Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,

Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

Jessica. I would out-night you did nobody come.
But hark, I hear the footing of a man.

Then, as soft music strikes up under the trees, a prelude to the welcome home of Portia, Lorenzo cannot bear to quit the place, and makes his charming love sit longer in the moonlight.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica. Look, how the floor of heaven

Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;

There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest,
But in his motion like an angel sings,

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins.
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

Jessica. I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

Lorenzo. The reason is, your spirits are attentive.
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition of their blood, -

If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze

By the sweet power of music. Therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;

[Music.

Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus.

Let no such man be trusted.

[Enter Portia and Nerissa in the distance.

Portia. That light we see is burning in my hall.

How far that little candle throws his beams!

So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Nerissa. When the moon shone we did not see the candle.
Portia. So doth the greater glory dim the less.

A substitute shines brightly as a king

Until a king be by; and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook,

Into the main of waters.

Here, as a commentary on Portia's last words, pretty Jessica, on her appearance, becomes absolutely silent.

The final scene, with the return of the husbands, the recovery of the two rings, and Portia's graceful welcome of Antonio to "our house," must be regretfully omitted. If you read it, you will note that Nerissa, though decorous when associated with Portia, gives a loose rein to her pert wit when she talks with Gratiano. I hope her husband took her away from Belmont, and that pretty Jessica succeeded to her place as lady-in-waiting, to be improved and educated by her intercourse with Portia. As for that sweet lady, may her married life have been a happy one; but I wish she had married Antonio. As old Nestor says, when he hears in the dark the tramp of horses,

"I hope, and yet I fear."

CYMBELINE.

HAZ

CYMBELINE.

́AZLITT says of" Cymbeline" that it may be considered a dramatic romance, in which the most striking parts of the story are thrown into the form of dialogue, and the intermediate circumstances are explained by the different speakers as occasion renders it necessary. "The reading of this play," he adds, "is like going a journey with some uncertain object at the end of it, in which the suspense is kept up and heightened by the long intervals between each action." The central figure of the play is Imogen, Princess of Britain, the brightest example in all literature of perfect wifehood and true womanhood.

While never forgetful of her dignity as a princess, and of her obligations to her kingdom, Imogen's whole being is "bound up in the bundle of life" with that of her husband and lord. "In her," says Mrs. Jameson, "a variety of tints are mingled together with perfect harmony. In her we have all the fervor of youthful tenderness, all the romance of youthful fancy, all the enchantment of ideal grace, the bloom of beauty, the brightness of intellect, and the dignity of rank, taking a peculiar hue from the conjugal character which is shed over all like a consecration. . . . Imogen, throughout the play, is an angel of light, whose lovely presence pervades and animates the whole piece."