,
that Macbeth, stifling all murderous intent, and all disloyal thought, had
honestly gone down at the sound of the bell, and, as must have been his
wont as is shewn from the manner in which his attendant receives the
charge, had soberly partaken of the warm and grateful drink his noble
partner had prepared for his refreshing and composing use.

Imagine the illustrious and majestick pair, their household having
entirely withdrawn, seated in the deep silence of the night, on either
side of a small table as was their happy wont, and gently, calmly,
dispassionately, and elegantly sipping that prepared beverage; that 'drink
made ready' by hands then yet innocent and spotless. Imagine the
ingredients of which that dilution must have been composed! Not wine for
wine is always 'ready.' O call it not by any other W! Let it not be named
Glenlivet; think not upon Ferintosh. It was PURE REALITY IN THE LUSTRE OF
A MILD GLORIFICATION, _mingled with droppings of the dew of morning_.

They say that the mind of man is a mere bundle of associations, and that
our success in moving it to our purpose depends on our awakening the most
powerful, or most agreeable of them. I know not of what associations that
of the reader may be composed; but for my own part I think a little warm
drink before going to bed upon a night when owls hoot and chimnies are to
be blown down, prepared by the small hands that one loves, and that all
admire; where a dimple takes place of what in a plebeian hand is a
knuckle, and the round fingers taper gently off toward points that are
touched with damask and bordered with little rims of ivory; where bright
eyes beam with kindness as well as wit; and words fall in silvery tones
from a beautifully-formed mouth, like the renewal of life upon the soul of
man! I think where one could enjoy all this, it was a monstrous act of
folly on the part of Macbeth to fret about the principality of Cumberland,
or covet even the whole kingdom of Scotland. For my own part I must say,
give me the warm drink and the sweet companionship of that night, and let
old Duncan with a hearty welcome sleep up to his heart's content the whole
'ravelled sleeve of care!'

Oh Woman! dear, good, kind, blessed, beautiful Woman! chosen of Heaven
(and O how well!) for the meet companion of our otherwise forlorn race! is
there a moment throughout that whole circle of the Sun which we call Day
more sweet to us, than that which follows the well-performed dut