-would
we could think hopefully, and with prophetic promise. At present,
however, _Bottom_ is the master-spirit: and, in these days of dramatic
_pardonnez-mois_, it is a little comforting--not that we are given to
the sanguine mood in things theatrical--to know that folks are found
ready to make jocund pilgrimage to Sadler's Wells, where a man with a
real vital love for his art has now for many seasons made his theatre a
school; and more, has never wanted attentive, reverent, grateful
scholars. In this, MR. PHELPS has been a national school-master;
and--far away from the sustaining, fructifying beams of the Court--for
hitherto our ELIZABETH has not visited our BURRIDGE--has popularly
taught the lessons left to England by SHAKSPERE--legacies everlasting as
her cliffs.

As yet, HER MAJESTY has not journied to the Wells. But who knows, how
soon that "great fairy" may travel thither, to do grace to bully
_Bottom_! If so, let MR. PHELPS--if he can--still heighten his manner on
his awakening from that dream. Let him--if he can--more subtly mingle
wonderment with struggling reason, reason wrestling with wonder to get
the better of the mystery!

"I have had a dream--past the wit of man to say what dream it truly
was!--Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream.
Methought I was--there is no man can tell what! Methought I was, and
methought I had.--The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath
not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive,
nor his heart to report, what my dream was."

We do not think it in the wit or power of MR. PHELPS--under any newer
inspiration, to give a deeper, finer meaning to this than he has done.
But, if HER MAJESTY command the play, as a loyal subject, he will
doubtless make the essay. In these words, _Bottom_--as rendered by the
actor--is taken away from the ludicrous; he is elevated by the mystery
that possesses him, and he affects our more serious sympathies, whilst
he forbids our laughter. One of the very, very few precious things of
the stage--of this starved time--is an Ass's head, as worn by the
manager of merrie Islington.

We hope, at least, the QUEEN will command that head to be brought--with
due solemnity--to Windsor Castle. Let _Bottom_ be made to roar again
before HER MAJESTY, the PRINCE, the heir-apparent, and all the smaller
childhood royalties. Let _Bottom_ be confronted with the picked of the
Cabinet--the elect of Privy