It had been said that,
notwithstanding the mental supremacy of the present age--
notwithstanding that the page of our history was studded with
names destined also for the page of immortality--that the genius
of Shakespeare was extinct, and the fountain of his inspiration
dried up. It might be that these observations were unfortunately
correct, or it might be that we were bewildered with a name, not
disappointed of the reality; for though Shakespeare had brought a
Hamlet, an Othello, and a Macbeth, an Ariel, a Juliet, and a
Rosalind, upon the stage, were there not authors living who had
brought as varied, as exquisitely painted, and as undying a range
of characters into our hearts? The shape of the mere mould into
which genius poured its golden treasures was surely a matter of
little moment, let it be called a Tragedy, a Comedy, or a
Waverley Novel. But even among the dramatic authors of the
present day, he was unwilling to allow that there was a great and
palpable decline from the glory of preceding ages, and his toast
alone would bear him out in denying the truth of the proposition.
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