e.

Such, in one view of the matter, is the dramatic propriety of this
Launcelot. His part, though often faulted by those who can see but one
thing at a time, materially aids the completeness of the work, in
giving us a fuller view both of Jessica and of her father. But he has
also a value in himself irrespective of that use: his own personal
rights enter into the purpose of his introduction; and he carries in
himself a part of the reason why he is so, and not otherwise: for
Shakespeare seldom if ever brings in a person _merely_ for the sake
of others. A mixture of conceit and drollery, and hugely wrapped up in
self, he is by no means a commonplace buffoon, but stands firm in his
sufficiency of original stock. His elaborate nonsense, his grasping at
a pun without catching it, yet feeling just as grand as if he did, is
both ludicrous and natural. His jokes to be sure are mostly failures;
nevertheless they are laughable, because he dreams not but they
succeed. The poverty of his wit is thus enriched by his complacency in
dealing it out. His part indeed amply pays its way, in showing how
much of mirth may be caused by feebleness in a great attempt at a
small matter. Besides, in him the mother element of the whole piece
runs out into broad humour and travesty; his reasons for breaking with
his master the Jew being, as it were, a variation in drollery upon the
fundamental air of the play. Thus he exhibits under a comic form the
general aspect of surrounding humanity; while at the same time his
character is an integral part of that varied structure of human life
which it belongs to the Gothic Drama to represent. On several accounts
indeed he might not be spared.

* * * * *

In Portia Shakespeare seems to have aimed at a perfect scheme of an
amiable, intelligent, and accomplished woman. And the result is a fine
specimen of beautiful nature enhanced by beautiful art. Eminently
practical in her tastes and turn of mind, full of native, homebred
sense and virtue, Portia unites therewith something of the ripeness
and dignity of a sage, a mellow eloquence, and a large, noble
discourse; the whole being tempered with the best grace and
sensibility of womanhood. As intelligent as the strongest, she is at
the same time as feminine as the weakest of her sex: she talks like a
poet and a philosopher, yet, strange to say, she talks, for all the
world, just like a woman. She is as full of pleasantry, too, an