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"ceptors, and that young men who have not seen "much of the world are shy with strangers."

The task imposed on my pupil by S. Bergamesco, occupied all his leisure till dinner-time; but I thought that I should have the absolute command of the evening. I was beginning to read, Omnibus in terris, when a servant said, "Here is the French "master." "What," cried I, "can S. Bergames"co, who is so much hurried, afford to give two les❝sons in one day to the same scholar?" "It is ano"ther French master whom they had got for me," said my pupil. I applied to Miss Juliana for the explanation of this phænomenon. "It was none of "my advising," said she, "but my brother knew "Mr. O'Callachan, when linguist to Commodore "Firebrace, and he wished to throw a good job in "the poor fellow's way; these were his very words; "and so Mr. O'Callachan came to be employed: "but indeed, after recollection, I thought it would "answer well enough, as both masters taught by "the same grammar, and both of them read Tele"mac."

This linguist of Commodore Firebrace had just taken his leave, when a smart young fellow burst into the room, with an air of much hurry and importance. "What," cried I, "more French mas"ters?" "Dont be alarmed," said Mrs. Flint, who accompanied him; "it is only the Friseur, who "comes to put up my boy's hair in papers. Pray "don't ask me why, for it is a great secret; but shall know it all to-morrow." you



"You must know," said Mrs. Flint at breakfast, "that I am assured that Jemmy is very like the "Count de Provence, the King of France's own

brother. Now Jemmy is sitting for his picture to

"Martin; and I thought it would be right to get the "friseur, whom you saw last night [he is just arrived "from Paris], to dress his hair like the Count de "Provence, that Mr. Martin might make the resem❝blance more complete. Jemmy has been under his "hands since seven o'clock......Oh, here he comes!" "Is it not charming?" exclaimed Miss Juliana. "I "wish Miss Punaise saw you," added the happy mother. My pupil, lost in the labyrinth of cross curls, seemed to look about for himself. "What a powdered "sheep's-head have we got here?" cried Captain Winterbottom........We all went to Mr. Martin's to assist him in drawing Jemmy's picture. On our return, Mrs. Flint discovered that her son had got an inflammation in his right eye by looking stedfastly on the painter. She ordered a poultice of bread and milk, and put him to bed; so there was no more talk of Omnibus in terris for that evening.


My pupil came down to breakfast in a complete suit of black, with weepers, and a long mourning cravat. The Count de Provence's curls were all demolished, and there remained not a vestige of powder on his hair. "Bless me," cried I, "what "is the matter?"...." Oh! nothing," said Mrs. Flint; "a relation of mine is to be interred at "twelve, and Jemmy has got a burial letter. We "ought to acknowledge our friends on such melan"choly occasions. I mean to send Jemmy with the "coach and six. It will teach him how to behave "himself in public places."

At dinner, my pupil expressed a vehement desire to go to the play. "There is to be Harlequin "Highlander, and the blowing up of the St. Do❝mingo man of war," said he;" Why, Jemmy,"

said Mrs. Flint, "since this is Saturday, I suppose 66 your tutor will have no objection; but to be sure "to put on your great coat, and to take a chair in "coming home." "I thought," said I," that we "might have made some progress at our books this " evening."........" Books on Saturday afternoon,” cried the whole company; "it was never heard of.” I yielded to conviction; for, indeed, it would have been very unreasonable to expect that he, who had spent the whole week in idleness, should begin to apply himself to his studies on the evening of Saturday. I am, SIR, &c.



Juvat, aut impellit ad iram,
Aut ad humum, moerore gravi, deducit et angit.


CRITICISM, like every thing else, is subject to the prejudices of our education, or of our country. National prejudice, indeed, is, of all deviations from justice, the most common and the most allowable; it is a near, though perhaps an illegitimate relation of that patriotism, which has been ranked among the first virtues of characters the most eminent and illustrious. To authors, however, of a rank so elevated as to aspire to universal fame, the partiality of their countrymen has been sometimes prejudicial; in proportion as they have unreasonably applauded, the critics of other countries, from a very common sort of feeling, have unreasonably censured; and

there are few great writers, whom prejudice on either side may not, from a partial view of their works, find some ground for estimating at a rate much above or much below the standard of justice.

No author, perhaps, ever existed, of whom opinion has been so various as Shakspeare. Endowed with all the sublimity, and subject to all the irregularities, of genius, his advocates have room for unbounded praise, and their opponents for frequent blame. His departure from all the common rules which criticism, somewhat arbitrarily perhaps, has imposed, leaves no legal code by which the decision can be regulated; and, in the feelings of different readers, the same passage may appear simple or mean, natural or preposterous: may excite admiration, or create disgust.

But it is not, I apprehend, from particular passages or incidents that Shakspeare is to be judged. Though his admirers frequently conténd for beauty in the most distorted of the former, and probability in the most unaccountable of the latter; yet it must be owned, that in both, there are often gross defects which criticism tannot justify, though the situation of the poet, and the time in which he wrote, may easily excuse. But we are to look for the superiority of Shakspeare in the astonishing and almost supernatural powers of his invention, his absolute command over the passions, and his wonderful knowledge of nature. Of the structure of his stories, or the probability of his incidents, he is frequently careless; these he took at random from the legendary tale or extravagant romance; but his intimate acquaintance with the human mind seldom or never forsakes him; and, amidst the most fantastic and improbable situations, the persons of his drama speak in the language of the heart, and in the style. of their characters.

Of all the characters of Shakspeare that of Hamlet has been generally thought to be the most difficult to be reduced to any fixed or settled principle. With the strongest purposes of revenge, he is irresolute and inactive; amidst the gloom of the deepest melancholy, he is gay and jocular; and, while he is described as a passionate lover, he seems indifferent about the object of his affections. It may be worth while to enquire, whether any leading idea can be found, upon which these apparent contradictions may be reconciled, and a character so pleasing in the closet, and so much applauded on the stage, rendered as unambiguous in the general as it is striking in detail? I will venture to lay before my readers some observations on this subject, though with the diffidence due to a question of which the public has doubted, and much abler critics have already written.

The basis of Hamlet's character seems to be an extreme sensibility of mind, apt to be strongly impressed by its situation, and overpowered by the feelings which that situation excites. Naturally of the most virtuous and most amiable dispositions, the circumstances in which he was placed unhinged those principles of action, which, in another situation, would have delighted mankind, and made himself happy. That kind of distress which he suffered was, beyond all others, calculated to produce this effect. His misfortunes were not the misfortunes of accident, which, though they may overwhelm at first, the mind will soon call up reflections to alleviate, and hopes to cheer; they were such as reflection only serves to irritate, such as rankle, in the soul's tenderest part, her sense of virtue and feelings of natural affection; they arose from an uncle's villany, a mother's guilt, a father's murder! Yet, amidst the gloom of melancholy and the agitation of passion, in which his calamities involve him, there are occasional breakings out of a mind, richly en-

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