oosing a part, but in taking willingly
that which is assigned us.

Henrietta was rather appalled at the quantity she had to learn, as well
as at the prominent part she was to take; but she did not like to spoil
the pleasure of the rest with objections, and applied herself in good
earnest to her study. She walked about with a little Shakespeare in her
hand; she learnt while she was dressing, working, waiting; sat up late,
resisting many a summons from her mother to come to bed, and long before
daylight, was up and learning again.

The great evening had come, and the audience were thus arranged:
grandmamma took up her carpet-work, expressing many hopes to Aunt Roger
that it would be over now and out of the children's heads, for they
turned the house upside down, and for her part, she thought it very like
play-acting. Aunt Roger, returning the sentiment with interest, took out
one of the little brown holland frocks, which she seemed to be always
making. Uncle Roger composed himself to sleep in the arm-chair for want
of his brother to talk to; grandpapa moved a sofa to the front for Aunt
Mary, and sat down by her, declaring that they would see something very
pretty, and hoping it would not be too hard a nut for his old wits to
crack; Jessie, and such of the boys as could not be persuaded to be
magnificos, found themselves a convenient station, and the scene opened.

It was a very short one, but it made every one laugh greatly, thanks to
Shylock's excellent acting, and the chorus of boys, who greatly enjoyed
chasing him across the stage, crying, "The law, his ducats, and his
daughter!"

Then, after a short interval, appeared Portia, a silver arrow in her
hair, almost lovely enough for the real Portia; though the alarmed
expression in her glowing face was little accordant with the calm
dignified self-possession of the noble Venetian heiress. Nerissa, a
handkerchief folded squarely over her head, short petticoats, scarlet
lambswool worked into her stockings, and a black apron trimmed with
bright ribbon, made a complete little Italian waiting-maid; her quick,
pert reply to her lady's first faltering speech, seemed wonderfully to
restore Portia to herself, and they got on well and with spirit through
the description of the suitors, and the choice of the two first caskets.
Portia looked excessively dignified, and Nerissa's by-play was capital.
Whether it was owing to Bassanio's awkwardness or her own shyness,
she did not pros