ound of talent, feeling, wisdom, beauty, and gentleness! Now would
it not be well, if this common and comprehensive word were more
accurately defined, or at least more accurately used? It signifies
properly, not so much the possession of high powers, as dexterity in the
adaptation of certain faculties (not necessarily of a high order) to a
certain end or aim--not always the worthiest. It implies something
common-place, inasmuch as it speaks the presence of the _active_ and
_perceptive_, with a deficiency of the _feeling_ and _reflective_
powers; and applied to a woman, does it not almost invariably suggest
the idea of something we should distrust or shrink from, if not allied
to a higher nature? The profligate French women, who ruled the councils
of Europe in the middle of the last century, were clever women; and that
_philosopheress_ Madame du Chatelet, who managed, at one and the same
moment, the thread of an intrigue, her cards at piquet, and a
calculation in algebra, was a very clever woman! If Portia had been
created as a mere instrument to bring about a dramatic catastrophe--if
she had merely detected the flaw in Antonio's bond, and used it as a
means to baffle the Jew, she might have been pronounced a clever woman.
But what Portia does, is forgotten in what she _is_. The rare and
harmonious blending of energy, reflection, and feeling, in her fine
character, make the epithet _clever_ sound like a discord as applied to
_her_, and place her infinitely beyond the slight praise of Richardson
and Schlegel, neither of whom appear to have fully comprehended her.

These and other critics have been apparently so dazzled and engrossed by
the amazing character of Shylock, that Portia has received less than
justice at their hands; while the fact is, that Shylock is not a finer
or more finished character in his way, than Portia is in hers. These two
splendid figures are worthy of each other; worthy of being placed
together within the same rich framework of enchanting poetry, and
glorious and graceful forms. She hangs beside the terrible, inexorable
Jew, the brilliant lights of her character set off by the shadowy power
of his, like a magnificent beauty-breathing Titian by the side of a
gorgeous Rembrandt.

Portia is endued with her own share of those delightful qualities, which
Shakspeare has lavished on many of his female characters; but besides
the dignity, the sweetness, and tenderness which should distinguish her
sex gene