And this will be a very long time; much longer than many people think. For not only is John Bull, as I heard a distinguished British statesman say, "a lord-loving animal;" he is a kingworshipping creature also. He may devote his own soul to perdition, but he devoutly prays for the queen and all the royal family. He delights in the very epithet royal, and unless some of his heartiness is bred out of him, utters it with unctuous relish. He rises in his own respect by dealing with the grocer to her Majesty; and his eye beams complacently upon the crown stamped on his pickle jar. Kingship will never be driven out from that land; it will be solicitously retained while it is gradually robbed of even the semblance of prerogative, until at length there will be somebody called a king there who has less power than a constable. And when at last the shadow of royalty has become so faint that even British eyes can see nothing on the throne but velvet and vacuity, and nothing in the crown but emptiness, when the game of monarchy is played out, and "God Save the King" cannot be sung because there is no king to save, be sure that a new national hymn will not be written. The old air will be preserved; the words will be altered as little as possible, and perverted as much as possible, so that Britons, though they no longer express their "respect for their monarch," can yet give utterance to their "national pride," as nearly as may be in the good old way.

**SHAKESPEARE'S CREATIVE GENIUS.* Shakespeare thus used the skeletons of former life that had drifted down to him upon the stream of time and were cast at his feet, a heap of mere

dead matter. But he clothed them with flesh and blood, and breathed life into their nostrils; and they lived and moved with a life that was individ

ual and self-existent after he had once thrown it

off from his own exuberant intellectual vitality. He made his plays no galleries of portraits of his contemporaries, carefully seeking models through the social scale, from king to beggar. His teeming brain bred lowlier beggars and kinglier kings than all Europe could have furnished as subjects for his portraiture. He found in his own consciousness ideals, the like of which for beauty or deformity neither he nor any other man had ever looked upon. In his heart were the motives, the passions, of all humanity; in his mind, the capability, if not the actuality, of all human thought. Nature, in forming him alone of all the poets, had laid that touch upon his soul which made it akin with the whole world, and which enabled him to live at will throughout all time, among all peoples. Capable thus, in his complete and symmetrical nature, of feeling with and thinking for all mankind, he found in an isolated and momentary phase of his own existence the law which governed the life of those to whom that single phase was their whole sphere. From the germ within himself he produced the perfect individual, as it had been or might have been developed. The eternal laws of human life were his servants by his heaven-bestowed prerogative, and he was yet their instrument. Conformed to them because instinct with them, obedient to, yet swaying them, he used their subtle and unerring powers to work out from seemingly trivial and independent truths the vast problems of humanity; and standing ever

From Life and Genius of Shakespeare, 1865, pp. 288-90.

within the limits of his own experience, he read and reproduced the inner life of those on the loftiest heights or in the lowest depths of being, with the certainty of the physiologist who from the study of his own organization recreates the monsters of the ante-human world, or of the astronomer who, not moving from his narrow study, announced the place, form, movement, and condition of a planet then hid from earthly eyes in the abyss of space.

Shakespeare thus suffered not even a temporary absorption of his personages; he lost not the least consciousness of selfhood, or the creator's power over the clay that he was moulding. He was at no time a murderer at heart because he drew Macbeth, or mad because he made King Lear. We see that, although he thinks with the brain and feels with the soul of each of his personages by turns, he has the power of deliberate introspection during this strange metempsychosis, and of standing outside of his transmuted self, and regarding these forms which his mind takes on as we do; in a word, of being at the same time actor and spectator.

** EDWARD EVERETT HALE,

A PROLIFIC and suggestive writer, and the editor of the Old and New of Boston, was born in that city, April 3, 1822. He is the son of Nathan Hale, LL.D., and of Sarah Preston Hale, a sister of Edward Everett. His father, a nephew of the Captain Nathan Hale executed in New York as a spy by Sir William Howe in 1776, became the proprietor of the Boston Daily Advertiser in 1814. It was "the first daily in New England, the principle of editorial responsibility distinct and for many years the only one, and established from that of individual contributors. Its influence was great. He was a public-spirited citizen, and notably active in establishing a sys

tem of railroads in Massachusetts. In 1825 he prepared a map of New England, a standard authority, and three years later a work on the policy of a protective tariff. He was a member

of the club that established the North American Review and the Christian Examiner. He died at Brookline, Mass., February 9, 1863, in his seventy-ninth year.

Edward Everett Hale was graduated at Harvard College in 1839. He was pastor of the Church of the Unity, at Worcester, Massachusetts, from 1846 to 1856; and of the South Congregational Church, Boston, since that time.

He is an active member of the American Antiquarian Society, and has contributed many papers to its publications, as well as to the Christian Examiner, and other leading periodicals. The American edition of Lingard's History of England, in thirteen volumes, was published at Boston under his editorial supervision, in 1853-4.

His original works comprise Margaret Percival in America, written as a sequel to a tale by Rev. William Sewall, 1850; Sketches of Christian History, 1850; Kansas and Nebraska, a sketch of the physical characteristics and political position of those Territories, 1854; and Ninety Days' Worth of Europe.

*Drake's Biographical Dictionary, art. Nathan Hale, p. 395. Allibone's Dictionary of English Literature.

The Man Without a Country, a story having all the verisimilitude of actual fact, which he contributed to the Atlantic Monthly during the war, under the pen-name of Col. Frederick Ingham, won, as it deserved, the popular favor. Like it, his later writings show power of imagination and a definite moral purpose held in view, though not always such an artistic elaboration of their themes. These works comprise: If, Yes, and Perhaps Four Possibilities and Six Exaggerations, with some Bits of Fact, 1868, a series of brilliant magazine articles; and The Ingham Papers, 1869. Sybaris, and Other Homes, 1869, sets out to picture what the homes of laboring men are, what they ought to be, and what they ought not to be. Ten Times One is Ten; or, The Possible Reformation: A Story in Nine Chapters, gives a plausible basis on which to inaugurate the millennial epoch, founded on these four principles of social conduct: "To look up and not down; to look forward and not back; to look out and not in; and, to lend a hand." How to Do It, 1871, purports to be a book of suggestions on talking, reading, writing, society, travel, etc. Six of One by Half a Dozen of the Other, 1872 a social romance, was jointly constructed by three lady writers- Harriet Beecher Stowe, Adeline D. T. Whitney, and Lucretia P. Hale; and three gentlemen Frederick W. Loring, F. B. Perkins, and its projector, E. E. Hale. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, 1873, a series of stories, with a sketch of the first Christmas celebrated by a king of Italy in Rome, was followed by Ups and Downs, An Every-Day Novel. Mr. Hale is also the editor of Old and New, a literary magazine established by him in 1869.

**THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY-FROM IF, YES, AND

PERHAPS.

I suppose that very few casual readers of the New York Herald of August 13th observed, in an obscure corner, among the "Deaths," the announcement,

CC NOLAN. Died, on board U. S. Corvette Levant, Lat. 2° 11' S., Long. 131° W., on the 11th of May, PHILIP NOLAN."

There are

I happened to observe it, because I was stranded at the old Mission-House in Mackinaw, waiting for a Lake Superior steamer which did not choose to come, and I was devouring to the very stubble all the current literature I could get hold of, even down to the deaths and marriages in the Herald. My memory for names and people is good, and the reader will see, as he goes on, that I had reason enough to remember Philip Nolan. hundreds of readers who would have paused at that announcement, if the officer of the Levant who reported it had chosen to make it thus: "Died, May 11th, THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY." For it was as "The Man without a Country" that poor Philip Nolan had generally been known by the officers who had him in charge during some fifty years, as, indeed, by all the men who sailed under them. I dare say there is many a man who has taken wine with him once a fortnight, in a three years' cruise, who never knew that his name was "Nolan," or whether the poor wretch had any name at all.

There can now be no possible harm in telling this poor creature's story. Reason enough there

has been till now, ever since Madison's administration went out in 1817, for very strict secrecy, the secrecy of honor itself, among the gentlemen of the navy who have had Nolan in successive charge. And certainly it speaks well for the honor of its members, that to the press this man's esprit de corps of the profession, and the personal story has been wholly unknown, and, I think, to the country at large also. I have reason to think, from some investigations I made in the Naval Archives, when I was attached to the Bureau of Construction, that every official report relating to him was burned when Ross burned the public buildings at Washington. One of the Tuckers, or possibly one of the Watsons, had Nolan in charge at the end of the war; and when, on returning from his cruise, he reported at Washington to one of the Crowninshields,-who was in the Navy Department when he came home, he found that the Department ignored the whole business. Whether they really knew nothing about it, or whether it was a "Non mi ricordo," determined

on as a piece of policy, I do not know. But this I do know, that since 1817, and possibly before, no naval officer has mentioned Nolan in his report of a cruise.

But, as I say, there is no need for secrecy any longer. And now the poor creature is dead, it seems to me worth while to tell a little of his story, by way of showing young Americans of today what it is to be A MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY. Philip Nolan was as fine a young officer as there was in the "Legion of the West,' as the Western When division of our army was then called. Aaron Burr made his first dashing expedition down to New Orleans in 1805, at Fort Massac, or somewhere above on the river, he met, as the devil would have it, this gay, dashing, bright young fellow, at some dinner-party, I think. Burr marked him, talked to him, walked with him, took him a day or two's voyage in his flatboat, and, in short, fascinated him. For the next year barrack-life was very tame to poor Nolan. He occasionally availed himself of the permission the great man had given him to write to him. Long, high-worded, stilted letters the poor boy wrote and rewrote and copied. But never a line did he have in reply from the gay deceiver. The other boys in the garrison sneered at him, because he sacrificed in this unrequited affection for a politician the time which they devoted to Monongahela, hazard, and high-low-jack. Bourbon, euchre, and poker were still unknown. But one day Nolan had his revenge. This time Burr came down the river, not as an attorney seeking a place for his office, but as a disguised conqueror. He had defeated I know not how many district-attorneys; he had dined at I know not how many public dinners; he had been heralded in I know not how many Weekly Arguses, and it was rumored that he had an army behind him and an empire before him. It was a great day-his arrival-to poor Nolan. Burr had not been at the fort an hour before he sent for him. That evening he asked Nolan to take him out in his skiff, to show him a cane-brake or a cotton-wood tree, as he said, really to seduce him; and by the time the sail was over, Nolan was enlisted body and soul. From that time, though he did not yet know it, he lived as A MAN WITHOUT A

came, and Jefferson and the House of Virginia of that day undertook to break on the wheel all the possible Clarences of the then House of York, by the great treason-trial at Richmond, some of the lesser fry in that distant Mississippi Valley, which was farther from us than Puget's Sound is to-day, introduced the like novelty on their provincial stage, and, to while away the monotony of the summer at Fort Adams, got up, for spectacles, a string of court-martials on the officers there. One and another of the colonels and majors were tried, and, to fill out the list, little Nolan, against whom, Heaven knows, there was evidence enough, that he was sick of the service, had been willing to be false to it, and would have obeyed any order to march any-whither with any one who would follow him had the order been signed, By command of His Exc. A. Burr." The courts dragged on. The big flies escaped, rightly for all I know. Nolan was proved guilty enough, as I say; yet you and I would never have heard of him, reader, but that, when the president of the court asked him at the close, whether he wished to say anything to show that he had always been faithful to the United States, he cried out, in a fit of frenzy,

66

"D-n the United States! I wish I may never hear of the United States again!

I suppose he did not know how the words shocked old Colonel Morgan, who was holding the court. Half the officers who sat in it had served through the Revolution, and their lives, not to say their necks, had been risked for the very idea which he so cavalierly cursed in his madness. He, on his part, had grown up in the West of those days, in the midst of " Spanish Plot," "Orleans Plot," and all the rest. He had been educated on a plantation where the finest company was a Spanish officer or a French merchant from Orleans. His education, such as it was, had been perfected in commercial expeditions to Vera Cruz, and I think he told me his father once hired an Englishman to be a private tutor for a winter on the plantation. He had spent half his youth with an older brother, hunting horses in Texas; and, in a word, to him "United States" was scarcely a reality. Yet he had been fed by "United States" for all the years since he had been in the army. He had sworn on his faith as a Christian to be true to • United States." It was "United States" which gave him the uniform he wore, and the sword by his side. Nay, my poor Nolan, it was only because "United States" had picked you out first as one of her own confidential men of honor that "A. Burr" cared for you a straw more than for the flat-boat men who sailed his ark for him. I do not excuse Nolan; I only explain to the reader why he damned his country, and wished he might never hear her name again.

ident, that you never hear the name of the United States again."

Nolan laughed. But nobody else laughed. Old Morgan was too solemn, and the whole room was hushed dead as night for a minute. Even Nolan lost his swagger in a moment. Then Morgan added,

"Mr. Marshal, take the prisoner to Orleans in an armed boat, and deliver him to the naval commander there."

The Marshal gave his orders and the prisoner was taken out of court.

"Mr. Marshal," continued old Morgan, "see that no one mentions the United States to the

gave

He never did hear her name but once again. From that moment, September 23, 1807, till the day he died, May 11, 1863, he never heard her name again. For that half-century and more he was a man without a country.

Old Morgan, as I said, was terribly shocked. If Nolan had compared George Washington to Benedict Arnold, or had cried, "God save King "God save King George," Morgan would not have felt worse. He called the court into his private room, and returned in fifteen minutes, with a face like a sheet,

prisoner. Mr. Marshal, make my respects to Lieutenant Mitchell at Orleans, and request him to order that no one shall mention the United States to the prisoner while he is on board ship. You will receive your written orders from the officer on duty here this evening. The court is adjourned without day."

I have always supposed that Colonel Morgan himself took the proceedings of the court to Washington City, and explained them to Mr. Jefferson. Certain it is that the President approved them, certain, that is, if I may believe the men who say they have seen his signature. Before the Nautilus got round from New Orleans to the Northern Atlantic coast with the prisoner on board the sentence had been approved, and he was a man without a country.

The plan then adopted was substantially the same which was necessarily followed ever after. Perhaps it was suggested by the necessity of sending him by water from Fort Adams and Orleans. The Secretary of the Navy -- it must have been the first Crowninshield, though he is a man I do not remember- was requested to put Nolan on board a government vessel bound on a long cruise, and to direct that he should be only so far confined there as to make it certain that he never saw or heard of the country. We had We had few long cruises. then, and the navy was very much out of favor; and as almost all of this story is traditional, as I have explained, I do not know certainly what his first cruise was. But the commander to whom he was intrusted, perhaps it was Tingey or Shaw, though I think it was one of the younger men, we are all old enough now, regulated the etiquette and the precautions of the affair, and according to his scheme they were carried out, I suppose, till Nolan died.

war,

The rule adopted on board the ships on which I have met "the man without a country was, I think, transmitted from the beginning. No mess liked to have him permanently, because his presence cut off all talk of home or of the prospect of return, of politics or letters, of peace or of cut off more than half the talk the men liked to have at sea. But it was always thought too hard that he should never meet the rest of us, except to touch hats, and we finally sank into one system. He was not permitted to talk with the men, unless an officer was by. With officers he had unrestrained intercourse, as far as they and he chose. But he grew shy, though he had favorites: I was one. Then the captain always asked him to dinner on Monday. Every mess in succession took up the invitation in its turn. According to the size of the ship, you had him at your mess more or less often at dinner. His breakfast he ate in his own state-room, - he always had a stateroom, — which was where a sentinel or somebody on the watch could see the door. And whatever