, with the distinguishing
features marked with inconceivable truth and precision, but that
preserve the same unaltered air and attitude. Shakspeare's are
historical figures, equally true and correct, but put into action, where
every nerve and muscle is displayed in the struggle with others, with
all the effect of collision and contrast, with every variety of light
and shade. Chaucer's characters are narrative, Shakspeare's dramatic,
Milton's epic. That is, Chaucer told only as much of his story as he
pleased, as was required for a particular purpose. He answered for his
characters himself. In Shakspeare they are introduced upon the stage,
are liable to be asked all sorts of questions, and are forced to answer
for themselves. In Chaucer we perceive a fixed essence of character. In
Shakspeare there is a continual composition and decomposition of its
elements, a fermentation of every particle in the whole mass, by its
alternate affinity or antipathy to other principles which are brought in
contact with it. Till the experiment is tried, we do not know the
result, the turn which the character will take in its new circumstances.
Milton took only a few simple principles of character, and raised them
to the utmost conceivable grandeur, and refined them from every base
alloy. His imagination, "nigh sphered in Heaven," claimed kindred only
with what he saw from that height, and could raise to the same elevation
with itself. He sat retired and kept his state alone, "playing with
wisdom"; while Shakspeare mingled with the crowd, and played the host,
"to make society the sweeter welcome."

The passion in Shakspeare is of the same nature as his delineation of
character. It is not some one habitual feeling or sentiment preying upon
itself, growing out of itself, and moulding every thing to itself; it is
passion modified by passion, by all the other feelings to which the
individual is liable, and to which others are liable with him; subject
to all the fluctuations of caprice and accident; calling into play all
the resources of the understanding and all the energies of the will;
irritated by obstacles or yielding to them; rising from small beginnings
to its utmost height; now drunk with hope, now stung to madness, now
sunk in despair, now blown to air with a breath, now raging like a
torrent. The human soul is made the sport of fortune, the prey of
adversity: it is stretched on the wheel of destiny, in restless ecstacy.
The