at the character of Horatio, the very type of the blithe, sturdy, and somewhat commonplace young student, to whom enjoyment seems a birthright,—
"A man that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks."
Yet it is to this man, of all others, that the dying Hamlet utters the pathetic plea,—
"If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
To tell my story."
Here at last is a ray of real light, guiding us miles away from the murky paths of modern French and English poetry, where we have stumbled along, growing despondent in the gloom. To brave life cheerfully, to welcome death gladly, are possible things, after all, and better worth man's courage and convictions than to dree on Caucasus forever.
It is ludicrous to turn from the poets to the politicians, but nowadays every question, even the old unanswered one, "Is life worth living?" must needs be viewed from its political standpoint. What can be more delightful than to hear Mr. Courthope assert that op-
