"Thou better know'st

The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude."

But she was not one with whom the gentle bond had influence; she was not one to recognize in the love of a parent, and the thousand kind and affectionate acts by which it still displayed itself, the links of a chain which ought to have bound the heart of the child ever in closer and more endearing union. No! "she tied sharp-toothed unkindness, like a vulture," on him, and was more cruel than the winds of heaven. All Lear's abjurations amid the storm, and his denunciations of his children, are levelled against Goneril and Regan; and Cordelia is not once included, for he emphatically appeals against his " two pernicious daughters."

His conduct on arriving at the French camp, near Dover, more than all testifies the state of his heart towards Cordelia. Although he was in the same place with her, he will not consent to see her, and the reason, we are informed by Kent, is that

"A sovereign shame so elbows him. His own unkindness,
That stripped her from his benediction, turned her

To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights

To his dog-hearted daughters: these things sting
His mind so venomously, that burning shame
Detains him from Cordelia."

How deep must be the sense of wrong in a father towards his child, when he is thus ashamed to see her! And with one like Lear, whose sensibilities were so finely strung, the more clearly her purity arose in reproach against his injustice, the stronger would this feeling of humiliation exist. It is a fine testimony to her goodness.

Thus progressed the establishment of her innocence in the mind of Lear; and the contrast betwixt her and the wretched sisters being brought to a climax, the time has arrived for her reappearance, when we can sympathise with her still and noiseless motions, nor impute her outward calmness to frigidity of soul. But ere she comes again, another tint is added to her portrait, charming as well by its own beauty, as its exquisite harmony with all that we have conceived of her disposition. A gentleman who brings letters from her to Kent is describing the effect that the intelligence of her father's state had on her; he says

"Now and then an ample tear trilled down
Her delicate cheek. It seemed she was a queen

Patience and sorrow strove

Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
Were like a better day. Those happy smilets,
That played on her ripe lip, seemed not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropped. In brief, sorrow
Would be a rarity most beloved, if all

Could so become it.

Once or twice she heaved the name of 'father'

Pantingly forth, as if it pressed her heart;

Cried, Sisters! sisters! shame of ladies! sisters!

Kent! father! sisters! What? i' the storm? i' the night?

Let pity not be believed!' There she shook

The holy water from her heavenly eyes,

And clamour moistened: then away she started,
To deal with grief alone."

After such an account, it is a most natural transition to the bedside of the sick and broken-hearted monarch, to be introduced again to our long-lost Cordelia, there, smoothing his pillow, and raising to his parched and fevered lips the cooling draught, as she perchance had oftimes done of yore,-to see her exercising the "kind nursery," beneath whose tenderness he had once hoped "to set his rest," fulfilling the expectations he had formed in the days of his happiness, and rendered now more affecting by being so unlooked for, so unconsciously experienced. The circumstances under which she reappears are well worthy of her, and tend further to enhance our admiration for her noble and estimable character. Hear the words she murmurs over the sleeping Lear :

"O my dear father! Restoration hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face
To be exposed against the jarring winds?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder;
In the most terrible and nimble stroke

Of quick, cross-lightning? to watch (poor perdu !)
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,

Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn,

In short and musty straw? Alack, Alack!"

Well may we exclaim, with Kent, " Kind and dear princess!" O Woman! whatever may be the failings of some of thy sex, whatever their errors and weakness, be they such as may appal us with their guiltiness and make us blush for human nature, they cannot stain thy loveliness, for whilst thou art woman, whilst thy true character is displayed, thou art all grace and beauty! Goneril and Regan had nothing feminine in their characters, and could acts have cast a lasting stigma upon woman, theirs might well have done so, for they were indeed worthy the foul fiend himself; but we turn to the sweet Cordelia, and feel that "she redeems nature from the general curse which twain have brought her to."

The awakening Lear recognizes her, and remembering the wrongs he has done her, most pathetically addresses her amid her tears,

"If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not."

Very beautiful and comprehensive is her heartfelt deprecation, "No cause, no cause." Ah! did she not love him "according to her bond?"

The joy of the poor old king, even in the midst of misfortune and imprisonment, at his reunion with his beloved, speaks volumes for her. It is still a pursuance of the necessary course of delineation, that her praise should come from others, not from her own lips. He shrinks from meeting the cruel-hearted daughters into whose power he has fallen, but forgetful of all suffering whilst she is by his side, he exclaims,—

"Come, let's away to prison:

We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:

When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down

And ask of thee forgiveness-so we'll live,

And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh

At gilded butterflies.

He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,
And fire us hence, like foxes.

Poor Cordelia! how sadly did she die! But o'er her death,

she had a mourner whose sighs were meet to rise to heaven with her pure spirit,—an old and grey-haired father, the monument of filial cruelty and ingratitude, was yet the monument of her true goodness, the herald of her gentle and guileless being. She died, the victim to her filial piety, and "upon such sacrifices, the gods themselves throw incense." And was it not an end the most appropriate, thus to seal by her silent fate, the holy truths that were her guides through life! How exquisite is the description of Lear,

"Her voice was ever soft,

Gentle and low; an excellent thing in woman."

It is such a perfect realization of the Cordelia of our imagination! But in all things does Shakspere preserve the harmony of his characters; not even amid the grandest design does he neglect the minute details, which a less expansive mind had either not observed, or deemed unnecessary to the completeness of the picture.

And now, have we said too much, in styling Cordelia one of the most glorious of the Bard's creations? In conception it is so beautiful, so redolent of gentleness and purity, and encircled with that indescribable charm which makes the very name of

woman come to us

Like the sweet south,

That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour,—

and in execution so refined and delicate, that we feel assured all must agree with us.

SONG OF THE BRIDEGROOM.

BY MRS. ABDY.

THE bridal veil is on thy hair,
The wreath is on thy brow,

Thy vows are breathed-why, dearest, wear
A look of sadness now?

Say, dost thou tremble to remove

From friends long tried and known?

Oh! doubt me not-my fervent love
Shall far surpass their own;
My tender care shall never sleep,

Still shall I prove thy friend and guide:
One lot is ours-then wherefore weep,
My loved, my gentle bride?

Love shall direct my faithful breast,

Thy wishes to prevent;

Or, if a wish be half expressed,

To crown it with content:

The friendships of thy early youth
May lessen and decline,

But Time, which weakens others' truth,
Shall only strengthen mine.

Thy future way is strewed with flowers,
Then let those timid tears be dried,
And smiles succeed the April showers-
My loved, my gentle bride!