wonder and delight; but alas! no other Shakespeare has arisen; with the models he gave before them, in three centuries no dramatist has arisen that could write a "Hamlet," a "Macbeth," or a "Lear;" nothing in all that time to equal "Romeo and Juliet," "As You Like It," or "The Merchant of Venice." There have been hundreds of playwrights since Shakespeare's time, thousands of plays have been written, the greater portion of them worthless to the stage, but a great number of excellent playwrights have flourished since then, and their plays have had a greater or less degree of success. We will just instance a few of the most successful ones. Otway wrote "Venice Preserved;" Massinger, "A New Way to Pay Old Debts;" Addison his "Cato," Goethe his "Faust;" Schiller "The Robbers;" Kotzebue, "The Stranger;" Bellinghousen, "Ingomar;" Sheridan, "The School of Scandal," "Pizarro" and "The Rivals;" Knowles, "The Hunchback," "Virginius" and "William Tell;" John Howard Payne, "Brutus;" Bulwer, "The Lady of Lyons," "Richelieu" and "Money;" Dr. Bird, "The Gladiator;" Judge Conrad, "Jack Cade;" George F. Boker, "Francisca de Rimini." I might instance many others, but these will suffice tor my purpose. Now these are all noble productions, and have won fame and money for both authors and actors; but it is questionable if any of them will live indefinitely. Already many of the plays I have named are waning in the dramatic firmament; some of them have already set. Why is it, let us ask. What is there in Shakespeare's plays that lifts them so far above the average of merit and sets them on a plane so distinctively their own? Other authors have certainly equaled Shakespeare in erudition, have even excelled him in the description of the sublime and terrible, surpassed him in glowing pictures of supernatural imagery. Why, then, does the world attach so much importance to the work of Shakespeare? Why are they so highly prized? It is because Shakespeare was the grand High Priest of Nature! He got closer to the human heart than any and all other authors. To him nature was an open book, and he was so thoroughly in love with it, that he left no page unturned or unobserved; from the primer page or the humblest creations of nature's lavish hand up through the countless and variegated specimens of her handiwork to the crowning production of her creative power, _man_--this son of genius penetrated all her secrets, delved all her depths, scaled her loftiest heights. The heart of man, that secret repository of so many contending passions; that cradle where the affections are rocked into life; that fountain whence so many varying emotions spring, that sea o'er which are swept the multitudinous passions of life, was also to him an open page; the last and greatest chapter in nature's wonderful volume. He understood life in all its phases.