lady-love: "A team of horse shall not pluck that from me" ("Two Gentlemen of Verona", iii. 1). We are frequently exhorted to "strike while the iron's hot"; in "Henry the Sixth", Part 3, v. 1 we read: "Strike now, or else the iron cools". There is now a constant succession of "nine days' wonders"; so there seems to have been in Shakespeare's time, for when Edward suggests the possibility of his marrying Lady Grey, Gloucester replies: "That would be ten days' wonder, at the least", and Clarence adds: "That's a day longer than a wonder lasts" (Ibid. iii. 2). To be snatched "out of the jaws of death" ("Twelfth Night ", iii. 5), to be in our neighbour's good or bad "books" ("Much Ado about Nothing," i. 1), to speak "under correction ("Love's Labour Lost", v. 2), to "beguile the time" ("Midsummer Night's Dream", v. 1), "broken English" ("Henry the Fifth ", v. 2), "a tower of strength' ("Richard the Third", v. 3), charmed life" ("Macbeth", v. 8), "post-haste ("Othello", i. 2) these and a hundred others are all terms and phrases which enter as a matter of course into our daily conversation, and are used alike by gentle and simple. To enumerate them all would be to extract the best part of any well-compiled English phrase-book.

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a

Our very games are, some of them at least, stamped with the Shakespearean hall-mark. Of cricket, it is true, no mention is made, but tennis, foot-ball, bowls and billiards may be all said to have received the sanction of the drama. In "Comedy of Errors Dromio of Ephesus complains that Adriana spurns him "like a foot-ball " (ii. 1); but the game was evidently held in disrepute, for in "King Lear" Kent can find no more opprobrious epithet for Oswald than that of "you base foot-ball player" (i. 4). The game of bowls, on the other hand, stood well in the estimation of even the clergy, for Sir Nathaniel, a curate, is described as a good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler" (Love's Labour Lost",

v. 2). The technical terms, such as bias, &c., used in connection with this pastime, are still current, and in many rural districts the bowling-green, upon which time out of mind successive generations of players have exhibited their prowess, is pointed out as the scene of the most respectable en

counters

that the neighbourhood knows. The history of tennis has been written at great length by Mr. Julian Marshall, who, no doubt, has not omitted to record all the allusions to the game that are to be culled from Elizabethan authors. The solitary reference, "Let's to billiards", chiefly remarkable as coming from the lips of Cleopatra ("Antony and Cleopatra", ii. 5)-one of our author's many anachronisms, of which, indeed, it is scarcely likely that a man of Bacon's calibre would ever have been guilty.

The dangerous figure of speech, known to grammarians as Paronomasia, is used by Shakespeare's characters with some freedom. But to describe him as a punster would be to convey a wrong impression of the manner in which he allows himself to play upon words. Sometimes, it is true, his use of what logicians call equivocal terms is barely distinguishable from the modern joke at any price; but, as a rule, we find a deeper meaning underlying the apparent facetiousness. In these days we prefer more joke and less meaning. Certain it is that few, if any, of his puns were intended merely to be laughed at. Apemantus can hardly have wished or expected to raise a laugh when he played upon medlars and meddlers, and several other instances might be adduced of words, seemingly identical in pronunciation but altogether different in meaning, upon which the changes are rung without the remotest prospect of provoking so much as a smile. Rome, roam, and room are a case in point. In short, it cannot be said that we are indebted to the plays for our abuse of this most forlorn of all colloquialisms now in fashion.

At

There is yet one other aspect in which we may regard ourselves as indebted to the language of Shakespeare. Writers of novels, especially of late years, have in many instances seen fit to abstract from it the titles of their books. The result has not been satisfactory, except by way of contrast, for novels thus provided, by a strange irony of fate, have almost invariably proved as ephemeral as their titles are enduring. It is as though the title resented the text; the one purpureus pannus cannot brighten the three volumes of mediocrity. any rate, whatever the cause, they very seldom work well together, and our sympathy can scarcely fail to run with the unfortunate excerpts thus rudely pressed into obstetrical service. Verily, as Trinculo tells us, "misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows" ("Tempest ", ii. 2). Of the few exceptions which suggest themselves perhaps the only one which seems secure of immortality is Charles Kingsley's "Westward Ho!" ("Twelfth Night", iii. 1). Among the other elegant extracts which have done duty on the title-pages of modern literature are, "Dear Lady Disdain ", "The Seamy Side", "The Giant's Robe", "John-a-Dreams", "The Primrose Path", "A Counterfeit Presentment", "Puck", "Household Words ", "Not Wisely but too Well", "Heartsease", "A Passion in Tatters", and "The Green-eyed Monster". One ex

cellent book of travel is introduced as "The Frosty Caucasus". But, speaking generally, all our best books have been written, titles and all, without any such adventitious aid. Their good wine has needed no bush; and the mere exhibition of a bush will not produce good wine or promote the sale of an inferior vintage.

What, then, is the legitimate conclusion to which our judgment leads. us? If the foregoing sketch be not condemned as what Mrs. Quickly forcibly styles "an old abusing of God's patience and the King's English", it may perhaps be held to set forth a fair statement of our indebtedness in the matter of work-day idiom to the Shakespearean vocabulary. It does not pretend to be exhaustive or indeed to do more than indicate the great variety of expressions in daily use by all classes of the community, for which Shakespeare is directly or indirectly responsible. No other European language than our own can boast so important a creditor. Whether we cling to our Stratford traditions or cast in our lot with the new sect of Cryptogrammarians, the fact remains, and must ever remain, that to a certain. collection of some four-and-thirty Dramas, now nearly three centuries old, may be traced a large proportion. -far larger than is popularly imagined or realized-of our favourite and most idiomatic phraseology.

ARTHUR GAYE.

IN the "fall" of 1883 my experiences as a journalist began. I had been summering in the Cumberland mountains, the Alps of Tennessee, and wishing for some congenial employment when the hot season was over and a return to town prudent for other genera than salamanders, I wrote a carefullyworded letter to the managers of a prominent paper in the capital, modestly stating my belief that I possessed qualities peculiarly fitted for success in their line of business. As I had failed at everything else to which I had turned my hand, I felt justified in making this estimate of my powers, and applying for a position on the paper in event of a vacancy.

Knowing the political policy of this sheet, I inclosed in my letter an original report of a speech made the day before by a gubernatorial candidate whose cause it had espoused, and which I had purposely listened to in a neighbouring town. I lavished such a wealth of laudatory adjectives upon this democratic gentleman, buried his republican rival beneath so vast an accumulation of superlative invective, and altogether soared to such heights, and dived to such depths, of florid metaphor, that the Southern instinct was captivated: I was instantly regarded as, and requested to be, the Coming Man. I came,-or, rather, I went. In a few days I followed my successful appeal to Nashville, the metropolis, some ninety miles distant from my airy retreat.

The biennial race for Governor was at that time the all-absorbing topic of the day. The various issues of the campaign were being discussed with an ardour that only a Southern sun could have inspired in a Southern people; enough money being hazarded upon the probable settlement of the

"State Debt" question alone, to have paid it twice over and removed the problem beyond the province of a wager. My political ideas were as vague as phantoms in a fog, a misfortune, however, easily to be overcome by a discreet adoption of other people's. I saw clearly that it was judicious to become a democrat, if only for a time; so I became one, for time and for a consideration. Having moulded my political existence in this truly statesmanlike manner, I allowed my patriotic ardour to cool down to a determined rigidity; a more unyielding partizan than I became never tried to turn ink into vitriol or used a Webster's Dictionary for more drastic purposes but I anticipate.

I reported myself at the office one hot evening in September, was introduced to the editor by a common friend, and invited to take a seat and a cigar upon one of the chairs placed upon the side-walk for the accommodation of friends of the paper, or any casual acquaintances who might happen to drop around."

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After a few brief inquiries about my previous occupations (a theme that I related with more prudence than pride), and two or three hints for my future guidance, the editor drifted into a conversational tone, and, finding I was extremely fond of shooting (he called it "hunting", and it usually is hunting in that part of the world), an amusement he had a weakness for himself, we were soon absorbed in the freemasonry of the field. In the discussion of a favourite theme, and under the delicious influence of a Southern night, all thoughts of business took wings to themselves and flew into the uttermost parts of nowhere. My young dreams of journalistic ambition were replaced by exaggerated memories of

"big bags," "long shots" (in the relation of which the efficiency of breech-loaders was mutually supplemented by the assistance of an equally long bow), the joys of camp-life-the sorrows are never remembered except jocularly and the thousand and one details ever dear to the Anglo-Saxon soul. That night was an experience in itself, and, though not strictly a journalistic one, is as worthy of a description in an article of this sort as it would be difficult to describe it in any. To an English mind, habituated to the almost ceaseless drizzle it dig. nifies by the name of climate, it is next to impossible to impart an idea of the raptures of a Southern night in this season of the year-or day either, for that matter. Its charms can hardly be exaggerated; even the usually disagreeable combination of great heat with metropolitan life is powerless to rob it of its delights. The natural desire one has for cool, shady woods, purling streams, airy expanses, &c., though not quenched, is directed into other channels, in which the refreshing influences of country life are replaced by artificial comforts, and to a great extent atoned for by social excitements, public interests, and the free and easy outdoor existence of a Southern city. Let me offer you a seat by my sideall things are possible in the past and future, the present only is prosaicwhen the clear purple shadows, flung upon the pavement by the electric lights, are softened and almost "kissed to death" by the moonlight, warm and mellow, as it is shed through the heated air from the full-orbed sphere. Look down these vistas of streets, many-lighted and alive with a pleasureloving populace, sitting, strolling and laughing in easy unrestraint and semitropical costumes upon the pavements. Are not these white-robed girls, hanging upon the arms of their attentive escorts, rarely beautiful? Do not these sounds of mingled merriment and music blend harmoniously with the varied scene-with the rattle of wheels, the hum of countless voices, and the

restless activity of feet? Then look above. The purple arch of the sky, dizzy with unnumbered stars, is just tinged with a rosy flush. You never

saw that before, did you, except immediately after sunset? If you have seen these nights as I have seen them, you will not blame me for this digression.

Being pretty well absorbed in my surroundings and the conversation, I had not noticed the approach of a young man with a straw hat, gauzy habiliments, and a cigarette, who stood waiting for a pause to address my companion. Shortly afterwards I was introduced to him; he was the cityeditor. After he had greeted me with a polite cordiality a stranger might seek in vain in this vaunted island, he endeavoured, as plainly as possible, to furnish me with a few needful hints, without which a new comer is liable to experience more excitement than success in this branch of literature. In a few moments my new friend wound up with the suggestion habitual to most male Southerners in most circumstances, but especially when making an acquaintance : "Let's go over here and take something." My countenance is suffused with a blush as I add, for I like to be candid, that we went and took it in a saloon across the street, and in a few minutes had begun over a mouthful of "Lincoln County" a friendship which I delight in believing eternity itself will be too short to terminate. This done, the next step was to seek the office for the purpose of introducting me to the staff, or "gang," as my new acquaintance called it, a procedure involving some perilous clambering up a totally dark wooden staircase in anything but good repair. We ascended, however, circumspectly towards a confused noise, which I fancied at the time resembled the sound of many looms at work in a menagerie, until I stepped false upon a species of landing I had been unable to distinguish in the darkness from the stairs. "This is what we consider the hub of civilization-the editorial

room in fact!" said my guide, pushing open a door somewhere on our right and ushering me into a dirty, dimlylighted room, knee-deep in a raging surf of scattered papers. Over this somewhat impeding disorder I beheld a number of persons dotted about like foggy islands for everybody was smoking-the greater number of whom were decorated with shades. Business might have been going on, but conversation and hilarity certainly were. In respect to attire, the cool decorum of shirt-sleeves seemed the prevailing fashion. I was presently introduced to the different members of the staff, who were conspicuous among the mere visitors by possessing less clothes and more dirt. They were nearly all young, but all colonels nevertheless except two who, for the sake of variety as well as on account of greater proficiency in the use of expletives, were distinguished by the more exalted title of general.

As I was exchanging salutations with the friendly warriors around me, a sudden commotion in an adjoining room caused me to look up. As I did so, a large, thickset man, modestly attired in the traditional costume in which Lady Godiva took horseback exercise for a charitable object, except for the flimsy addition of the most gorgeous and tightest under-shirt and drawers I have ever seen, rushed into the room, upsetting everything in his way, and employing language rarely heard even in the impolitest circles. When he had reached one of the windows overlooking the street, he thrust his huge, half-naked shoulders out of it and shouted some order to the buffet over the way he then drew himself back, lit his cigar-stump over one of the lamps, and swore connectedly for five minutes. This was the editor-inchief, and was indeed a remarkable object. The South alone could have produced such a character. Two piercing coal-black eyes, fervid with a kind of reckless intelligence; long, wildlydisordered hair of the same colour; a powerful cast of features, swollen, how

ever, with evidences of continued dissipation; and a large, sensual, but far from stupid mouth, were, after its costume, among the more noticeable peculiarities of this extraordinary figure.

When I first met him, though not more than thirty-three or thirty-four years old, he was considered one of the most brilliant lawyers in the state, carrying on, as is often the case there, his legal profession together with his journalistic duties. Even as he stood there, half-drunk, and consigning everything on earth that he could think of to eternal disaster, I could hardly help admiring him his eyes seemed to possess a power of focussing their own brilliance that suggested to me the idea of a mighty spirit manacled beyond redemption by clogging sensualities, yet scorning its desperate slavery. Poor fellow! he is dead now, and a horrible uncertainty hangs over his untimely end-which, however, it boots not to meddle with-but he has left behind him in many minds the memory of being, with all his faults, one of the kindest-hearted and most attractive of men.

The encouraging assurances I received from various members of the staff, that I should soon get into their ways, I found to be as true as prophetic, the character of a Southern newspaper being no very complex problem. The fervid language, jocose familiarity, and political vituperation too frequently found in the periodicals of this part have gained them the unqualified censure of the more dignified Press of the old world, a censure more just than charitable when the various causes are considered. The cool, measured subtlety, or the stately tedium produced in our papers as much, I fancy, by the damp, sunless climate as by any other single cause, would fail to arouse any interest below the Ohio, or, for that matter, but little above it. In our quiet, matured kingdom it is both natural and right for us to view political and most other questions through the colourless spec