Something, sure, of state,

Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice,*
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,-
Hath puddled his clear spirit: and, in such cases,
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things
Though great ones are their object.

Othello. Act iii. Scene 4.

THE whimsical effect of matter upon mind, as seen in the favourable change of temper after a good dinner, is a subject of common observation.

One much abler than I, of whom the sacredness of brotherly affection forbids me to speak at large, for fear I should incur the charge of partiality, has (I believe involuntarily) in a late work,† written such a complete comment on the speech of Menenius just quoted, that I cannot forbear giving it here entire, and am sure that both he and my readers will forgive me.

"The process of nutrition has been considered as the handmaiden to cordiality. Dinner, as it has well been remarked by wise men and students in natural history, acts upon the spirit of an Englishman as the snuff-box acts upon the Scot, the pipe on the Indian, and the salt on the Arab. It soothes the irritable, tames the rugged, mollifies the hostile; it insinuates its influence amongst

* Conspiracy unexecuted.

+"The Man without Soul." By the author of "A Visit to the Whiteman's Grave (Sierra Leone) in 1834."

the fibres of the heart; it acts as a kindly mediator; it is the saving herald of peace and cordiality.

"Who has failed, in the course of his experience, to have observed the sidelong, suspicious glances, the monosyllables few, short, and snappish, that occasionally mark the state of dialogue pending the heavy half-hour that weighs down the expectant appetite whilst awaiting the summons to the dinner-table? Thought and reflection dignify the countenance, but it is onward thought. Time forbids the introduction of any topic of interest, for it may at any moment be cut in twain. Each, therefore, falls upon his own resources: he neither originates, nor encourages remark.

"If, however, a fate more kind than common throws an enlivening influence upon the companions in misery, how obsolete and pithless are the ideas of such as would talk! The imagination is not present to aid: it is away, bathing in the vapours of contingent tureens, seeking an introduction to the spirit of an entre-mét, or floating to the regions of solid bliss upon the pinions of a vol-au-vent.

"Of all the moments in human existence, this half-hour is, perhaps, the one in which matter most heartily asserts its mastery over mind, and exacts base homage from it. It furnishes an axiom to the materialist.

"But when the spiced viand, and the sparkling juice of the laudable grape, have comforted and assuaged-have smoothed, fondled, and flattered the animal principle into graceful submission and gentleness;-a goodly and right pleasant index does the countenance become of the cordiality that has ensued between the animal and spiritual. It is evident that the soul and body have shaken hands with each other. It is then that the spirit can afford to venture upon a pleasantry at its sleek associate."

I should spoil the subject by the addition of one word of further remark.

I cannot omit some notice of the passage in Hamlet, referring to the strange sensation sometimes visiting the

mind on the contemplation of a deep precipice. Lord Byron describes the same phenomenon as almost tending to the infatuation of suicide, and I have often heard its existence discussed without any reference to the idea having previously occurred to Shakspere. I think it may be partially accounted for in this manner.

When a man stands on a point of danger, at the very topmost edge of a beetling cliff, a crowd of various emotions rush on his mind, if not simultaneously, at least so rapidly that he is unable to separate and define them. Dread of immediate danger, awe at the sublimity of the prospect, and perhaps enthusiastic delight at its beautythe conviction that there is but one step between him and eternity- the excitement of the spirits on being placed in so unusual a situation-present such a whirl of conflicting feelings of pleasure and pain, that a man of much sensibility may well be excused if he find it difficult to determine whether fear or fascination predominates. For myself, if I did not happen to be blessed with a cool head and strong nerves, I should take leave to eschew such situations.

Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This music crept by me upon the waters;
Allaying both their fury and my passion,*
With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
Or it hath drawn me rather.

Tempest. Act i. Scene 2.

Lorenzo.

Do but note a wild and wanton herd,

Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,

Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition of their blood;

If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,

Or any air of music touch their ears,

You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze

By the sweet power of music; Therefore, the poet

Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;
Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,

But music for the time doth change his nature.

Merchant of Venice. Act v. Scene 1.

*The Poet had probably in his mind the idea of the effect of oil when poured on troubled waters.

Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;

There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,

Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubims:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

Merchant of Venice. Act v. Scene 1.

SOME readers may wonder that the hackneyed passage, "The man that hath no music in himself

Is fit for," &c,, &c.

is left out of this work. My reason for its omission is that it really formed no part of Shakspere's own philosophy, but only of his clap-trap; which, like many a writer, he sometimes introduced to please his audience. Common experience contradicts the passage, and therefore I say no more about it.

The power of music has, in my opinion, been much overestimated by the enthusiasm of its admirers, and much that we read of its miraculous effects in ancient times may perhaps be attributed to fable or poetical licence. It is difficult to obtain from persons unacquainted with it