dry-as-dustism. It must not be forgotten when we look over the volume
with scenes from the plays of Kyd, Peele, Marlowe, Dekker, Marston,
Chapman, Heywood, Middleton, Tourneur, Webster, Ford, Jonson,
Beaumont, Fletcher, Massinger, Shirley and others--it must not be
forgotten that Lamb was pleading the merits of these dramatic poets
before a generation to which some of them were but names and the rest
practically non-existent. The suggestion which Lamb throws out in the
preface that he had desired to show "how much of Shakspeare shines in
the great men his contemporaries" is amply borne out in his brief
notes upon his selections. This can best be proved by giving some of
the editorial comments from the collection itself, comments which
fully establish Lamb in his high place among the clearest sighted if
least voluminous of our true critics:

Heywood is a sort of _prose_ Shakspeare. His scenes are to
the full as natural and affecting. But we miss _the Poet_,
that which in Shakspeare always appears out and above the
surface of _the nature_. Heywood's characters, his Country
Gentlemen, etc., are exactly what we see (but of the best
kind of what we see) in life. Shakspeare makes us believe,
while we are among his lovely creations, that they are
nothing but what we are familiar with, as in dreams new
things seem old: but we awake, and sigh for the difference.

* * * * *

The insipid levelling morality to which the modern stage is
tied down would not admit of such admirable passions as
these scenes are filled with. A Puritanical obtuseness of
sentiment, a stupid infantile goodness, is creeping among