At this De Monfort starts away from him several paces, and bursting with vengeful, gloomy hatred, exclaims to himself,

By the good light, he makes a jest of it.

All harmony is now at an end; and things have gone so far that one would imagine the hatred and fury of De Monfort could not admit of further augmentation. One thing only could inflame him more, and that is brought to bear upon him. A suspicion of Rezenvelt's being beloved by and engaged to marry his sister is suggestedcircumstances accidentally occur to strengthen it, and in his frenzy he draws his sword and attempts to kill Rezen velt, but is disarmed by him. Then hearing that Rezenvelt is going on a visit to a neighbouring mansion, he waylays and murders him. He is soon taken and brought to a neighbouring convent, where, being locked up in a chamber with the mangled body of the deceased, he in despair dashes his head against the wall, and soon after dies, the victim of his own ungovernable passion.

From this admirable tragedy may be deduced the following moral truths.

First, that if the vitious passions be not curbed in infancy and "crushed in the shell," they will rule us in manhood with despotic power, blast all happiness for life, and end in calamity, perhaps in an ignominious death.

Secondly, that, be the number or magnitude of a man's virtues what they may, they constitute no security against any one vice if it happens to be a ruling passion.

And lastly, that it is very dangerous and extremely unamiable to indulge in the affectation of wit and humour at the expense of another's feelings.

If gibing be not a certain indication of a bad heart, it has all the bad effects of cold-blooded malignity. Exclusive of the many tragical catastrophes to which it has led, it impairs charity-the social comforts wither at its approach, and the hatred it never fails to excite is not the less cordial and inveterate for being concealed; at the same time there is something in itself so mean and so degrading to him who practises it, that a man of pride, however he may suffer, scorns to acknowledge the power of such a person or such a thing to hurt his feelings. "I have been young, and now am old," yet never saw I a man of that description who ever had a single friend, or was without a host of enemies.

DRAMATICUS.-No. IV.

[Continued from p. 306, Vol. II.]

An unreasonable chasm has been interposed between my former communication and the present one, by business and a most culpable spirit of procrastination. I regret the circumstance, and offer the reader all due apology.

I proceed to submit a few remarks on the pretended madness of Hamlet, which the critics admit to have been assumed to no purpose. They add, that the objects of the poet could not only have been as completely attained without this contrivance*-but that its obvious tendency was to embarrass Hamlet in the prosecution of his designs.

These are undoubtedly strong objections. And their cogency is very considerably enhanced by the reflection, that they are absolutely extorted from those who, in the true spirit of commentatorism (will the reader pardon the coinage of a new word?) appear to have regarded it as an imperious duty to extenuate every defect, and to magnify and elevate every beauty of the object of their labours. For it requires but a superficial acquaintance with the productions of editorial critics in general, to be satisfied that this is the course they almost invariably pursue. It is not difficult to account satisfactorily for this procedure. They are sometimes heated by an overweening zeal-and at others, blinded by prejudice. And it not unfrequently happens that they are influenced by much less pardonable motives-by those of a sinister and disingenuous description. By blazoning forth the transcendent merits of the author, to the elucidation of whose works they devote their time and attention, they hope to increase their own fame, as well as those profits, the hopes whereof impel them to the undertaking. Instances have occurred, and not very rarely, wherein all the three motives have conspired together to warp the judgment, and to produce an incorrect verdict.

The objections to the madness of Hamlet, which I have quoted, would have applied with perfect justice, and been absolutely unanswerable, even had he preserved an uniform tenor of conduct—

"Of the feigned madness of Hamlet, there appears no adequate cause; "for he does nothing which he might not have done with the reputation of "sanity. He plays the madman most, when he treats Ophelia with so much "rudeness, which seems to be useless and wanton cruelty." JOHNSON.

had he not most inconsistently and unaccountably given reason to doubt the reality of his insanity. But they derive vast additional force from the reflection, that in most parts of his conduct he absolutely laid aside the mask he had assumed.

During the continuance of his pretended madness, his intercourse is principally confined to his friends Horatio and Marcellus the queen-the players-Rosencrantz and Guildenstern-and to Polonius and Ophelia. Let us consider how he conducted himself towards these different personages individually.

To Horatio and Marcellus he has given reason to suspect his intention of simulating madness. As they of course were in his secret, it was not necessary to make any attempt to deceive them. His conversation with them is therefore lucid and perfectly rational, except in one instance, after the dismissal of the mock players

Ham. Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me), with two Provencial roses on my rayed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?

Hor. Half a share.

Ham. A whole one, I.

For thou dost know, O Damon dear,

This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here

A very, very-peacock.

Hor. You might have rhym'd.

Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand poundDidst perceive?

Hor. Very well, my lord.

Ham Upon the talk of the poisoning?

Hor I did very well note him.

Ham. Ah, ah!-Come, some music; come, the recorders-

For if the king like not the comedy,

Why then, belike, he likes it not, perdy.

In the rant here quoted, there is as much appearance of insanity .or of a most preposterous and misplaced levity, as is to be found in any part of the tragedy. That this rhapsody does not comport with the actual situation of Hamlet, is self-evident. All his suspicions and doubts of the murder of his father, and the guilt of his uncle, were just converted into certainty. His convictions were strong and immovable. He was in company with the only confidential friend he appears to have had; to whom he might naturally enough

be expected to unbosom himself, and whom it would be proper to consult on the steps requisite to be pursued in such an awful crisis of his fate. But instead of adopting this dignified course, he concludes his discourse with the sagacious observation

For if the king likes not the comedy,

Why then, belike, he likes it not, perdy.

The king believed Hamlet to be really mad: and he very wisely sent for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to endeavour to discover from him the cause of his madness! It required no small portion of insanity to suppose that a man actually in that state could know his situation, or, if he did, that he would discover the cause of his misfortune. A leading feature of madness is a confidence of our own superior abilities, and a belief of the imbecility of others. However, dismissing this consideration, let us examine the conduct of Hamlet in his interview with these courtiers.

He had previously taken very considerable pains to impress the world with a persuasion of his madness, but appears to have abandoned his scheme, precisely at a time when, and in company of those persons with whom, it was highly essential to continue to support the character he had assumed. In some parts of his discourse with the courtiers, there is, it is true, a slight tincture of absence or flightiness; but nothing that could in any degree deserve to be styled madness:

Ham. What news?

Ros. None, my lord; but that the world's grown honest.

Ham. Then is doomsday near; but your news is not true. Let me question more in particular: what have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?

Guil. Prison, my lord!

Ham. Denmark's a prison.

Ros. Then is the world one.

Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one of the worst.

Ros. We think not so, my lord.

Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so; to me it is a prison.

Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one; 'tis too narrow for your mind. Ham. O God! I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.

Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow.

Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies; and our monarchs, and outstretch'd heroes, the beggars' shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot

reason.

This is very far remote from madness, and merely denotes a perturbed mind. In another part of his conversation with these courtiers, Hamlet launches out into the most profound and sublime reflections.

Ham. 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, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is 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,-nor woman neither; though, by your smiling, you seem to say so.

If Hamlet takes no pains to appear deranged, Rosencrantz and his associate equally lose sight of their object. They make no effort to ascertain what is the cause of the distraction, or melancholy of the prince. They were therefore summoned to the scene of action to very little purpose.

In his interview with the players, Hamlet likewise makes not the slightest pretence to derangement. Every sentence he addresses to them is perfectly lucid and correct; and displays a consummate knowledge of the subject on which he treats. He descants on the duties of their profession as elaborately, and inculcates on them as sound instruction, as if he had taken out his degrees in a theatrical university.

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounce it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lieve the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious perriwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inex