osing design. For once we have in it a real
example of that sort of writing which is sometimes described as
suggestive, and which by the help of certain subtly calculated hints
only, brings into distinct shape the reader's own half-developed
imaginings. Often the quality is attributed to writing merely vague
and unrealised, but in Measure for Measure, quite certainly,
Shakespeare has directed the attention of sympathetic readers along
certain channels of meditation beyond the immediate scope of his work.

Measure for Measure, therefore, by the quality of these higher designs,
woven by his strange magic on a texture of poorer quality, is hardly
less indicative than Hamlet even, of Shakespeare's reason, of his power
of moral interpretation. It deals, not like Hamlet with the problems
which beset one of exceptional temperament, but with mere human nature.
It brings before us a group of persons, attractive, full of desire,
vessels of the genial, seed-bearing powers of nature, a gaudy existence
flowering out over the old court and city of Vienna, a spectacle of the
fulness and [174] pride of life which to some may seem to touch the
verge of wantonness. Behind this group of people, behind their various
action, Shakespeare inspires in us the sense of a strong tyranny of
nature and circumstance. Then what shall there be on this side of
it--on our side, the spectators' side, of this painted screen, with its
puppets who are really glad or sorry all the time? what philosophy of
life, what sort of equity?

Stimulated to read more carefully by Shakespeare's own profounder
touches, the reader will note the vivid reality, the subtle interchange
of light and shade, the strongly contrasted characters of this group of
persons, passing across the stage so quickly. The slightest of them is
at least not ill-natured: the meanest of them can put forth a plea for
existence--Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live!--they are
never sure of themselves, even in the strong tower of a cold
unimpressible nature: they are capable of many friendships and of a
true dignity in danger, giving each other a sympathetic, if transitory,
regret--one sorry that another "should be foolishly lost at a game of
tick-tack." Words which seem to exhaust man's deepest sentiment
concerning death and life are put on the lips of a gilded, witless
youth; and the saintly Isabella feels fire creep along her, kindling
her tongue to eloquence at the suggestion o