play advanced, and noted well the desire she expressed that Hamlet would follow the ghost. She seemed with him to struggle with Horatio and Marcellus, with him to pursue the venturous fate that might await him who should accompany an unreal being, and at an hour, the most melancholy, dreaded, almost revered by the world, and where he knew not,—yet it was his beloved father's ghost. He did follow, and presently the unearthly being spoke; she leaned forward to catch its every accent-and when Hamlet answers to its doleful complaints, "Alas! poor ghost," she gave instant approval, they were the very words she would have given expression to. All the anxiety that Hamlet expresses, she feels she enters heart and soul into his feelings, and his language throughout was but what hers would have been. "Oh, all you hosts of heaven! O earth! what else? And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up! Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain; I have sworn 't." When he pronounced the words, and they are deeply affecting words, too, "Remember thee," tears would pour from her eyes: and they were tears, unlike those of her neighbors; for they could shed them and wipe them away, and all would be sunshine after the shower, but with her, although the shower would be over, clouds of deeper feeling, more impassioned thought, would hang on the heaven of her soul. Artificial life gives rise to artificial feelings, or subdues the deeper feelings, and leaves the heart, like a hurricane leaves a beautiful country, with but few of the remains of its past sweetness, few left even of the susceptibilities,-which if aught are the the gifts of divinity, they are,—to deep emotions. Perhaps it were better, and those in artificial life may be happier on account of it, for deep feelings, as well as producing much pleasure to those who possess them, likewise give rise to the most exquisite pain. He resolves to "wipe away all trivial, fond records”—because the duty he owes to the "poor ghost," is supreme in his mind. How natural to forget all the pleasures of youth-all that is dear to us, when we are consumed by a single passion, and that the most selfish passion of our nature-revenge. That the generous-hearted, the unsuspecting Hamlet, should only just now have to find out, "That one may smile, and smile, and be a villian," been the case, the more subWe pity it, we is painful is humiliating-but it has always that the nobler the heart, the more infirm it is ject to the blandishments of the wily villain. feel its infirmity, yet it is all the same with our cold, our hearts of hardest steel-our feelings towards the open-hearted, like those toward the poor, are of pity-we can praise their many virtues, but we cannot give them our more useful aid. I observed no very remarkable expression again in her face, although she seemed fully imbued with the force with which the play was developed, until Hamlet relates to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. "I have of late, (but wherefore I know not,) lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, the brave o'erhanging firmament, this majesti cal roof, fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth nothing to me, but a foul and pestilent 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 met; no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling, you seem to say so." Here are deep, painful feelings that ordinary mortals cannot appreciate, then the feelings that give expression to the last sentence are peculiar-Hamlet, in assuming madness, does not altogether assume; he really, his present madness aside, is not perfectly sane; there exists incipient madness, for take him when alone, and you will perceive a wandering of the fancy, and a dimness of the intellectual sight, that is the forerunner of insanity. Here, I think, he indicates this visionary propensity; however, nothing is more natural to a man whose mind is concentrated on a particular object, or person, as is the case now than that he should show a want of tenacity on other subjects and passions. In this last speech, Hamlet discovers the profoundest, the most comprehensive mind, and throughout an astuteness that seldom allows a man to be deceived as he was; however, Hamlet had premonitions-he had his thoughts-and hence his constant unhappiness previous to seeing the ghost of his father. While the lady sat apparently in perfect quiet, I could perceive as Hamlet went through the admirable episode, on Death and Immortality, never to be equalled or surpassed by Addison or any one else; she was impressed with painful thoughts on the deed, sometimes to be resorted to, she then appeared to be elevated above the world, and all feelings of self, at these sublime thoughts, and she would her "quietus make," but this is as far as I can read the human heart in the face. The interview between Hamlet and Ophelia-his madness, and her sorrow and regret; for her,—you may perceive that noble woman to have a ready heart-and she can scarce help repeating after Ophelia : "Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtiers, soldiers, scholars, eye, tongue, sword." and as she closes speaking, with the words: "O, woe is me! To have seen what I have seen, see what I see." She turns her eyes from the stage, and is cast down in quiet and evidently painful thought. She is vexed that the king does not believe Hamlet mad on account of his love for Ophelia ; for she possessed charms enough for any man, whether he be prince, or be he "The glass of fashion and the mould of form." How exquisite is the pure, unselfish friendship which exists in Hamlet's mind, and which he gives words to thus: "Nay, do not think I flatter; For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flattered. No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp. And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? And could of men distinguish her election She seems fully impressed with the nobility of his nature, she had seen something of his qualities—but these words confirmed her in the thought that she could love a Hamlet, or, perhaps she was attracted to the abstract virtues without the person of the man; such I judge to be love-we are won by the excelence of others, though they be Mirabeaus in ugliness-the mind, the soul it is that is beautiful; for how long can a merely beautiful person retain the affections of a heart that he or she has won? It is impossible to retain only so long, as beauty does not grow monotonous; or the moral or intellectual charms of another are kept at a distance. The play which Hamlet ordered is over-Polonius is gonethe players are gone, and, moreover, "Now 'tis the very witching time of night When church-yards yawn, and hell itself breathes out |