empire of the
butterflies. How beautifully is this race of beings contrasted with the
men and women actors in the scene, by a single epithet which Titania gives
to the latter, "the human mortals"! It is astonishing that Shakspeare
should be considered, not only by foreigners, but by many of our own
critics, as a gloomy and heavy writer, who painted nothing but "gorgons
and hydras, and chimeras dire." His subtlety exceeds that of all other
dramatic writers, insomuch that a celebrated person of the present day
said that he regarded him rather as a metaphysician than a poet. His
delicacy and sportive gaiety are infinite. In the MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM
alone, we should imagine, there is more sweetness and beauty of
description than in the whole range of French poetry put together. What we
mean is this, that we will produce out of that single play ten passages,
to which we do not think any ten passages in the works of the French poets
can be opposed, displaying equal fancy and imagery. Shall we mention the
remonstrance of Helena to Hermia, or Titania's description of her fairy
train, or her disputes with Oberon about the Indian boy, or Puck's account
of himself and his employments, or the Fairy Queen's exhortation to the
elves to pay due attendance upon her favourite, Bottom; or Hippolita's
description of a chace, or Theseus's answer? The two last are as heroical
and spirited as the others are full of luscious tenderness. The reading of
this play is like wandering in a grove by moonlight: the descriptions
breathe a sweetness like odours thrown from beds of flowers....

The MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM, when acted, is converted from a delightful
fiction into a dull pantomime. All that is finest in the play is lost in
the representation. The spectacle was grand; but the spirit was
evaporated, the genius was fled.--Poetry and the stage do not agree well
together. The attempt to reconcile them in this instance fails not only of
effect, but of decorum. The _ideal_ can have no place upon the stage,
which is a picture without perspective: everything there is in the
fore-ground. That which was merely an airy shape, a dream, a passing
thought, immediately becomes an unmanageable reality. Where all is left to
the imagination (as is the case in reading) every circumstance, near or
remote, has an equal chance of being kept in mind, and tells accordingly
to the mixed impression of all that has been suggested. But the
imagination cannot suffic