dent capable of acting on the electric chain of his still existing impressions. The first stages of Hamlet's madness have passed away, but they have left his frame worn and wasted, and his mind not free from disorder. Wonder has given way, in the minds of the king and queen, to anxiety; and there has been time to think of remedies or means of mitigation; and to send to some friends of his own age, who are to console and cheer him, if they can, and to recall him to pleasure; and also, for the king's particular relief, to try to find out what it can be that has disturbed him so excessively.

Hamlet has not yet himself had an interview with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern; but Polonius meets them coming in as he is departing, and tells them Hamlet is there. They are cordially received; but it is plain that the prince eyes them with the suspicion of a man who knows that he has said and done things that must have been suspected to indicate something wrong in him. After a few common questions and a few familiar jokes, he breaks off suddenly with inquiries declaratory of his mistrust.

HAM.

What's the news?

Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.

HAM. Then is doomsday near. But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular; what have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?

GUIL. Prison, my lord?

HAM. Denmark's a prison.
Ros. Then is the world one.

HAM. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being one of the worst.

There is some uneasy train of reflection in Hamlet's mind even when pursuing this trivial conversation; he denies being ambitious, says that he could be bounded in a nutshell, and count himself a king of infinite space, were it not that he has "bad dreams ;" and, after a little vague talk of dreams and shadows, he invites his friends to go with him to court, saying, "For, by my fay, I cannot reason." In reply to their offer to wait upon him, he says he is "most dreadfully attended;" intimating a kind of general discontent. He returns, however, to the question to which he is resolved to have an answer. He knows, or suspects, that they have been sent for to test the sanity of his

understanding; and perhaps for ulterior objects which may concern him. He. is not only desirous to ascertain the truth of this, but to impress them with a conviction that he has been acting a part. If he were feigning he would feign still; for if at first there was reason for feigning, the reason yet remains, and he would rather strive to send them back confirmed that his antic disposition was a real madness. But he is conscious that all is not well with him he perceives that he is watched; perhaps he is apprehensive that this watching forebodes mischief to him, and he carefully endeavours to evade such an inconvenient consequence. This is an often-noticed tendency in cases of mental impairment, and this is not the only scene in which Hamlet manifests it.

:

He still returns to the question; and never quite loses sight of it until he elicits the answer he expected. Thus he proceeds:

HAM. But, in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore?

Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.

HAM. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I

thank you and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear, a half-penny. Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come; deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak.

GUIL. What shall we say, my lord?

HAM. Why anything. But to the purpose.

You were sent

for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour. I know, the goo. king and queen have sent for you.

Ros. To what end, my lord?
HAM. That you must teach me.

In this conversation Hamlet's feelings have stimulated his whole mind. He is superior to his young friends, and their policy is disclosed to his inquiries. He leaves them no excuse or resource, no palliation or outlet of escape; proceeding thus

HAM. But let me conjure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our everpreserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no?

They hesitate, they look at one another, as questioning what they should say; and this behaviour leaves Hamlet in no doubt. At length they confess:—

GUIL. We were sent for.

After this, Hamlet's mind becomes excited; first, indeed, to the expression of thoughts depicting his recent tumult in words which all remember, but with a proneness to abrupt change seeming still more to disclose the infirmity that, whilst describing, he would wish to conceal. The words of Hamlet are always more illustrative than those of any commentator, and even in this conversation, whilst he exhibits the acuteness Iwith which an insane man will for a short time discourse, he also shows the unfitness of an infirm mind for consecutive conversation or continued exertion. Every incidental trifle produces interruption, and drives thought from its proposed course. He now proceeds to tell his friends why they were sent for, but with a wish to prove to them that no valid reason existed for it. He confesses peculiarities which have lately crept upon him; some which he is conscious must have been observed, but also some which have only been experienced by himself. In thus imparting himself, his expressions take the unhappy character of an uneasy and oppressed mind, to which every ordinary source of pleasure has become indifferent, or