what extent the similarity of thought-traceable in many instances throughout the writings of these two great men,-may have led, by formal deduction on the one side, and by rapid and almost intuitive comprehension on the other, to similar conclusions in both.

Friendship is one of the moral virtues, or a sentiment intimately connected with the morals; since friendship, if not a particular virtue, at least shines most conspicuously in the virtuous, ἔστι γὰρ ἀρετή τις ἤ μετ ̓ ἀρετῆς. The Stagirite divides it into three kinds-namely, that which proceeds from goodness, from pleasure, and from profit. The first is stable, because such men love each other for their virtues: the second is instable, because the sentiment can exist so long only as the object for which it sought exists: the third is not only instable, but it is mean and despicable, it proceeds from sordid motives, and it is bound up with personal profit. The only perfect friendship, then, can subsist between those who resemble each other in virtue; because those who love their friends for their virtue love them for what is not a temporary appendage, but a permanent essential in their characters. The worth of a virtuous friend is not relative to circumstances, but universal and absolute, comprehending both pleasure and utility, and uniting all those qualities which either produce friendship or render it unalterable; but his inestimable value cannot be fairly appreciated except by those who are his rivals in moral and intellectual excellence; for men delight chiefly in those qualities which resemble their own. Such friendships are rare, because virtuous men are rare; and even they cannot perfectly know each other until, according to the proverb, they have "consumed many bushels of salt together." Moreover, in order that friendships may be true and lasting, it is requisite that there should be an equality of conditions; but this may have its limits; as that, for example, which subsists between father and son, husbands and wives, governor and people. But these are severally different one from the other; as regards the last, however, it seems more than any other to be united with justice, because when a partnership or connexion exists, justice and friendship seem to belong to the same persons and to be conversant about the same things. Thus Aristotle says, "they are both found in every community or partnership, even among those who sail in the same vessel, and those who fight under the same standard; and in proportion to the closeness of partnership or community the more closely and intimately is the friendship cemented." A fine illustration of the foregoing passage occurs in the noble and spirited address of Henry V. to his soldiers previously to the battle of Agincourt, and in reply to a wish expressed by his cousin Westmoreland for "more men from England." The King exclaims"We few- -we happy few-we band of brothers, For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile This day shall gentle is condition;

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's-day."

The same idea is here distinctly traceable in both writers. If communities inspire friendships, more especially will they do so when a common danger waits upon the members of which it is composed. The poet, therefore, with great propriety represents the king, while encouraging the brave warriors by whom he was surrounded, before the commencement of the desperate and bloody fight, speaking in language at once indicative of the hazardous nature of the enterprise, and of the high estimation in which he will hold those who consent to share it with him "We band of brothers;" as though he would say our success depends upon our mutual assistance, the same stake is risked by all, therefore, "he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother."

Distinctions of rank die in adversity, and we become "brothers," with the poorest hind whose fate is commingled with our own.

As an instance of another similarity, wherein a species of friendship arises from utility, we find it stated by Aristotle (Rhet. II., 4. 7.) that " we are disposed to good-will towards those who hate the same persons we hate, or who are hated by them." In order to illustrate the above aphorism from the writings of the English dramatist, we select the angry exclamation of Hotspur, (K. Hen. IV. Pt. I., Act. 1. Sc. 3), that outburst of passion, after his fiery nature had been aroused by the "subtle King," the "ingrate and pampered Bolingbroke." When in the very whirlwind of his passion, the poet places him precisely in that condition of mind indicated by Aristotle. He says

"All studies here I solemnly defy,

Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke,

And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,
But that I think his father loves him not,

And would be glad he met with some mischance,

I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale!"

Were it not that Hotspur thought the roystering heir to the throne of England a curse to the usurping king his father, "who would be glad he met with some mischance," the irate Percy would have the youth poisoned: as it is, he shall live; and the fierce Hotspur is even content to make common cause with him against one whom he deems henceforth their common enemy.

The good of the person hating or hated by the object of our aversion, seems, as the philosopher says, to coincide with our own; "so that the desire of the one supplies that of the other, which agrees with the definition of friendship." Again : friendship founded on utility, or self-interest, can never be of long continuance, nor can it ever produce mutual reliance and attachment. With such persons the one absorbing motive is the ro xphotuor, to which all others are made subservient. If, therefore, such predominating and secret impulse be made the incitamentum to, and the basis of, the connexion, all feelings of true friendship must for ever remain in abeyance.

In the following passage, taken from the Nichomachean Ethics, (viii. 4.) we are warned of the instability of friendships resulting from sordid motives, which in nearly every instance, if they do not eventually bring disgrace and dishonour upon the individuals, at least in no wise contribute to their happiness or comfort. "Friendships founded on the love of gain are of all the most unstable, for persons governed by this principle are not friends to each other, but to their respective interests." In the play of Timon of Athens we have an example of a luxurious and prodigal man, driven to an inveterate state of misanthropy by the treacherous sycophancy of a rascal rout upon whom he had been accustomed to look with eyes of favour; men who, like insatiate hounds, had lapped his blood, and by tasting it had become more eager for the chase. In them, there was that "lack of kindly warmth" and such a cankered heart, that the sharpest exigences of the victim they help to ruin were but as matter for a passing jest, or toys to play withal :--

"Tim. Go you, sir, (to another servant) to the Senators
(Of whom, even to the State's best health, I have
Deserv'd this hearing) bid 'em send o' the instant
A thousand talents to me.

And so, intending other serious matters,

After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,
With certain half-caps, and cold-moving nod,
They froze me into silence."

The deep and base ingratitude here exhibited, upset the very seat of reason.
Timon, the splendid, the lavish Timon, who in the plenitude of his power says—
"Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends,
And ne'er be weary."

is now by those same friends driven into voluntary exile; not that most noble Timon, that incomparable man, who was wont to dispense his princely bounty to all around him, but a wretched maniac, the victim of foul ingratitudea hater of himself, of Athens, of the world. When without the walls of the treacherous city, he turns to contemplate the scene of his former pomp and splendour; and wrought to a pitch of fury by the bitterness of feeling, in remembering what he once was, and what he now is, he, in the intensity of his hatred, gives utterance to that curse, which in its scope, and in its withering condemnation exceeds aught else that ever issued from the mouth of man.

The fate of Timon, then, in Shakespeare, may be considered as a fair illustration of the axiom of the Stagirite, that "friendships founded on the love of gain are of all the most unstable." Friendship cannot be purchased; such a conception is false and unphilosophical; neither love nor friendship are to be obtained by gold, although when possessed, both may be strengthened by its influence. In persons of inferior rank, for example, well-applied pecuniary assistance tends to inspire towards the individual by whose bounty their temporary distresses have been relieved, feelings of reverence and respect. In those, however, who belong to the higher walks of life, it is very much to be doubted whether a conferred obligation, which circumstances may not enable them to expunge, is not a barrier to real friendship where it did not previously exist, and very likely in the opposite case to beget such an estrangement as if not utterly to obliterate the sentiment, at least to so weaken it, as to render it scarcely worthy of the name. This is confirmed by daily experience. There are few, we imagine, who have not observed to their infinite disgust, that former friends being laid under any real or supposed obligation, depart like swallows at the end of summer. It is remarked with great terseness also by Shakespeare, who says

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be,

For loan oft loses both itself and friend."

In order to preserve, therefore, this virtuous sentiment in its proper purity, and comeliness, it is evident that all desire to make it subservient to our own selfish interest, to use it as a means of personal aggrandisement-to base it, in short, upon the rò xphoμov must be carefully excluded from the mind; such motives must form no part of the incitement to the sentiment or of the foundation upon which it rests.

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It is laid down by Aristotle, as we have already shown, that there is only one form of friendship which is real, only one bond of union which is firm and indissoluble, and it is that which is based solely on virtue and moral excellence. "The friendship of good men alone is imperishable," says the philosopher; and again, "good men love each other on their own account.' As embodying to the full extent the same idea, we quote from Hamlet (Act III. Scene 2.) the generous tribute of affection the Prince of Denmark pays to his friend Horatio. The poet here seems to have possessed a true, yet intuitive conception of the value of the Aristotelian doctrine as it has reference to such a connexion between two persons, whose social rank would, under ordinary circumstances,

prove an insurmountable barrier to a union of thought, or to a similarity of taste and feeling. One is "born to greatness," and is heir to a crown; the other is a soldier of fortune, having no rank but such as honour gives, no hope of reward but what his sword will acquire. Without some unusual bond of union, a friendship between such individuals could not exist in conjunction with motives, either of utility on the one side, or of personal advantage on the other; for in that case, the first would be nothing more than a condescending tyrant, nor the second, than a cringing slave. As there could be no equality in rank or feeling, so there could be no trust reciprocated; suspicion would haunt the one, and doubt the other, until the temporary connexion, worn out by the disappointment, or attainment of the object sought, was as violently disrupted at its termination as it was hastily entered into at its commencement. The poet, therefore, with a soundness of philosophy equal to that of the great philosopher from whose writings we have quoted, represents the friendship of Hamlet and Horatio to be based on feelings and sentiments of the highest order: it is a connexion cemented by virtue, and as such it is pure, lasting, and sincere. Horatio," says the Prince,

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"Thou art e'en as just a man

As e'er my conversation coped withal.

Hor. O, my good lord!-

Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter;

For what advancement may I hope from thee

That no reverence hast but thy good spirits

To clothe and feed thee? Why should the poor be flattered?

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp;

And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee

Where theft may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,

And could of men distinguish, her election

Hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been

As one, in suffering all that suffers nothing,

A man that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and bless'd are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger

To sound what stop she please; give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee."

In Hamlet and Horatio, an instance is afforded of a firm, noble, and uniform friendship, which not only exists throughout life, but shines forth in the very agony of death itself. When the poison is preying upon his vitals, Hamlet bequeathes to his trusty friend the duty of defending an injured reputation from the aspersions of the world :

What a lofty nobleness of soul is here displayed! Like another Orestes and Pylades one would die for the other; but since both may not live Horatio prefers rather to become the fellow traveller of his friend to the dark regions of the unknown world than to exist and lament his loss. Tearing the poisoned cup from his lips, Hamlet thus supplicates:

"If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart

Absent thou from felicity awhile,

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,

To tell my story."

Thus solicited, his selfish recklessness is forgotten, and he is content to live to defend from calumny the name of him he holds most dear. Horatio's benison on the departing soul of Hamlet is one of those beautiful and affecting expressions of exalted feeling which can alone issue from a sensitive and highly poetic mind-from such a mind, indeed, as that of Shakespeare.

"Now cracks a noble heart;-good night, sweet prince;

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"

The preceding quotations from the two writers above named having sufficiently, at least for our present purposes, illustrated the singular coincidences in the deductions of both; it remains only to observe that the same analogy may be traced in all their philosophical speculations of which man is the subject, and sound reason the object; it is a coincidence which, singular as it may appear, can be accounted for on no other ground, than those we have before stated; and while from it we may observe that there are some things which cannot escape the grasp of genius, we derive at the same time the knowledge that the native faculties of the mind of man, as an ordinary being, are capable of such extension and growth, as to become by cultivation almost equal to the highest flights of that natural and divine condition of the soul which belongs to those who are gifted, not as men, but as gods. But other things there are which altogether exceed the capabilities of an ordinary understanding-things indeed which genius produces without much labour, but which labour without genius never could produce. Shakespeare might be Aristotle; but Aristotle never could be Shakespeare.