If Shakspeare and the Old Testament are a just manifestation of human
nature, the New is so different, its representation would seem to be
almost fanciful or fallacious; or if the latter be accepted, the former
would seem to be discarded. But both are faithful to the different ages
and phases of man. The one is a dispensation of force,--the other of
love; the one could make nothing perfect,--but the bringing in of a
better covenant makes all things perfect. Through the tempest and storm,
the brutality and lust of the Greek tragedians, and even of the
barbarous times on which Shakspeare builds many of his plays, through
the night of Judaical back-slidings, idolatry, and carnal commandments,
we patiently wait, and gladly hail the morning of the Sun of
Righteousness. The New Testament is a green, calm, island, in this
heaving, fearful ocean of dramatic interest. How delightful is
everything there, and how elevated! how glad, and how solemn! how
energetic, and how tranquil! What characters, what incident, what
feeling! Yet how different! So different, indeed, from what elsewhere
appears, that we are compelled to ask, Can this be that same old
humanity whose passions, they tell us, are alike in all ages, and the
emphatic turbulence of which constitutes so large a portion of history?

But how shall we describe what is before us? The events open, if we may
draw a term from our subject, with a prologue spoken by angels,--

"Peace on earth, and good-will towards men."

There had been Jezebels and Lady Macbeths enough; the memory of David
still smelt of blood; the Roman eagles were gorging their beaks on human
flesh; and the Samaritan everywhere felt the gnawing, shuddering sense
of hatred and scorn. No chorus appears answering to chorus, praising the