to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.

It is clear that she cannot for a moment endure his neglect, and he can as little tolerate her scorn. Nothing that Benedick addresses to Beatrice personally can equal the malicious force of some of her attacks upon him; he is either restrained by a feeling of natural gallantry, little as she deserves the consideration due to her sex,-(for a female satirist ever places herself beyond the pale of such forbearance,) or he is subdued by her superior volubility. He revenges himself, however, in her absence; he abuses her with such a variety of comic invective, and pours forth his pent-up wrath with such a ludicrous extravagance and exaggeration, that he betrays at once how deep is his mortification, and how unreal his enmity.

In the midst of all this tilting and sparring of their nimble and fiery wits, we find them infinitely anxious for the good opinion of each other, and secretly impatient of each other's scorn, but Beatrice is the most truly indifferent of the two, the most assured of herself. The comic effect produced by their mutual attachment, which, however natural and expected, comes upon us with all the force of a surprise, cannot be surpassed; and how exquisitely characteristic the mutual avowal!

BENEDICK.

By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.

BEATRICE.

Do not swear by it, and eat it.

BENEDICK.

I will swear by it, that you love me; and I will make him eat it

BENEDICK.

With no sauce that can be devised to it: I protest, I love thee.

BEATRICE.

Why, then, God forgive me!

BENEDICK.

What offence, sweet Beatrice?

BEATRICE.

You stayed me in a happy hour. I was about to protest I loved

you.

BENEDICK.

And do it with all thy heart.

BEATRICE.

I love you with so much of my heart, that there is none left to pro

test.

But here again the dominion rests with Beatrice, and she appears in a less amiable light than her lover. Benedick surrenders his whole heart to her and to his new passion. The revulsion of feeling even causes it to overflow in an excess of fondness; but with Beatrice temper has still the mastery. The affection of Benedick induces him to challenge his intimate friend for her sake, but the affection of Beatrice does not prevent her from risking the life of her lover.

The character of Hero is well contrasted with that of Beatrice, and their mutual attachment is very beautiful and natural. When they are both on the scene together, Hero has but little to say for herself: Beatrice asserts the rule of a master spirit, eclipses her by her mental superiority, abashes her by her raillery, dictates to her, answers for her, and would fain inspire her gentle-hearted cousin with some of her own assurance.

Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make a curtsey, and say,

"Father, as it please you ;" but yet, for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsey, and " Father, as it please me."

But Shakspeare knew well how to make one character subordinate to another, without sacrificing the slightest portion of its effect; and Hero, added to her grace and softness, and all the interest which attaches to her as the sentimental heroine of the play, possesses an intellectual beauty of her own. When she has Beatrice at an advantage, she repays her with interest, in the severe, but most animated and elegant picture she draws of her cousin's imperious character and unbridled levity of tongue: the portrait is a little overcharged, because administered as a corrective, and intended to be overheard.

But nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice :
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her

All matter else seems weak; she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endeared.

URSULA.

Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.

HERO.

No: not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
She'd mock me into air; O she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly :
It were a better death than die with mocks,
Which is as bad as die with tickling.

Beatrice never appears to greater advantage than in

her soliloquy after leaving her concealment "in the pleached bower where honey-suckles, ripened by the sun, forbid the sun to enter;" she exclaims, after listening to this tirade against herself,

What fire is in mine ears?

Can this be true?

Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?

The sense of wounded vanity is lost in bitter feelings, and she is infinitely more struck by what is said in praise of Benedick, and the history of his supposed love for her, than by the dispraise of herself. The immediate success of the trick is a most natural consequence of the self-assurance and magnanimity of her character; she is so accustomed to assert dominion over the spirits of others, that she cannot suspect the possibility of a plot laid against herself.

A haughty, excitable, and violent temper is another of the characteristics of Beatrice, but there is more of impulse than of passion in her vehemence. In the marriage scene, where she has beheld her gentle spirited cousin, whom she loves the more for those very qualities which are most unlike her own,-slandered, deserted, and devoted to public shame, her indignation, and the eagerness with which she hungers and thirsts after revenge, are, like the rest of her character, open, ardent, impetuous, but not deep or implicable. When she bursts into that outrageous speech

Is he not approved in the height a villain that hath slandered, scorned, dishonored my kinswoman? O that I were a man! What! bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancor-O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place!

And when she commends her lover, as the first proof of his affection," to kill Claudio," the very consciousness of "to the exaggeration,—of the contrast between the real goodnature of Beatrice and the fierce tenor of her language,

keeps alive the comic effect, mingling the ludicrous with the serious. It is remarkable that, notwistanding the point and vivacity of the dialogue, few of the speeches of Beatrice are capable of a general application, or engrave themselves distinctly on the memory: they contain more mirth than matter; and though wit be the predominant feature in the dramatic portrait, Beatrice more charms and dazzles us by what she is, than by what she says. It is not merely her sparkling repartees and saucy jests, it is the soul of wit, and the spirit of gayety in forming the whole character,-looking out from her brilliant eyes, and laughing on her full lips that pout with scorn,—which we have before us, moving and full of life. On the whole, we dismiss Benedick and Beatrice to their matrimonial bonds, rather with a sense of amusement, than a feeling of congratulation or sympathy; rather with an acknowledgment that they are well-matched, and worthy of each other, than with any well-founded expectation of their domestic tranquility. If, as Benedick asserts, they are both "too wise, to woo peaceably," it may be added, that both are too wise, too witty, and too wilful, to live peaceably together. We have some misgivings about Beatrice-some apprehensions, that poor Benedick will not escape the "predestinated scratched face," which had been foretold to him who should win and wear this quick-witted and pleasant-spirited lady; yet when we recollect that to the wit and imperious temper of Beatrice is united a magnanimity of spirit which would naturally place her far above all selfishness, and all paltry struggles of power-when we perceive in the midst of her sarcastic levity and volubility of tongue, so much of generous affection, and such a high sense of female virtue and honor, we are inclined to hope the best. We think it possible that though the gentleman may now and then swear, and the lady scold, the native