scene producing in her the merriment that it did in the fashionables around her the vulgar of the box as well as the pit-she took it, doubtless, for wit, as it really was; yet, she took it seriously; for Shakspeare intended it for more than the pasttime of wags, or the diversion of fools: and, moreover, Hamlet never is witty for the sake of wit-the wit of his character is serious and meditative, the result of mental acumen, more than of gaiety of spirit and brilliancy of fancy. It has the elegance and eloquence of a point. I conceive that there is in this grave scene, the most exquisite display, the finest union, without thorough mingling of wit, of humor, and of pathos, and, taken by itself, it is sufficient to immortalize the poet. Hamlet takes up the skull of Yorich instantly is recalled his childhood" He hath borne me on his back a thousand times," and the action of his mind, that gives rise to the melancholy reflection

"To what base uses may we return, Horatio ?"

That woman is imbued, like myself, with the thoughts and feelings of Hamlet; and she seems to gather sadness from each word, and then quietly settles down in melancholy thought, at the words of the queen

"Sweets to the sweet: farewell."

She thought of the mockery of feeling that might exist, undiscovered and unsolved, in the million who surround us daily with powers and feelings, each different, and their own. She contrasts the queen's words with those of genuine grief from the lips of Laertes

"O! treble woe

Fall ten times treble on the cursed head
Whose wicked deed, thy most ingenious sense
Deprived thee of."

The scene between Hamlet and Laertes, at the grave of Ophelia, is rather remarkable, though, with her, it seemed to have its full impressiveness. It showed forth in review, and forcibly, the two affections-that of a brother and that of a lover. We have seen Laertes' affection evidenced, and can judge of the degree of power. Now let us look on that of Hamlet

"I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers
Could not with all their quantity of love,
Make up my sum."

Then I beheld a degree of surprise, rather, on the face of the fair woman I was observing, so much so that I judged she could never have loved. Her surprise, as also her intense interest, increases as he proceeds

"Swounds! show me what thou'lt do:

Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself?

Woul't drink up Esill? eat a crocodile?

I could see, by the motion of her features, that she could scarce imagine such extravagant affection. She believed men could love, but not so devotedly, not so madly as to make every sacrifice. She did not believe it; perhaps, because she had not known it. Now she casts an admiring eye on Hamlet as he chides the morbid and wanton affection of Laertes, as his words reflect so painfully on the frailty of that gossamer friendship

"Hear you sir:

What is the reason that you use me thus ?

I lov'd you ever! but it is no matter;

Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, and dog will have his day."

Have I not had the same painful thoughts? Who that has had that shadowy thing called a friend, and it has been to his interest to desert and betray him, has not felt as he describes.

Now that Hamlet and Laertes are about to try their skill with the foils, I can perceive that yonder woman feels pain lest the king's prophecy concerning Hamlet be true; and that in his desire for fairness, he should lose sight of prudence. The rapidity of the closing scene scarce affords time for any feelings but those of the most intense excitement. Her eyes and her thoughts fly from one to the other with the more than rapidity of light. She has hardly time for scorn-just meed of villainy; no time for thought of pity-meet reward to nobility, ere Hamlet the generous, "the soldier and the scholar," is dead—

I soon observed the lady to be oppressed with the excitement of the performance. She appeared giddy, and presently rose to leave the scene. She was not inclined to wait for the afterpiece, because she did not wish, perhaps, the deep impression removed by the humorous, by the ridiculous; for like pleasantly painful thoughts, we wish their continuance. But the afterpiece is an admirable thought; for the mind should not be weighed down long with the thoughts and feelings induced by the performance of a deep tragedy.

She was going, and I determined I would take a farewell look, and, at the same time, see whither she went. I left

my place, entered the vestibule, through which she was to pass. She came in, and waited for her companion to seek a coach. How strange the feelings of attraction and repulsion here acting? I was alone with her there, yet unfortunately, unhappily, I knew her not. However, on her coming in, I observed, and that was joy to me, that she noticed my being there, and recognized me as having repeatedly caught her eye, when looking in the most interested manner at the changes her countenance underwent during the play. Immediately she seemed penetrated with the thought, that during the evening I had been watchful of her expression, and, moreover, she suspected that she was the cause of my presenting myself here now, in this chill vestibule. There is a peculiar and inexpressible look of confusion-in some assumed, yet, in others, real and natural; and there is a pleasure as a woman beholds one, and more especially a stranger, admiring her. She is sure to discover to him that it has not passed unnoticed, that she appreciates it, and she assures him by her look that she will strive to remember him, and she will give him a kind and inviting look as she parts. The most virtuous, the most intellectual woman, the most modest, the shrewdest, and the best woman will do it, and she does it because a power prompts her superior to virtue, or intellect, or aught else. It is natural. Therefore, as she passed away, she cast her lingering eye once more on me, as though to bid farewell. I bent slightly, so as not to appear impertinent, while I inclined as much as would satisfy her distinguished compliment, and gratify my own heart. It was folly to think of following the coach-if it had not been I should most assuredly have done so. I had done all I couldgazed at her till she had gotten into the vehicle; and, I thought

in my desiring, foolish heart, that I received a last look of kindness and remembrance. My eyes followed the coach out of sight, then my ears pursued the sound of the wheels out of hearing.

Coming to think seriously and calmly of it, sitting over my chamber fire, I fear it is an angel's visit, never to be repeated; but strange that an angel should visit such a creature, so unlike her fellow divinities as myself. No! it was only a pleasant and tantalizing dream; yet, dream as it was, this being of it left an impression on my mind, deeper than ever did real being. Ah, it will serve my wandering and visionary nature long to dwell on, in pleasant and in lonely hours. Who can tell how many happy twilights are to be devoted to this night's dreamy scenes. To-night not one wink will I sleep, till the very shadow of my 'present thoughts shall pass away-till the monotony of worldly thoughts and feelings shall rock me in its tiresome cradle, and then turn me to be hushed in repose.

Were it not better that I rise from my pen, and hie me to some distant wood, or to the lonely and haunted graveyard there to occupy myself in thought. My chamber affords it not; yet the mind should not make thought too much its sustenance. Then to my couch, and thought there-sweet thought of thee, fair one.

It is past four o'clock, and yet I am still up, recalling my thoughts and feelings.

"The voice of my departed hours,"

is stilled, and forgotten; but one more thought, and then to bed.

Men have fallen in love without knowing the reason of it. Now, I have it before me-just as evident as the light of day.