well have passed for the Constantinopolitan "noble dame, a widdowe, whose husband was but lately deceased, one of the noblest men that were in the partes of Grecia, who left his lady and wife large possessions and great livings."

In bringing about the conclusion of the play, Shakspeare varies very considerably from his original. Either of the novels would have furnished him with a good and probable reason for the appearance of the brother in the same city with his sister, a circumstance now wearing the semblance of accident. The recognition of the former for the latter, his invitation to the lady's house, and Sebastian's joyful acceptance of it, are closely copied from Riche's tale, but Shakspeare preserves Olivia's reputation by carefully contracting her in marriage with Sebastian, in the presence of a priest beneath a consecrated roof.

Under the same error as Julina, Olivia claims Cesario for her husband before the duke, and meets with the same denial of the contract: Olivia, like Julina, attributes the conduct of the page to fear, and, like Apolonius, Orsino believes his page an epitome of meanness, deceit, and cunning.

The entrance of Sebastián, in the play, while Viola is present on the scene, is the cir

cumstance which leads to the solution of every difficulty, and it is not till that moment that Viola makes any disclosure of her sex.

In perusing Twelfth Night, it is remarkable how small a portion of its scenes is occupied by the incidents of its plot, and that in truth, with the exception of Viola, the principal interest settles in Ague-cheek, Belch, and Malvolio, (characters entirely of Shakspeare's creation,) who contribute but little to the progress of the story. The last, indeed, not at all, and the others are only connected with the fable by the incidents of Sir Andrew's jealousy, and consequent duel with Viola. Sir Andrew Ague-cheek and Sir Toby Belch are studiously placed in mutual contrast. The imbecility of Aguecheek's mind and character falls little short of fatuity: Belch is a reveller and a drunkard, but, withal, a humourist, a satirist, and an attentive observer of the world: with a keen relish for the ludicrous, he is quick in the discernment of foibles, and admirable in exposing them to ridicule. The manners of this facetious and jolly roisterer are aped by the drivelling, imbecile, Ague-cheek, who, of no character himself, complacently culls the peculiarities of all men. Malvolio, the pedantic, the sententious, the

churlish Malvolio, is one of the most elaborately finished pictures of personal vanity that is any where to be met with. He is, as Olivia tells him, "sick of self-love," and "tastes all things with a distempered appetite." So active is the principle of vanity within him, that its own potency alone suggests the preposterous idea that Olivia loves him, and he, in consequence, falls immediately by the plot laid for his exposure. The inordinate and deep-rooted opinion of his own merits is the medium through which he sees and construes all things, and he never thinks that the actions and words of others will bear any interpretation but the vain suggestions of his own self-love."Why, every thing adheres together; that no dram of a scruple, scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance-What can be said? Nothing, that can be, can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes." And all this vanity is often clad in the garb of modesty,—so fine is Shakspeare's tact in the representation of character. "Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked." Tyrwhitt pertinently observed that Malvolio, in his hu- mour of state, bears a strong resemblance to Alnaschar, the barber's fifth brother, in the Arabian Nights. The passage is too long for

quotation, but the following specimen will give an idea of the nature of the similarity: "When I retire with my wife in the evening, I will sit on the upper seat, I will affect a grave air, without turning my head to one side or the other. I will speak little; and whilst my wife, beautiful as the full moon, stands before me in all her charms, I will make as if I did not see her. Her women about me will say to me, Our dear lord and master, here is your spouse, your humble servant, before you, ready to receive your caresses, but much mortified that you do not vouchsafe to look upon her; she is wearied with standing so long, bid her, at least, sit down.' I will make no answer, which will increase their surprise and grief. They will prostrate themselves at my feet; and after they have for a considerable time entreated me to relent, I will at last lift up my head, give her a careless look, and resume my former posture, &c. &c."

The plot of Maria is inimitably framed for the degradation of this paragon of coxcombs. More effectually he could not be exposed to contempt in the eyes of his mistress and his fellows, than by the behaviour he is prompted to assume. "Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants : let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity."

212

JULIUS CÆSAR.

1607.

ON three occasions only had Shakspeare recourse to the fertile field of Roman story for subjects for his dramas. Such a portion of historical knowledge as was necessary to his purpose was easily to be acquired, from the highly popular translation of Plutarch by Sir Thomas North.

The dramatist appears to have had it generally in view to adhere as closely as possible to the classic biographer, and the notes which crowd the page of the variorum editions of Shakspeare, and which might with ease have been swelled to double their extent, furnish superabundant evidence of his scrupulous fidelity. *

*The errors as well as the true statements of his author were copied. In Coriolanus, Titus Lartius speaks of Marcius as 66 a soldier even to Cato's wish." (Act I. sc. 4.) Cato was posterior to Coriolanus two centuries and a half; but in North's Plutarch, the poet found it said of Coriolanus that "he was even such another as Cato would have a