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"Dies Boreales" Nos. V, VI, and VII ("Blackwood's," Nov., 1849; April and May, 1850; reprinted in condensed. form, "Trans. New Sh. Soc.," 1875-76, pt. ii, App. i; 1877-79, pt. iii, App. iii) and, independently, by the Rev. N. J. Halpin, in "The Dramatic Unities of Shakspere (reprinted Trans. New Sh. Soc.," 1875-76, pt. ii, App. i). This theory, roughly stated, is, that Shakspere introduced into his plays two time-indicators, as it were, each running independently of the other, but consistently with itself, and that he forced the audience to take note of the passage of time by referring now to one indicator and now to the other. Thus the time between two scenes might be twenty-four hours by one indicator and two or three months, or even several years, by the other; but the audience readily accepts either-or both at once-as giving a true measure of the passage of time. Inconsistencies of time are therefore not real, but only apparent, and are easily removed by assigning one of the conflicting indications to "short time" and the other to "long time." By this means, it is supposed, Shakspere's art is relieved of a blemish, if indeed it does not gain by his demonstrated ability to run two irreconcilable timepieces.

Had the theory remained where Professor Wilson's third article left it, there would be no occasion for discussing it; for it seems pretty clear that the great humorist was only amusing himself with a highly ingenious fancy, and using it as the basis for an interesting exposition of the freedom with which the Elizabethan dramatists treated time-relations. But since it has been adopted. and maintained in all seriousness, there is sufficient excuse for pointing out that the theory is inadequate; two timepieces are not enough; there are plays which require at least three, and there are scenes such as III, vi of the present play-which a hundred would not suffice to set right. Moreover, such a theory would need as a corollary

a manifold system of measures of space, not to speak of other devices for bringing the plays into accord with reality.

The theory, however, is not only inadequate; it is unnecessary. The blemish which it was intended to remove does not exist. For it is not a blemish in a work of art that it fails to do what it does not undertake and is under no obligation to undertake. Shakspere was a consummate artist, it is true, and the evidences of careful planning in his plays are so abundant that we may be sure that he could and would have carried through consistently any time-scheme that he undertook to carry through. But he undertook none. The events of his plays do not stand in temporal relations to one another, but in logical relations. The events follow one another because of logical reasons. The indications of time that are given are given not for the purpose of letting us know the time, but to produce each a definite momentary impression; as soon as that is done we have no further concern with that time indication, we are expected to forget it and to be ready to receive another when it is needed for another impression, however irreconcilable it may be with the previous one-and, as a matter of fact, we do so receive and forget these indications while retaining the impressions intended. When Banquo says, "Thou hast it now: King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, as the weird women promised," we are not to learn that Macbeth has just ascended the throne, but only that Banquo's mind is wholly occupied with the predictions, the manner of their fulfilment, and the relation of these facts to his own ambitions. When the Porter is rated for sleeping so late in the morning that he is dilatory in answering the knock of unreasonably early visitors, we are not thereby invited to inquire into contemporary social customs and discover an hour that would be late for a porter and early for visitors-easily as that might be

found.

When we hear the discussions of Macbeth's cruelty, we are not to draw an inference as to the length of his reign, but only to understand what is the attitude of the people toward him. Time is simply a means by which the dramatist suggests to us the force or the reality of emotions or the logical propriety of situations; when once the suggestion has been received, the means may be and is neglected.

In real life we do not so easily forget the time-relations of events, because the events of life are, as a rule, bound up in our memories with a multitude of definite and unmistakable time indications. When we look at a play, however, the various series of regularly recurring events by which we ordinarily measure the passage of time cease to be available; they are not connected with the series proceeding upon the stage, nor related to it in any way. We are looking upon a single series of events unfolding before us at a rate unknown to us, and known only to be variable. We cease to attempt an account of time, and forget the few indications given us almost as soon as they are made. We have no concern with them; the sentiment, the passion, the situation, the event, these concern us, and these we remember.

This is true to a great extent of the stage of to-day; it was true beyond question of the Elizabethan stage. As Professor Wilson says, in his third article: "He [Shakspere] came to a Stage which certainly had not cultivated the logic of time as a branch of the Dramatic Art. It appears to me that those old people, when they were enwrapt in the transport of their creative power, totally forgot all regard, lost all consciousness of time. Passion does not know the clock or the calendar. Intimations of time, now vague, now positive, will continually occur; but also the Scenes float, like the Cyclades, in a Sea of time, at distances utterly indeterminate. Most near? Most remote? That is a

Stage of Power, and not of Rules-Dynamic, not Formal. I say again, at last as at first, that the time of Othello, tried by the notions of time in our Art, or tried, if you will, by the type of prosaic and literal time, is—

INSOLUBLE.

VII. METRE.

The speeches of the three weird sisters are written in verses of four feet, or measures, of the type commonly called trochaic. That the individual verses do not all contain exactly the same number of syllables is obvious to the most careless reader; but the rhythmical equivalence of them never admits of doubt. The movement is

as free and varied as that of popular rhymes and jingles, and consequently as hard to deal with by rule-ofthumb scansion; and we as yet know so little about the fundamental rhythmical principles of English verse that scansion, in the ordinary sense of the word, had perhaps better be avoided. But though we are unable to say as yet wherein consists the rhythmical equivalence of verses, we can nevertheless attempt a comparative study of different verses of the same type, and try to discover as many of the features of difference between them as we can. And inadequate as was the old mode of dividing English verses into feet, it seems still, notwithstanding the investigations of modern students of rhythm, to have some claim to be used for establishing the typical verse, the variations from which we are to study. For it is certain that for a very long time English poets were under the impression that the old theory was correct, and they themselves established their typical verses in accordance with its principles. The variations from the type seem to fall in a different category, for after the establishment of the type the sense of rhythm alone seems to have been

applied as a test of equivalence. These variations, therefore, should be the object of study; and while the beginner cannot hope to discover the principle of equivalence, he can at least awaken his sense of the freedom of variation.

Besides such matters as number and place of accents, length of syllables, omission of syllables, presence of extra syllables, he should note the effect of differences in the distribution of syllables into words, and of words into phrases (for these constitute well-defined metrical groups), upon the rhythm of verses identical in number, arrangement, and weight of syllables and accents. These things, apparently, determine the tempo of verse, and have a marked influence upon the quality of emotion which responds to the rhythm. In music, as is well known, a melody which appeals to the most elevated and delicate emotions is often, by the change of absolutely nothing except the tempo, made into a popular song which arouses. either the lower emotions or the coarser phases of the higher. Observations along this line-even if they lead to no explanation of the phenomena of rhythm, and they probably will not-can be made by anyone who is sensitive to rhythm, and will reward him by increasing his perception of the subtlety of English verse. These remarks, of course, hold good for all the varieties of verse as handled by masters of verse.

The speeches of Hecate are in iambic measures. They are dull and mechanical in movement, and consequently offer few attractions to the student of verse. The variations from the typical form are comparatively few..

The play, as a whole, is written in dramatic blank verse, that is, in lines, typically, of five iambic feet. In Shakspere's early work the rhythm was varied, but never so as to obscure the metrical equivalence of the verses. It is held by most scholars that although his