sion to thank the gods for having made them "poetical."

Of all Shakspeare's characters there are not any so systematically ill-used as these same witches in Macbeth. It has been thought by many who know something of the matter, that there are a wildness and sublimity in the character and attributes of those malignant hags, that are perfectly inapproachable by any one below Shakspeare's calibre. And, be it noted, they are not only of wondrous import of themselves, but the mainspring of all the principal events in the great drama to which they belong. The talent and intellect of the greatest ornaments the stage has produced, would not be misapplied in endeavoring to give an adequate idea of these strange and fantastical creations. Yet what are they at present? Three old women, absolute objects of mockery and laughter to the audience. Nay, this seems, in some degree, to be now their legitimate purpose; for it is not unfrequently the case, that when the spectators are more decorous than usual, some of the witches, by a grotesque action or ridiculous intonation, appeal to them for the customary tribute a hearty laugh! But it is not always the actors who are in fault. There is one thing which has always especially moved my admiration. It is the marvellous small provocative

to laughter which people require when congregated together in large bodies, and when it is quite clear they should do any earthly thing rather than laugh. Here, for instance, where the most solemn attention and breathless anxiety should pervade the house

First Witch.-Look what I have!

Second Witch.--Show me! show me!

Third Witch.-Here I have a pilot's thumb

Wreck'd as he did homeward come.

Second Witch.-A drum! a drum! Macbeth doth come.

Upon this hint, if it be a favorite actor that is expected, a universal uproar or row commences, which lasts until Macbeth comes swaggering and bowing down the stage. If it be not any great or novel favorite that personates the hero, the scene proceeds in the following lively manner :

Third Witch.-The weird sisters, hand in hand,

Posters of the sea and land,

Thus do go about, about,
Thrice to thine.

Here the first witch, as a part of the incantation, bows or nods her head thrice, and a general smile instantly suffuses the faces of a majority of those present, in boxes, pit, and gallery, which indisputably proves that nodding the head thrice is essentially and exquisitely comic. The second witch continues "and thrice to thine," suiting the action

to the word, upon which a general titter ensues. But when the third witch, in obedience to the line, "and thrice again to make up nine," nods thrice more, the great merriment of the audience can no longer be contained, and "Peace! the charm's wound up," is uttered amid a roar of laughter. "By day and night, but this is wondrous strange." Certes, it would be a merry treat for Voltaire, the blasphemer of Shakspeare, to see many parts of Macbeth acted.

On the stage, in the garbled selection designated Richard III. how much do we miss, or rather, what a one-sided view is presented to us of the hero. There is no relief in the character, it is scarcely Shaksperian, for it is unmixed evil. All the darker shades are deepened, and brought prominently forward and the lighter and more agreeable tints sedulously excluded from the picture. We have the "hunchback," the "bottled spider," the subtle tyrant, the hypocrite, and the murderer, at full length; but we miss the lively animated Richard, the blunt, quick-witted soldier, the accomplished courtier, the "princely Gloster," such as he is to be found in Shakspeare. We miss all his bitter, though pleasant and not altogether unmerited gibes and jeers at King Edward, his wife, and her relations

"We speak no treason, man; we say, the king
Is wise and virtuous; and his noble queen
Well struck in years; fair, and not jealous :-
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip,

A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;

And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks :
How say you, sir; can you deny all this?"

and twenty other similar passages, and we lose that respect for him which, maugre his bad qualities, his energy, his fiery courage, his constancy, generalship, and intellectual superiority to those around him, extort from us through the three parts of Henry the Sixth. During the long and bloody wars of the roses, he is almost the only prominent character who is not at the same time as weak as wicked.

But of all the acting plays, King Lear undoubtedly suffers most. Sins of omission and commission are here too numerous to be pointed out. There is a radical unfitness too, in the exposure of the infirmity and imbecility of the aged monarch through five long acts, that it is scarcely possible for genius, even of the highest order, to overcome. The pity produced by an exhibition of physical decay for any lengthened period, is nearly allied to contempt; and contempt is by no means the feeling with which either the mental or bodily weakness of Lear ought to be regarded. In the closet, we

<< a poor,

think of him with natural reverence, as despised, weak, and infirm old man," "fourscore and upwards;" on the stage, the repulsive infirmities attendant on this condition,-shaking, coughing, tottering; or worse than that, the awkward imitations of them by the actor, who is constantly obtruding them on us to show his knowledge of, and attention to, the part, repel our sympathies. Besides, the madness of Lear is too subtle and refined, almost too sacred, for the stage. The superhuman touches of pathos and passion are too exquisitely fine and delicate for the atmosphere of a theatre. We get too deeply interested to endure the thought that it is but counterfeit "well-painted passion" we are looking on; and, in the excited state of our feelings, applause becomes impertinence, and the other noises of a playhouse loathWhenever other writers for the stage have failed, it has been from lack of means-from an inability to conceive or express what the passion or situation required; but Shakspeare has done more than succeed; in the exercise of his immortal powers, he has at times risen to a pitch that has rendered it impossible for mortals of more limited faculties, even in their happiest moments of inspiration, to give other than a poor and imperfect illustration of his meaning. Of all his characters, this is most

some.