the links which bind the different interests of the story together are
never entirely broken. The most straggling and seemingly casual incidents
are contrived in such a manner as to lead at last to the most complete
developement of the catastrophe. The ease and conscious unconcern with
which this is effected only makes the skill more wonderful. The business
of the plot evidently thickens in the last act: the story moves forward
with increasing rapidity at every step; its various ramifications are
drawn from the most distant points to the same centre; the principal
characters are brought together, and placed in very critical situations;
and the fate of almost every person in the drama is made to depend on the
solution of a single circumstance--the answer of Iachimo to the question
of Imogen respecting the obtaining of the ring from Posthumus. Dr. Johnson
is of opinion that Shakspeare was generally inattentive to the winding-up
of his plots. We think the contrary is true; and we might cite in proof of
this remark not only the present play, but the conclusion of _Lear_, of
_Romeo and Juliet_, of _Macbeth_, of _Othello_, even of _Hamlet_, and of
other plays of less moment, in which the last act is crowded with decisive
events brought about by natural and striking means.

The pathos in CYMBELINE is not violent or tragical, but of the most
pleasing and amiable kind. A certain tender gloom overspreads the whole.
Posthumus is the ostensible hero of the piece, but its greatest charm is
the character of Imogen. Posthumus is only interesting from the interest
she takes in him; and she is only interesting herself from her tenderness
and constancy to her husband. It is the peculiar excellence of
Shakspeare's heroines, that they seem to exist only in their attachment to
others. They are pure abstractions of the affections. We think as little
of their persons as they do themselves, because we are let into the
secrets of their hearts, which are more important. We are too much
interested in their affairs to stop to look at their faces, except by
stealth and at intervals. No one ever hit the true perfection of the
female character, the sense of weakness leaning on the strength of its
affections for support, so well as Shakspeare--no one ever so well painted
natural tenderness free from affectation and disguise--no one else ever so
well shewed how delicacy and timidity, when driven to extremity, grow
romantic and extravagant; for the roman