could write like that, whatever his severities, must have possessed the true spirit of the Gospel.

John Fiske, in his "Beginnings of New England," characterizes Governor Endicott thus: "Honest and conscientious, but passionate, domineering, and very deficient in tact." He should have turned his sentence around and made it read: "Passionate, domineering, and very deficient in tact, but honest and conscientious." For the latter and not the former were his basal qualities. And to this should be added that he was not only honest and conscientious, but also strong, efficient, noble, consecrated, and intrepid, a man of heroic mould. Longfellow, in his tragedy, "John Endicott," speaks the true and appreciative word concerning Endicott when he makes Bellingham say of him: "Only the acrid spirit of the times corroded this true steel."

John Endicott is the representative Puritan of the New World. In him the characteristic virtues and faults of the Puritan character are conspicuously revealed. This sterling hero, of whom Dr. Bentley affirmed that "above all others he deserved the name of the Father of New England,” may well serve as our typical Puritan

forefather. Whatever of the sweeter and serener elements of character there may have been in him,-and we have reason to believe that such were not absent,-it was the stern and aggressive virtues that prevailed. He was the Lion of the Tribe of Massachusetts, the Conqueror of the Wilderness, the man of strength and decision and endurance. He was preeminently a serious man, a man who looked danger, sin, suffering, and death itself full in the face, and by them was made, not morose or disheartened, but tremendously, magnificently serious. His seriousness may be seen in his portrait. The face is not a heavy or unfeeling one. There is gentil

The

ity, dignity, intellectuality in it. comely robe, shapely collar, and exquisitely embroidered glove held in the delicate hand adorned with its great seal ring, indicate anything but indifference to the honors and embellishments of life. But these, and the face itself, are dominated and interpreted by the air of seriousness which pervades the whole, as of a man determined to use life earnestly, gravely, grandly, to the good of the world and the glory of God.

SALEM, MASS.

JOHN WRIGHT BUCKHAM.

T

HE other day, while talking with a young merchant about reading, he made the remark that he had no time for reading, so much engrossed was he in his work. Being asked if he ever read in his spare moments, he said he thought nothing could be accomplished in spare moments; that the reading and thinking would be so desultory and disconnected that no good could come of it. Unfortu

nately this is too often the attitude of young men regarding the spare moments of the day, but the example of Mr. Rowland G. Hazard, of Rhode Island, may well be cited to show how, by careful use of his spare moments, one man developed a mind of great force and activity and achieved an international reputation as a thinker upon the deepest questions.

No one was more actively engaged in the engrossing activities of life than was Mr. Hazard. At one time he was engaged in running several woollen mills and two

lead mines in the West; he was director in several Western railroads, and was conducting several great lawsuits, writing most of the arguments himself; but during all this time he was writing books that were attracting the attention of the greatest thinkers of this country and Great Britain. These books were thought out and written in the spare moments of the day. The ten minutes that other men neglected, Mr. Hazard seized as an opportunity to read a page and furnish his mind with a high thought to brood over all through the day.

The story of his life is helpful and encouraging to every struggling young man, for if ever there was a self-made man Mr. Hazard was one. He had not even the advantage of a common-school education. He attended school for a few years in early boyhood, but as soon as strength came he began to work. But even in these early days he devoured every book

that fell into his hands, though they were not many. During the long winter evenings he read and pondered. No slightest habit of animal or bird escaped his notice as he worked in the fields. As he drove about the country roads he sought out causes for everything he saw. The stars awakened his imagination and stirred deep thoughts.

At an early age he began to develop the woollen business which afterward reached huge dimensions. Everything he touched succeeded, and he became a busy man. During these years of the growing industry he had to take long rides on horseback through the Eastern States, and as he rode he read and thought. His mind became interested in mathematics, and he carried a copy of Euclid in his saddle-bags. He became intensely interested in the origin and meaning of language, and during his rides and while stopping at lonely taverns he jotted down his thoughts on scraps of paper. Later ne wove these memoranda into book form and submitted the manuscript to some friends. Miss E. P. Peabody, of Boston, was so impressed with the uniqueness and originality of the essay that she secured its publication, and thus the book written in the spare moments of a young man's busy life came before the public.

The book immediately attracted a good deal of attention, and this spurred Mr. Hazard on to greater literary activity. The woollen business had by this time assumed large proportions, and it was his intention to engage in it only up to the point where he could retire with a sufficient income realized to allow him to pursue his literary work unhampered by any cares. But just at this time he failed and lost every cent. The saddest blow was the long postponement of that undisturbed time of thought and study to which he had so long looked forward. It never came. He at once set to work again with a determination to retrieve his lost fortunes. He worked night and day and soon built up a larger industry than before and had extended his energies into other fields. the age of fifty he was one of the leading financiers of the land, and perhaps controlled as many interests as any one in the country.

At

Yet during all these years, at the table, on railroad trains, in carriages, in every ten minutes he could snatch, he was think

ing deep thoughts on philosophy. He read Jonathan Edwards's great work on the Will as he was riding on the train back and forth between Providence and his residence, Peace Dale. He carried a note-book in his pocket, in which, as he read, he jotted down every thought until, at the suggestion of a friend who heard some of these notes read, he wrote a book refuting Edwards's theory of the Will. This book, "Freedom of the Mind in Willing," was at once recognized as the work of a master mind, yet it is doubtful if Mr. Hazard ever gave a whole undisturbed day to its composition. In England John Stuart Mill read the book and immediately wrote a long letter to Mr. Hazard expressing his surprise and gratefulness and discussing a few of the points at issue. This led to a correspondence with the great philosopher which lasted for several years, and also led to the beginning of another book, written in odd moments whenever this busy man could snatch ten minutes from the day.

He was frequently sought out by scholars, and to his home there came Channing, Noah Porter, and other eminent men, to whom he gave "spare moments" only, and from whom he got suggestive thoughts. When Herbert Spencer came to this country he too visited the busy philosopher of Peace Dale and paid his respects to his genius.

Genius? Yes, genius, if the word means the capacity for untiring industry and infinite capacity for work. And we think this is a large element of genius.

Mr. Hazard kept up his untiring energy to the end. He published many pamphlets bearing on philosophical and political matters. Late in life he delivered two great lectures at the Concord School of Philosophy, which were largely written out on his lap as he rode back and forth to his office. He gave frequent lectures, and, when doing the work of ten people, found time to entertain men and women at his plain, yet cultured home, and converse with them on high themes. His collected works make four or five large volumes, and if any readers of this paper should chance to see them in a public library let him remember that they are entirely the products of those spare moments which so many men spurn and

HAKESPEARE'S knowledge of human

nature enabled him to present striking expositions of the varied phases of human character. We pause to reflect upon his unrivalled genius. While we revolt in horror from the villainy of a Richard III, or the ambitious cruelty of a Macbeth, the purity of a gentle Imogen allures us into happy contemplation of the beautiful, the good, and the true. Shakespeare's productions are positively unexcelled, for originality of thought and dramatic presentation, by those of any other writer, ancient or modern. By the exercise of his fertile imagination and poetic power he has artfully illustrated in exquisite delineation some of the most remarkable characteristics of female nature.

What young heart has not felt the tender touch of love? What young life has not been a stage for love's contending passions? In all the wide universe of thought or experience there is nothing more beautiful or inspiring than the pure sentiments of true love. In the unique character of Rosalind this principle, this exquisite thing God has placed in every human bosom, is finely illustrated. Every reader of Shakespeare is familiar with the circumstances under which this gentle maid began to love, with her romantic adventure, and with her ultimate marriage in the wild forest-home. While witnessing an exhibition of strength in the young and handsome Orlando, the latent fire is aroused within her breast, and is at once reciprocated by the object of her love. Rosalind's was "love at first sight," but unquestionably genuine. We find much to admire in her nature: She is adorned with many of the gentle characteristics of true womanhood; and yet she possesses something of that peculiar force of character we are accustomed to find most frequently in the other sex. Let us go with her into the forest where she seeks refuge from the wrath of her kinsman. Realizing

"What danger will it be to us,

Maids as we are, to travel forth so far, -she modestly assumes the garb of a man, while her cousin accompanies her as a sister. Remarkable courage character

izes her in this undertaking. Lost in the forest, whose paths are unknown to the youthful travellers, the clown attending them becomes restless and fearful, and the gentle cousin is weary and faint; but Rosalind, fretted with their complaints, half impatiently exclaims:

"I could find it in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel and cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel; as the doublet and hose must be courageous to the petticoat."

But

How well she feigns masculinity! listening to the shepherd's tale of love, her own is kindled anew; and as she looks into the face of the rustic youth her beautiful eyes beam forth sympathy tinged with sadness and she says:

"Alas, poor shepherd, searching for thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own.” When she reads the verses relating to herself, which Orlando has written and placed upon the trees, she can scarcely believe the throb that whispers to her soul the secret that, loving, she is loved in return. Realizing, however, that her lover

is near by and likely to see her at any moment, a blush quickly suffuses her cheek, and she cries out,

"Alas, the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?"

But love continues:

"What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? Did he ask for me? How parted he with thee? And shalt thou see him again?"

And again:

"But doth he know that I am in the forest and in man's apparel?"

Her excitement is proof of her sincerity and innocence. She detains Orlando in the forest to converse with him, and artfully proposes to represent herself that he may pour out his soul to her as a substitute, as he thinks, for his own true Rosalind. What a cunningly devised scheme is this! We linger just a moment to see them joined in happy wedlock. How strange, how unique, how fascinating!

We turn our attention next to one of the most remarkable female characters in history or fiction. From the romantic scene of a rustic marriage, we pass to the splen

dor of an Egyptian court. Here a beautiful queen and a great Roman general hold their midnight revels. So closely does the poet follow history in delineating the character of this famous personage that we feel as though we were perusing the life of the real Cleopatra. So vividly does he illustrate each phase of her nature that we imagine ourselves living in actual observance of the scenes brought before us in this wonderful drama. The fortunes of war have thrown Egypt into Antony's conquering grasp, and he summons the queen to appear before him. Upon beholding her he becomes her slave! She charms him with her personal fascinations and dazzles him with a display of her wealth. Coming to meet him upon the river Cydnus,

"The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,

Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that

The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver.

For her own person

It beggared all description!" The great general whose "goodly eyes" had "glowed like plated Mars o'er the files and musters of the war"; whose "captain's heart" had "burst the buckles on his breast" in the fiercest battles, now becomes an abject slave to the wicked passions of a fascinating queen. With the wonderful influence of her personal charms she overpowers him. Her matchless beauty inflames him. She holds him within her grasp and rules him at her will. Nor is the infatuation Antony's alone. His cultured manners, intellectual attainments, and military exploits claim the favor of this queen of passions, and the adoration lavished upon her by the indulgent commander affords her the intensest gratification. Only Shakespeare's facile pen could picture truthfully this carnival of human passion! Soon, ah, soon, culminate, in the sublimest tragedy, the fortunes and existence of an otherwise distinguished general!

Her

We cannot pass without a glance at the closing scene of Cleopatra's career. throne is wrested from her, and her glory is no more. Her lover is dead, and she is the captive of a Roman general. Proud and independent spirit, she declares that she, in Rome's imperial streets, will never grace a Cæsar's triumph. And while Cæsar is even rejoicing over his prize, with the deadly asp's sting she calmly and resolutely the "knot intrinsicate of

life» unties, and passes away to join the partner of her guilt in the abodes of death.

Surely every one is familiar with the lovely heiress in the "Merchant of Venice," who, representing a doctor of the laws, so skilfully defends her suitor's friend from the merciless cruelty of the Jew. In her we recognize a brilliant, active mind, a courageous spirit, and a benevolent heart.

Cymbeline is a name we pronounce with delight, for it suggests thoughts of the beautiful Imogen. It is impossible to study this touching drama and not be impressed with the character of this lovely woman. Her perfect purity, simplicity, and unselfishness; her devotion to her husband amid all her perilous surroundings, solicit our profoundest admiration. Truth and innocence sat enthroned in the sacred mansions of her heart.

Similar to that of Imogen in many respects is the character of Desdemona. Her love for the Moor; "the powers that gave her the heart to slight men of her own complexion and fix her affections on " him, had "destined her to unhappiness." Minto says,—

"Remove this vicious mole of nature from Desdemona, leave her a cold pattern of propriety reserved to her lover and obedient to her parents, and you find it much more difficult to quell your uneasiness at the crushing of such a flower under the wheel of Destiny."

Though Desdemona was never, like Imogen, restored to the love and confidence of her husband, death never closed a purer life, nor did mortal clay ever bear within it a nobler heart. Gentle, loving creature, she knew not that the heart of her beloved husband was being poisoned against her by an incarnate fiend; and when Othello's hand was raised to take her life, she protested her innocence to the last; and, stepping into the agonies of that awful hour, she passed through the shadows a guiltless soul.

Thus have passed before us a few of Shakespeare's gentle personages, whose characters illustrate some of the tender passions and bitter tragedies of life. We have reserved till the last one of the most remarkable characters in all the writings of the illustrious dramatist.

Lady Macbeth first appears prominently She in the fifth scene of the first act. enters reading a letter from Macbeth in

which she is informed that he has been created Thane of Cawdor. She is apprised by a messenger, and later by Macbeth himself, of the approach of the king, who is to be their guest for the night. She has also learned of her husband's conference with the witches and their prophecy concerning the future. The manner in which she receives the letter from her lord and the news that Duncan is coming affords us at once an index to her character. She is the very incarnation of evil principle. Every aspiration of her soul reaches out after power and fame; and she is willing to sacrifice anything to gratify her wicked ambition. The throne of Scotland, with its power, pomp, and splendor, rises before her excited imagination; and she impatiently awaits the coming of her lord, that together they may carry into execution a plan by which they hope to obtain possession of this goodly throne and its glory. Her will is firm, her determination strong, her purpose fixed. Mark her words:

"Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be

What thou art promised. . . . Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my spirit in thine ear;
And chastise with the valor of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round.*

And again:

"The raven himself is hoarse, That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements."

She calls upon the "spirits that tend on mortal thoughts" to unsex her and fill her "top-full of direst cruelty." She cries for the night to come and cast about her a cloud of darkness, that her

"Keen knife see not the wound it makes,

Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry, Hold, hold!'»

When the king arrives she feigns the profoundest pleasure and respect; but,

dead to every sense of honor, she is prepared to adopt the vilest measures for the accomplishment of her wicked designs. The murder is committed. The deed is done which she hopes

-" shall to all our nights and days to come, Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom." They ascend the throne; but the very morning breezes seem to waft bitter disappointment, danger, and despair into their bloody lives. The wicked queen, whose ambition had led her through gory paths to power, now lives in terror and constant apprehension of impending evil. In her disappointment and fear she complains bitterly that—