She looked up at the little opening that admitted light; former captives, anxious to gaze upon the world they had lost, had formed steps to it, and a little seat beside it, in which they could sit and gaze all day; these steps Kate ascended, and placed herself in that seat: she looked out: above and around was the perpendicular cliff; a projecting shelf of rock concealed the aperture from those below, rendering escape utterly hopeless. But then, beyond, she could look down upon Ellerton-her own native home, the ivy tower of the village church, the brook and its rustic bridge, the green, where last summer she had presided as the village queen,below, as on a map, all these were traced; she could follow with her eye-for it was undimmed and tearless still-the paths along which of olden time she and Heringford had roamed, and every spot hallowed by the memories of happy childhood-all—all were there to mock her misery.

An hour had elapsed, when the door of the cavern again opened, and Spenton entered. Kate Westrill was before him, peacefully sleeping on the bed of stone. Spenton paused, for he had not expected this: he had prepared his mind, though truly it required little preparation, to resist tears, anguish, and supplications; but to find her in calm, quiet rest-she, whom the most fearful dangers threatened-she, who was shut out now from every hope of earthly happiness-she, who had that day been borne from the midst of pleasure to this wretched den; that she should sleep, surpassed his comprehension. And well it might; for what could Spenton know of the strength which suffering innocence draws down by prayer? Kate Westrill slept, and the vile heart was awed. Spenton feared to tread, lest he might waken her; he had heard that guardian angels watch over the rest of guileless souls; and surely she was guileless, surely angels guarded her also, as she slept without a fear of danger. A smile, like a gleam of sunshine, passed across the placid face of the sleeper; she was dreaming of Ellerton—a child again in fancy. At no frown could Spenton have trembled, or felt more keenly his own abject nature, than at that smile of his sleeping victim. He was about to retire; he could not look at her longer thus; he would come again, when she was awakened. A soft voice-arrested him,-the sleeper spoke; he could not hear the murmured words, but fancied the name of Heringford, and his lust and his rage returned, as he clambered over the unhewn floor, towards Kate Westrill. The

noise he made awoke her; she looked up, and put her hands before her face, seeking to dispel a dream; then she became conscious that her sleep was ended-that Spenton stood beside her.

"Mistress," exclaimed he, "I am not here to sue. At the priest's cottage thou might'st taunt securely, not so here;"-he looked round with a smile, that in its distortion might have expressed the agonies of a decrepid, tortured Jew. "How sayest thou now to my wooing? Ay, is it-or still nay? No answer but contempt-Come! look thou here." He led her to the pit. "Knowest thou this?" Kate shuddered. "Thou hast found it?Understand, then, mistress, thy choice now lieth not 'twixt Heringford and Spenton;-I will give thee a reading less difficult— Spenton, or death ?-thine answer!"

"Death before Spenton-"

"Death, then, be thine !" cried Spenton furiously, "but Spenton first. Mistress! I leave thee a few hours, and I return; meanwhile," cried he, pointing to the pit, "look there!-there-I leave thee, to look well upon thy grave!"

Thus speaking, and quivering with rage, Spenton hastily quitted the prison.

And Kate Westrill?-Was her blue eye tearless still? Ah, no! Affliction woman's soul can bear, and nobly bear, but insultoh, how it stings into her gentle heart, when man, to whom alone she looks for succour and protection, man, around whom her tender trust is twined, when even man insults and spurns her!-Kate Westrill wept, and heavily on thy head, Spenton, as a thunderbolt from offended Heaven, fell each tear-drop of the hapless orphan. Ay, weep, thou gentle, thou afflicted one! Weep forth each tender fear, each weakness of thy woman's nature, -weep now, thou hapless one, until the fount be dried, for the hour is near, when but a filmy drop upon thine eye shall hurl thee into ruin, one timid thought, nay, one fond hope of love shall bring thee to a fearful, an untimely end!-Weep, weep, afflicted girl, pour forth upon each crystal tear the poison sorrows from thy brain,—already is planted there the germ of that which maketh man a fearful ruin!- Kate Westrill sank upon the bed of stone, and wept convulsively.

(To be continued.)

BURIAL AT SEA.

BY MAJOR CALDER CAMPBELL.

THE shadows of night had covered the deep,
And the sea-maid had sunk to her first sweet sleep,
And dimly the stars their lustre gave,

Like topaz gems from a darksome cave!

They carried the corse of the soldier-lad,
In the garments of death all rudely clad;
No shroud to hide the ghastly face,

Or veil from the eye death's finger-trace!

No coffin contained his ashes cold,

For his hammock was destined his corse to hold;
And they bare him in silence, but not one tear
Was shed to hallow the soldier's bier!

The service was read, and a loud, dull crash,
And a hollow sound midst the billow's dash,
Bade welcome wild from the yawning wave,
As his body sank to its dark, dark grave.

"That plunge, in the silence that reigned around,
As his form was gulfed in the depth profound,
Say, did it not waken a thrill and a start,
That spake the fear-chill at your heart?

And were there no sighs-no tears for him?"
No voice sobbed grief-and no eyes were dim;
Yet far, far at home, perchance there were
Hearts would have burst had they been there.

THE TEARS OF YOUTH AND AGE.

(From the German of Jean Paul Fr. Richter.)

"YOUTH weeps, Age has its tears; but in the one are the dews of the morning, in the other those of evening only." Thus praised a youth the beauteous tear-drop in the eye of childhood. But when the hot day had scattered the dews of morning and their flowers, and the youth grew to an old man, he said: "True it is, the dew of evening lies through a long night, dull and cold; but then its sun comes, and it glittereth again."

DIFFICULT POINTS AND PASSAGES OF
SHAKSPERE'S PLAYS.

No. I.-HAMLET.

THE first point which must strike the attentive reader of Shakspere in this noble tragedy, is the question, "Was, or was not, the Queen a confederate with Claudius in the assassination of the late King Hamlet?" In almost every case in which I have sought a solution of this query, I have met with considerable difficulty in obtaining a decided, well-grounded, and satisfactory opinion, and from this circumstance, have been induced to give the subject a more than ordinary share of study and attention. There are but very few passages in the play which lead to this point, but it is one which involuntarily occurs to the reader, and one of no slight importance with regard to the character of the Queen, as on it depends whether we are to consider her as a murderess and traitoress, or, simply as a weak and credulous woman, duped and sacrificed by the art and cunning of Claudius. My own opinion is, that the Queen was not a confederate with Claudius; and the only passage I have ever found at all opposed to my view on this, is the following:

"The Queen, his mother,

Lives almost by his looks,-and for myself,
(My virtue, or my plague, be it either which)—
She is so conjunctive to my life and soul,

That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,
I could not, but by her."

ACT IV. Scene 7.

But those who bring this solitary passage to support their point, forget that it might be quite as easily referred to a totally different circumstance. Hamlet is undoubtedly the rightful and proper heir to the throne of Denmark, and Claudius reigns only by usurpation. To this very fact, the passage may, (and probably does,) refer: meaning, indeed, that Claudius could not reign, without the favour of Gertrude, any more than a star could move out of his sphere. But there are several points and passages which seem to back up my opinion. Had the Queen been an abettor in the murder of the late King, she would surely have partaken, in some degree, with Claudius in his consternation during the performance of the play before the court: but it is not so: she appears to go through that dreadful ordeal with perfect apathy.

Perhaps the strongest point of all is, the direction given in the dumb show before the play (which, I think we may safely infer, was a counterfeit of the real murder). In this stage direction, we find the following passage: "The poisoner woos the Queen with gifts; she seems loath and unwilling awhile, but in the end, accepts his love." Observe how "the poisoner" wooing the Queen with gifts, corresponds with the story of the Ghost

"With witchcraft of his wit, with trait'rous gifts;"

and this confirms me in the opinion that the dumb show expressed the plot of the real as well as the false tragedy. Admitting this to be the case, and assuming that Gertrude was at first unwilling to accept Claudius, what reason can be assigned for her abetting him in the murder? It could not be a wish to marry him; it could not be a wish to place Hamlet on the throne, because she assists in keeping him from it. Another strong point in favour of my opinion is, that the Ghost says:

"But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act,

Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught."

Now, surely, if she had been in league with Claudius, she would have been so much the more tormented, instead of being spared.

Thus, then, I think it appears clear that however guilty Gertrude may have been in other points, she was innocent of this at least.

Another remarkable point is what Johnson has so harshly censured the behaviour of Hamlet towards Ophelia in the first scene of the third Act; but, with all due deference and respect for the learned lexicographer, I apprehend he entirely mistook the meaning, not only as to Hamlet's feelings towards her, but even as to the words uttered by him to her. It must be considered, that Hamlet is called from a state of comparative lethargy of mind, to one of the greatest activity: from the peace that genders love, to the more bustling and more exacting calls of vengeance: urged, like Macbeth, to deeds dark as Erebus by supernatural agents, he swears most solemnly to

66

'Wipe away all trivial, fond records,

All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past;"

and he foresees how a lingering love for Ophelia will and must impede his steps; nay, more than this, an opportunity at that very