own offspring. On the other hand, the cow-bird is not confined in its choice to the nest of any one particular bird; for I have myself found its eggs and young in those of five different species, some of whose nests were scarcely sufficient to contain the young cow-bird of a week old. Such are some of the facts. I have now to propose a few queries, to corroborate my own observations, and to enable me to throw some light on the history of this remarkable bird. 1. Has the cow-bird ever been known to build a nest for itself; and if it has, in what situation was it placed, of what materials was it composed, and what were the number and colour of its eggs? 2. What are the birds generally selected by the cow-bird for its nurses; and have they been observed to resist or express any uneasiness at the intrusion of the latter? 3. When the young cow-bird is hatched, or soon after, does it, like its prototype of Europe, turn out all its fellow-tenants, eggs as well as young, and occupy the premises exclusively? On some of these heads a number of examples have occurred to my own observation. Any gentleman possessing facts relative to the above, or to the history of the bird in general, will confer an obligation by transmitting them under cover to the publishers, with as little delay as more important matters may permit, and the favour will be suitably acknowledged by Philadelphia, June 11th, 1809. ALEXANDER WILSON. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. ON THE CHARACTER OF HAMLET. ON a recent perusal of the tragedy of Hamlet, I was forcibly struck with the injustice of a common criticism upon what are called defects in that admirable play. The authority of Dr. Johnson has given a sanction to the objections: that Hamlet is rather an instrument than an agent: that after he has, by the stratagem of the play, convicted the king, he makes no attempt to punish him, and his death is at last effected by an incident which Hamlet had no part in producing that of the feigned madness of Hamlet, there is no adequate cause, and that the apparition left the regions of the dead to little purpose, as the revenge which he demands is not obtained but by the death of him who was required to take it. The limits of a single paper must circumscribe my observations and forbid any notice of other subjects of critical inquiry which abound in a drama distinguished for the number and variety of its incidents and characters. The single view to which I shall confine my remarks is to show, that the circumstances which have been stated as defects of the play, are defects of Hamlet's character, which Shakspeare designed to exhibit. And if it shall appear, as I think it will upon a very brief examination, that it was the author's intention to present such a character with all its imperfections, that the character itself is a natural one, and one which, from its high importance, deserved the distinguished attention of the moral dramatist, the criticism to which I have alluded must be pronounced unfounded. With equal propriety might the author be censured for the credulous jealousy of Othello, or the criminal ambition of Macbeth. No character is better calculated to excite a deep interest than that of Hamlet: a youth of genius and virtue, possessed of the highest accomplishments and the most amiable dispositions, whose feelings are wounded, and whose firmness is overwhelmed by circumstances of peculiar difficulty and distress. Grief for his father's death, and disgust at his mother's precipitate marriage, prey upon his mind and produce a settled melancholy in his temper. Shocked at his mother's want of feeling and respect for his father's memory, which was cherished with affection and reverence by the filial piety of Hamlet, he is sensible that every tie of natural affection is broken, and that he has suffered an injury and a disgrace which admit neither of redress nor alleviation. Such an instance of depravity fills him with amazement and horror: the world itself appears to be productive of "things gross and rank in nature merely," and all its uses seem to him, weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable." He wishes his being at an end, and he regrets that "the everlasting had fixed his canon 'gainst self-slaughter." roused by HoraHe immediately From this state of listless despondency, he is tio's information that he had seen his father! suspects some foul play from the appearance of his father's spirit in arms, and resolves at every hazard to pursue the inquiry. When the ghost appears, he breaks from the restraint of his friends, and in spite of their remonstrances, follows it until he obtains an answer. At the mention of murder! he impatiently cries: Haste me to know it, that I with wings as swift As meditation or the thoughts of love May sweep to my revenge. When he is informed of the circumstances of his father's murder, and is urged to avenge it, he determines to neglect every thing else, and that "the commandments of his father's spirit all alone shall live within the book and volume of his brain, unmixed with baser matter." But these resolutions, thus solemn, sincere, and spirited, produce no corresponding action. His natural temper and disposition, averse from scenes of tumult and violence, prevail over his resolutions, and render his conduct weak and indecisive. His sensibility is carried to a dangerous and faulty excess, and his indecision is fatal to every plan which he adopts. To conceal his purposes, he thinks it necessary to feign madness, and to maintain the deception, he treats his friends and his mistress with insolence and rudeness. His determination to banish from his mind all thoughts but those of revenge is soon forgotten, he complains of the hardship of his fate in being destined to correct the evils of the time, and he continues to indulge his melancholy temper with reflections upon the miseries of life. With the most sublime ideas of the dignity of human nature, he exclaims: "What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a God! But his mind could find no pleasure even in the contemplation of such a subject, and he adds: Yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me, nor woman neither. He is diverted from these thoughts by the arrival of certain players, by whom he appears to be interested and amused. The gayety of Hamlet's conversation upon this and other occasions, notwithstanding his general melancholy, is perfectly natural. These flashes of mirth break from the gloomy mind like lightning from the dark clouds which overspread the atmosphere; they arise from an involuntary effort of nature, which cannot sustain continual and profound sorrow; they are sometimes the ebullitions of a mind engrossed with its own sorrows, regardless of passing events, and disposed to treat them with levity and ridicule. Such appears to have been often Hamlet's hu mour. But as soon as he is alone, he begins to reflect upon his situation. When he considers the animation and the feeling expressed by a player for nothing, a mere fiction, he exclaims, "What would he do had he the motive and the cue for passion that I have." He reproaches himself for his dullness and cowardice, and his submission to injuries, when he was prompted to revenge by heaven and hell, and for suffering his resentments to evaporate in words and idle invectives. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain, breaks my pate across, Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face, Tweaks me by the nose, gives me the lie i'the throat As deep as to the lungs, who does me this, Ha! why I should take it, &c. It then occurs to him that the play would be a good method to prove the guilt of his uncle: I'll have these players Play something like the murder of my father I'll tent him to the quick : if he do flinch I know my course. He excuses his past inactivity by suggesting doubts of his uncle's guilt and a suspicion that the spirit he had seen might be a devil, and out of his weakness and melancholy might have deceived him. Unlike the fiery and decided Othello, with whom to be once in doubt is once to be resolved, and whose vengeance is as prompt as his suspicions are hasty and unfounded, Hamlet procrastinates the moment of action by pretences which he knows to be frivolous. When he next appears, we find him meditating upon the subject of suicide. The perplexity of his mind has become intolerable. When he reflects upon the murder of his father, and the villainy of the king, his uncle, his sense of duty, his indignation, and the injunctions of his father's spirit, hurry him into the strongest resolutions of vengeance, and his mind continually reproaches him for his inactivity, but his repugnance to such acts of violence, his disgust with life, and his impression of the utter insignificance of every object of human pursuit, soften and disarm him. He is rather disposed to retire from such a scene, in which he found nothing worthy of his attention, and to seek a refuge from his misfortunes by ceasing to be. But the dread of an unknown futurity forbids such a relief, and throws him back upon the world "to bear these ills he has." The play, however, is at length performed, and the king stands convicted to the satisfaction of Hamlet. He is now wrought up to a high pitch of resolution. Now could I drink hot blood And do such business as the bitter day Would quake to look on. In this temper, while he is on his way to see his mother, who had sent for him, he finds the king his uncle, at prayers. He says, Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying, And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven, And so am I revenged? But here again his evil genius suggests a curious refinement. He thinks that if the king should be killed while he was praying, he would certainly go to heaven, and thus he should lose his revenge. His uncle had killed his father when he was unprepared to die, and a just retaliation required that the king should be served in the same manner. He therefore determines to put off his vengeance until he finds the king engaged in some less holy business, and by that method send his soul to hell. Accordingly he passes by the king without discovering himself. The conduct of Hamlet upon this occasion is considered as an instance of savage barbarity, and so it would be if the reason which he assigns for the delay of his revenge were the true one. But it really was not his motive. It is inconsistent with the whole of his character. It was evidently a mere pretence to palliate to his own mind, his tardy and indecisive measures. He is continually endeavouring to animate himself to do acts of blood, which, when the time of action arrives, he shrinks from performing. The neglect of this opportunity proves fatal. While he is in conference with his mother, he hears a noise behind the arras, which he mistakes for the voice of the king, and at the impulse of the moment he aims a blow, which kills Pollonius. The consequences are, that he is obliged to leave his country, Ophelia becomes distracted and perishes, and Laertes is made his implacable foe. His father's spirit again appears to him while he is conversing with his mother, and Hamlet, conscious of his fault, asks, Do you not come your tardy son to chide, |