall of pride,

And disobedient sin."

In Sidney's 'Arcadia' there is a chapter entitled 'The pitiful state and story of the Paphlagonian unkind king, and his kind son, first related by the son, then by the blind father.' This unquestionably furnished the dramatic foundation of Gloster and

Edgar. It may be sufficient for us to give the relation of the "kind son:"

"This old man, whom I lead, was lately rightful prince of Paphlagonia, by the hardhearted ungratefulness of a son of his, deprived not only of his kingdom, but of his sight, the riches which nature grants to the poorest creatures; whereby and by other his unnatural dealings, he hath been driven to such griefs, as even now he would have had me to have led him to the top of this rock, thence to cast himself headlong to death; and so would have had me, who received my life of him, to be the worker of his destruction."

Criticism, as far as regards the very highest works of art, must always be a failure. What criticism (and in that term we include description and analysis) ever helped us to an adequate notion of the Belvedere Apollo, or the Cartoons of Raffaelle ? We may try to apply general principles to the particular instances, as far as regards the ideal of such productions; or, what is more common, we may seize upon the salient points of their material and mechanical excellences. If we adopt this comparatively easy and therefore common course, criticism puts on that technical and pedantic form which is the besetting sin of all who attempt to make the great works of painting or sculpture comprehensible by the medium of words. If we take the more difficult path, we are quickly involved in the vague and obscure, and end in explanations without explanation. "The Correggiescity of Correggio," after all, and in sober truth, tells as much as the critics have told us. And is it different with poetry of the very highest order? What criticism, for example, can make the harmony of a very great poem comprehensible to those who have not studied such a poem again and again, till all its scattered lights, and all its broad masses of shadow, are blended into one pervading tint, upon which the mind reposes, through the influence of that mighty power by which the force of contrast is subjected to the higher force of unity? Criticism may, to a certain extent, stimulate us to the appreciation of the great parts of the highest creations of poetical genius; but, in the exact