the outward creation and of the soul. It indeed portrays, with terrible energy, the excesses of the passions; but they are passions which show a mighty nature, which are full of power, which command awe, and excite a deep though shuddering sympathy. Its great tendency and purpose is, to carry the mind beyond and above the beaten, dusty, weary walks of ordinary life; to lift it into a purer element; and to breathe into it more profound and generous emotions.

11. It reveals to us the loveliness of nature, brings back the freshness of youthful feeling, revives the relish of simple pleasures, keeps unquenched the enthusiasm which warmed the spring-time of our being, refines youthful love, strengthens our interest in human nature by vivid delineations of its tenderest and loftiest feelings, spreads our sympathies over all classes of society, knits us by new ties with universal being, and, through the brightness of its prophetic visions, helps faith to lay hold on the future life.

12. We are aware that it is objected to poetry, that it gives wrong views and excites false expectations of life, peoples the mind with shadows and illusions, and builds up imagination on the ruins of wisdom. That there is a wisdom, against which poetry wars, the wisdom of the senses, which makes physical comfort and gratification the supreme good, and wealth the chief interest of life,- we do not deny; nor do we deem it the least service which poetry renders to mankind, that it redeems them from the thralldom of this earth-born prudence.

13. But, passing over this topic, we would observe, that the complaint against poetry as abounding in illusion and deception is, in the main, groundless. In many poems there is more of truth than in many histories and philosophic theories. The fictions of genius are often the vehicles of the sublimest verities, and its flashes often open new regions of thought, and throw

new light on the mysteries of our being. In poetry, when the letter is falsehood, the spirit is often profoundest wisdom.

14. And, if truth thus dwells in the boldest fictions of the poet, much more may it be expected in his delineations of life; for the present life, which is the first stage of the immortal mind, abounds in the materials of poetry, and it is the high office of the bard to detect this divine clement among the grosser labors and pleasures of our earthly being. The present life is not wholly prosaic, precise, tame, and finite. To the gifted eye it abounds in the poetic.

15. The affections which spread beyond ourselves, and stretch far into futurity; the workings of mighty passions, which seem to arm the soul with an almost superhuman energy; the innocent and irrepressible joy of infancy; the bloom, and buoyancy, and dazzling hopes of youth; the throbbings of the heart when it first wakes to love, and dreams of a happiness too vast for earth; woman, with her beauty, and grace, and gentleness, and fullness of feeling, and depth of affection, and blushes of purity, and the tones and looks which only a mother's heart can inspire; - these are all poetical.

16. It is not true that the poet paints a life which does not exist. He only extracts and concentrates, as it were, life's ethereal essence, arrests and condenses its volatile fragrance, brings together its scattered beauties, and prolongs its more refined but evanescent joys. And in this he does well; for it is good to feel that life is not wholly usurped by cares for subsistence and physical gratifications, but admits, in measures which may be indefinitely enlarged, sentiments and delights worthy of a higher being.

LIX. THE TRIAL SCENE.

FROM "THE MERCHANT OF VENICE."

SHAKESPEARE.

In the play of "The Merchant of Venice," Antonio, the merchant, consents to go surety for his friend Bassanio in the sum of three thousand ducats borrowed from Shylock. On failure to repay this sum at the time specified, Antonio agrees to forfeit to Shylock a pound of flesh to be cut from his (Antonio's) body. A bond to this effect is signed at the Notary's. Losses come upon Antonio, and the bond is forfeit. Then follows in the fourth act of the play, the following famous trial scene, in itself a perfect drama. The fact of so unamiable a character as Shylock being represented as a Jew must not be received as prompting to sectarian prejudices. It is remarked by Campbell, that while for dramatic purposes Shakespeare lends himself to the prejudices of Christians against Jews, he draws so philosophical a picture of the energetic Jewish character, that he traces the blame of its faults to the iniquity of those who would persecute a man for opinion's sake.

See in Index. BANE, OBDURATE, OFFENSE or OFFENCE, SCEPTRE or SCEPTER, SUFFICE, YEA, DANIEL, SHAKESPEARE.

Present the GRAND DUKE, SENATORS, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANG SOLANIO, and others.

Duke. What, is Antonio here?

Ant. Ready, so please your grace.

Duke. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer A stōny adversary, an inhuman wretch

Uncapable of pity, void and empty

From any

dram of mercy.

Ant. I have heard,

Your

grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate,

And that no lawful means can carry me

Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose
My patience to his fury; and am armed
To suffer with a quietness of spirit,

The very tyranny and rage of his.

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court.
Solan. He's ready at the door: he comes, my lord.

Enter SHYLOCK.

Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face.

Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
To the last hour of act; and then, 't is thought
Thou 'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty:

And where thou now exact'st the penalty,
(Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,)
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture,

But, touched with human gentleness and love,
Forgive a moiety of the principal;

Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,

That have of late so huddled on his back,
Enough to press a royal merchant down,
And pluck commiseration of his state

From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never trained
To offices of tender courtesy.

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

Shy. I have possessed your grace of what I purpose; And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn,

To have the due and forfeit of my bond:
If you deny it, let the danger light
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom.
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive
Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that:
But, say, it is my humor. Is it answered?
What if my house be troubled with a rat,
And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats
To have it baned? What, are you answered yet?
Some men there are, love not a gaping pig;
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat;
Now for your answer:

As there is no firm reason to be rendered,
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
More than a lodged hate, and a certain loathing
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus

A losing suit against him. Are you answered?

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer.
Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love?
Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill?
Bass. Every offense is not a hate at first.

Shy. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice! Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew:

You

may as well go stand upon the beach,

And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
You
may as well use question with the wolf,
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
You may as well forbid the mountain pines

То

wag

their high tops, and to make no noise, When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven; You may as well do anything most hard,

As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?)
His Jewish heart:

Therefore, I do beseech you,

Make no more offers, use no further means,
But, with all brief and plain conveniency,
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will.
Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six.
Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats,
Were in six parts, and every part a ducat,

I would not draw them, I would have my bond.

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none? Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? You have among you many a purchased slave, Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, You use in abject and in slavish parts,

Because you bought them: Shall I say to you,
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?
Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates
Be seasoned with such viands?
The slaves are ours: So do I answer you:
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
Is dearly bought, 't is mine, and I will have it:
If you deny me, fie upon your law!

You will answer,

There is no force in the decrees of Venice!
I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?