ings of generosity, and even of humanity, are
drowned in the gloomy and stern misanthropy, which has its source in
the self-discontent that endeavours to wreak itself upon others. This
may be illustrated by his unfeeling behaviour, while Alvarez and
Antonio, well known to him in former days, approach, and draw the
deadly lot, which ratifies their fate. No yielding of compassion, no
recollection of former friendship, has power to alter the cold and
sardonic sarcasm with which he sketches their characters, and marks
their deportment in that awful moment. Finally, the zealous attachment
of Alonzo for his king, which, in its original expression, partakes of
absolute devotion, is changed, by the circumstances of Dorax, into an
irritated and frantic jealousy, which he mistakes for hatred; and
which, in pursuing the destruction of its object, is almost more
inveterate than hatred itself. Nothing has survived of the original
Alonzo at the opening of the piece, except the gigantic passion which
has caused his ruin. This character is drawn on a large scale, and in
a heroic proportion; but it is so true to nature, that many readers
must have lamented, even within the circle of domestic acquaintance,
instances of feelings hardened, and virtues perverted, where a high
spirit has sustained severe and unjust neglect and disgrace. The whole
demeanour of this exquisite character suits the original sketch. From
"the long stride and sullen port," by which Benducar distinguishes him
at a distance, to the sullen stubbornness with which he obeys, or the
haughty contempt with which he resists, the commands of the peremptory
tyrant under whom he had taken service, all announce the untamed pride
which had robbed Dorax of virtue, and which yet, when Benducar would
seduce him into a conspiracy, and in his conduct towards Sebastian,
assumes the port and dignity of virtue herself. In all his conduct and
bearing, there is that mixed feeling and impulse, which constitutes
the real spring of human action. The true motive of Alonzo in saving
Sebastian, is not purely that of honourable hatred, which he proposes
to himself; for to himself every man endeavours to appear consistent,
and readily find arguments to prove to himself that he is so. Neither
is his conduct to be ascribed altogether to the gentler feelings of
loyal and friendly affection, relenting at the sight of his
sovereign's ruin, and impending death. It is the result of a mixture
of these opp