party of six were at one time at Belmont, whom she thus laughingly described : "Heavens! Nerissa, what a group of suitors have we here, the very best of them is good for nothing; and what terms shall we find for the worst. The Neapolitan Prince is a sort of colt, whose only virtue is that he can shoe his horse, a merit on which he prides himself abundantly. If his horse and he could change conditions, then we might see a colt riding an ass-instead of an ass spurring a colt. The County Palatine thinks mirth a sin; his countenance was never found guilty of a smile; he looks like December all the year through! An I marry him, my wall must be hung with black, for his eyes will turn every thing sable he looks upon. I had rather be married to a death's head, with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these. Heaven defend me from these two. "Then there's the pretty little French Lord, Monsieur Le Bon:-he is too little for a man; and too big for a boy; and altogether too insignificant either to merit praise or censure. But Heaven made him, and so let him pass for a man. The young Englishman, Baron Faulconbridge, may stand for the balance of number ten, when we have taken the figure one away. He is a cipher; his brains are empty ; nothing ever having gone in, nothing can be expected to come out. He hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian-therefore can say nothing to me. He speaks only his mother tongue, with which I, holding no kindred, can say nothing to him. If we should woo it must be in pantomime, and if we wed, our children will be born dumb-their parents' tongues being useless commodities. The Scottish Lord is the quintessence of Christian charity; he meekly took a box on the ear of the Englishman, promising to return it with interest when they met in Scotia. The young German Duke, drunk or sober, is equally a beast-a hog in drink, and an ass out of it and for fear of him, I prithee dear Nerissa, set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket-for if the devil be within and that temptation without, 1 know he'll choose it. I'll do any thing, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge. "You need not fear, lady (she replied): these Lords have informed me of their determination; they, not having any desire to die bachelors, or make heirs of churches and alms-houses, intend to leave you unless you will fix on some other mode of courtship, than that depending upon the caskets.” "If I live to be as old as Sibilla (exclaimed Portia), I'll die as chaste as Diana, unless I be won after the manner of my father's will. Least of all shall I invent a new device, to confirm plagues I am desirous to be rid of. The only merit in them is the readiness of their departure. Pray, Heaven, take them hence quickly. It is the best they can do to please me, in the abundance of their virtues." But Portia's life was one of great anxiety, notwithstanding her gaiety and good humour; her mind was too delicate not to be uneasy at the idea of being made the property of a knave, a fool, or a tyrant : and amid all the numerous suitors who had visited Belmont, none had yet struck her fancy. She bore in remembrance one whom she had seen during her father's life time she had indeed seen him but once; but that once was enough to entitle him to her warmest esteem. The few words she had heard him utter were as the prelude to more, and better, which his modesty reserved and she often found herself wishing that the Lord Bassanio might present himself at the gates of Belmont his visit would indeed be welcome. Bassanio cherished a no less favourable remembrance of Portia. He had spent a few days at her father's house, in company with his friend the Mar quis of Montferrat. His fortunes were too restricted to look on her then with hope; but, now that her fate was as a lottery, and herself the rich prize to be adventured for, hope might be admitted; yet he knew not how to pursue the advantage laid open to his view. Being of a liberal disposition, and something too anxious in doing honour to his father's memory by a show of rather too much magnificence, he had incurred many debts indiscreetly, which, from a sense of probity, he was now desirous to acquit himself of. They preyed upon his mind, and his prime of youth was clouded by the remembrance of those errors which he had committed in his less than prime. Bassanio was in truth an honest man-not according to the common acceptation of the term, but according to its real principle: for honesty, like many other terms used in this great world, is more talked of than understood, and rather practised than felt. It is a commendation all are ambitious to possess-but few desirous to deserve. Most men would be considered honest. There's scarce a knave existing, but would be deemed an honest man, and purchase that reputation at some little cost. There's many a one is called an honest man who nothing knows of honesty's inherent quality, except that he pays his debts when they are due: but, though it were dishonest leaving them unpaid, possessing the means wherewithal to discharge them; yet, taken in the abstract, that still is no absolute test of honesty. One man will pay his debts because he needs more credit.-Another, because his pride forbids him hazarding a suspicion that his coffers are empty. -A third, because he does not love the torment of much importunity!-Oh! there are many, many, motives, for these trifling acts of honesty, still of itself no part. What then is honesty, that comprehensive term, which forms the moral compact between man and man? He is an honest man, who freely pays his father's debt, to his creditor's son, there not being any proof extant, to avouch the debt. He is an honest man, who strictly performs his given promise, even though repentance should go hand in hand with the performance; and he is honest too, who having choice to injure or be injured, will rather choose to bear the injury himself, than press it on his neighbour. Oh, honesty! so delicate are thy distinctions, so intricate thy motives, that scarcely one amidst the million can thy worth define, or characterize thy pristine beauty! Bassanio was honest, even according to these rigid rules; and the thought of having incurred obligations which he was not at present able to repay, and might in some measure have avoided, was a heavy weight upon his mind. Delicacy for a long time withheld him from any attempt at visiting Portia ; yet when he found the worthless dared adventure for her, why not he try his fortune also. There was no dishonour; and he might be successful. Nay, something whispered that he should be so! But by what means could he obtain the requisite supplies? Boldly dashing against despair, he imparted his wishes to a well tried friend, the worthy Antonio, a merchant of great repute in Venice. In Belmont is a lady richly left, And she is fair, and, fairer than that word Antonio, having no present, means of giving Bassanio a supply of money, bade him go forth, and try his credit to the uttermost,-and he little doubted but a few hours would furnish him to the full limit of his wishes. In this extremity Bassanio and Antonio applied for three thousand ducats to Shylock, a wealthy Jew merchant, of usurious practices, but which were greatly checked by Antonio, whose benevolence and integrity reprobated the idea of taking advantage of his fellow creatures' necessities, and therefore he frequently lent out money gratis; thereby bringing down the rate of usance: and thus he, following the bent of his merciful inclination, had rescued many who had applied to him from the heavy pen-. alty of their forfeitures to Shylock. The Jew therefore hated him; and finding he now required assistance at his hands, it was to him a subject of great exultation and of future hope. He reproached Antonio, however, in the first place, with the many insults he had put upon him, the various injuries he had done him-and inquired whether the remembrance was any inducement to befriend him in his hour of need? |