To his confine; and of the truth herein

This present object made probation."

All this is perfectly correct: the Ghost vanishes on the crowing of the cock, because the crowing of that animal, like the “ 'glow-worm," showed the matin to be near."

"It faded on the crowing of the cock.

Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time." †

Such is, undoubtedly, the popular superstition; but, in point of reasoning, nothing can be more manifestly erroneous. Apparitions were not alarmed at the cock himself: they fled from his voice, because it indicated the approach of day, and not on account of any virtue inherent in the sound of his shrill-clarion: the holiness of the season sanctified Christmas, and bound spirits in their "confine," not the crowing of the cock! But that sound once acknowledged to be indicative of the flight of all spirits, the obtuseness of vulgar perceptions confounded the sign with the cause, and whenever spirits were supt Ibid.

*Act I. sc. 1.

posed to be absent, it was hastily concluded that the cock must crow.

The skill displayed in Shakspeare's management of his Ghost, as Steevens observed with extreme acuteness of thought and neatness of expression, is too considerable to be overlooked. He has rivetted our attention to it by a succession of forcible circumstances:-by the previous report of the terrified centinels, by the solemnity of the hour at which the phantom walks, -by its martial stride and discriminating armour, visible only per incertam lunam, by the glimpses of the moon, by its long taciturnity, -by its preparation to speak, when interrupted by the morning cock, by its mysterious reserve thoughout its first scene with Hamlet, by his resolute departure with it, and the subsequent anxiety of his attendants,-by its conducting him to a solitary angle of the platform, -by its voice from beneath the earth,— and by its unexpected burst on us in the closet.

Hamlet's interview with the spectre, in the fifth scene of the first act, must in particular be regarded as a stroke of dramatic artifice. The phantom might have told his story in the presence of the officers and Horatio, and yet have rendered itself as inaudible to them as afterterwards to the queen. But suspense was our

4

poet's object; and never was it more effectually created, than in the present instance. Six times the royal semblance appeared, but till then was withheld from speaking. For this event we waited with impatient curiosity, unaccompanied by lassitude or remitted attention.

35

THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

1601.

THE plot of the Merry Wives of Windsor is founded on a story in Il Pecorone di Ser Giovanni, Fiorentino, which doubtless reached Shakspeare through the medium of an old translation; the same, in all probability, that was afterwards printed in a collection of novels bearing the whimsical title of "The Fortunate, the Deceived, and the Unfortunate Lovers."

A student at Bologna applies to the guide of his literary pursuits for instruction in the science of love. He fixes his affections on a beautiful woman; and, having been initiated by the pedagogue into the forms of courtship, he reports to him from time to time the progress of his suit. These disclosures at length awaken a suspicion in the master that no other person

than his own wife is the subject of seduction, and he resolves to ascertain the fact by watching the young man to his house. He follows him accordingly; but is foiled in his expectation of detecting the frailty of his spouse, a heap of wet linen effectually concealing the gallant from observation.

Perfectly unconscious that he was engaged in an intrigue with his master's wife, the young man relates to him the next morning the alarm, disappointment, and escape he had experienced; and, above all, the consolation he was to receive, that very night, in a new interview. As before, the master watches the approach of the youth, who is scarcely allowed time to enter the lady's house when a violent knocking proclaims the arrival of her husband: she admits him, and, at the same time, conceals her favourite by throwing the door completely back. As the husband rushes in, the gallant slips out; and the wife knowing all to be now safe, catches her husband in her arms, shrieks aloud, affects to believe him mad, and calls in the neighbours to witness his outrageous conduct: he cuts and stabs the linen with his sword, and talks wildly of a man concealed in his house.

Search proves the

falsity of his charge, and in the end he gets laughed at for his humour.