ppear'd again to-night?"--

Even the word "again" has its _credibilising_ effect. Then Horatio, the
representative of the ignorance of the audience, not himself, but by
Marcellus to Bernardo, anticipates the common solution--"'tis but our
fantasy!" upon which Marcellus rises into--

"This dreaded sight, twice seen of us"--

which immediately afterwards becomes "this apparition," and that, too, an
intelligent spirit--that is, to be spoken to! Then comes the confirmation
of Horatio's disbelief;--

"Tush! tush! 'twill not appear!"--

and the silence, with which the scene opened, is again restored in the
shivering feeling of Horatio sitting down, at such a time, and with the
two eye-witnesses, to hear a story of a ghost, and that, too, of a ghost
which had appeared twice before at the very same hour. In the deep feeling
which Bernardo has of the solemn nature of what he is about to relate, he
makes an effort to master his own imaginative terrors by an elevation of
style,--itself a continuation of the effort,--and by turning off from the
apparition, as from something which would force him too deeply into
himself, to the outward objects, the realities of nature, which had
accompanied it:--

"_Ber._ Last night of all,
When yon same star, that's westward from the pole
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one."

This passage seems to contradict the critical law that what is told, makes
a faint impression compared with what is beholden; for it does indeed
convey to the mind more than the eye can see; whilst the interruption of
the narrative at the very moment when we are most intensely listening for
the sequel, and have our thoughts diverted from the dreaded sight in
expectation of the desired, yet almost dreaded, tale--this gives all the
suddenness and surprise of the original appearance:--

"_Mar._ Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!"

Note the judgment displayed in having the two persons present, who, as
having seen the Ghost before, are naturally eager in confirming their
former opinions,--whilst the sceptic is silent, and after having been twice
addressed by his friends, answers with two hasty syllables--"Most
like,"--and a confession of horror:--

"It harrows me with fear and wonder."

O heaven! words are wasted on those who feel, and to those who do not feel
the exquisite judgment of Shakespeare in this scene, what can