of his injustice-" an office which," as she observes, "becomes a woman best"—her want of self-government, her bitter, inconsiderate reproaches, only add, as we might easily suppose, to his fury.

Good queen, my lord, good queen-I say good queen;
And would by combat make her good, so were I
A man, the worst about you.

Force her hence.

LEONTES.

PAULINA.

Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes,

First hand me-on mine own accord, I'll off;
But first I'll do my errand. The good queen
(For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter;
Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.

LEONTES.

Traitors!

Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.

PAULINA.

For ever.

Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou

Tak'st up the princess by that forced baseness
Which he has put upon 't!

LEONTES.

He dreads his wife,

PAULINA.

So, I would you did; then, 'twere past all doubt
You'd call your children yours.

LEONTES.

A callat,

Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,
And now baits me !-This brat is none of mine.

PAULINA.

It is yours,

And might we lay the old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse.

*

LEONTES.

A gross hag!

And Lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
That will not stay her tongue.

ANTIGONES.

Hang all the husbands

That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself

Hardly one subject.

LEONTES.

Once more, take her hence.

PAULINA.

A most unworthy and unnatural lord

Can do no more.

LEONTES.

I'll have thee burned

PAULINA.

I care not:

It is an heretic that makes the fire
Not she which burns in 't.

Here, while we honor her courage

and her affection, we We see, too, in Pau

cannot help regretting her violence. lina, what we so often see in real life, that it is not those who are most susceptible in their own temper and feelings, who are most delicate and forbearing towards the feelings of others. She does not comprehend, or will not allow for, the sensitive weakness of a mind less firmly tempered than There is a reply of Leontes to one of her cut

her own.

ting speeches which is full of feeling, and a lesson to those who with the best intentions in the world force the painful truth, like a knife, into the already lacerated heart.

PAULINA.

If, one by one, you wedded all the world,
Or, from the all that are took something good
To make a perfect woman, she you killed
Would be unparallel'd

She I kill'd? I did so; but thou strik'st me

Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter

Upon thy tongue, as in my thought. Now good now,
Say so but seldom.

CLEOMENES.

Not at all, good lady;

You might have spoken a thousand things that would
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd

Your kindness better.

We can only excuse Paulina by recollecting that it is a part of her purpose to keep alive in the heart of Leontes the remembrance of his queen's perfections, and of his own cruel injustice. It is admirable, too, that Hermione and Paulina, while sufficiently approximated to afford all the pleasure of contrast, are never brought too nearly in contact on the scene or in the dialogue for this would have been a fault in taste, and have necessarily weakened the effect of both characters :—either the serene grandeur of Hermione would have subdued and overawed the fiery spirit of Paulina, or the impetuous temper of the latter

*Only in the last scene, when with solemnity befitting the occasion, Paulina invokes the majestic figure to "descend, and be stone no more," and where she presents her daughter to her, “Turn, good lady! our Perdita is found."

must have disturbed, in some respect, our impression of the calm, majestic, and somewhat melancholy beauty of Hermione.

DESDEMONA.

THE character of Hermione is addressed more to the imagination ;-that of Desdemona to the feelings. All that can render sorrow majestic is gathered round Hermione ;-all that can render misery heart-breaking is assembled round Desdemona. The wronged but selfsustained virtue of Hermione commands our veneration; the injured and defenceless innocence of Desdemona so wrings the soul, "that all for pity we could die."

Desdemona, as a character, comes nearest to Miranda, both in herself as a woman, and in the perfect simplicity and unity of the delineation; the figures are differently draped -the proportions are the same. There is the same modesty, tenderness, and grace; the same artless devotion in the affections, the same predisposition to wonder, to pity, to admire; the same almost ethereal refinement and delicacy; but all is pure poetic nature within Miranda and around her; Desdemona is more associated with the palpable realities of every-day existence, and we see the forms and habits of society tinting her language and deportment; no two beings can be more alike in character -nor more distinct as individuals.

The love of Desdemona for Othello, appears at first such a violation of all probabilities, that her father at once imputes it to magic, "to spells and mixtures powerful o'er the blood."

She in spite of nature,

Of years, of country, credit, every thing,
To fall in love with what she feared to look on!

And the devilish malignity of Iago, whose coarse mind cannot conceive an affection founded purely in sentiment, derives from her love itself a strong argument against her.

Aye, there's the point, as to be bold with you,
Not to affect many proposed matches

Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,
Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends, &c.*

Notwithstanding this disparity of age, character, country, complexion, we, who are admitted into the secret, see her love rise naturally, and neccessarily out of the leading propensities of her nature.

At the period of the story a spirit of wild adventure had seized all Europe. The discovery of both Indies was yet recent; over the shores of the western hemisphere still fable and mystery hung, with all their dim enchantments, visionary terrors, and golden promises; perilous expeditions and distant voyages were every day undertaken from hope of plunder, or mere love of enterprise; and from these the adventurers returned with tales of "Antres vast and deserts wild—of cannibals that did each other eat—of Anthropophagi, and men whose heads did grow beneath their shoulders." With just such stories did Raleigh and Clifford, and their followers, return from the new world: and thus by their splendid or fearful exaggerations, which the imperfect knowledge of those times could not refute, was the passion for the romantic and marvellous nourished at home, particularly among the women. A cavalier of those days had no nearer, no surer way to his mistress' heart, than by entertaining her with these wondrous narratives. What was a general feature of his time, Shakspeare seized and adapted to his purpose with the most exquisite felicity of effect. Desdemona, leaving her household cares

Act iii. Scene 3.