gan to sing, to keep his spirits up, and induce a feeling of composure and indifference, during the commission of his horrid crime; just as a soldier drinks brandy and gunpowder, upon the eve of his engagement in battle. And he conjures up, from the purgatory of deceased and forgotten ballads, this verse, the last remnant of a precious combination of sentiment and simplicity: "Then out spoke Will, that cunning wighte, We do not need to see; For if lovers can say all they would i'th' darke, And soe put out the lighte. Put out, &c. Put out, &c. Come let's put out the lighte." It must be confessed, that all these readings are enforced by such cogent argument, that it is difficult to choose between them; for any one of them, separately considered, appears incontrovertible. But after a thorough investigation of the subject, I am convinced that none of them have half so good a claim to confidence, as a reading of my own, which I shall presently propound. First, it is my duty, as a faithful reviewer, to enumerate some inferior readings, which, although not commanding much respect, are entitled to a recapitulation. "Put out, &c.—and then pull out my wife.” "Put out--and then to my delight." "Put out this light, and then put out that light." This is the reading of Mr. Claudius Lucerne, an eminent literary tallow chandler, who thinks Othello must have had sixto-the-pound in each hand. "Put out the light, and then pull down the wall." This, as one might readily suppose, is the proposed version of a matter-of-fact man, like Cobbett. He points, with all the air of triumph of a discoverer of the truth, to Cynthio's novels, whence the plot of the play is taken; and where the story runs, that the Moor killed his spouse, by pulling down upon her bed, a decayed part of the wall, hoping, the craven! that the coroner's jury would bring in a verdict of "Death by the prolapsion of lath and plaster." "Butter my eyes, but I'll put out the light." Jam satis. Since there are so many plausible versions, I am verecund of the pronunciation of a positive judgment in the matter. But, as no man should hide the light of his reason under a bushel, but bring it, even if a farthing candle, to the illumination, I will break through the thick array of my modesty, and unfold the only true, genuine and original reading, such as Shakspeare wrote it, and such as Etymos Logos revealed it to me. "Put out the light, and then-put! into bed." I approve this arrangement, firstly, because it is most consonant with nature. This is sometimes a good rule to go by, in the settlement of obscure and disputed passages, when the resolution so made is palpable. [I followed it lately, in one instance, myself, in translating Esculapius, for the college in Barclay street.] And what can be more natural and reasonable, in a man worn out with the toils of the day, than to go to his bed chamber, put out his candle, and repose himself in the arms of nature's sweet restorer? I never can admit that Shakspeare intended to make the Moor guilty of so bloodthirsty a design, as the vulgate imputes to him; because it would have been unnatural, and at war with the all-prevailing and irresistible organ of go-to-bediviness. Secondly. In answer to the objection that this reading is inconsistent with the spirit of the play, and the preconceived intentions of Othello, it is sufficient to remark, that such cavils are opposed to the spirit of free inquiry, and that it is the beauty of this particular line, and not the probability or consistency of the whole plot, that we are considering; and that this rule has been the constant rudder of judgment of all commentators, from the time whereof the memory of man runneth not to the contrary. Thirdly and lastly. By a very simple course of explanation, it may be shown that the corrupted reading in common acceptation, is but a finical version of what Shakspeare wrote. The alteration of the original text was made by the players for the sake of euphony, and the swell of figurative language; and it consists in nothing more than the substitution of " out the light" for " into bed." The difficulty is then removed, the problem is resolved. "Into bed" means nothing more or less than "out," or "out of the light;" for what is is plainer than that when a man gets into bed, and covers his head over, he is in the dark? Or "out the light" may be used by a sort of figure of anticipation, for "into bed," since it was a well known custom among the people in Cyprusa custom from which William the Conqueror took his idea of the curfew regulation-to extinguish their candles before the submitting themselves to Morphean influences. Again; the prepositions "out" and "into" were promiscuously used for each other, by all the respectable writers of the Elizabethean age. Thus, Cyprian, the younger, in describing the martyrdom and sufferings of St. Trollopea, with beautiful pathos utters those now almost household words, "out of the fryingpan into the fire." And an acquaintance with etymology will discover that they are frequently interchanged, to avoid tautoVOL. II.-14 logy. The word "bed" may perhaps be called "the light," from the lightness of the feathers of which it is composed. The only difficulty, then remaining undisposed of, is that which arises from the construction of the word "put.' This I take to be simply, a particle, which here signifies ease, self-complacency, good nature, rub-your-hands-togetheriveness, as Gall and Spurzheim call it, affability and amativeness; and I account it to be a word of exceeding pith, point and expression, exclusive and authentic, and most happily introduced on this occasion. "Is this fancy, or is it fact?" Is it not clear as light itself? "How far a little candle sheds its light! So shine true readings through a misty world." What, then, remains for me, but to call for your special plaudits, and remove the light of my countenance? Nothing, but a few peroratorical comments by way of reflection on the subject. 66 Quid novi ?"—"What's the news?"-Demosthenes lectured his acres-spread congregation, once for asking this question, when Philip of Macedon was on their boundary line, without opposition, and his countrymen were without means of defence. Η βέλεσθε,” said he, “ εἰπέ μοι, περιϊόντες αὐτων πυνθάνεσθαι κατὰ τὴν ἀγορὰν, λεγεταί τι καινόν ?” 66 Is there no Demosthenes in Columbia? Are the orators voiceless?—or corrupt all? Heartless! Is it possible that we can content ourselves by running about and asking "what is the news?" are we readers only, and not doers? Do we lie in bed and comfortably read, in print, how splendidly our brother fell, cut with a Floridian tomahawk? Do we prefer "to read" the account of the atrocities perpetrated by her Majesty's Most particular Lieutenant Governor of ALL the Canadas on the suffering chickens of Bill Jones' farm? Do we choose to sleep and dream, upon the authority of the printer-devil-children of Dr. Faustus, of the invasion of the Spaniard and the Camanche at the South-west-of the stealthy insinuation of the Russ at Columbia River,—or the skulking policy of " negotiation" of our own selves with regard to the boundary line of Maine! "Yes. Yes. Yes." "Who the devil are you! Jack, my dear boy, I'm glad to see you. You came in quiet, then, and looked over my shoulder-ha?" "Those are my precise sentiments." "The" "I say that we, the people of the United States of America, are a set of cowards and sneaks." "Moderate, Jack, moderate." "I insist that there is not a spark of soul or pluck left in the republic. People have got quicksilver running through their veins instead of blood. I swear "Don't swear, Jack. What do you lay it to ?" 66 I lay the whole at the door of the newspa Why so, my dear fellow, why so?" "Now," said Jack, "I shall, like enough, make some rough and harsh remarks, which, knowing as I do your attachment to the Press-and the Press-gang is a big power, |