of the Duke, worthy of holy seer or sage *; and Ophelia, in her distraction, was simple, touching, and sublime. * An eminent dignitary of the Church of England was once discoursing with the author on the morality of Shakspere. He regretted that the Bard had not spoken on that most glorious of all subjects, Man's Redemption, beyond a few lines (exquisitely beautiful) in the first seene of Hamlet. The author immediately pointed out the following terse, but transcendant passage from “Measure for Measure.” “Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; And HE that might the 'vantage best have took, Found out the remedy.” It would pass the bounds of the most exalted eulogy to record the prelate's answer, and how deeply affected he was whilst making it. Though these soul-stirring scenes were perfectly familiar to Uncle Timothy, and from youth to age had been his morning study and his nightly dream, they had never been invested with such an absorbing reality before, and he stood transfixed, a wondering spectator of the glorious vision,--for such to his aching sight it seemed to be. At this moment, the embroidered arras that hung before the oriel window of the tapestried chamber was slowly drawn aside, and the _figure of Shakspere_, his eyes beaming with immortality, and his lofty brow discoursing of all things past, present, and to come, stood revealed to view! “Flowers of all hues, and without thorn the rose,” sprung up spontaneously beneath his feet. And as he walk'd along th' enamell'd bed Of flow'rs, disposed in many a fairy ring, Celestial music answer d to his tread, As if his feet had touch'd some hidden spring Of harmony--so soft the airs did breathe In the charmed ear--around--above--beneath? He spoke--But his voice was of “no sound that the earth knows.” The sensations of Uncle Timothy grew intensely painful--amounting almost to agony. He made a sudden effort to rush forward, and in making it, _awoke!_ when he found himself seated snugly in an arm-chair before a bright “sea-coal fire,” at the Mother Red Cap, where he had fallen asleep after the exit of the Bartholomew Fair troop, in their progress to the “_Rounds_.” And thus ended Uncle Timothy's _Vision of the Boar's Head!_ CHAPTER XIII. |Gentlemen, on this anniversary of St. Bartholomew, let us not forget that we owe his Fair to a priest and jester.” “A priest and a jester, Mr. Merripall?--ha! ha! ho!”