and glory and magnificence,
for simplicity. All the palaces are nothing compared with our
little cabin, and all the flowers of the world are naught to the
wild rose that climbs and blossoms by the lowly window of content.

Happiness dwells in the valleys with the shadows.

The moment Julia is brought in contact with wealth, she longs for
the simple--for the true love of one true man. Wealth and station
are mockeries. These feelings, these emotions, Miss Marlowe rendered
not only with look and voice and gesture, but with every pose of
her body; and when assured that her nuptials with the Earl could
be avoided, the only question in her mind was as to the absolute
preservation of her honor--not simply in fact, but in appearance,
so that even hatred could not see a speck upon the shining shield
of her perfect truth. In this scene she was perfect--everything
was forgotten except the desire to be absolutely true.

So in the scene with Master Walter, when he upbraids her for
forgetting that she is about to meet her father, when excusing her
forgetfulness on the ground that he has been to her a father.
Nothing could exceed the delicacy and tenderness of this passage.
Every attitude expressed love, gentleness, and a devotion even unto
death. One felt that there could be no love left for the father
she expected to meet--Master Walter had it all.

A greater Julia was never on the stage--one in whom so much passion
mingled with so much purity. Miss Marlowe never "o'ersteps the
modesty of nature." She maintains proportion. The river of her
art flows even with the banks.

In Viola, we must remember the character--a girl just rescued from
the sea--disguised as a boy--employed by the Duke, whom she instantly
loves--sent as his messenger to woo another for him--Olivia enamored
of the messenger--forced to a duel--mistaken for her brother by
the Captain, and her brother taken for herself by Olivia--and yet,
in the midst of these complications and disguises, she remains a
pure and perfect girl--these circumstances having no more real
effect upon her passionate and subtle self than clouds on stars.

When Malvolio follows and returns the ring the whole truth flashes
upon her. She is in love with Orsino--this she knows. Olivia,
she believes, is in love with her. The edge of the situation, the
dawn of this entanglement, excites her mirth. In this scene she
becomes charming--an impersonation of Spring. Her laughter is as
na