sary consequence of truth and nature. Shakspeare's genius alone
appeared to possess the resources of nature. He is "your only
_tragedy-maker_." His plays have the force of things upon the mind. What
he represents is brought home to the bosom as a part of our experience,
implanted in the memory as if we had known the places, persons, and things
of which he treats. Macbeth is like a record of a preternatural and
tragical event. It has the rugged severity of an old chronicle with all
that the imagination of the poet can engraft upon traditional belief. The
castle of Macbeth, round which "the air smells wooingly," and where "the
temple-haunting martlet builds," has a real subsistence in the mind; the
Weird Sisters meet us in person on "the blasted heath;" the "air-drawn
dagger" moves slowly before our eyes; the "gracious Duncan," the
"blood-boultered Banquo" stand before us; all that passed through the mind
of Macbeth passes, without the loss of a tittle, through our's. All that
could actually take place, and all that is only possible to be conceived,
what was said and what was done, the workings of passion, the spells of
magic, are brought before us with the same absolute truth and
vividness.--Shakspeare excelled in the openings of his plays: that of
MACBETH is the most striking of any. The wildness of the scenery, the
sudden shifting of the situations and characters, the bustle, the
expectations excited, are equally extraordinary. From the first entrance
of the Witches and the description of them when they meet Macbeth,

----"What are these
So wither'd and so wild in their attire.
That look not like the inhabitants of th' earth
And yet are on't?"

the mind is prepared for all that follows.

This tragedy is alike distinguished for the lofty imagination it displays,
and for the tumultuous vehemence of the action; and the one is made the
moving principle of the other. The overwhelming pressure of preternatural
agency urges on the tide of human passion with redoubled force. Macbeth
himself appears driven along by the violence of his fate like a vessel
drifting before a storm: he reels to and fro like a drunken man; he
staggers under the weight of his own purposes and the suggestions of
others; he stands at bay with his situation; and from the superstitious
awe and breathless suspense into which the communications of the Weird
Sisters throw him, is hurried on with daring impatience to verify their
predic