of one who had actually seen and conversed with a denizen "of that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns." Many insufficient solutions of this apparent contradiction have been proposed. Perhaps the most plausible is that which ascribes it to the uncertainty still existing in Hamlet's mind, whether the thing which he has seen is really his father's spirit, or only a diabolical illusion. But this explanation, though good as far as it goes, does not go far enough. I will not say, that an apparition might not confirm the faith of an hereafter where it preexisted, but where that faith was not, or was neutralised by an inward misery, implicated with the very sense of being, its effect would be but momentary or occasional- —a source of perplexity, not of conviction -throwing doubt at once on the conclusions of the understanding and the testimony of the senses, and fading itself into the twilight of uncertainty, making existence the mere shadow of a shade. Hamlet, in his first soliloquy, speaks like a Christian-an unhappy and mistrusting Christian indeed, but still a Christian who reveres the Almighty's "canon 'gainst self-slaughter." But now, when his belief has received that confirmation which might seem irrefragable, he talks like a speculative heathen, whose thoughts, floating without chart or compass on the ocean of eternity, present the fearful possibility of something after death, but under no distinct conception either of hope or of fear. The apparition has unsettled his original grounds of certainty, and established no new Are there no analogous cases within the limit of

ones.

our own experience? Have not some half intuitions of metaphysical truths operated on certain minds, like the Ghost upon Hamlet's, to destroy the intelligible foundations of common-sense, and give nothing in their stead? to impair the efficiency of ordinary motives, yet supply none adequate either to overcome indolence or counteract impulse?

That the active powers of Hamlet are paralysed, he is himself abundantly conscious. Every appearance of energy in others—the histrionic passion of the player the empty ambition of Fortinbras-the bravery of grief in Laertes, excite his emulation and his self-reproaches. Yet day after day-hour after hour, the execution of his vow is in his hand-no fear-no scruple seems to detain him; and yet, after the play has caught the conscience of the King, and every doubt of the Ghost's veracity is removed, the said Ghost upbraids his almost blunted purpose. The power of acting revisits him only at gusty intervals; and then his deeds are like startlings out of slumber, thrustings on of his destiny. In one of these fits he stabs Polonius; in another, he breaks open the commission of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and without considering how far they might, or might not be, privy to his uncle's treachery, sends them by a forged instrument to the block. At last, when the envenomed rapier has wound up his own tragedy, he feels new strength in his mortal moment, and, in an instant, performs the work, and dies!

A CRITIQUE* ON RETZSCH'S ILLUSTRATIONS OF HAMLET.

NORTH.

Come, James, keep a good tongue in your head. See, here are Retzsch's Illustrations of Hamlet.

SHEPHERD.

Stop till I dicht the table wi' the rubber. Noo unfauld, and let's hear till another lectur. Play awa' the first fiddle. You like to shine, even afore the Shepherd alane—and oh ! but auld age is garrulous, garrulous, and loes dearly the soun' o' his ain tremblin' vice!

NORTH.

Here is the apotheosis of Shakspeare.

SHEPHERD.

I hate apotheoses's, for they're no in natur, or hardly sae -but is there a pictur' o' the murder?

NORTH.

Here it is. The adulterous brother is pouring the "leperous distilment" into the ear of the sleeping monarch. What a model of a coward assassin! He seems as if he trod on a viper. He must needs have recourse to poison, for he dare not touch a dagger. Every nerve in his body is on the rack of fear, and yet no quiver of remorse can reach his dastard soul. The passage from sleep to death-how finely marked on the features of his victim! Life has departed without taking leave, and death has not yet stamped him with its loathsome impress. But the deed is done, and the "extravagant and erring spirit," with all its imperfections on its

* Extracted from the Noctes Ambrosianæ, No. XXXIX. It is a melancholy pleasure to the editor of these volumes to compare the language of Christopher North, respecting his brother, in 1828 and in 1850. At the latter date, he says, "I have only this day (Nov. 8) discovered, beyond the possibility of doubt, that the passage quoted in your letter is the product of dear Hartley's fine mind.-Dear Hartley! Yes, ever dear to me."

head, is already in Purgatory. What a placid beauty in the reclining attitude of the corpse ! A graceful ease, which finely contrasts with the crouching curve of the villain. It is a posture which a lady on a sofa might study with advantage—yet manly, royal-in sleep-in death, he is "every inch a king."

SHEPHERD.

And the artist o' that is a German? I can hardly credit it.

NORTH.

The antique garniture of the Arbour-the Gothic fret-work -the grotesque imagery—the grim figure of Justice with her sword and scale-all seem to sympathise with the horrid act--and bear a charmed life, a reflection of sad mortality.

SHEPHERD.

Oh! sir! but Claudius is an ugly heathen.

NORTH.

Is he not, James-not indeed too bad a villain-but too low a scoundrel? He could not be the brother of a king-he could seduce no woman who was not degraded below all degradation and the mother of Hamlet is still a queen. He is downright physically disgusting. Retzsch has embodied the grossest issues of Hamlet's hatred. He has combined in a human form the various deformities of a satyr, a drunkard, a paddock, a bat, a gib, a slave—and, altogether, has produced a true semblance of one of those hoary miscreants who are brought up to Bow Street or Marlborough Office for assaults upon female infants. His vile low forehead, whalley eyes, pendulous cheeks, and filthy he-goatish beard - foh - the nobles of Denmark would never have compounded felony with such "a cutpurse of the empire."

SHEPHERD.

But you'll find, sir, that Shakspeare's Claudius is really such a monster.

No matter what Hamlet says. Hamlet utters his own

sentiments, not Shakspeare's-and hatred is twenty fold blinder than love. Now, I really think, that sensualist, adulterer, fratricide, and usurper as he is, Claudius has royal blood in his veins, and, for an usurper, plays the King's part rarely. Even the Ghost ascribes to him "witchcraft of wit;" and accordingly he is a fine talker, a florid rhetorical speaker, not unfurnished with common-places of morality, and thoroughly capable of sustaining his assumed dignity. His reproof of Hamlet's perseverent woe would have done credit to a better man.

To persever

In obstinate condolement, is a course

Of impious stubbornness: 'tis unmanly grief:
It shews a will most incorrect to Heaven;

A heart unfortified, or mind impatient:
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie, 'tis a fault to Heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd, whose common theme
Is-Death of Fathers!"

SHEPHERD.

That's orthodox divinity, sure aneuch!

NORTH.

Nay, when his conscience will let him, he lacks not courage. When assailed by Laertes - he behaves like a prince and speaks like a Tory.

"Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person.
There's such Divinity doth hedge a king,

That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will."

SHEPHERD.

He may speak like a Tory-but he acts like a Whig.

NORTH.

Forget party for a night, James. Shakspeare, in short, was aware, and here Retzsch seems to have forgotten, that great moral guilt may coexist with much personal or official dignity, and even with acute intellectual perceptions of right and wrong.