Squeers, adopting the sentiments of her sire; not pining at her state, though resolving, when opportunity offered, to better it; enjoying the good that befel, and living in trust that the evil which encompassed her would pass away. Her situation is touching, and we love her during the interview with her father; she was very wise to utter no comment on his petulant directions; a tragedy queen would have moaned beneath her afflictions; Jessica is too sensible for a pathetic heroine. We can scarcely blame the trick she plays on her sire, for we are aware, as well as she, that he would have trafficked on her affections, regarding them, equally with his money-bags, his inalienable property. He would have dearly liked to bestow her on one of the tribe, who would have maintained the strictness of his discipline ; then he would have said, "Thou hast seen, thine eyes have been thy judge, the difference between old Shylock and friend Tubal:" he would savour her misery, believing that it would lead her to esteem her previous bondage to him comparative happiness, as the Israelites on their perilous pilgrimage regarded their slavery in the land of Egypt. But how vexations multiplied upon him when he knew her happy, uncurbed, and with a Christian; independent of himself, despising her bygone life, as a boy, during the first week of release in vacation, contemns his past school-days! How modest, true, loving, playful, and attractive, does Jessica exhibit herself in the scene of elopement! She now assumes her station as a pretty, loveable, sensible girl; before, she was degraded into a mere cunning maiden and vulgar drudge.

Antonio loves Bassanio as if he were his younger brother, his son, or as a young wife would love her bridegroom. He guards him, and serves him; admires his virtues, and perceives attractive metal in his failings. He holds him ever in remembrance, and lays his interests more to heart than his own; in living for Bassanio he is happy, in existing for himself he were sad. He breathes but for his friend; and yet there is nothing selfish, jealous, or exacting in his friendshipthe proofs of his attachment he pushes but so far as they tend to his protegé's well-being-the greater number who love him, the better pleased is his protector. Popularity is his son's due, and he will never restrict his intercourse-he offers no hinderance to his marriage, though sensible that the first-fruits of affection will no longer appertain to the secondary object. On the contrary, he urges forward the courtship, aiding its progress, annihilating every obstacle, and triumphing beforehand in the expected success of his darling one. Where shall we find his compeer? And yet, with all his unselfishness, and apparent enjoyment of the departure, his heart is ready to burst at the farewell; but not on his own sorrow will he for an instant ponder. It comes uncalled-for, stays unbidden, and unencouraged departs the outpouring of nature-the flow of almost womanly tenderness, like that of a mother over her sucking child. It has more of pleasure than pain-the effusion of love, which augments by its plenteousness, and is thus watered into, if possible, vaster fertility. Which is greater-the love of Portia or that of Antonio for Bassanio? They are actual rivals, and, wonderful to relate, friendly competitors, for theirs are kindred souls. Happy Bassanio! how few men possess

such a friend and such a lover! And as Antonio is free from jealousy, his largeness of spirit diffuses itself amongst those around, who, in their turn, are not envious of his overweening attachment to Bassanio.

Men who live much in solitude, and in the indulgence of a certain train of thought, come almost unconsciously to utter their meditations aloud. Thus Shylock gives voice to all his frets, and submits rather to ridicule than to restrain his peevishness. He has no friends in whom to confide; and he must, in self-defence, catch the ear of the public, who receive his communications with scorn and mockery. Dearly bought are his riches, dearly bought the accumulations of usury which yield such foul returns! Which does he love most--his daughter or his ducats? The first attachment is a matter of course; the second is a fostered passion, the fruit of education and zealous self-tuition-the reward of lengthened toil, and the sole source of delight. How different are the bearings of Brabantio and the Jew under their pretty similar trials! The former is reasonable and affectionate; and when he learns that Desdemona's elopement has been spontaneous, he relinquishes further interposition; while Shylock, in a like predicament, strains every nerve to regain Jessica, that he may chide her, recover his treasures, and incessantly wreak his spite on her for their abstraction: the former is measured and dignified-a gentleman in a word; the latter passionate, mean, and an unrefined son of Adam; there was much to favour the cultivation of the former, and to retrograde that of the latter. Antonio was too upright to be made privy to the flight of the lovers, though, sub rosâ, he enjoyed it, as his harmless enmity to the Israelite was thereby gratified; his goodnature was pleased by the success of the pretty Jewess in her exploit, and by the good fortune of the christian Lorenzo in his wooing, for he shared the happiness of his fellow-creatures.

How charming is the deportment of the queenly Portia! What a regulated mind was hers, to enable her to maintain such composure while her fate for life hung in the scales! A phrenologist must have found her cranium pretty smooth; such an equiponderance of properties as she displayed!-none afore or after other-like an instrument faultlessly modulated:-she combined energy and sweetness, talent and amiability, decision and pliability, self-respect, and appreciation of others. She duly estimates the difference between the Moor and the Arragonian; and though polite, as became her and them, to each, yet she is more kind and consolatory to the former, because the latter was all-sufficient to himself. The former is proud, the latter haughty-the former deems nobly of himself, but he does not hence scorn all the world; the latter, without discovering reflection on the subject to be necessary, is assured of his towering supremacy, all others being in comparison but refuse and dross-the former admires Portia extremely, believing it barely possible that she may be his superior; the latter regards her as nearly sufficiently good; a fine woman, certainly, or he should not have glanced on her; but he excelled-the former possesses proper pride, and wishes to ascend rather than descend in society, and at all events to retain his present notable position; the latter considers himself of too much innate

greatness to decline; it mattered not what the nature of his communications might be; his pure gold admitted of no alloy; his associates were fixed upon by taste, and not principle; they might be partially ennobled, and he could not be adulterated-the former implored the assistance of the gods, the latter carelessly tossed his fortune into the hands of fate-the former fears the difficulties which beset the trial, the latter despises the cause which dared to throw obstacles in his path-the former reasons himself into not doubting of his merits, the latter dreams not of hesitation, fancying that, in his instance, others would imagine such a thing fully as much out of the question as he could himself the former was glad in Portia's fame, and would continue to be so, partaking cheerfully in its benefits, unless his contentment was spoiled by the devices of a tempter; the latter merely tolerated her celebrity, determining, when his rule came, to put a stop to it the former was open and quick-tempered, the latter sulky and tyrannical-dread of the misconceived threat, and of deserving its enforcement, uncertainty of his worthiness, and high valuation of Portia, an opinion which he foolishly conceived to be unwisely demonstrated by the caskets, misled the Moor; ignorant contempt of what made no outward show, and of the many, who were, nevertheless, many degrees worthier than himself, a little learning, which is more detrimental at times than simple ignorance that trusts to natural instinct, and obstinate faith in his own elevation, misguiding the Spaniard the former wasted words in direct praise of Portia, the latter spent breath in collateral self-praise-the former had a liking of magnificence, for which the Arragonian had too cold a soul-the death's head was appropriately the Moor's, to remind him that "vanity of vanities, all is vanity;" the fool's head suited the latter, who, wrapt in self, disregarded the bounties spread upon the lap of nature, and dully lost sight of the joys stored up for the charitable in eternity.

How courtly is the advance of Bassanio! and Portia is almost convinced, when she hears the mode of approach, that none but he could prove so dainty and discerning an ambassador; but she does not acknowledge her apprehension, and the only alteration of mien which a close observer could detect is a joyous exaltation of manner. The succeeding act is indeed a masterpiece, where every scene overflows with matter illustrative of human nature, eloquence, and poetry. The noble, right, and straightforward mind of Portia is contrasted by the crooked, base, and perverted one of Shylock; and both are shadowed in such powerful tints, that although the former is an object of surpassing beauty, the latter, as by the eye of a basilisk, almost equally fascinates us. The influence of Portia may be likened to the glow of the noonday sun; that of Shylock to one dazzling lamp in the midnight gloom of a lengthy corridor.

What a torment is a suspicious temper to those who have it, and to those who are obliged to be in contact with it! It has something the effect of the Popish confessional, inducing the sins which it pretends to guard against. If we desire to banish an object of love from our recollections, the most simple may be aware that the method of doing so is vigorously to employ the mind on other subjects. If we wish permanently to fix the passion, let us analyse our own feelings thereon

-trace its origin, continuation, increase, and subsequent powerrecal all the emotions to which it has given rise; the remembrance will be tenfold more delicious than the rough-draft enjoyment, for the memory of pleasure is more refinedly voluptuous than its participation -let us picture to ourselves loving looks, let us imagine thrilling touches, delicate and heart-subduing attentions, for the drawing will be infinitely more impassioned, passion-inspiring, and soul-quelling than the original-the fancy than the reality. Then we shall involuntarily proceed from the past to the future, and anticipations will be so glorious as for ever to baffle fruition. If we perceive in another the existence of a passion whose growth we are anxious to check, let us pass no verbal comment on it, and avoid the appearance of close observation-let us not exhibit uneasiness, nor aversion to, nor dread of its continuance, nor horror of its augmentation-let us not manifest curiosity, nor ask questions which might be reservedly answered, and lend the interest of secrecy to the affair, or which, if even truly applied to, would but quicken the flame, affording fresh fuel, and being nearly as provocative as private musings or mysterious confessions. No; though the object of unlicensed affection were altogether removed, we ought not to talk over bygone sentiment: we could not foresee to what wild and headlong acts this stirring up of old sensations, this revival of sensibility, strengthened rather than abated, might incite. Let us, on the contrary, invent pleasing occupations, and aid in their fulfilment; whether the commencement be entirely agreeable or not, by a gentle and scarcely observable force, insisting on their pursuance, unintermittingly exercising an irresistible influence, the machinery of which is apparently so simple as to elude observation, and really so complicated as to puzzle the person for whose benefit it works; the employments must be interesting without being too exciting; tasking the brain, and giving some trouble, but not asking too much labour, for that would create a distaste--sufficient to stimulate and pique the spirit to progression, without inducing fatigue, is requisite without the semblance of maintaining strict watch, yet let us never permit her to be out of sight-let us arrange our affairs so as to necessitate us to remain in her society-let us, if possible, have recourse to her advice, and in every event shun separation. If we have been hitherto kind in manner, let us now be doubly so—if we have been harsh, let us, at whatever pains, tutor ourselves into gentleness, overwhelming her with lovingness, as Lady Annabella did Venetia Herbert.

We have no hold upon underlings if we always suspect them, for we leave them an opening, when there is room for offence, to retort that we are ever distrustful: having been proved innocent before, they will assert that the case is now similar, because guilt is daring. Why not, they will also soliloquise, enjoy the pleasure, while we bear the blame of transgression? Those who are not under the timorous man's rule will only make sport of his mistrust, and, instead of being affected by his accusations, mock him for having permitted or given rise to the ill which he endeavours to father on them. There is a matter-of-fact truth in Shylock's wit which is worth all the mere playing upon words possible-it is genuine ore--the substance, and not the shadow: there

is an originality in his fretfulness which is more than equivalent to a combination of all spurious passions, false heroics, and semi-vexations, and yet different from the depth of tragic emotion, which is harrowing--it is on the surface, as it were, stimulating like the prick of a spur, without penetrating far-not mawkishly entertaining a passive recipient, but briskly exciting, like the sparkle of champagne; like the dry humour of a friend, whose scolding, though unreasonable, from its raciness we more than endure, we relish, disliking to lose a word of it; like the bitter of the damascene, which adds zest to its flavour; like the acid of pickles, which anew whets the blunted appetite. How full of life are the portraits of Shakspeare !-not merely life-like. What sly smartness does Shylock display by the manner in which he plays upon Antonio! Aware of his weak points, the Jew pretends to imitate his liberality, and suiting himself to his fancies, demands no interest, seeking for nought but thanks: he bettered his instruction, and turned the master's implements against his own bosom. His thorough contempt of the victim was the sweetest morsel in his vengeance. It is an unspeakable and a hoarded comfort to discover grounds for scorn in those who have slighted, disdained, affronted, and treated us as inferiors, while at the same time they have deemed themselves condescending beyond measure, and using us with infinite kindness. But every little service, so conferred, only cements the wall of hatred springing in the wide breach which sunders fellowcreatures, that ought by right to possess community of feeling. Woe to those who designedly exalt themselves! misfortune to those who unwittingly do so! The wheel of fortune ever revolves, and we who are now abased may, by pains-taking, gradually ascend.

It is a question whether those who are most sensible of injuries are not likewise so of benefits: the sensitive only are capable of gratitude, to tears. Often, however, the disdainful are not much to be blamed, their neglect arising from natural inability to perceive the becoming, the acceptable, and the discreet; and though the degraded must suffer transient annoyance, they will be more silly than their prosecutors if they allow the molestation further to perplex. Shylock, notwithstanding how he might once conduct himself in order to effect his purpose, was no habitual hypocrite. Not being ashamed of his wickedness, he rather exaggerated than diminished it; and the dissembler rarely mends; the trouble he takes to appear good nearly satisfies his conscience, and leaves him scarcely time for radical improvement. When we seem wise we are instinctively self-complacent, as when we are well dressed. There is more hope of the barefaced sinner being awed to, or convinced of, the necessity of repentance. Whose society is most profitable?—that of him whose words are a true index to his mind; whose ideas, embraced, not from imitation, but from individual selection, are virtually his own; whose feelings are unaffectedly demonstrated-nothing added to or taken fromwhat is, stiff and strong, like half-and-half punch; even though those words should be uncharitable, those ideas erroneous, and those feelings inhuman. We may vastly profit by a ready spokesman of this desired species; he teaches much more than the reserved man, who is only a subject for guess-work. The quick