than Shakspeare could have anticipated. Common experience tells us many truths, and this among the number, that change of climate affects us in various ways, influencing both the nervous and sanguineous systems, but more especially the nervous. Fresh air is peculiarly sedative, especially to those long excluded from it. This, of course, is self-evident; but the poet here implies a peculiar state of the air, or quality of the climate:" "the dull and drowsy ayr." That the air is susceptible of changes in its density and rarity is sufficiently plain, as are its effects upon the body. In ascending mountains the changes of climates are sensibly felt, and drowsiness is a common result, even when independent of change of temperature. The atmosphere cannot be varied in its elements or their proportions without injury to life, and therefore these qualities of the climate must depend upon some extrinsic and superadded agent, which is most probably electricity, the animi mundi and animating cause of every atmospheric phenomenon, whether of the "swift-winged cloud," black and impetuous,† or the filmy gauze high up amid the stars of heaven. Some persons are more powerfully affected by atmospherical changes than others, and more so during the summer solstice, when the atmosphere is positively electrified. Females, particularly, are influenced by thunder-storms, and in some instances so strongly as to induce hysteria and epilepsy. The sensibility of an amputated limb, or a once-fractured bone, during atmospheric changes, is gene' Even rally known. a shooting corn" is no mean barometer. Considering the identity of electricity with the "nervous fluid," these and every such like sympathy between man and the external world is explained. Soil and vegetation are of course essential to the "quality of the climate,” which in "producing sleep," as Antonio remarks, "is just philosophy, though but common observance." The humourous Trinculo, discovering Calaban, comments most wisely on the monster : Trinculo. Dead or alive? What have we here? a man or a fish? A fish: he smells like a fish; a Very ancient and fish-like smell. • Spenser. + The nimbus. The cirrus, so prevalent in summer, especially in the quiet repose of evening. In the advancement of science, that of meteorology, one of the most interesting, and yet neglected, may hereafter inform us how to oppose those evils which surround us; for science is useless unless it be applicable to our wants. A strange fish! Were I in England now, (as once I was), Not a holiday fool there but would Give a piece of silver: there would this monster Makes a man. When they will not give a doit "Qui credit Stultus stultum vult, ut sit sui similis." The monomania of Shakspeare's characters, as in The Tempest, Macbeth, Hamlet, Julius Cæsar, &c., outrivals all reasoning. Had Shakspeare been a Pinnel he could not more nicely have delineated "the mind's extacy." Though spiritual agency is represented in The Tempest, the visitation to Alonzo is called extacy by Gonzalo, to whom also Ariel would have been visible unless he was blinder than Balaam's ass. The guiltless good old lord, Gonzalo, was insensible to the appearance, and himself attributes the language of Alonzo, &c., to their "extacy;" which word Shakspeare uses for any degree of mental alienation. But of this more anon." The situation of Ferdinand and Miranda living for themselves, with such a total giving up of the heart, in the solitude of that lonely isle, is inconceivably beautiful. Byron's Haidee and Juan are more sensual, but far less lovely and pleasing. Haidee quickens the pulse, but Miranda awakens the affections. A model for Eve, "so perfect and so peerless, created of every creature best." Mrs. Jameson has exquisitely touched the character of Miranda— it is sacred. Prospero, with all his philosophy, is a most subtle disHe reasoned like a god, but he felt as a man and a father. cerner. Prospero to Ferdinand.-" Look thou be true; do not give dalliance Too much the rein; the strongest oaths are straw To the fire i' the blood." Eve fell knowing no ill; Miranda could not have sinned, but her innocence made chastity with Ferdinand a double virtue, and he was a Milanese and a courtier. • Not in Terence. Free translation, "One fool makes many." + Juvenal. "Basium nullo fine terminetur." The masque of Prospero is a most fascinating episode in the play; it overflows with poetry. Milton's Comus is a more laborious composition, but much beneath Shakspeare in the luxuriance and poetry of the light and fantastic train. "Enter Iris. "Iris.-Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Which spungy April at thy hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves, Ceres. Hail! many-coloured messenger, that ne'er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers How lovelily this is painted! we behold at once the flowers and fields with " warm rain wet,”—the checquered cloud,—“ the rain bow, based on ocean, span the sky." This play ends with a most happy consistency: unlike the "catastrophies" generally, there is no abruptness, nor awkward interlopations. Things come about inevitably, because naturally; and the reader is content to leave the chaste Miranda to the delights which are to open before her in the new world to which she hastens ; and yet we may possibly feel some regret that the "spirit of that sweet Isle" was departing, that the "lime grove" would be forsaken, that no voice would ever more awaken the solitude of their cell. The wand is broke-" those strange books drown'd far beyond the plummet's reach"-Prospero's Duke of Milan-Caliban has sued for motley-and "fine Ariel" is free! Z. REMARKS ON AN IMPORTANT BRANCH OF ALTHOUGH the following remarks connected with this topic of universal interest may contain nothing strikingly new, yet the person who states facts, and observations drawn from experience, adds to the common stock of data from which the man of wider intellectual views and greater faculty for generalization may deduce a leading principle. It must be felt by all who have a share in educating girls that there is extreme difficulty in holding any intercourse with them on the subject of love, restricting the meaning of that word to affection between the sexes. It may excite a smile to see this topic gravely brought forward; but truly there is little to provoke mirth, and much to cause sorrow, in the contemplation of those bitter and unavailing regrets, the undermined health, and the impaired tranquillity, which are the lot of so many women, owing principally to the defects which prevail in this branch of education. Every one who approaches this subject feels instinctively that there is awkwardness and difficulty in treating it; and this very feeling gives a key to some of the prevailing errors that exist thereupon. Let us examine the cause from which this difficulty arises. Is it not that we have confounded right and wrong? that we have attached an idea of shame to that of which we need not be ashamed? that our zeal for delicacy has led us into a habit of mystification, which does not promote the interests of true modesty? It must always be desirable to define the boundaries between right and wrong; the narrower the line is, the more it requires to have light thrown upon it, and it is a shallow and futile expedient to turn away from an inevitable difficulty, instead of facing it. Yet is not the former the course generally resorted to in the case of which I speak? Perhaps the best way of finding what would be right, is, to ascertain what is wrong. How then are girls trained? When their increasing perception and natural curiosity lead them to inquire concerning what they see and hear, the answer, in a multitude of instances, is "Never mind, my dear, it is no matter to you," or "You must never ask such questions, they are not proper;" or, worse, they are told some absurd falsehood, which, however, rarely deceives them. Any one who has been accustomed to hear girls read aloud will know that it is surprising at how early an age VOL. V.—NO. XVII. "Basium nullo fine terminetur." The masque of Prospero is a most fascinating episode in the play; it overflows with poetry. Milton's Comus is a more laborious composition, but much beneath Shakspeare in the luxuriance and poetry of the light and fantastic train. "Enter Iris. "Iris.-Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims, Which spungy April at thy hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves, Ceres. Hail! many-coloured messenger, that ne'er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers And with each end of thy blue bow, dost crown My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down- How lovelily this is painted! we behold at once the flowers and fields with "warm rain wet,"-the checquered cloud," the rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky." This play ends with a most happy consistency: unlike the "catastrophies" generally, there is no abruptness, nor awkward interlopations. Things come about inevitably, because naturally; and the reader is content to leave the chaste Miranda to the delights which are to open before her in the new world to which she hastens; and yet we may possibly feel some regret that the "spirit of that sweet Isle" was departing, that the "lime grove" would be forsaken, that no voice would ever more awaken the solitude of their cell. The wand is broke-" those strange books drown'd far beyond the plummet's reach"-Prospero's Duke of Milan-Caliban has sued for motley-and "fine Ariel" is free! |