word he utters will be reported to the king and queen, says, "Sir, I lack advancement." On their reminding him that he will succeed, he replies, " Ay, sir, but while the grass grows the proverb is somewhat musty;" all this time alluding to the usurpation of Claudius.

In Activ. Scene 5, we have another difficult passage to explain. No sooner has the fire of Laertes's rage begun to cool, than he encounters a fresh grief-Ophelia, his sister, whom he had left so happy, is now before his eyes, an unseemly wreck of what she was. His exclamation of sorrow past, one of amazement follows immediately, which requires a little explanation to make it quite clear. It runs thus:

"O heavens! is't possible, a young maid's wits

Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
Nature is fine in love: and where 'tis fine,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves."

This I take to be the sense: "Oh, heavens! how little was I prepared for this blow. My father I left an old man, and therefore was but little surprised to hear of his death, even though that was untimely but is it possible that Ophelia's wits should last no longer than my father's life? Even so- Nature is fine in love.' Love

is the finest part, the most delicate wheel of the machinery of nature, and cannot be injured without detriment to the other parts: this being broken, her wits followed, for where nature is fine, it sends some precious instance of itself after the thing it loves.'' Another difficult passage presents itself in Activ. Scene 7:—

"KING. Laertes, was your father dear to you?

Or are you like the painting of a sorrow

A face, without a heart?

"LAERTES.

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Why ask you this?

KING. Not that I think you did not love your father.

Love is begun betime; but that I know,

And that I see, in passages of proof,

Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.

There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it;
And nothing is at a like goodness still;
For goodness, growing to a pleurisy,
Dies of his own too much."

This passage has been considered difficult, but I think the sense of it will not give us much trouble to unravel. Laertes," says the king, "was your father dear to you?" The use of the past tense

here is connected not with the existence of Laertes's love, but of his father" Laertes, was your father dear to you?" "Why ask you this?" exclaims Laertes. "Not that I doubt whether you ever loved your father," answers the king, "because, in the natural course of things, a child, having arrived at a certain age, by instinct loves his father: but that I know, and daily experience confirms my assertion, that the same love which begins by time, will abate and decrease by time." He then proceeds to illustrate this by a metaphor-"As that which produces the flame of a candle, namely the wick, contributes also after a certain time to obstruct the light, so that which produced love after a certain time causes it to decrease." The latter part of the sentence needs no explanation.

The last passage in this play to which I shall allude is in the very last scene. Hamlet has, it appears, a presage of ill when he is invited to fence with Laertes; and mentions this to his friend, Horatio, who counsels him thus :

"HORATIO. If your mind dislike anything, obey it: I will forestal their repair hither, and say, you are not fit.

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HAMLET. Not a whit, we defy augury; there is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all. Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows, what is't to leave betimes? Let be." The only difficult part of this speech is the last sentence. This Sir Thomas Hanmer (the Oxford editor) endeavoured to obviate, by substituting "owes" for "knows;" which Dr. Johnson approves but I think it may be well understood even as it stands. Observe the reasoning-Nothing falls to the ground without Divine interposition; and death must one day come to every man. How absurd then for man, who is born to die, to fear that which he ought rather to fit himself for: "The readiness is all." Why then fear to die at once? Since we are so ignorant of all things around us, what is it to leave them betimes? We are but instruments in the hand of Heaven. When our work is done, why need we hesitate to die now, knowing that sooner or later, we must yield to the law of nature,

"Who still hath cried,

From the first corse, till he that died to day,
'This must be so.""

This appears to me the meaning of this noble speech; so like all those philosophical reasonings on things sublime and mysterious, in which Hamlet so frequently indulges; and it is the last that Hamlet utters before his untimely end.

Dr. Johnson has complained that Hamlet, throughout the whole piece, is rather an instrument than an agent. Is not this a beauty rather than a defect? Would it have been natural to the character of Hamlet, if Shakspere had made him act like Lady Macbeth, whose first hint of the seizure of the throne is followed by a resolution and determination which throws down at once all obstacles, and even provides for all emergencies? I think not. But this shall be further alluded to, when I treat of the characters in comparison of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, which will form the subject of my next paper. C. H. H.

LINES.

YOUTH found me full of buoyant hope,
And floating gay on Fancy's stream;
With dangers I would lightly cope,
Where glory shed its lustrous beam.
Fame glittered high before mine eyes,
And not too distant to be found;

I panted for the glorious prize,

And proudly spurned the humble ground.
But full-blown hope beneath me burst,

And let me down in Failure's wave;

I sank, alas! but not the first

Whose joy has found an equal grave.
Then blasting disappointment came,
Palsied my limbs and froze my nerves;
I left on high that glittering fame

He reaches seldom who deserves.

My once bright hope-a withered flower-
Drooped sadly on its stalk and died;
And bleak despair usurped the hour,

Which should have glowed with glory's pride.

And manhood found me sombre-dark

Fitful and moody-loathing day;

For hope had left no hidden spark

To cheer me with the feeblest ray.
Can age then soften down the lines
Drawn harshly by the hand of Care?
And when the soul in anguish pines,
Can years remove its black despair?

VOL. II.-NO. V.

HH

NEMO.

THE UNLOVED PHILOSOPHY.

OH! teach not that Spring's early flowers
Are creatures of a day,

Which, ere the first of Autumn hours,
Shall fleet and fade away;-

I love not thy philosophy.

Shall things so passing fair

As these sweet roses fade and die?—
These lovely gems, that on the air
Still cast sweet odours fresh and rare-
Shall these in withered ruin lie?—

I love not thy philosophy.

Oh! teach not that the golden ray
Which fair Aurora brings,
What time she opes the gates of day,
With dew-drops on her wings-
Teach not that, ere the purple eve,
A shadow shall be cast

O'er this sweet light, and only leave
The sickly moon to tell at last
Of all the golden radiance passed
From day's ethereal canopy ;-
I love not thy philosophy!

Oh! teach not that Love's early dream
Shall vanish from the heart,

And, like the bubble of a stream,

Ere frosty age depart ;

I love not thy philosophy.

Shall passions pure and bright

As Love and Friendship withered lie?—

Those stars that lend their cheering light

To us poor pilgrims of the night—

Shall these our guardian angels die?—

I love not thy philosophy!

Oh! teach not that Hope's golden fire

But dazzles to betray,

And that the chords of Fancy's lyre

Fall one by one away ;

I love not thy philosophy.

Shall lights like those that shone

O'er youth's ideal phantasy,

And chords that lent so sweet a tone

To early days-shall these be gone?

Oh! rather let the spirit fly ;

I love not thy philosophy!

C. H. H.

CHAPTERS ON GENIUS.

I.

"In freta dum fluvii current, dum montibus umbræ
Lustrabunt convexa, polus dum sidera pascet;

Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt."

Eneid. lib. i.

MEN of genius are like trees growing amidst underwood, or they are like the public buildings of a city, rising above the common dwellings, and far exceeding them in size and beauty; they constitute the aristocracy of talent, and shine with a peculiar and unrivalled lustre. Running a fleeter and a nobler race, they strive for greater prizes than the rest of men; they appear as streaks of light amidst the darkness which envelopes the trackless past; they compose the chronicles of time, being not only the historians of action, but of thought; they are the great discoverers and advocates of truth, the timely innovators, the all-powerful reformers; the field of their efforts, not limited by a narrow circle, is the entire world. They have no golden sceptres, like those glittering in kingly hands, which "come like shadows, so depart;" theirs is a sway, which is secure from overthrow, and fears no rebellion, extended rapidly by the progress of civilization, and the march of time; and embracing subjects of all nations and of every climate. No pomp, no pageantry, no regal purple adorns their court, where Intellect sits crowned with leaves of laurel, Fame's favourite tree, and blesses beneficently all who do it homage. They have achieved warlike triumphs, but their peaceful victories are far more glorious. Their ain has been to increase the knowledge and advance the interests of mankind; to distribute bountifully from their horn of plenty unwithering fruits; to strengthen, elevate, enlarge and beautify the social fabric; to impart to man right notions of himself, by the investigation of his physical and mental nature; to endow him with learning and teach him to be wise; to inform him in quietude, counsel him in action; and be to him a staff, an authority, a guide. They found a wilderness where they have left a garden-chaos and confusion where order reigns. They are the companions of princes, and the poor man's friends. the impartial advisers of every class, rank, creed, and denomination.

They are