Talboys, Longfellow, Perpetual Præses of the Seven Feet Club, we want Troy, Priam, Achilles, Hector, to have been. Perhaps they were—perhaps they were not. We must be ready for two states of mind—simple belief, which, is the temper of childhood and youth—recognition of illusion with self-surrender, which is the attained state of criticism wise and childlike. At last we voluntarily take on the faith which was in the goldener age. The child believed; and the man believes. But the child believes _this_; and the man who perceives how _this_ is a shadow, believes _that_ beyond. _This_ he believes in play—_that_ in earnest. The child mixed the two—the tale of the fairies and the hope of hereafter. Union, my dear Boys, is the faculty of the young, but division of the old. I speak of Shakspeare at five years of age; not of Us, whom, ere we can polysyllable men’s names, dominies instruct how to do old men’s work and to distinguish. TALBOYS. My dear sir, I do so love to hear your talkee talkee; but be just ever so little a little more intelligible to ordinary mortals— NORTH. You ask what really happened? The Play bewilders you from answering—accept it as it rushes along through your soul, reading or sitting to hear and see. The main and strange fact is, that these questions of Time, which, reading the Play backwards, force themselves on us, never occur to us reading straight forwards. Two Necessities lie upon your soul. TALBOYS. Two Necessities, sir? NORTH. Two Necessities lie upon your soul. You cannot believe that Othello, suspecting his Wife, folds his arms night after night about her disrobed bosom. As little can you believe that in the course of twelve hours the spirit of infinite love has changed into a dagger-armed slayer. The Two Times—marvellous as it is to say—take you into alternate possession. The impetuous motion forwards, in the scenes and in the tenor of action, which belong to the same Day, you feel; and you ask no questions. When Othello and Iago speak together, you lose the knowledge of time. You see power and not form. You feel the aroused Spirit of Jealousy: you see, in the field of belief, a thought sown and sprung—a thought changed into a doubt—a doubt into a dread—a dread into the cloud of death. Evidences press, one after the other—the spirit endures change—you feel succession—as cause and effect must succeed—you do not compute hours, days, weeks, months;—yet confess I must, and confess you must, and confess all the world and his wife must, that the condition is altogether anomalous—that a time which is at once a day of the Calendar and a month of the Calendar, does not happen anywhere out of Cyprus. TALBOYS.