and contempt for all human affairs, as Lady Macbeth does by the
force of passion! Her fault seems to have been an excess of that strong
principle of self-interest and family aggrandisement, not amenable to the
common feelings of compassion and justice, which is so marked a feature in
barbarous nations and times. A passing reflection of this kind, on the
resemblance of the sleeping king to her father, alone prevents her from
slaying Duncan with her own hand.

In speaking of the character of Lady Macbeth, we ought not to pass over
Mrs. Siddons's manner of acting that part. We can conceive of nothing
grander. It was something above nature. It seemed almost as if a being of
a superior order had dropped from a higher sphere to awe the world with
the majesty of her appearance. Power was seated on her brow, passion
emanated from her breast as from a shrine; she was tragedy personified. In
coming on in the sleeping-scene, her eyes were open, but their sense was
shut. She was like a person bewildered and unconscious of what she did.
Her lips moved involuntarily--all her gestures were involuntary and
mechanical. She glided on and off the stage like an apparition. To have
seen her in that character was an event in every one's life, not to be
forgotten.

The dramatic beauty of the character of Duncan, which excites the respect
and pity even of his murderers, has been often pointed out. It forms a
picture of itself. An instance of the author's power of giving a striking
effect to a common reflection, by the manner of introducing it, occurs in
a speech of Duncan, complaining of his having been deceived in his opinion
of the Thane of Cawdor, at the very moment that he is expressing the most
unbounded confidence in the loyalty and services of Macbeth.

"There is no art
To find the mind's construction in the face:
He was a gentleman, on whom I built
An absolute trust.
O worthiest cousin, (_addressing himself to Macbeth._)
The sin of my Ingratitude e'en now
Was great upon me," etc.

Another passage to shew that Shakspeare lost sight of nothing that could
in any way give relief or heightening to his subject, is the conversation
which takes place between Banquo and Fleance immediately before the
murder-scene of Duncan.

"_Banquo._ How goes the night, boy?

_Fleance._ The moon is down: I have not heard the clock.

_Banquo._ And she goes down at twelve.

_Fleance._ I take't, 'tis later, Sir.

_Banquo.