beseemeth not a man of sense to hearken to. But touching these plays—I am all for the love passages; it giveth one, as 'twere, a yearning; it maketh one feel young again-the billing, now-and the sighing. I have played the lover, neighbours, both on the stage and off it, when my sweetheart hath borne her most tenderly.

Wart. I also was loved in my youth.

Sly. Thou loved! was there ne'er a scarecrow in the parish, then, to set heart on ?

Hostess (entering with fresh ale). Nay, fub not the goodman so, Christopher-thou art ever girding. I warrant me, neighbour Wart hath had his cooings and his wooings like the rest, and could tickle a maiden's ear as well as another. What ! have we not all been young !

Nym. Well, for me, I care not for the lovehumours—there is a mawkishness and a queasiness in over-much ogling and lipping. I am for your deadlier humours; give me a murder, now -or the witches.

Wart. I love the witches, too.

Bardolph. Since ye talk of witches, saw ye Goody Broom at the burial to-day, hanging on the skirts of the crowd, and lurking behind a gravestone, wiping, the while, her old red eyes with the corner of her ragged cloak? I am well persuaded that Master Shakespeare had

no truer mourner than that same ancient leman of Lucifer.

Hostess. And well she may, poor soul! Between water and fire there was like to have been soon an end of her, but for Master Shakespeare.

Wart. Well, I was one of those that ducked her i' the pond; and I ran a needle, too, into a mole she had, and she winced not-a sure sign of a witch; but when Master Shakespeare stept forth and bespoke us, I felt I know not how at his words, and made home an 'twere a dog that hath been caught in the larder.

Snug. And when they haled her before the justices, Sir Thomas was for burning her, had not Master Shakespeare o'erpersuaded him.

Sly. Well, he saved her then, but she may chance have her whiskers singed yet. I am not one that favours witches, any more than our good King, and I shall keep eye on her.

Hostess (entering the Dolphin chamber). Sirs, here be Sir Thomas's men, and the horses, awaiting you in the yard.

Drayton. Thanks, hostess-our score. Now, Walter, set on.

Raleigh (passing into the taproom). Good friends

Bottom. Hear him! hear him!

Raleigh. Good friends, all simple as ye sit

here, ye have this day done an office that the foremost nobles of England might envy you, and that might make their children's children proud to say-our forefather was one of those who bore Shakespeare to the grave.

Bottom. Sir, we did it passing well, and becomingly, but we boast not of it.

Bardolph. 'Sblood, sir, to be a bearer is no such great matter-and for nobles, why, we have been paid with one each, and are content.

Raleigh. Ay, ye have had greatness so near ye, that ye saw it not-ye are as daws that build in a cathedral and take it for an old wall. But I blame ye not-your betters have seen no clearer. And now, to show my goodwill for ye, as those whom Shakespeare hath sometime honoured with a word or look, I will entreat Master Drayton to lodge for me a sum with his friend Master Quiney, which shall suffice to let all meet and carouse here once a-month, for a year to come and each year that I live1 will I do likewise—and ye shall call it Shakespeare's Holiday.

ye

Bardolph. By heaven! a most noble gentleman, and of a choice conception.

Nym. This humour likes me passing well.

1 At the close of the following year he was slain, sword in hand, gallantly fighting the Spaniards, on the banks of the Orinoco.

Sly. I would there were more of your kidney in Stratford.

Bottom. I will invent a new speech every year in your lordship's honour, and every year it shall be more excellent than the last. My masters, let us, all that can stand, attend these gentles to the door.

All. Farewell, gallant sirs.

Raleigh and Drayton. Good friends, farewell.

MR DUSKY'S OPINIONS ON ART.

'Blackwood,' July 1858; a time when certain small books, containing summary judgments, of a very trenchant kind, on the works exhibited in the Royal Academy, were appearing every year.

"I am a blessed Glendoveer:

'Tis mine to speak, and yours to hear."

-Rejected Addresses.

IT is quite clear that the Glendoveer of the above couplet was commissioned to deliver to the world a divine message about Art. I argue thus on account of the air of absolute and uncompromising authority with which he announces the conditions of his teaching, Art being a subject on which two opinions ought not to be permitted. To the culpable neglect with which this high commissioner from the Court of Nature was probably treated by the vain and self-sufficient artists of the time, is