ELSINORE.

WALKING upon the battlements of the castle of Elsinore, one has the same kind of instinctive expectation of seeing the ghost of the murdered king as we have of meeting Don Quixote and his squire while travelling in the Sierra Morena; and, indeed, in this ancient Danish fortress there is no lack of such gloomy passages as a ghost might be supposed to issue from.

It was nearly seven in the evening when I stepped upon Danish ground; and having deposited my portmanteau in an inn, and ordered supper, I walked up to the castle, I may say, without any affectation, thinking all the way of Hamlet and Ophelia, and the murdered king. If it had been three or four hours later, I should doubtless have looked towards the gloomy archways with almost an expectation of seeing the ghost of the murdered monarch, but it still wanted a little while to sunset. I lingered on the ramparts until the sun went down, when, at short intervals, two or three guns from the vessels broke upon the stillness, sending a hollow sound booming over the trembling water. Soon the landscape began to fade away, and every sound to cease, except only the occasional splash of an oar; and I left the rampart to seek some one to conduct me to Hamlet's Garden. The sentinel to whom I addressed myself laid aside his musket, and conducted me to the enclosure, where tradition has laid the deed to which we are indebted for our favourite tragedy. There was nothing to see, however, excepting what was pictured in the "mind's eye;" and after a few moments' silence, I left the castle and its precincts for the town, where I soon enjoyed the realities of a comfortable supper and its accompaniments.

INGLIS'S SOLITARY WALKS.

HAMLET.

ACT I. SCENE I.

ELSINORE.

HORATIO and MARCELLUS.

Mar. 'Tis gone!

We do it wrong, being so majestical,

To offer it the show of violence;

For it is, as the air, invulnerable,

And our vain blows malicious mockery.

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing

Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine and of the truth herein

This present object made probation.

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long : And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallowed, and so gracious is the time.

Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it. But, look, the morn in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill : Break we our watch up; and, by my advice, Let us impart what we have seen to-night Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life, This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.