own elevated post, I felt quite exhausted for a short interval, which I referred to the weakness arising from the exertions of the day before, but the guides assured me it proceeded entirely from the rarity of the atmosphere, and had been experienced by a party of themselves, whom we had sent a short distance downwards in search of water. Soon afterwards, I saw Pierre Carrier set off by himself, in the direction of our ascent, to examine the state of the snow. We followed him with our eyes for above half a mile, as he proceeded, very laboriously, up to his knees at every step; and thus received a palpable proof of the impossibility of proceeding further, which was confirmed by his own statement on his return. We had all received abundant proof of the intrepidity and address of this man during the ascent of the preceding day. During the passage of the glacier, he was the oracle of the party, being generally one hundred yards in advance to explore the way, and carrying the hatchet to make the steps. Oftentimes, we discovered him standing, with the greatest apparent unconcern, on some elevated point of ice, from which he made his reconnoissance, and directed us accordingly by a motion of his hand. On ordinary occasions, he frequently suffered others to take the lead; but I observed that, on every occasion of perplexity, he found himself at the head of the party; and while others, and especially poor Pierre Balmat, were eloquent in recommending this or that passage, a single word or wave of the hand from Carrier settled the point at once. This man was by trade a blacksmith, and did not exercise the profession of guide on common occasions, but always accompanied travellers in the ascent of Mont Blanc. He had already made the ascent eleven times; having been several times with one or two other guides, merely for the sake of exploring the passage. Alas! this was destined to be his last attempt: but I must not anticipate. Shortly after our arrival on the Grand Mulet, we put on our additional clothing, and dried our shoes and stockings, which were completely saturated with moisture, from our long march over the snow. In consequence of these precautions, we did not suffer much from cold during the whole of our stay; for at night, the canvass being closed, and eight persons crowded into a very small compass, we felt comfortable enough. Our amusements, during the day of our compelled halt, were very similar to those of a picquet on an outpost, which commands a view of the enemy's camp; for the greater part of the time was spent in looking through an excellent telescope belonging to M. Sellique, and in reconnoitring the ground below. From our elevated post, we saw distinctly the windows of our hotel at the Prieuré, and sometimes fancied we discovered some one there watching us in a similar manner. Sometimes, we lounged over a pamphlet of Saussure's* ascent, from which we gathered that he had taken a day and a half to arrive at our present situation, accompanied by eighteen guides. We made arrangements for letting off our rockets at night, and some considerable time was occupied in mending one of Dr. Hamel's barometers, an air-bubble having found its way into the tube during the ascent of the day before. I was employed in making a bottle of lemonade for the following day, when it was pronounced excellent, and proved an admirable substitute for the wine, against which our feverish palates revolted. [To be concluded in our next.] ON HAMLET. MR. EDITOR-The following extract, translated from a popular romance of the celebrated Goethe, on the subject of Shakspeare's Hamlet, may be acceptable to those of your readers, who are unacquainted with the original work. The title of the book is "Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre ;" or, the Apprenticeship of William Meister. It is a fictitious biography of an actor; and the principal topics it embraces relate to the stage. The translator has ventured to subjoin a few ideas of his own on the same subject. "In this enquiry," replied William, "the first idea that presents itself is that of a prince, whose father died unexpectedly, and in whom the ruling passion is not ambition. He had lately experienced, in their plenitude, all the advantages that belonged to his situation as a king's son: but his eyes are now, on a sudden, opened to the wide interval, which separates the monarch from the subject. The crown of Denmark was not hereditary, it is true; yet, had his father been allowed a longer life, that circumstance alone would have greatly strengthened the pretensions of an only son to the succession, if not entirely secured it; whereas the intervention of his uncle (notwithstanding his specious behaviour towards Hamlet) has probably excluded him from it for ever. He sees himself, at the same time, deprived of all influence in the state, and a stranger to those privileges, which he had, from his infancy, considered as his birthright. Here is the commencement of his melancholy. He perceives that he is of no more consequence, perhaps of less, than any other nobleman of the court As this name has already occurred more than once, it will be proper to inform the reader, that he was a gentleman of Geneva, who, in August 1787, succeeded in reaching the summit of Mont Blanc. This was the year following the first ascent, made by Dr. Paccard. Since that time, there have been five or six successful attempts, amidst a great number of failures. During the course of thirty-three years, no fatal accident had ever occurred; two accidents only are mentioned, from both of which the sufferers recovered. In his carriage he is submissive to all. It is not affability; it is not condescension. No-he feels himself humbled; he feels himself destitute. In vain his uncle endeavours to remove his dejection; in vain would he persuade him to view his situation in a more promising aspect. The consciousness of his insignificancy never leaves him. "The second misfortune that awaits him is his mother's marriage; and this inflicts a deeper wound, and serves to humble him still more effectually. Upon the death of his father, he naturally expected, as an affectionate son, to derive some consolation from the tenderness of his surviving parent. He might reasonably have hoped to participate, with a respectable mother, in rendering due honour to the memory of his great and heroic father. But he is destined to lose her also, and in a manner more painful to his feelings, than if he had been deprived of her by death. That confidence, which a well-disposed son naturally reposes in his parents, is destroyed in him. From the dead there is no hope-upon the living he cannot depend. Besides, is she not a woman, and consequently subject to the general reproach of her sex-frailty? Now it is, that he feels himself, at length, entirely subdued; wholly an orphan. No change of fortune, however favourable, can restore what he has thus lost. By nature, neither gloomy nor reflecting, grief and reflection are to him a burthen. It is under such circumstances that he makes his appearance upon the stage. I do not believe I exaggerate any part of the picture. Imagine, then, you see before you this loyal youth, and recollecting the peculiar situation in which he is placed, observe his conduct when he first hears of his father's spirit having appeared. Observe him, too, on that awful night, when the venerable form appears to himself. An extraordinary terror instantly seizes him, He ventures, however, to address the spectre; and, on its beckoning him to follow, he obeys. The tremendous charge against his uncle rings in his ears-followed by the urgent excitement to vengeance; and the concluding solemn injunction, 'Remember me!" "When the ghost has departed, what have we before our eyes? A youthful hero, panting for revenge? A rightful prince, exulting in the summons he has just received to raise his arm against the usurper of his throne? No such thing-astonishment and grief seem now wholly to possess him. He expresses himself, indeed, in bitter language against the smiling villain,' swears not to forget the ghost's command, and finally suffers the following remarkable exclamation to escape him : "The time is out of joint :-0, cursed Sprite! That I was ever born to set it right!" "In these few words, I think, the key to the whole of Hamlet's conduct may be found; and it is clear to me, that Shakspeare's intention was to exhibit the effects of a great action, imposed as a duty upon a mind too feeble for its accomplishment: in which sense, I find the character consistent throughout. Here is an oaktree planted in a China vase, proper only to receive the most delicate flowers. The roots strike out, and the vessel flies to pieces. A pure, noble, highly moral disposition, but without that energy of soul, which constitutes the hero, sinks under a load, which it can neither carry, nor resolve to abandon altogether. All his obligations are sacred to him; but this is above his powers. possibility is required at his hands; not an impossibility in itself, but that which is so to him. Observe, how he turns, shifts, hesitates, advances, and recedes! How he is continually reminded, and reminding himself, of his great commission, which he, nevertheless, in the end, seems almost entirely to lose sight of; still without ever recovering his former tranquillity!" The main idea on which the foregoing estimate of Hamlet's character is supported, appears to me to be very accurately conceived, whatever may be thought of some of the colouring bestowed upon it by the German writer. The charge of inconsistency has been sometimes urged against this character; but surely without sufficient reflection: for it is only such inconsistency as may be said to be inseparable from the particular character which Shakspeare intended to represent, and of which it constitutes, in truth, a very essential part. Without attempting to justify the extravagancies committed by Hamlet, in a moral point of view, or as amiable in themselves, they are certainly not incompatible with the poet's obvious design, viz. to exhibit the strugglings of an irresolute mind, under very peculiar circumstances of irritation, and where the very consciousness of its inferiority had, of itself, a tendency to increase the irritability. If this opinion were not confirmed by the whole tenor of Hamlet's conduct, it would be amply justified by the soliloquy in act 2, beginning with, "Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I !” and, again, by that towards the close of the 4th act, "How all occasions do inform against me, And spur my dull revenge!" &c. We are also to take into the account the degree of gloom necessarily created by the supernatural vision, and the general distrust of mankind, which the circumstances of his father's murder, and his mother's subsequent conduct, would naturally have awakened in such a mind. Thus we perceive, that the only individual in whom he reposes any confidence, is Horatio; and even to him he does not, in the first instance, seem disposed to unbosom himself; unless, indeed, we are to presume that he might have been checked by the presence of Marcellus. There are persons who have endeavoured to account for the inconsistency of Hamlet's conduct, by supposing that his intellect was in some measure disordered; but where do we discover a single passage in the play that at all countenances such an inference? That his madness was merely feigned, not only appears from his own confession, but from the whole tenor of the piece. In this respect, Shakspeare did no more than follow the old story, on which the play is founded. Doctor Johnson has remarked, that Hamlet's assumed madness seems unnecessary, inasmuch as "he does nothing, which he might not have done with the reputation of sanity;" but there does not appear to be any good reason why he should not have adopted this disguise, to protect himself from suspicion, whilst meditating the accomplishment of his revenge. In this particular the author has also conformed to the "Historie of Hamblet." His behaviour, in the scene with Ophelia, is one of the least defensible of Hamlet's eccentricities. But is not this equally referable to the state of mind in which he is described to be throughout, and of which a general distrust of all about him is one of the leading features? No where does it appear, that his love for her was of that high-wrought complexion which occasions the disregard, not only of the most important duties, but of all sober discretion. We may, therefore, easily imagine, that after he had reluctantly imparted his secret to Horatio, whose prudence he had so well ascertained, he should be unwilling to throw off an assumed character, designed to impose on the whole court, before an inexperienced girl, whose very simplicity so easily had betrayed him. He might even have suspected that she had been employed by others to observe him, as was really the case; for to a mind circumstanced like Hamlet's, suspicion is ever on the alert, and there is no pronouncing where it may not fall. It may, however, be objected, and I am afraid with truth, that nothing could justify the harshness of his manner towards an innocent young creature, who was fondly attached to him, as it was by no means necessary to support the character of insanity; and it is, perhaps, to be regretted, that the poet should not have differently modelled this scene. All I deny is the inconsistency of Hamlet's conduct, in this instance, with reference to his general character. Such inconsistencies are even necessary to preserve its unity. His conduct over the grave of Ophelia may be considered as open to a similar reproof; but he explains the matter sufficiently himself, in a subsequent conversation with Horatio, by attributing this behaviour (which he acknowledges to have been highly indecorous) to a violent degree of excitement, into which he had been surprised, at the moment: "The bravery of his grief did put me |