his loutish son in the smart Venetian valet, who looks to him like a gentleman. I think that only those who have seen this scene played by appreciative actors can estimate its full effect.

Gobbo. Master, young man, you, I pray you; which is the way master Jew's?

to

Launcelot [aside]. O heavens, this is my true begotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not; I will try conclusions with him.

Gobbo. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's?

Launcelot. Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house.

Gobbo. By God's sonties, 't will be a hard way to hit; can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him, or no?

Launcelot. Talk you of young master Launcelot ? Mark me now [aside]; now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young master Launcelot?

Gobbo. No master, sir, but a poor man's son; his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.

Launcelot. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master Launcelot.

Gobbo. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir.

Launcelot. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you; talk you of young master Launcelot.

Gobbo. Of Launcelot, an 't please your mastership.

Launcelot. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings; the sisters three, and such branches of learning) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heaven.

Gobbo. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.

Launcelot. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop? Do you know me, father?

Gobbo. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy (God rest his soul!) alive, or dead?

Launcelot. Do you not know me, father?

Gobbo. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.

Launcelot. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me; it is a wise father that knows his own child; well, old man, I will tell you news of your son. Give me your blessing; truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may; but, in the end, truth will out.

Gobbo. Pray you, sir, stand up; I am sure you are not Launcelot, my boy.

Launcelot. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.

Gobbo. I cannot think you are my son.

Launcelot. I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man; and, I am sure, Margery, your wife is my mother.

Gobbo. Her name is Margery, indeed; I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my thill-horse has on his tail.

Launcelot. It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward; I am sure he had more hair on his tail than I have on my face, when I last saw him.

Gobbo. Lord, how art thou changed! how dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; how 'gree you now? Launcelot. Well; well; but for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I would not rest till I have run some ground. My master's a very Jew; give him a present? give him a halter! I am famished in his service. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come. Give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries. Oh, rare fortune, here comes the man; to him, father!

They proffer their suit and their present of doves to Bassanio, who readily accepts Launcelot, and orders him the desired new suit of "rare livery."

Next we see Gratiano begging Bassanio to take him with him to Belmont; one understands Bassanio's spendthriftness, for he never can refuse a request from anybody.

Gratiano. I have a suit to you.

Bassanio.

You have obtained it.

Gratiano. You must not deny me; I must go with you to Belmont.
Bassanio. Why then, you must; but hear thee, Gratiano;

Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice;
Parts, that become thee happily enough,

And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;

But where thou art not known, why, there they show
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain

To allay with some cold drops of modesty

Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild behavior,
I be misconstrued in the place I go to,

And lose my hopes.

Gratiano.

Signior Bassanio, hear me :

If I do not put on a sober habit,

Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely, -
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen,
Use all the observance of civility,

Like one well studied in a sad ostent

never trust me more.

Bassanio. Well, we shall see your bearing.

Gratiano. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gage me By what we do to-night.

Bassanio.

No, that were pity;

I would entreat you rather to put on

Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment; but fare you well,

I have some business.

Gratiano. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest;

But we will visit you at supper-time.

[Exeunt.

Scene 3.

Portia

In this play we have three lovers, and three ladies, and Bassanio; Jessica and Lorenzo; Nerissa and Gratiano. Jessica one would think (à priori) could not be charming; she is the disobedient daughter of a fierce old usurer, brought up in a home which she tells us was a hell, — among

all that was sordid and unlovely; and yet she is a very pearl ; dear, too, to the hearts of those Baltimoreans who saw her personated in private theatricals by the daughter of a judge high in the esteem of his fellow-townsmen. Alas! that impersonation of winning lovely, innocence is now only a memory. There is a soft confidingness in Jessica which would lead the way to grief if Lorenzo were no true man ; and she seems all the time to be running a fearful risk in trusting him so absolutely, as she really knows but little of him. Her first appearance is with Launcelot, her father's serving-man.

Jessica. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so;
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.
But fare thee well; there is a ducat for thee.
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest.
Give him this letter; do it secretly,

And so farewell; I would not have my father
See me talk with thee.

Launcelot. Adieu! - tears exhibit my tongue.

Pagan,

Most beautiful

most sweet Jew! If a Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived. But adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit. Adieu!

Jessica. Farewell, good Launcelot.

[Exit.

Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
To be ashamed to be my father's child!
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife;
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife.

[Exit.

Scene 4.

This scene shows us preparations for Bassanio's bachelor banquet, and Lorenzo's arrangements for carrying off Jessica.

Scene 5.

Next we see Shylock going forth to Bassanio's supperparty, and giving Jessica charge of his keys in his absence. Stewart Newton, a Boston artist of great promise, who died young, as he was rising to great fame in England, took for the subject of nearly all his pictures this Jewish Jessica. One of them-Jessica demurely receiving from her father the great keys-is well known and very celebrated.

Shylock. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica.

There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for love; they flatter me.
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house. I am right loath to go;
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest,
For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

Launcelot. I beseech you, sir, go, my young master doth expect your reproach.

Shylock. So do I his.

Launcelot. And they have conspired together,

-I will not say

you shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i' the morning, falling out that year on Ash Wednesday was four year in the afternoon.

Shylock. What are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica ;
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum,
And the vile squeaking of the wry-necked fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street,
To gaze on Christian fools with varnished faces :
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements;
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear,
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night;
But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;
Say I will come.