eases us, it flatters us to see a hero acting on his own strength;
loving and hating as his heart directs him; undertaking and completing;
casting every obstacle aside; and at length attaining some great object
which he aimed at. Poets and historians would willingly persuade us that
so proud a lot may fall to man. In 'Hamlet' we are taught another
lesson: the hero is without a plan, but the piece is full of plan. Here
we have no villain punished on some self-conceived and rigidly
accomplished scheme of vengeance: a horrid deed occurs; it rolls itself
along with all its consequences, dragging guiltless persons also in its
course; the perpetrator seems as if he would evade the abyss which is
made ready for him, yet he plunges in, at the very point by which he
thinks he shall escape and happily complete his course.

"For it is the property of crime to extend its mischief over innocence,
as it is of virtue to extend its blessings over many that deserve them
not; while frequently the author of the one or of the other is not
punished or rewarded at all. Here in this play of ours, how strange! The
Pit of Darkness sends its spirit and demands revenge; in vain! All
circumstances tend one way, and hurry to revenge; in vain! Neither
earthly nor infernal thing may bring about what is reserved for Fate
alone. The hour of judgment comes: the wicked falls with the good; one
race is mowed away, that another may spring up."

After a pause, in which they looked at one another, Serlo said: "You pay
no great compliment to Providence, in thus exalting Shakespeare; and
besides, it appears to me that for the honor of your poet, as others for
the honor of Providence, you ascribe to him an object and a plan which
he himself had never thought of."

"Let me also put a question," said Aurelia. "I have looked at Ophelia's
part again; I am contented with it, and conceive that under certain
circumstances I could play it. But tell me, should not the poet have
furnished the insane maiden with another sort of songs? Could not one
select some fragments out of melancholy ballads for this purpose? What
have double meanings and lascivious insipidities to do in the mouth of
such a noble-minded person?"

"Dear friend," said Wilhelm, "even here I cannot yield you one iota. In
these singularities, in this apparent impropriety, a deep sense is hid.
Do we not understand from the very first what the mind of the good
soft-hearted girl was busied with? Silently s