Bertram's disgust at the tyranny which has given away his freedom in payment of another's debt,-which has united him to a woman whose merits are not towards him -whose secret love, and long enduring faith, are yet unknown and untried-might well make his bride distasteful to him. He flies her on the very day of their marriage, most like a wilful, haughty, angry boy, but not like a profligate. On other points he is not so easily defended, and Shakspeare, we see, has not defended but corrected him. The latter part of the play is more perplexing than pleasing. We do not indeed repine with Dr. Johnson, that Bertram, after all his misdemeanors, is "dismissed to hap

*Percy's Reliques.

piness;" but notwithstanding the clever defence that has been made for him, he has our pardon rather than our sympathy; and for mine own part, I could find it easier to love Bertram as Helena does, than to excuse him; her love for him is his best excuse.

PERDITA.

VIOLA.

OPHELI A.

IN Viola and Perdita the distinguishing traits are the same-sentiment and elegance: thus we associate them together, though nothing can be more distinct to the fancy than the Doric grace of Perdita, compared to the romantic sweetness of Viola. They are created out of the same materials, and are equal to each other in the tenderness, delicacy, and poetical beauty of the conception. They are both more imaginative than passionate; but Perdita is the more imaginative of the two. She is the union of the pastoral and romantic with the classical and poetical, as if a dryad of the woods had turned shepherdess. The perfections with which the poet has so lavishly endowed her, sit upon her with a certain careless and picturesque grace, as though they had fallen upon her unawares.' Thus Belphoebe, in the Fairy Queen, issues from the flowering forest with hair and garments all besprinkled with the leaves and blossoms they had entangled in her flight and so arrayed by chance and "heedless hap" takes all hearts with "stately presence and with princely port," most like to Perdita!

The story of Florizel and Perdita is but an episode in the "Winter's Tale ;" and the character of Perdita is properly kept subordinate to that of her mother, Hermione: yet the picture is perfectly finished in every part; Juliet herself is not more firmly and distinctly drawn. But the

coloring in Perdita is more silvery light and delicate; the pervading sentiment more touched with the ideal; compared with Juliet, she is like a Guido hung beside a Georgione, or one of Paesiello's airs heard after one of Mozart's. The qualities which impart to Perdita her distinct individuality, are the beautiful combination of the pastoral with the elegant-of simplicity with elevation-of spirit with sweetness. The exquisite delicacy of the picture is apparent. To understand and appreciate its effective truth and nature, we should place Perdita beside some of the nymphs of Arcadia, or the Italian pastorals, who, however graceful in themselves, when opposed to Perdita, seem to melt away into mere poetical abstractions ;—As, in Spencer, the fair but fictitious Florimel, which the subtle enchantress had moulded out of snow, "vermeil tinctured," and informed with an airy spirit, that knew “all wiles of woman's wits," fades and dissolves away, when placed next to the real Florimel, in her warm, breathing, human loveliness.

Perdita does not appear till the fourth act, and the whole of the character is developed in the course of a single scene, (the third,) with a completeness of effect which leaves nothing to be required-nothing to be supplied. She is first introduced in the dialogue between herself and Florizel, where she compares her own lowly state to his princely rank, and expresses her fears of the issue of their unequal attachment. With all her timidity, and her sense of the distance which separates her from her lover, she breathes not a single word which could lead us to impugn either her delicacy or her dignity.

FLORIZEL.

These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life-no shepherdess, but Flora
Peering in April's front; this your sheep-shearing

To chide at your extremes it not becomes me;
O pardon that I name them; your high self,
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured
With a swain's bearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up ;—but that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To show myself a glass.

The impression of her perfect beauty and airy elegance of demeanour, is conveyed in two exquisite passages;

What you do

Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever. When you sing,

I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms,

Pray so, and for the ordering your affairs

To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do

Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own
No other function.

I take thy hand; this hand

As soft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,

That's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er.

The artless manner in which her innate nobility of soul shines forth through her pastoral disguise, is thus brought before us at once:

This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever

Pan on the green sward: nothing she does, or seems,

But smacks of something greater than herself,

Too noble for this place.

Her natural loftiness of spirit breaks out where she is menaced and reviled by the king as one whom his son has degraded himself by merely looking on; she bears the royal frown without quailing; but the moment he is gone, the immediate recollection of herself, and of her humble state, of her hapless love, is full of beauty, tenderness, and

nature:

Even here undone !

I was not much afeard: for once, or twice,
I was about to speak; and tell him plainly
The self-same sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.

Will't please you, Sir, begone?

I told you what would come of this. Beseech you,
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine-
Being now awake—I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.

How often have I told you 'twould be thus!

How often said, my dignity would last

But till 'twere known.

FLORIZEL.

It cannot fail, but by

The violation of my faith; and then

Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.

Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or

The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break mine oath
To thee, my fair beloved!

Perdita has another characteristic, which lends to the poetical delicacy of the delineation a certain strength and moral elevation, which is peculiarly striking. It is that sense of truth and rectitude, that upright simplicity of mind,