rhymed dialogue between the King and Helena (Act II., Sc. I.), and the letter-sonnet (Act III., Sc. IV.). These passages in verse can easily be distinguished, especially if they are of some length; but the passages in prose which are supposed to betray his youthful style are far more doubtful. Taking the play as a whole, however, the careful reader will see that it belongs emphatically to the poet's mature period; that its atmosphere, its weight of thought, its grasp of the dramatic problem, in fine, its entire trend, is that of the poet's middle age; that the fragments of the early play or, what is more likely, the early sketch which was long afterwards taken up and completed, are but a few naked boulders scattered over the green landscape, hinting indeed to the practiced eye of a former geologic epoch, but in no sense changing the present

The true and best name for the play is All's Well That Ends Well, and there is no title in Shakespeare that suggests so completely the moral problem involved in the action. It turns upon the question as to how far the end will justify the means; or, in the language of the drama, Is all well that ends well? The very pith of Shakespeare, as also of practical life, lies in the ethical conflict between the instrumentalies to be employed, and the objects to be attained by employing them. Is evil never to be done that good

may come? If so, when, and when not? Let us state the question in a more exact form: Is the lesser good never to be sacrificed to the greater, in the case of an irreconcilable collision between them? Always, says Shakespeare. Is the greater good ever to be sacrificed to the lesser? Never, says Shakespeare. But what if the good to be sacrificed seems on a par with the good to be attained? Then the matter becomes a sort of an ethical puzzle, about which people will divide into two opposite camps. Such a puzzle is the play of All's Well That Ends Well; the good to be used and the good to be reached seem to cancel each other; the means and the end are in a sort of balance which the impartial judgment suffers not to descend on either side.

Helena is the character in whom these moral contradictions are sharpened to the point of absolute hostility; her end and her means remain to the last in sorest opposition. Though chaste in her object she is unchaste in her method; she seeks to save domestic purity by an act of impurity. She is the woman who makes her own husband disloyal in intention, but loyal in deed, makes him consciously corrupt, but unconsciously true. This opposition between the conscious and unconcious acts of the husband Bertram is set forth by the poet in the dialogue between the King

and Diana, the latter being the instrument of Helena:

King: Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while?
Diana: Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty.

He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to it,
I'll swear I am a maid and he knows not.

What he knows and what he does not know make the moral collision-guilty in purpose, innocent in fact. It is the wife who has thrown the husband into this collision, yet with the design of saving him, the very violation of Family she turns to the means of fulfilling the function of the Family. Husband and wife show the two obverse sides of the one leading question; her intention is good, but her act very dubious; his intention is bad, but his act, taken by itself, proper. It is clear that Helena has not the introspective nature, she is not much worried with moral scruples, she sees the good end, takes the direct means without questioning them, and completes the act. In this respect she is in striking contrast to Hamlet, who remains everlastingly caught in the struggle between conscience and the deed. On the contrary she shows an affinity with Shakespeare's great heroes of action like Henry the Fifth. But she can endure supremely as well as act, she also shows the woman's faith repeatedly, a reliance upon the world-order which is to supplement both the individual deed and patience.

In Helena we clearly see the outlines one of Shakespeare's great mediatorial women, but placed in a more trying situation than any of them. They all have and must have a common trait — a deeply reconciling spirit, which can see the lesser and surrender it for the greater; they disguise, prevaricate, fib openly, circumvent parent and even the law, to reach the higher end. Formal truth of every kind they immolate for their great ethical object, which is usually the healing of some disruption in the Family; in general, they sacrifice the Moral to the Institutional. All of them do thus-Portia, Rosalind, Viola, Imogen, down to Anne Page; we follow them with delight and applaud in them just this strength which gives them mastery over their life's problem. when we come to Helena we call a halt, and ask, Is not that which she sacrifices a higher spiritual good than the end attained? Is the price worth the purchase, and does not mediation for once cut off its own head?

But

In this dualism we have to leave the character, and we are inclined to think that the poet himself intended her to be left just there. She is the extreme, she knows her own trend, and has the adage on her lips, All's well that ends well; she repeats it, and both times she sinks the means out of sight in the end; it clearly states the principle to which she squares her life. In her case mediation through the woman has touched the point of

self-negation, and can be pushed no further without making her tragic.

In this play there is a comic element, but it is not paramount; the earnest side of the action constitutes the larger and more important portion. The divisions should now be called the serious and comic threads; whereas, in Pure Comedy, they are named the high and low comic threads. Upon this foundation the contrast is different, and, indeed, more profound; the sober and the sportive phases of life are brought together, instead of two distinct sportive phases. Nor is the solid ground of reality abandoned - that is, no ideal realm is introduced in order to solve the conflict. Still, it has the essential form of the Mediated Drama, in which a disruption of family or society is healed and a restoration takes place, ending in the union of the separated members. On the whole, the coloring is rather somber, and, at times, unpleasant, though not without many light hues playing around the picture.

The action lies in the Family, and mainly after marriage. The husband is forced to marry against his will; thus one element of true union is wanting, namely, reciprocated affection. The wife alone possesses the emotional element at the beginning. The course of the drama will show how she succeeds in winning the love of her spouse, and thus placing the Family on its true foundation. The woman is here seen pursuing