tunate lover and sorrow for a father, slain by that lover, completely overthrew the delicate balance of Ophelia's mind. The huge oak is scorched by the burning of the forest leaves, but the tender sapling is blasted. Living but to love, her soul overflowing with tenderness, when troubles come and hope forsakes her, reason takes her leave.

"Nature is fine in love; and, where 'tis fine

It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves."

This contains a beautiful sentiment which even gruff Sam
Johnson deigned to notice and put in characteristic verse.

Notwithstanding Hamlet had promised that his revenge should be swift and sure, he continued to put off from time to time the fulfillment of his promise. In the meantime he must act a part, so as to disguise his real feelings. He casts about in search of some wild irregular speech. But, indeed, it is not necessary to depart from himself. He finds in his own mind a boundless luxuriance of thought, wild flowers that spring up spontaneously in the fertile soil and bud and blossom with the richness of exotics. The bizarre crudities of feigned madness are mingled with gleams of reason that at times seem more than human. Listen to him:

"This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave overhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilential congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me.”

Such are his words. At first glance they seem the words of a madman, but there is a powerful coherency running through the whole. Though this be madness, there is method in it; and we can easily see what prompted Polonius to speak of "a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of." The fact is, his mind was made for eloquence and philosophy, and lacked that fierce energy necessary to an avenger of murder. He dreams,

soliloquizes, and, though impaired in mind, seeks to reason. He must have other proof than that afforded by his father's ghost.

The spirit that I have seen,

May be a devil; and the devil hath power

To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps,
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,

(As he is very potent with such spirits,)
Abuses me to damn me."

The arrival of the players is opportune. He will have something like the murder of his father played before the King. Meanwhile he will watch his countenance and act accordingly. He grows merry over the prospect. His facetiousness respects not the majesty of the King. He makes a jest of Polonius and would like to ruffle his venerable wig.

Some time after the King had been unmasked, Hamlet came upon his uncle while praying. His first thought was to run him through, but on deliberation he puts up his sword for fear, if he killed him then, he would send his soul to heaven! It is difficult to understand this change in IIamlet's character. He that before had found it impossible to kill one who he was all but convinced was his father's murderer, now not only resolves to do it, but deliberately sets about the accomplishment of his revengeful purpose in a spirit the most revolting and at a time when his victim would have no chance of forgiveness. He will take him,

"When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage;
Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed;
At gaming, swearing; or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in't."

He has on a sudden become a monster. This change which the character of Hamlet is made to undergo, agrees with what I have before said, that Shakspere often found it convenient to change the conceptions of his different characters. After this we shall see Hamlet killing Polonius and causing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to be beheaded, seemingly without the least compunctious visitings." We need not speak further of Ham let's revenge, which was delayed even after this, of the argu

ments which he made use of to prick him on, nor of the reappearance of the ghost to "whet his almost blunted purpose."

In closing we wish to say a few words in reference to Hamlet's erroneous system of philosophy. It is evident that he saw the world through a colored glass. Every thing assumed, at his approach, the dark and forbidding hues of his own somber imagination. The effect resembles that produced by a combination of lenses. Things are not seen in their true and natural relations. Only the things, especially brought forward to be examined, are seen, and these greatly magnified. We listen with great interest to his remarks in the churchyard. The effect of this grouping together and this powerful expression of all the satiric and scoffing arguments leveled at the fame and glory of this world is wonderful. But is it to be inferred from all this that life is not worth the living? When it reduces to this, we feel that there is a fault somewhere and that this is not a true account of human life. Surely the necessity of dying is no reason why we should not strive to live well. The possibility that our skulls may at some future time be knocked about by a sexton's spade is no reason why we should not strive to improve the mind and soul which we are taught to believe have but an incidental connection with these bodies of ours. When it is said that IIamlet is Shakspere painting Shakspere, we must not take that assertion too literally. Hamlet was a dreamer, Shakspere a man of action. Further, Hamlet's madness is his own. It is the method chosen by our author and the excuse, which seemed in some sort necessary, for giving expression to those thoughts on death and the grave, on human vanity and human infirmity, which purpose he has accomplished in a manner more striking, we may say without exaggeration, than any one either before or since. Now when it is said that Hamlet is Shakspere, we must understand that assertion to apply, not to Shakspere as he appeared to the external word, but to Shakspere in the expression of the inmost thoughts of his soul, the ideal, the spiritual Shakspere and, moreover, Shakspere the disappointed lover and avenger of murder. But even with this explanation the assertion is not true. Hamlet's

sentiments may be emanations from Shakspere's mind, but these emanations are made up entirely of reflections from one side only of a prism that had a thousand reflecting surfaces, they are rays constituting a single strongly colored beam which refused to lose its individuality on entering, or was accidentally reflected from, that mistic prism which usually gave out, however variously colored the rays which might have entered, the pure light of heaven.

SCENE-For the whole play laid in the witches' laboratory.

PROLOGUE.

We look abroad for all things dark and hidden,

For sprites mysterious and men hag-ridden;

We never think, when we begin to limp,

Of charging it to devil or or imp,

Or oft as marks and grades prove sore vexations,
Of charging them to magic incantations.

Even our eyes see not things very near;

So we our greatest dangers never fear.
But in the narrow circle of yonder walls

Strange things do nightly hap in the mouldy halls;
And since we have the "cheek" to be so bold,
We will proceed and to thee a tale unfold,
Whose lightest word will make you chill and cold,
And freeze the blood corpuscles in your soul;
E'en cause your kinky hair to stand on end,
Your eyes to pop out: so listen and perpend.

ACT I.

THE PROF.

At this the very witching time of night
Am I alone; now let me strike a light,

From this nook I'll take the lamp with damned liquor
Filled this, when God for angels holy ichor

Made, he caused to flow through the veins and arteries.
Of devils and th' infernal coteries

Of all the kindred tribe of unclean spirits,

Each of whom the semblance tenfold vile inherits
Of this vile blood. Hecate gave it me
For secret service done her Majesty.
Its slightest flame will solid steel devour;
Platinum even, quickly yields to its power.
Nothing have I found to bear it, save alone
This uncouth cupel, made of witches' bone.
To certain mixtures it does power impart,
Revealing future fate to hellish art.

(At this point the Prof. takes from an inner pocket several little plates of brass on which he has etched with nitric acid the initials of the several members of his class, which he drops one by one into the mixture, saying) :

Cupel boil and bubble,

Get over double trouble,

You son of a

Mix him up and mix him down,

Float him quickly all around,

Hit him, spat him, mark his crown;
He will have to win a place,

Foully jostled in the race:

Spirits, give the coup de grace..

Chorus of Witches-(repeating):

Cupel boil and bubble

Get over double trouble, &c.