Time in Shakespeare's Comedies

I PROPOSE to analyze the plays of Shakespeare for the purpose of indicating the lapse of time which accompanies the action of each of them. Separate dramas have occasionally been examined with tins end in view, but I am not aware that any attempt has been made to bring together within a narrow compass the results of an inquiry concerning the dramatist’s entire treatment of the element of time. I mean to refrain as nearly as may be from theories and speculations, and to confine myself to the faithful discovery and simple setting forth of the poet’s own plan as it is unfolded in his text.

Certain critics have undertaken to forestall such an examination by predicting its worthlessness. Our most distinguished American commentator. Mr. Richard Grant White, is one of the chief of these, his reasoning being simply this : that, as Shakespeare is obviously careless with regard to all such matters of form, it is vain to search his plays for evidences of intention. But my precise object is to find out just how careless Shakespeare was, and just how careful, in the particular matter under consideration. I do not believe such a question is to be settled by begging it ; and though I share the general admiration for Mr. White’s brilliant scholarship, I cannot allow myself to be diverted from my purpose by what he has written on this point, especially as he has taken for his special text the play of Hamlet, in which Shakespeare has marked the progress of time with exceptional distinctness.

All students of the master-poet are agreed in recognizing the extraordinarily efficient quality of his genius. Whatever he willed to do he could do. Often he was indifferent as to matters of detail. but when he chose to be scrupulous hia fineness was a marvel to the most exacting. The fact and the force of his intention are to he inferred, as in the case of any other human agent, from the character of his work. A rapid reading of his plays will discover that he paid little regard to the “unities” of the classic dramatists, and that he seldom took pains to placard his scenes with statements concerning the progress of the action. And his dramas have come down to us unaccompanied by authentic programmes setting forth the periods of time supposed to elapse between the scenes, except in some rare instance where a “ chorus ” plays the part of interpreter. But though he disregarded the fashion of the ancients and never knew the method of the moderns, it will be made to appear that in this as in various other matters he had his own way of working, and that the movement of time in his plays is often visible to eyes that are patient enough to exercise their function of seeing. The general result of an examination on the point in question might indeed be safely prophesied by any careful student of Shakespeare’s method as a playwright: it could be guessed in advance that in a few of his dramas he would be very clear and exact in displaying the passage of time in the action ; that in many other pieces he would show it with a distinctness sufficient for practical purposes ; that in many lie would give few or no indications of it. Upon investigation it is found that the Shakespearean dramas may he classified in just this way. The first class includes only the Comedy of Errors. Tempest, Romeo and Juliet, and Hamlet. The second class embraces a majority of the comedies and Othello. In the third class are all the historical plays (with which I reckon Lear and Macbeth and the Homan tragedies, except Titus Audronicus, which I have not taken into account) ; a few of the comedies, mostly of the earlier period; Pericles, Timon, and Troilus and Cressida. This is a rough division, and will need much explanation and perhaps some modification, as we go along. For convenience, I shall deal wholly with the comedies in this paper.

Grouping the comedies in the manner just indicated, I place in the first class, as was said above, the Comedy of Errors and The Tempest, in which the progress of time is marked with minute precision ; in the second class, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the Merchant of Venice, the Merry Wives of Windsor, Twelfth Night, Much Ado About Nothing, As You Like It, Measure for Measure, and the Winter’s Tale, in all of which the time is shown with substantial fullness and clearness ; in the third class, the Two Gentlemen of Verona, Love’s Labor’s Lost, the Taming of the Shrew, All’s Well That Ends Well and Cymbeline, with Pericles and Troilus and Cressida, in which the lapse of time is indicated scantily, obscurely, or not at all.

I. Entering upon the consideration of these groups in their order, I ask my readers to note at the outset the interesting fact that there are but two of Shakespeare’s plays in which the action is confined within a single day. One of these, the Comedy of Errors, stands unquestionably among the earliest of his dramatic compositions; the other, The Tempest, is doubtless one of his very latest. The former shows more of a disposition to imitate the classical playwrights than appears in any other of his pieces; the latter displays Shakespeare’s untrammeled genius in its most matured and characteristic shapes. Yet though so widely different from each other in all matters of substance and in nearly all matters of form, the two dramas are alike in this, that they alone tell their stories with such succinctness in point of time as almost to come within the bounds permitted by the strict classical canon. Each of them covers but a portion of one day. In Scene 1, Act I., of the Comedy of Errors, old Ægeon is condemned to death, in default of a ransom of one thousand marks; the Duke limiting to the prisoner “this day” in which to raise the sum. The hour of the imposition of the sentence is early, for in the last scene of the play the Duke alludes to the “ morning story ” of Ægeon. Scene 2 begins not long after the midday dinner-time of Antipholus of Ephesus; his Dromio — after the meal had been kept waiting so long that “ the capon ” lias “ burned ” and the “ Pig” fallen “from the spit” — having been sent by Adriana to hunt up the tardy master of the house. In the same scene the “ merchant “friend of Antipholus of Syracuse promises to meet the latter at live o’clock P. M. The hour of Scene 1, Act II., is two p. M., as indicated by a remark of Adriana. Scene 2, Act II., follows close upon the preceding, or is partly contemporaneous with it, — it being “not half an hour” since one of the interviews of Scene 2, Act I. Scene 1, Act III., sharply succeeds, and shows Antipholus of Ephesus on his way home, conscious that, he is late for dinner and apprehensive about his wife’s temper, so that it is now about half past two ; and in the same scene, Angelo agrees to meet him “ an hour hence.” The “ hour hence,” 3.30 P. M., is reached in the last scene of Act III., when Angelo tries to keep his appointment. In Scene 1, Act IV., it still lacks something of five o’clock, and Angelo is begging of his creditor a few minutes’ delay, that he may collect of Antipholus of Ephesus the sum “promised ” to be paid at five. The short scenes 2, 3, and 4 of the same act are either contemporaneous, or fit snugly in after the preceding. In Scene I of Act V. “ the dial points at five ; ” the characters all come together, mostly by appointment ; the near doom of Ægeon is once more proclaimed, the day having expired without the appearance of a friend to advance his ransom, and in a few minutes everything is happily ended. It would not he unwarrantable to say that the last four acts are shown by Shakespeare’s text to occupy about an hour apiece, the second act opening at two p. M., while the first act covers a part of the forenoon and a few minutes between one and two p. M.

The action of The Tempest consumes about four hours. The moment of the shipwreck, with wdiich the comedy opens, is not fixed precisely in the scene itself, but on almost the last page of the fifth act the Boatswain, now restored to reason and reverence, announces,

Everything in The Tempest moves with great speed, though there is seldom any appearance of hurry; indeed, almost every incident in the piece is supposed to be fitted to every other by the magic of Prospero. In Scene 2, Act 1., after Prospero’s disclosure to Miranda of their checkered past, Ariel appears, and it is two o’clock ; for to his master’s inquiry about “ the time o’ day ” the fine spirit replies that it is “past the midseason,” to which Prospero adds, —

So that within the scant four sequent hours Ferdinand is captured by Prospero, and enslaves and is enslaved by Miranda; Antonio and Sebastian plot against the life of the King of Naples, and are foiled by Ariel; Caliban makes acquaintance with Stephano and Trinculo, and learns the joys, audacities, and inadequacies of drunkenness and the self-disgust of returned sobriety; and there is a handsome margin of time left for Prospero to use in entertaining the newly betrothed couple with rare private theatricals, and afterward in lecturing his prostrate foes with magnificent length and splendor of diction. Some of the hints of the progress of the time are delicate, and all are interesting. In Scene 2, Act I., Caliban, who has apparently made a very long forenoon over his wood-gathering, — a branch of industry to which Prospero seems to have given much vicarious attention,—is snarling about his dinner, the hour (past two p. M.) being, of course, disgustingly late for that meal. In Scene ‘2, Act III., Caliban possesses Stephano with a plan for murdering Prospero during his master’s afternoon nap, which will be ‘‘within a half hour.” The fifth act and final scene opens, as Ariel informs Prospero, “on the sixth hour,” and Ferdinand is presented to his father as the accepted lover of a maid with whom his “ eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours.” The shadows of evening begin to fall upon the close of the scene which ends the eventful afternoon. Prospero invites the gentlefolk to lodge with him until the next morning, and they enter his cell prepared to spend “ some part of the night ” in hearing the story of his thirteen years’ exile ; while Ariel, it is reasonable to suppose, flies off to take a twilight dash upon a bat’s back, in anticipation of a speedy return to elemental freedom.

II. The second group of comedies exhibits the method of dealing with the question of time which Shakespeare practiced in a majority of his non-historical plays. It is not improbable that he was familiar with the strict rule of the classic Greek authors, and that he rejected it, with more or less deliberation, as unsuitable to his own theory of dramatic composition, or to the bent of his own genius. The only “ unities ” which he was scrupulous to preserve were emotional or moral. Continuous vivacity

in his stories and scope for full life and free illustration in his personages were the ends which he perpetually sought to attain. If the plot was full of dramatic interest, — above all, if it gave ample room for the play and progress of human passion and the display and development of human character, — he was willing that it should sometimes fly about with his hearers, as if it were a magical Persian carpet. Yet in his pieces there is seldom any failure of entire coherence in the plot, as there is almost never auy failure of self-consistency in the persons. The movement in the classic play of ancient Greece is all, as it were, upon one broad plane; in the Shakespearean drama it runs upon vast ascending spirals. On the other hand, Shakespeare knew the frequent value of concentration both in time and place, and exemplified his knowledge when it suited his purpose so to do. His own will was his law ; but his will was ever guided by his sense of dramatic propriety or necessity. One strong inclination of his mind constantly interfered with any strict compliance on his part with the canon of dramatic unities: be seems nearly always to have desired that his prominent characters should act out in their own persons, as far as might be, every important event of the story ; he could not abide that any essential part of their doings should be delivered at second hand. Consequently, his chief personages do not often contribute directly to the plot by telling or suffering others to tell what has happened to them ; they show it all to the eyes of the spectator. This was in direct opposition to the theory and practice of the ancient dramatists. In long plays of an elevated order, it is, in fact, generally impossible that the unities should be preserved without a vast amount of introductory or parenthetic narrative. The mental habit just named, which in Shakespeare has almost the potency of an absolute law, works, as we shall see, important results upon the scheme of time in his plays. If an ancient Greek — or, for that matter, a modern Frenchman, of the higher classic tendency — had dramatized the story of Othello, he would have opened his play with the third scene of Shakespeare’s third act, and would have narrated through the mouths of some of the dramatis personarum the history of the Moor’s elopement and wedding, of his summons before the Venetian magnificoes, of Brabantio’s alienation from Desdemona, and of Cassio’s lieutenancy and degradation. If Shakespeare had written The Tempest in his usual mood, — though of course it is easy to suggest reasons why his animus should have been just what it was in the case of this particular comedy, — the piece would have begun, not with the shipwreck of the usurping Antonio and the King of Naples upon an undiscovered island, but with at least one whole act in Milan, in which the deposing of Prospero and his expulsion from his dukedom would have been displayed; and very likely a second act — which certainly would have been extremely interesting — might have shown Prospero’s first encounters with Ariel and Caliban, and the application of the varied arts and incantations by which he persuaded or compelled their obedience. Now this habit in dramatic construction by no means results either in a constant or in a general disregard by Shakespeare of the element of time, or in a disposition to refuse to indicate the lapse of time to the spectator; but it effects a want of uniformity among the different plays, the movement being by a series of throbs and checks, begun and intermitted at various jtoints, according to t lie poet’s judgment of the needs of each drama. Yet there is a certain marked similarity of treatment of the plot in a good many pieces, which makes it possible to speak of half a dozen or more of them as conforming pretty closely to one constructive type. In the comedies and tragedies of this type Shakespeare devotes his first act — or, perhaps, as in Twelfth Night and Measure for Measure, only a few opening scenes — to the introduction of some of his chief personages, and the presentation of the basis event or events upon which the main structure of the drama is to be reared. This opening act or scene seldom covers more than a few clays, and sometimes occupies but a few hours. An interval in time, varying in length but never very long, next occurs, during which the characters sustain some important readjustments; and then, the terms of the problem of the piece having been stated, the solution is worked out continuously and rapidly. It is as if in a musical work the theme were first simply stated in a few strong chords, a rest of some bars followed, and then, with new resolutions of the initial harmony, the composition were developed to its close without, a break. The length of the interval of time just named is in general not explicitly stated, though sometimes, as in Twelfth Night and Hamlet, pains are taken before the end of the drama is reached to indicate its extent. The lapse of time after the interval is usually made clear, and in some instances is set down with minute precision. Of this type are Hamlet, Measure for Measure, As You Like It, Twelfth Night, and, with some variation, the Merchant of Venice and the Winter’s Tale. Othello may also fairly he said to belong to the same order, although in its action there are two undetermined intervals which precede the final rush of the plot to its fierce conclusion. It will be correctly inferred that Shakespeare had no deep respect for the division lines of the acts with which his plays are given to us, and that his caesural pauses were made nearly as often in the midst of an act as at its close.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream is not of the type which has just been described, and to which most of the second class belong, and if the great poet had not elected to seem to nod a bit in its construction it would hold an honorable place in my first group. It is, however, the only one of Shakespeare’s plays in which I have discovered an inexplicable variance between the different parts of his scheme of time.¹ In the very first lines of this comedy the Duke of Athens, Theseus, — a gentleman as protean in his political relations as in his love affairs,— laments to Hippolyta, the buskined Queen of Amazons, whom he has won with his sword, that their wedding must be delayed until “four happy days bring in another moon ; ” to which his betrothed soothingly and gracefully replies, —

The date of their wedding having been thus fixed by the high contracting parties, old Egeus enters, “ full of vexation,” to complain that his daughter Hermia will not respect his choice of Demetrius as her husband, but persists in clinging to Lysander, a youth after her own heart; and Hermia is then and there warned by the Duke that “ by the next new moon,” " the sealing day betwixt ” his love and him, she must be prepared to elect whether she will obey her father, surrender her life to “ chanting faint .hymns to the cold, fruitless moon ” as a votaress of Diana, or die the death of a disobedient child. The important date for which everything is thus fixed must have been, even by the ancient process of princely arithmetic, with all its cheerful counting at both ends, at least three days distant, as we should reckon it. But the play proceeds to cut the time down by a full twenty-four hours. Fixing our punctum temporis in the first scene of Act I., we

find that Lysander and Hermia then arrange to elope “ to-morrow night,” their trysting-place being a certain wood a league without the town. Near the end of the scene they disclose their purpose to the woe-begone Helena, who has just entered, full of her own heart-grief, and she at once resolves to curry a little miserable favor with her unkind Demetrius by revealing their scheme to him. Scene 2, which succeeds, is plainly contemporaneous with Scene 1, or follows it closely. Here the hard-handed craftsmen of Athens make the original cast of parts in the “lamentable comedy” of Pyramus and Thisbe, and the last word of Quince, their stage manager and prompter, is an appointment to meet “ to-morrow night ” in the palace wood for a moonlight rehearsal. It is this same “ to-morrow night ” which teems with wonders for all the chief persons of the piece ; the whole of Acts II. and

III. is included within it, and in Scene 1 of Act IV. day breaks upon the following morn. This is the night of midsummer dreams and fancies and fairies, of whose enchantment, heightened sometimes by melodies of great musicians, the world has drunk without satiety for more than two centuries. Within this night Puck works all his delicious unmalicious mischief, and makes “ all well again; ” Oberon and Titania renew their dainty quarrels and their love; and Bottom tastes the doubtful joys of empire in fairyland and in a fairy queen’s heart. It is a single night, as is said over and over again by the text in divers ways. But scarcely has the sequent morning dawned in Act IV. when Theseus, out a-hunting, discovers the pairs of lovers asleep upon the ground, awakens them with his horns, and judicially informs Hermia that the day of his marriage and her fateful choice has arrived; and nobody contradicts him, or asks his grace to count up the time once more on his ducal fingers. Scene 2 of Act IV. is in the afternoon of the same day, — all the couples having been married, and “the Duke having dined,” — and shows Bottom’s return from dreamland, and the preparation of the humble actors for immediate departure to the palace ; and Act V. devotes the “ long age of three hours between after supper and bedtime ” to the “ tragical mirth ” of Pyramus and Thisbe, followed, when the palace is hushed, by the appearance of the fairies and their blessing of the bride-beds. Parts of three successive days have therefore been occupied in the action, and a whole day has somehow dropped out. Nice customs courtesied to great kings in Henry V.’s time, and perhaps in the imperial age of Theseus the calendars made similar obeisance. But on the whole, I think we must believe that the explanation lies in the nature of the play, whose characters, even when clothed with human flesh and blood, have little solidity or reality. I fancy that Shakespeare would smilingly plead guilty as an accessory after the fact to the blunder, and charge the principal fault upon Puck and his crew, who would doubtless rejoice in the annihilation of a mortal’s day. If this will not suffice, the problem must remain unsolved in these pages, and may be laid aside in company with the vexing questions, what became of the fathers and fathers-in-law, whose parts were carefully assigned at the first meeting of the troupe, and how Mr. N. Bottom, the leading man of the Quince “ combination,” could have achieved triumphant success in the exacting character of Pyramus without a single full rehearsal.

The first two acts of the Merchant of Venice occupy a few days, — three, or perhaps four, being the number nearest to the indications of the text. In these scenes the separate currents of Bassauio’s and Portia’s lives are shown in a sort of irregular alternation, so to

speak, until at the close of the last dialogue of the second act the streams meet and join. The first act covers a part of a single day, with scenes laid both at Venice and Belmont, and the syncopation of scenes helps to mark the progress of time. Scene 1 of Act I., wherein Bassanio first discloses to Antonio his pecuniary needs and his designs on Portia’s hand, is in the forenoon ; for within it appointments for dinner are made by Lorenzo and the others, and its last word is Antonio’s suggestion that both he and Bassanio shall go “presently” and inquire what can be done among the money-lenders. Scene 2 of Act I. gives the charming dialogue between Portia and Nerissa, in which the goldenhaired mistress of Belmont displays her intuitive wit, her distaste for her present suitors, and her inclination toward Bassanio ; and just at its close a servant announces that the Prince of Morocco will arrive “to-night.” Scene 3 of Act I. presents Bassanio’s and Antonio’s famous first interview with Shylock: a usurer has soon been found ; it still lacks of the hour for dinner, and Bassanio’s courteous invitation to the Jew to share the meal with him is given and received in the fashion with which every one is familiar.² Scene 1 of Act 11. is laid in Belmont, and discloses the Prince of Morocco as an active suitor. It is not on the evening of his arrival named in Scene 2, Act I., but is probably on the next morning, and at the moment, as the text fairly shows, of his first formal reception by Portia, for “ after dinner ” his “ hazard ” is to be made. Scene 2 returns to Venice, and exhibits the delightful encounter of Lauucelot and his father and the entrance of the former into the service of Bassanio, who has made prompt use of his borrowed purse in enlarging Bis retinue and in arranging a great sapper and a departure to Belmont, all for that evening. The short scenes which follow cover parts of the same afternoon and night; and in Scene 6, after Bassanio’s supper and the elopement of Jessica and Lorenzo, the hour being " nine o’clock ” and Gratiano stayed for, the purposed mask is given up, and Bassanio hastily sets sail, in order to take advantage of the wind, which has “ come about ” to a favorable quarter. Scene 7 is in Belmont, and puts a beautiful end to the second day of the action of the comedy with the Prince of Morocco’s liery but fruitless attack upon the caskets. The interval between the point just reached and the close of the second act occupies as much time as would suffice for Bassanio’s voyage to Belmont, and there is every reason to suppose would not exceed a couple of days. The interim is partially occupied in the comedy by Scene 8 in Venice, wherein Salarino and Salanio discuss the effect of Jessica’s elopement upon her father, his unsuccessful attempt, after his discovery of Tier flight, to stop Bassanio’s ship, and the alarming news about one of Antonio’s mercantile ventures; and by Scene 9 at Belmont, where the Prince of Arragon exhibits his “ deliberate ” folly among the caskets, the latter scene and second act concluding with the announcement of Bassanio’s arrival at Portia’s house. There is now an interval of almost exactly three months, agreeing with the time for payment and forfeiture stipulated in the memorable bond, and somewhere within this period are the great interviews (Scene 1, Act III.) between Salanio, Salarino,and Sliylock, and Tubal and Shylock, — the Jew’s direction to his agent, at the close of the scene, to " fee an officer and bespeak him a fortnight before ” the bond falls due, tending to show that the three months have nearly expired. In the latter part of the “ casket scene ” of Bassanio and Portia (Scene 2. Act III.) tidings arrive over Antonio’s hand that the bond to the Jew is forfeit. The three full months which the royal friend and merchant has silently spent in the shadow of deepening anxiety Bassanio has passed in the sunlight of Portia’s eyes, and his mistress even now tries to persuade him “ to pause a day or two ” longer before he hazards. Upon the same scene, just after Bassanio has made his choice of the leaden casket, Lorenzo and his runaway bride enter. They also have passed the ninety days in the gayest fashion, have spent and traveled much, and tlic report of some of their costly doings in Genoa at play and moukeybuyiug has given extreme pain to the lady’s father. From this point to the end of the play the action occupies a few days, probably three or four at most; the time spent being just so much as an ardent husband, separated from his wife on their wedding-day, will allow to be consumed, — which is, of course, only what will suffice to reach Venice, attend court, and return to Belmont. Immediately after her new husband’s departure, in Scene 4, Act III., Portia dispatches her faithful Balthazar to her cousin, Doctor Bellario, at Padua, and instructs the serving-man to bring the notes and garments which be shall receive from the doctor, “ with imagined speed,”

she adds, —

all of which looks much as if the lovely lady did not visit Padua and her learned cousin at all, but got her instructions from him by letter and committed them to memory, while she donned her doctor’s habit, en route from Belmont to Venice. But there is no occasion to be shocked at this. Doctor Bellario seems to have assumed the responsibility for all the egregious lying, and the matter is to be taken as one of the “ properties ” of the scene, as Rosalind’s impenetrated disguise and many other things in the drama are to he regarded, — as a part of the picturesque trappings of a romantic story upon which it would be foolish to bring a microscope to bear. That the distance from Belmont to Venice was short may be inferred from the gallant Bassanio’s vow to his young wife, that until their reunion he will not take a night’s rest in bed (Act III., Scene 2, ad finem). The trial scene (Act IV., Scene 1) occupies a long forenoon, and ends with the Duke’s request to Portia to dine with him. Scene 2 of the same act succeeds closely, and in it Portia, having refused Bassanio’s invitation to dinner and obtained his ring, sets out “ to-night ” for Belmont, where she undertakes to arrive " a day before ” her husband. She seems a little to have retarded her pace when near her home, and a message conveying her intent precedes her arrival there, which antedates Bassanio’s but a few minutes. When the comedy ends it is “ but two hours to-day,” and the happy night of the final scene may well be believed to be that of the day following the trial in Venice.

The action of the Merry Wives of Windsor apparently occupies portions of four successive days. The time is not shown with mathematical precision, but is indicated plainly enough in Shakespeare’s usual fashion. Beginning at Scene 1 of Act I,., the hour is in the forenoon. Falstaff meets Justice Shallow, Master Slender, and Sir Hugh Evans, and all go into Page’s to dinner, where their host hopes they will “ drink down all unkimlness.” At this dinner Falstaff makes his imagined conquest of the merry wives. Scene 2 is near the end of the dinner, when there’s still “ pippins and cheese to come.” Scene 3 takes place in the Garter Inn. It is later in the same day, for Falstaff “ even now ” had “ good eyes ” of the two ladies, and with characteristic swiftness in purpose and pursuit he at once writes his seductive letters, and in the same scene dispatches them to Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. In Scene 1, Act II.,

it is still the same day. Mistress Page has just received her letter, and in the first flush of her amused disgust is visited by Mistress Ford, who comes to tell of the fat knight’s wooing of herself. The pair straightway begin to plot their revenge, and with the close of this scene the first day ends, the last word being the utterance of Ford’s jealous resolve to visit Falstaff in disguise. The second day begins with Scene 2. Act II. it is early in the forenoon, for Ford, under the name of Brook, sends up to Falstaff “ a morning’s draft of sack.” Mrs. Quickly arrives directly afterward, with her “good morrow ” to his “ worship ” and a message from Mrs, Ford appointing an interview between ten and eleven o’clock, A. M., when “ her husband will be absence from his house.” The last scene of Act II. and the first two of Act III. fit in after this interview, and include the abortive attempts at a duel between Dr. Cains and Sir Hugh, Ford’s angry self-communing, and his insistence to his friends that they shall forthwith accompany him to his house, where he expects to surprise his wife and Falstaff. Scene 3 is at the hour and place of Falstaff’s rendezvous with Mistress Ford, includes his buck-basket adventure, and ends with Ford’s discomfiture and his invitation to his party to stay to dinner. In the same scene an appointment is made by all the gentlemen of the company to go “ a-birding ” with Page “to-morrow morning.” Scene 5 of Act III. concludes the second day. Master Brook has been bidden early in-the day to visit Falstaff again “ soon at night,” in order to hear the story of the latter’s success with Mrs. Ford. The night and visitor arrive, and Falstaff gives his masterly account of his launch “hissing hot” iuto the Thames. Earlier in the same scene the fat knight has been pacified by Mrs. Quickly, and lias consented to another meeting with Mistress Ford “ to-morrow morning between eight and nine,” when the husbands have “ gone a-birding.” In Scene 2, Act IV., the morning of the third day begins with the second interview of Falstaff and Mrs. Ford by appointment at the early hour just named ; and presently Falstaff is forced to disguise himself as the aunt of Mrs. Ford’s maid, “ the fat woman of Brentford,” and gets the heating whose blows yet resound through the halls of fame. In Scene 4, Act IV., Ford has been told the whole truth, and all put their wits together against Falstaff, to whom a message is “ straight ” to be sent, to meet the merry wives in the park at midnight. Scene 5 of the act ends the third day, Falstaff having arrived at his inn, and doffed the feminine attire in which he was “beaten into all the colors of the rainbow.” The last scene of the act is on the fourth and final day, and in it Fenton prevails upon mine Host of the Garter to assist in his elopement. with Anne Page from Herne’s oak “ to-night twixt twelve and one.” The first scene of Act V. makes the connection of time entirely plain. Mrs. Quickly, having returned to the charge upon Falstaff which she began the day before (Act IV., Scene 5 ad finem), has overcome his objections to the new idea of “ the two parties,” and he promises to meet them at the oak at midnight; and in answer to Ford’s inquiry, “ Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me you had appointed? ” he gives a brief but deliciously humorous account of his last mishap. The three succeeding scenes are at different hours of the evening, and the fourth day closes in Windsor Park, soon after midnight, with the last merry revenge of the merry wives, the discomfiture of Master Slender and Dr. Caius, and the secret marriage of Anne Page to the elegant and mysterious Fenton, who forestalls his parents-in-law by administering to them a serious lecture in advance upon the wickedness of their mercenary spirit.

The lapse of time in Twelfth Night has exceptional interest. The scheme

of the play seems at first a little involved, but is really simple, and in order to he understood and enjoyed needs only to be examined with care and patience. The action between its extreme points includes a space of three months and a few days, the longer period being exactly the length of Viola’s service in the court of Orsino (vide the Duke’s speech to Antonio, Act V., Scene 1 ad init.) ; but from Scene 4 of Act I. the whole time actually occupied is but a part of two days, the second of which is packed as full of incident as an egg is full of meat. The first two scenes of the comedy are like chords severed from each other by a rather long rest, yet bound to each other by the laws of harmonic sequence. In the first the Duke is introduced, and his virile hut fantastic passion for Olivia and the lady’s year-old grief and seclusion are described in a few short meaning-laden sentences. In the second scene Viola appears, just delivered from the perils of shipwreck, and takes her resolution to go to the nearest city of Illyria, and in the guise of “ an eunuch ” to enter the service of its ruler. The third scene makes the spectator acquainted with Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek, two gentlemen whom every one would keep among his friends even if he were forced to spare several better men in consequence. The position of this scene in the time of the action is not marked, and the whole of it is designed to strike another note important to the color of the entire harmony. With Scene 4 the effectual movement of the piece begins. Viola is in man’s attire, and in tendance, under the name of Cesario, upon Orsino. Three months have passed, as was said above. Valentine re marks, “ If the Duke continue these favors towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced ; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.” But these three days of knowledge obviously and naturally mean three days within which Orsino has known Viola witli some intimacy. I regard this touch as in every respect fine and true. Nothing could be more probable than that three months should pass, after Viola’s entrance into the Duke’s household, before a man so absorbed us Orsino “in self - affairs,” and in the day-dreams of a poetic nature and an unrewarded passion, would fairly note the beauty of her face and speech, sever her from the crowd of his undistinguished followers, and begin to please himself with her separate companionship and conversation; but such an acquaintance once begun between two such persons would advance rapidly, and I find the long interval of time during which Viola remains practically silent and unnoticed an important, almost essential, factor in her development. There is little of Rosalind, little of Olivia, in her “tender-hefted ” nature, which is at once most reserved and shy, as well as sweet. Love, especially if unrequited, must needs be a plant of slow growth in such a soul; must be quite incapable of putting forth, like Juliet’s, into leaf and bud and flower and fruit within the compass of a few tense hours. It is not three days, but three months of quiet, unnoticed observation of the Duke, within which her affection has slowly rooted itself in her heart and taken possession of the very depths of her spirit. And in this scene the great change has already taken place : even in the face of his Liberally avowed passion for another, Viola is constrained to admit to herself that, “ whoe’er ” she “wooes” in his behalf, herself “ would be his wife.” Here we find Viola iirst employed as an ambassador of love from the Duke to Olivia. Scene 5 succeeds, with an interval of but a few hours or minutes, and Viola stands before Olivia, gives her message, and at once infects the Countess with, “the plague” of her “perfections.” She is allowed to depart, and then Malvolio is made to run after her with a request that “ the youth will come this way to-morrow.” Scene 1 of Act II., which follows, is of the utmost importance in fixing the time of the action. Viola’s brother, Sebastian, appears upon the seacoast in company with Antonio, who has saved his life from the shipwreck which engulfed both brother and sister. They have lived together in the closest intimacy for “ three months ” (vide Antonio’s speech to the Duke, Act V., Scene 1, ubi supra), and now Sebastian takes leave of his preserver and sets out for Orsiuo’s court, which is distant by not many hours’ travel. This scene Shakespeare has taken pains to rivet into the very substance of the action which concerns Viola by inserting it between Viola’s departure from Olivia and Malvolio’s overtaking the fair youth and delivering his message. Scene 3 of Act II. is filled with the delicious merry-making of Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and the Clown. That its time is the night of the same day is directly in evidence, for Maria says that Olivia “is much out of quiet,” “ since the youth of the Count’s was to-day with my lady;” and with Sir Toby’s memorable line, the succinct utterance of magnificent revelry, victorious over time and space, “ ’T is too late to go to bed now,” the first day of the quick movement of Twelfth Night ends. The action of all the rest of the comedy takes place within the next twenty-four hours, the incidents being packed together solidly and swiftly, but with extreme and scrupulous neatness. Scene 4 of Act II. is in the morning, — the Duke bidding his courtiers “ good-morrow ” at its outset, — and Viola is once more bidden to go to Olivia “in haste.” In Scene 5 the conspiracy against Malvolio begins active operations: the decoy letter is dropped in his path, and achieves its end. In Scene 1, Act III., Viola arrives in Olivia’s garden, and takes part in a second interview, wherein the Countess throws off disguise, and vainly solicits for Cesario’s love. Scene 2 follows immediately, Sir Andrew complaining of the favors which lie has just seen Olivia do “i the orchard ” to the Count’s serving-man. In Scene 3 of the same act Sebastian and Antonio again appear ; the latter, moved by affection, having closely followed his young friend from the seacoast to the city. The hour is not late in the forenoon, for Sebastian speaks of its being “long to night,” and when they part Antonio purposes “bespeaking their diet” at the Elephant. In Scene 4, Malvolio, who in the last scene of the previous act had proposed to be “in yellow stockings and cross-gartered even with the swiftness of putting on,” has donned his new and strange attire, and causes his mistress great astonishment and alarm. Within the same scene, — “ more matter for a May morning,” as Fabian says, — Sir Andrew produces his celebrated challenge to the Duke’s serving-man, which Sir Toby undertakes to deliver; and, “jump” upon this, Viola, recalled before she has regained the Duke’s mansion by a servant specially dispatched by Olivia for that purpose, once more sets out for home after once more repelling Olivia’s advances. It is at this point that Viola is made to undergo Sir Andrew’s challenge, and is kept from telling “ how much ” she “ lacks of a man ” only by the appearance of Antonio, who, mistaking her for her brother, draws in her behalf; and now “not half an hour” has elapsed since the parting of Antonio and Sebastian, in the previous scene. (Again see Antonio’s long speech in Act V.) In Scene 1 of Act IV. the Clown and Sebastian meet, and it appears that Olivia, whose new passion knows no patience and “ bides no denay,” has scarcely suffered Viola to leave her sight before she has for the second time dispatched a messenger to bid Cesario return to speak with her. The result of this encounter is the Countess’s meeting with Sebastian, and his somewhat dazed but quite prompt acceptance of her overtures; the culmination, two scenes later, being her appearance with a priest, and the performance of a solemn betrothal service “ in the chantry by.” Act V. is all in one scene, and the time which elapses from the ceremony just named to Olivia’s meeting with Viola — now mistaken by the former for her affianced husband — is so short that the Friar can say that since then “ toward his grave ” he has “ traveled but two hours.” The various odds and ends of the time have been vigorously employed by the other characters in ways which need not be particularly noted. Sir Toby Belch has used the probable nearness of Sir Topas, a pliable ecclesiastic, to reward Maria’s cleverness by marrying her; after which he gets drunk and has a glorious fight with Sebastian. Mr. Richard Grant White has recently spoken of this part of Sir Toby’s career rather slightingly, as if it were improbable and did not fit neatly into the day. The entire affair seems to me, on the contrary, exquisitely appropriate: with just such speed would the gallant knight have married when once he had made up his mind; with just sucli festivities would he have rejoiced to crown the nuptial rite ; and there is abundant room in the time of the action to slip in such a twelfth-night marriage, — “ay, and twenty such.” From the morning till the evening, when everything except Malvolio’s temper is set right, this has been a long and full day, but by nothing too long or tull either for the constructer’s art or the spectator’s delight.

The extent of time in Much Ado About Nothing is nine days ; but nearly all the action takes place during parts of four days. The entire first act and the first scene of the second act are included within a single twenty-four hours. In the last speech of Scene 1, Act I., Don Pedro agrees witli Claudio to woo fair Hero in his name at the “ revel ’ which is to be “ to-night.” The second and third scenes succeed with intervals of but a few hours; in the third scene the supple Borachio feeds the spleen of his tart master, Don John, with news about Hero and Claudio, gathered at the “great supper,” which is still in progress. Scene I of Act II. carries the action directly on : it is just after the supper, and Leonato is inquiring about Don John’s absence from the feast. The masked ball follows, with its merry encounter of wits, sharp and blunt, and the renewal with threefold bitterness of the war between Beatrice and Benedick. In this scene the wedding-day of Claudio and Hero is fixed “on Monday next, which is hence a just seven night;” and the day ends with the framing of the plot by Don Pedro and the others “ to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one with the other.” The second and third scenes of Act II. are not exactly tixed in time, though one may shrewdly guess that the former is very near the first day of the piece, inasmuch as Don John’s gossip-greedy ears have only just now been assured of the certainty of the proposed marriage. In the third scene the amiable conspirators begin operations against Benedick’s hard heart. It is perhaps fair to conjecture that several days have passed since the conception of their scheme, because the attack upon Beatrice would naturally follow as soon as might he, lest device should be dulled by coldness or delay. And Beatrice’s heart is assailed in the next scene (Scene 1, Act III.), which takes place on the day before that fixed for the wedding; for Hero takes counsel with Ursula about the attire which is “ best to furnish ” her “ to-morrow.” Scenes 2 and 3 also fall on the day before the wedding. In the former, Don John, preserving his malicious purpose, asks his half-brother and Claudio to spy that night upon an encounter between himself and Hero under her chamber window, and Claudio resolves if

be “ sees anything to-night why ” he “ should not marry her to-morrow ” he will shame her before the congregation. Scene 3 is on the night of the same day. The honest watchmen, headed by Dogberry and Verges, have come together, and presently overhear the whispered talk of Borachio, who is telling Conrade the tale of the infamous fraud which he has just perpetrated at the instance of Don John’s thousand ducats. The next day, being that originally fixed for the wedding, covers all the rest of the play except the final scene of Act V. In Scene 4, Act III., it being “almost five o’clock ” in the morning, Hero is attiring herself for church, Beatrice is roused, and presently the Prince and his suite call “ to fetch the bride to church.” In Scene 5, Act III., as Leonato is stayed for to give away the bride, Dogberry appears, with his muddled story of his arrest of “ two aspicious persons,” and is told with impatient condescension that he may himself “ take the examination ” of his prisoners “ this morning.” Then follows the scene in the church (Scene ], Act IV.), where Claudio refuses and accuses his bride at the altar. Scene 2 shows the excellent wit of Dogberry in the examination of Borachio and Conrade, and closes with the Sexton’s direction that the prisoners be brought to Leonato. There is an interval of a few hours or minutes, and towards evening Act V. begins, the characters saluting each other with “ good den.” Presently the watch appear with their prisoners, and in a moment Hero’s injured innocence is demonstrated to the remorseful young gentlemen. Claudio forthwith resolves to spend the night in paying honor to the memory of Ilero, and engages to meet Leonato and marry Antonio’s daughter “ to-morrow morning.” Scene 2, Act V., between Benedick and Beatrice, is but a few minutes later, and the eventful day ends with the obituary rites paid by Claudio to his slander-slain mistress. The final scene is on the following morning, as had been arranged. Hero, who has been dead to Claudio and the Prince but for the twenty-four hours during which “ her slander lived,” returns to life and love, and the “ too wise ” Benedick and Beatrice put forth together upon the matrimonial voyage, which it is safe to predict will he marred by some serious squalls and storms.

As You Like It opens in Oliver’s orchard, and its first scene stands by itself, occupying a part of the first day of the action of the piece. “ To-morrow,” before the new Duke, Charles, the professional athlete, is to “ wrestle for his credit,” as in this scene he warns Orlando’s malevolent brother. The second day, therefore, is that of the second scene, in which Orlando trips up the wrestler’s heels and Rosalind’s heart, both in an instant. The third scene closely follows the encounter of the lovers, and is occupied with Celia’s prompt teasing of her friend, then with the usurping Duke’s appearance and sentence of banishment upon Rosalind, and finally with the resolution of the young maids to go into exile together. Scene 1, Act II., is with the Banished Duke in the forest of Arden, and makes a new starting-point of interest, in the fashion already discussed. Scene 2 of this act marks the beginning of the third day of the regular action, inasmuch as the attendant ladies in the palace have just found Celia’s “bed untreasured of their mistress.” The following scene also belongs to the third day, for in it Orlando, just returned from the short journey to court, meets Adam before Oliver’s house, and with the old man sets forth for the forest, to which all roads in As You Like It lead. There are divers unknown intervals, all quite short, between the scenes which succeed until Scene 4 of Act III. is reached. Shakespeare does not inform us how long Rosalind, Celia, and Touchstone were in making the journey, the close of which in Scene 4, Act II., finds them so weary in spirits and in legs ; nor how much time Orlando and Adam consumed upon the way ; nor what period elapsed before the usurper, Frederick, turned Oliver out-of-doors to bring back Orlando, “ dead or living,” to his court ; nor how long Orlando lived in the forest before he began to abuse the “ young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks,” and to hang “ odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles.” But many slight hints in the text show that these periods were very short. In Scene 2, Act III., Orlando first sees Rosalind in her disguise, and then and there makes that contract for substituted wooing, the story of which, at the end of three centuries, comes filled with the scent of the wild rose and the note of the nightingale, and both as fresh and sweet as if they were breathed out but yesterday. An undisclosed interval then occurs, which is doubtless filled by Rosalind with lovemaking and by Orlando with love-thinking. Rosalind evidently fritters away no part of the time in cultivating acquaintance with her father, the Banished Duke, though she meets him once, and bestows some of her sweet sauciness upon him; not that she lacked filial affection, but that she was in a state of mind which many maidens have experienced, though not many have had the courage to put it frankly into words, and say there is no use in “ talking of fathers ” “ when there is such a man as Orlando.” The interval is a short one, we may be sure, for Rosalind’s heart beats as fast as her wit moves and her tongue trips; and Orlando has been well and much, if briefly, tutored in the art of love when Scene 4 of Act III. opens, and with it the actual last day but one of the comedy. Scenes 4 and 5 of Act III., the whole of Act IV., and the whole of Act V. except its final scene are compressed within this one day, the progress of which is marked almost to the point of distinguishing its hours. Scene 4, Act III., opens at about the hour of ten in the forenoon, — as will be presently verified, — with Rosalind’s lament over Orlando’s broken promise to “ come this morning ; ” thence Rosalind, Celia, and Corin pass directly to Scene 5, and the contemplation of the misery of Silvius and the coquetry of Phebe ; and in Scene 1 of Act IV. Orlando appears, and in response to Rosalind’s peevish “ How now, Orlando! where have you been all this while ? ” replies that he comes “ within an hour of ” his “ promise.” This enchanting scene begins at about eleven and ends at noon, when Orlando departs to attend the Duke at dinner, promising to be with Rosalind again by two o’clock. The two hours which follow, though not included in the action of the play, are very important. After dinner, Orlando, “chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,” takes a walk in the forest, discovers Oliver asleep upon the ground, and saves him, at the cost of a wound, from the paw of the “ sucked and hungry lioness; ” and. upon Oliver’s showing a sudden but complete change of heart, the brothers are reconciled. The story of this adventure is told by the elder brother to Rosalind and Celia in an interview which begins in the latter part of Scene 3, Act IV., the opening hour of which — as fixed by Rosalind, again impatient of her lover’s tardiness— was “ past two o’clock ; ” and by the time Rosalind has revived from her counterfeit of faintness the afternoon must be pretty well advanced. In Scene 1 of Act V. it is “ good even,” and at the same time, or a little later, in the sequent scene Rosalind tells Orlando the tale of Oliver’s and Celia’s love, which, beginning in an introduction a few hours before, has developed with such extraordinary rapidity that Rosalind plainly feels called upon to make a little humorous apology for it (“ Your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved,” etc.) ; and the scene closes with Rosalind’s promise to make everything “ on the morrow ” as everybody likes it. Scene 3 comes as a queer little posbscript. “To-morrow” is to be “the joyful day ” also for Touchstone and Audrey, and with some of the Clown’s exquisite fooling the night falls and the great day ends. In the last scene of Act V. the famous “ to-morrow ” and promise-keeping Rosalind arrive together. Her tongue now for the first time finds hut little to do, — it being remembered that she has a last opportunity in the epilogue, — and with five charming words, where, if her heart were less full, a hundred would not have sufficed, she makes her lover and her father happy. The time in Measure for Measure is for the most part distinctly marked, although the repeated and important “ tomorrows ” are at first rather confusing, and need to he closely scrutinized. Scene 1 of Act h stands by itself, and is devoted to the Duke’s announcement of his temporary retirement from the government of Vienna, and to the commissioning of Angelo as regent during his absence. There is then an unknown interval, which may be safely surmised to be a few weeks long, for within it Angelo, “still newly in Ins seat,” begins the sharp enforcement of laws nineteen years obsolete (Scene 3, Act I.), while the Duke is supposed to have reached Poland (Scene 4, Act I.), or to be “ with the Emperor of Russia,” or “ in Rome ” (Scene 2, Act III.). After the opening scene the remainder of the action occupies parts of four consecutive days, being greatly condensed, and on the second day much hurried. Scenes 2 and 3 of Act I. are early in the morning. Claudio is on the way to prison, and begs Lucio to seek Isabella, who “ this day should the cloister enter,” and urge her mediation with Angelo. Lucio promises to be at the nunnery “ within two hours,” and his interview with Isabella is described in Scene 5, where she agrees to go about the business “ straight, no longer staying but to give the mother notice of ” her “ affair.” In Scene 1, Act II.,— the hour of which is eleven A. M. (see remark of the justice near the end), — Angelo directs the provost to put Claudio to death “ by nine to-morrow morning.” In Scene 2 Isabella appears before the deputy, makes her plea for her brother’s life, and so far prevails that Angelo instructs her to come again for a final answer “ to-morrow at any time ’fore noon.” The provost is present at this interview, and of course notes the reprieve of his prisoner. And with this the first of the three days ends. The following scene is in the prison, and takes place early the next morning. In it the provost tells the Duke he “ thinks” that Claudio must die “ to-morrow ; ” the idea plainly being that the provost has no faith in the efficacy of Isabella’s intercession, and believes that within a short space after her appointed interview the order for execution will be renewed. Scene 4 of Act 11. follows closely at some “ time ’fore noon,” and shows the great interview between Angelo and Isabella, in which the deputy asks the sacrifice of her purity as the price of her brother’s life. Angelo requires her answer by to-morrow at farthest, and, burning with noble shame, she goes straight from him to Claudio, with whom, in Scene 1 of Act III., she has the memorable conference, in which his weak love of life above honor causes her to disown him as a brother. In this interview Isabella puts Angelo’s base proposition more specifically than it appeared in the former scene, and lets Claudio know

By the lurid light of these lines the movement in time of nearly all the rest of the action can be clearly discerned. Early in this same scene the disguised Duke is having the last words of the talk with Claudio, upon which he was about to enter in Scene 3 of Act II.; and after the angry parting of Isabella and her brother, he persuades her to adopt the extraordinary plan by which she is to promise an appointment to Angelo for “ this night,” and to substitute in her stead, under cover of darkness, the forlorn Mariana of the moated grange, who had been betrothed to Angelo, and who probably had no idea that her wretched state of mind was to be an inspiration to the leading poet of the latter half of the nineteenth century. Scene 2 of Act III. and Scene 1 of Act IV. follow directly, and in the latter it is already so late that “ the vaporous night approaches.” Scene 2 of Act IV. opens in the prison on the hour of “ dead midnight ” at the end of the second day, and extends to “ almost morning ” of the third day. Angelo has already met the pseudo-Isabella, and too false to be true even to his own covenant of wickedness has broken his plighted word, and ordered the execution of Claudio at eight in the morning; and while the provost is so informing the Duke, another messenger arrives from the deputy, now feverish to hasten his infamous work, that whatsoever “ may he heard to the contrary ” Claudio is to be executed by four A. M.,and his head delivered to Angelo by live. The following scene (Scene 3 of Act IV.) reaches to four A. M., the “ hour prefixed by Angelo,” and sees the perfecting of the device to deceive the deputy about Claudio. In this scene the disguised Duke says that the Duke comes home to-morrow,” and that the deputy and Escalus have been instructed then “ to meet him at the city gates to give up their power.” Scene 4 is in the evening of the third day, and shows the deputy and Escalus atnazedly discussing the near return of their superior. The early morning of the fourth and last day begins in Scene 5 of Act IV., and the remainder of the play is within the same twenty-four hours, the succession of scenes in time being entirely clear.

The opening scene in the Winter’s Tale is introductory, and of no particular position in time, its object being simply to present the popular opinion of the strong affection between Leontes, King of Sicilia, and Polixenes, King of Bohemia, and of the hospitable delight. of the former in the nine months’ visit of the latter. In Scene 2 the action really begins, and Leontes’ outrageous jealousy of his noble wife, Hermione, is indicated, while yet an invitation to a longer stay is pressed upon Polixenes with hypocritical zeal. Before the scene ends Polixenes has been warned by the honorable Camillo, of Sicilia’s design against his life, and it is arranged that the King of Bohemia and his informant shall flee that very night. Thus ends the first act and the first day of the action. Scene 1 of Act II. takes place the next morning, apparently. Leontes has just got word of the disappearance of Polixenes and Camillo, and straightway makes public the infamous charge against the queen, and sends her to prison. Thereupon occurs an interval of twenty-three days, occupied by the journey of Leontes’ messengers to consult the oracle at Delphos. Within this time Hermione gives birth in prison to a daughter, who in Scene 2 of Act If. is taken by Paulina, and is presented directly afterward to the king in the following scene. In the latter scene, also, Leontes disowns the infant, and orders Antigonus to expose it “ strangely, in some place where chance may nurse or end it;” and at the close of the interview it is announced that the messengers from Delphos have returned, after spending twenty-three days in the embassy on which Leontes had dispatched them. The trial of Hermione follows in Scene 2 of Act III., after the lapse of a very few days, as may be inferred both from the haste of Leontes’ jealous rage and from the queen’s gentle complaint that she lias been hurried from the bed of childbirth into the open air before she has “ got strength of limit.” The exculpation of the queen, the death of the young prince, the king’s repentance, and his woe at the news that Hermione has also passed away follow each other rapidly in this scene. Then there is an interval long enough for the unhappy Antigonus to travel with a baby in his arms from Sicilia to Bohemia; and from the final scene of Act III., after leaving the infant to its fate, he hastily departs, pursued by a bear, which, as we are later informed by one of the young child’s deliverers, soon made a meal of him. Between Acts III. and IV., as the chorus tells us, sixteen years elapse, during which the infant princess Perdita grows into delicate maidenly beauty, adorning the house of the old Shepherd who rescued her from her perilous position. The time of the three scenes of Act IV., all of which are placed in Bohemia, is not distinctly shown, hut evidently does not exceed two or three days. The resolution of King Polixenes to spy upon his son Florizel’s wooing of Perdita; the appearance of Autolyeus,— that charming “snapper up of unconsidered trifles,” — and his larceny from the person of the Clown, Perdita’s fosterbrother, who is on his way to buy dainties for the sheep-shearing feast; the incidents of the feast itself, with Polixenes’ entrance and charge to Ins son to break off all intimacy with Perdita, — these all follow closely upon one another’s heels, and are concluded at the end of the last scene of Act IV. with the flight of Florizel and Perdita to Sicilia. A journey is made by most of the characters from Bohemia to Sicilia between the fourth and fifth acts ; and then occur the meetings, between the runaway lovers and the King of Sicily ; the appearance of Polixenes with the old Shepherd and Clown, who reveal the facts of Perdita’s birth, and, helped by Paulina’s memory and intelligence, prove the identity of the foundling with the daughter of Leontes ; and finally Hermione’s sculpturesque return to life, the reverence of her long contrite husband, and the sweetness of her daughter’s love. These events are included within the three scenes of Act V., and occupy but a single day. Scene 1 runs directly — after the occurrences which are described in Scene 2 — into Scene 3 ; and a firm nexus of the time is made in the second scene by the simple-hearted remark of the Clown, that he has been “ a gentleman born ” “ any time these four hours.” Thus it appears that, though the multiform incidents of the Winter’s Tale are spread over a period of more than sixteen years, the time consumed by their action within the play is in the aggregate only about a week ; and there is some satisfaction for the curious in the knowledge that in the final scene the young couple, Florizel and Perdita, are respectively twentyone and sixteen years of age, and that Leontes is forty-four.

Henry A. Clapp.