we can recognize the truth of a man in the form of a brute, or of a brute in the form of a man; but of neither, judging according to sense for which cause the best attempts to represent Bottom on the stage always have failed, and always must fail. Delightful to think, it is intolerable to look upon: exquisitely true in idea, it has no truth whatever, or even verisimilitude, when reduced to fact; so that however willingly imagination receives it, sense and understanding revolt at it. The humour of the thing, too, is all lost by translation into visibility; what was an agreeable illusion passes into an offensive monstrosity; as we often delight in indulging fancies and giving names, when we should be shocked were our fancies to harden into realities before us. A child, for example, has infinite pleasure in conceiving the stick he rides to be a horse, but would be frightened out of his wits should the stick expand into an actual horse. The truth is, the mind naturally delights in the simple exercise of its own creativeness; and in such a case as Bottom this exercise is rather suspended than assisted by visible representation. It need hardly be said, that we enjoy visions in our sleep, which would only disgust or terrify us were we awake; and nothing can be vainer than attempting to make us dream with our eyes wide open, and with the stuff our dreams are made of solidified into things before us.

It is edifying to observe the effect Bottom's transformation has on his character; for it is not till after this event that his genius in all its strength and origiThe consciousness of his new shape awakens all the manhood within him. Like many

nality comes forth.

others, caring but little to be a man so long as he knows

he seems one, he tries his utmost to be a man as soon as he knows he seems an ass. Of course we all wish to be distinguished from mere animals somehow, but are often content so long as our human shape prevents our being confounded with them. Wherefore, if some of us could undergo a similar transformation, it would probably be the salvation of our minds, if not of our souls. Losing the visible distinction, we should naturally do our best to put forth one of another sort. For we could not bear to be without some evidence that we were men; a conscious want therefore of the appearance might force us back upon a development of the reality; make us endeavour our utmost to unfold other proofs and signs of manhood than those on which we are now so apt to rely. Like Bottom, therefore, we should probably acquire all at once a very learned taste and most courtier-like manners; have " a reasonable good ear in music," though we might prefer "the tongs and the bones;" and discover a most Epicurean appetite, especially for "dried peas" and "bottled hay."

As might be conjectured, all the human characters in this play, overwearied by their nocturnal adventures, fall asleep; and, upon awaking, regard their several remembrances as so many visions. It all appears to them, as indeed it is, but "the fierce vexation of a dream;" as, in our troubled dreams, we sometimes dream that our troubles are hushed in sleep; nay, dream that we go to sleep on purpose to forget our troubles. It is but natural, therefore, that Bottom, after his singular experiences, should feel "the exposition of sleep" upon him; and that awaking deeply impressed with the rareness and strangeness of his vision, he should deem the man

but an ass who should go about to expound his dream. "Methought I was,-there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had, but man is but a had,—but patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen; man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was."

Bottom's companions, Quince the carpenter, Snug the joiner, Flute the bellows-mender, Snout the tinker, and Starveling the tailor, are exquisitely distinguished from each other; all of them being perfectly individual, with peculiarities derived either from nature or from their callings: for, like their kinsman Slender in Merry Wives of Windsor, they are obliged to be original, inasmuch as they have not sufficient force of being for imitation of any sort. Had we Shakspeare's acuteness, we could doubtless trace out their respective vocations from their characters; they having just about strength of nature enough to smell of their shops. Nothing can be more fantastically humorous than the contrast between them and the troop of fairies, Puck, Peasblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed. They seem mutually attractive even because they are perfect opposites, as if there were a sort of spiritual polarity amongst them.

In the temporary wedlock of Bottom and Titania the two extremes of the grotesque and the beautiful have met together:

"So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle,

Gently entwist, the female ivy so

Enrings the barky fingers of the elm."

This embracing and kissing of the most ludicrous and the most poetical, the enchantment under which they are brought together, and the airy dreamlike grace which hovers over their union, are altogether inimitable and indescribable. The very diversity of the elements seems to link them in the closer affinity; while the same principle that draws them together augments their difference; Titania's passion inspiring her into a finer issue of soul, and at the same time encouraging Bottom into a fuller expression of stomach. Their union is so very unnatural as to seem quite probable: we cannot see how any thing but a dream could possibly have united them; and that they could not have come together save in a dream, is a sort of proof that they were dreamed together. And the thing engages very much the same kind of faith as a dream. The strangeness of the effect is irresistible. Too ludicrous for laughter, and too absurd for censure, we may almost say, it makes us weep smiles or smile tears of delight; while its beauty and drollness utterly silence criticism.

From the nature of the subject this play obviously required less of the dramatic and more of the poetic element than any other the poet has given us; and its comparative want of the former is amply made up by a profusion of the latter. The whole thing swarms with enchantment; all the sweet witchery of his sweet genius is concentrated into it, yet disposed with so subtile and cunning a hand, that like the inspiration of a summer evening we can neither grasp it nor get away from it. Abounding in lyrical and descriptive passages, the finest ever conceived by the wit of man, it probably has as much of character as is compatible with so much of poetry.

LECTURE X.

INTRODUCTION TO THE TRAGEDIES-ROMEO AND JULIET.

THE critic, who with half a knowledge of his office or of his subject undertakes the interpreting of Shakspeare's works, must often sigh over his inadequacy to the task, and blush for the little he can do compared to the much there is to be done. To the appreciating student of Shakspeare I must have often appeared already struggling with the magnitude of my theme: far more must this be the case in speaking of his tragedies. For if this strongest, yet calmest, this greatest, yet gentlest of mortals makes us tremble when he but breathes upon us the melodies and fragrances of his soul, he must perforce overwhelm us when he opens the floodgates of his power, and lets loose his tempests and cataracts upon us. Too much for criticism even when he smiles like some protecting spirit of humanity, and sheds the sunlight of his genius round its sweetest and gentlest transpirations, he may well strike criticism dumb with amazement when, like a divinity in the transports of his might, he rides upon the whirlwind and directs the storm of human passion. In his five great tragedies, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, Lear, and Othello, all the capabilities of human thought and speech, all the resources of poetry and philosophy, of beauty, and sublimity, and pathos, and terror, seem exhausted. In at