ARIEGATED, light, and splendid as though woven in the woof of Iris, the wondrous texture of this enchanting Dream is yet of stamina to last till doomsday. "Such tricks hath strong imagination!" Like gravitation in the substantial world, its influence pervades the whole domain of moral nature, and compels materials apparently the most discordant to revolve in harmony round one bright vivifying centre. Never was this divine impulsive property of intellect more finely exemplified than in the Elysian scene that here presents itself. The stately heroes and heroines of Grecian story move in soft unison with the beautiful creations of the Gothic mythology-quaint, rich, and fantastic as the ornaments of our matchless Gothic fanes; while all are bound up and blended with a plenteous exhibition of the joys and the sorrows, the constancy and the faithfulness, the sense and the absurdity, that in every age and every clime have characterised our inconsistent, yet exalted human nature. Theseus and his Amazonian love, although invested, for the most part, with an air of classic coldness, at times give indications of being instinct with Shaksperian fire. There is a fine touch of feminine feeling in Hippolyta's expressed dislike "to see wretchedness o'ercharged, and duty in his service perishing." The answer of Theseus breathes the very spirit of a generous philosophy. Their conversation, too, while preparing for the chace, is animated with a glowing sense of animal enjoyment that rises into strenuous poetry. Altogether, these warlike lovers present a very gratifying specimen of the heroic character in repose. The language of the amorous "human mortals," while doomed to illustrate the pathetic adage that "the course of true love never did run smooth," is fraught with sweetness gathered from the purest flowers of Parnassus. The pains and pleasures, the exalting and debasing influences of the universal passion, are delineated with surpassing truth and beauty. Under its resistless spell, the charming Helena betrays her friend, for the sake of a short-lived interview with her revolted and contemptuous lover. Her subsequent unshaken patience, however, and exquisite expostulation with Hermia, amply atone for the solitary error springing from that intoxication of the heart and brain which deprives its victims of discretion, and too often of their self-respect, at the precise moment when they have most occasion for support and admonition. While basking in the moonlight fairy scenes, the luxurious fancy seems to inhale the very odours of "the spiced Indian air;" or, sweeter still, to drink the balmy influence of that "luscious woodbine" which forms Titania's most appropriate canopy.-Puck, the "shrewd and knavish sprite," who finds a sport in lovers' agonising janglings, is beautifully discriminated from Ariel, who pities mortal miseries, and instigates his master to relieve them. Still the "merry wanderer of the night" is delightful and exhilarating company: his sportive malice, controlled by the beneficent Oberon, is productive of infinite diversion; we easily forgive his 'elvish ridicule of pangs and raptures he is alike incapable of feeling, and for the moment heartily subscribe to his satiric dictum,-" Lord, what fools these mortals be!" The "hempen homespuns" who are so marvellously intermixed with the superior intelligences of the drama, are all admirable workers in their tiny spheres,-from Peter Quince, the business-like manager, who really seems to have half an idea in his head, and contents himself with the humble role of Thisbe's father-up (or down) to ostentatious "Bully Bottom," the twinkling cynosure of all his meek competitors. The union of broad humour with poetic fancy was never perhaps so admirably effected as in the scenes in which this "shallowest thickskin of that barren sort" receives, as a mere thing of course, the enthusiastic courtship of the Queen of Fairyland." A very good piece of work, and a merry." There were two quarto editions of the "MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM" (both published in 1600), previous to its appearance in the folio collection. Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword, Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEME TRIUS. Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke! Thes. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee? Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint And interchanged love-tokens with my child: Turned her obedience, which is due to me, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens; As she is mine, I may dispose of her: Thes. What say you, Hermia? Be advised, fair To you your father should be as a god; The worst that may befall me in this case, Thes. Either to die the death, or to abjure Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, moon (The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, For aye, austerity and single life. Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. Ege. Scornful Lysander! true he hath my love; And what is mine my love shall render him; And she is mine; and all my right of her I do estate unto Demetrius. Lys. I am, my lord, as well derived as he; As well possessed; my love is more than his; My fortunes every way as fairly ranked, If not with vantage, as Demetrius'; And, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am beloved of beauteous Hermia: Thes. I must confess that I have heard so much, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; But, being over-full of self-affairs, My mind did lose it.-But, Demetrius, come; |