'The next scene is on an enchanted island, where a young lady called Miranda is entreating her father, Prospero, to allay the storm, of which she gives this splendid description: 'The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out.' Prospero replies: 'Be collected; No more amazement: tell your piteous heart There's no harm done.' 'To this consolatory piece of intelligence Miranda most singularly answers, 'O wo the day!' and Prospero rejoins, 'No harm; wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.' From all which it would appear that Miranda was crying because nobody had been drowned. Prospero then bids her 'obey, and be attentive.' He relates that, just twelve years before, he was the Duke of Milan, but that his brother had usurped his dignity; and that himself and his daughter, having been put into a 'rotten carcass of a boat,' arrived safely at the island. But this interesting story is by no means so briefly told in the play, and is, moreover, perpetually interrupted in its course, after this fashion: 'PROSPERO. My brother, and thy uncle, called Antonio; I pray thee mark me--thy false uncle-- Dost thou attend me? MIRANDA. Sir, most heedfully. PROS. Thou attend'st not. MIR. Good Sir, I do. PROS. I pray thee mark me, then. Hence, his ambition growing-- Dost thou hear, child?' etc., etc. But, all this having nothing to do with the storm, Miranda very properly puts the question: 'And now I pray you. Sir, (For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason For raising this sea-storm.' To which Prospero returns the following very clear and intelligible answer: 'Know thus far forth. By accident most strange, bounteous fortune, Now, my dear lady, hath mine enemies Brought to this shore; and by my prescience I know my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence, If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.' He seems well convinced, however, of the natural effect of this kind of poetry, for he adds: 'Here cease more questions. Thou art inclined to sleep. 'Tis a good heaviness. And give it way. I know thou canst not choose.' In which opinion all Mr. SHAKSPEARE'S readers will readily concur. We could wish that we had space for the equally interesting and refreshing satire upon 'a spirit called ARIEL,' the dialogue between whom and PROSPERO is turned into ridicule. We must pass on, however, to the assassination of the character of CALIBAN, that wonderful creation of the great bard. Does the reader remember any thing more thoroughly 'tortured from its sense' by any ancient or modern ARISTARCHUS, than the scene in question here: