a dog, a weazel, or a rat, who fed upon her blood.

These notions, as well as the former, were plagiarisms from paganism, for the Greeks recognised the approach of evil in a black dog, snakes, toads, weazels, and other noxious reptiles; and it is notorious that the Egyptians worshipped a variety of animals, such as the ox, dog, wolf, hawk, crocodile, the ibis and the cat. Of all the attendants on a witch, though no bestial shape appears to have been exempt from possession by these familiars, a cat was most commonly assigned to her. "Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed" intimates to Macbeth's witches, that it is time to commence the celebration of their rites; in the first scene of the play, they appear to consider the summons of "graymalkin" as imperative, as well as that of "paddock" or the frog. Witches themselves also possessed the power of transformation; but their metamorphoses into animals were always deficient of that most essential ornament, a tail:

"And like a rat without a tail,

I'll do, I'll do, I'll do."

Only one point of witchcraft, as connected with Macbeth, remains to be noticed.

All the

wise and weird among the northern nations

claimed a power over winds and tempests.

" I

says Odin," that

know a song of such virtue," says Odin, were I caught in a storm, I can hush the winds, and render the air perfectly calm." The Lapland witches pretended to send winds to sailors, and the Finlanders sold cords, tied with three magical knots: the loosening of the first produced a favourable gale, of the second a brisker, but when the third was untied, a terrific hurricane was the consequence. There are penal statutes in the Capitularies of Charlemagne, in the canons of several councils, and in the ancient laws of Norway, against those who raised storms and tempests. Shakspeare has followed the common superstitions.

"2. Witch. I'll give thee a wind.

And he makes Macbeth confess the power of the witches to "untie the winds, and let them fight against the churches."

197

TWELFTH NIGHT.

1607.

THE

HE thirty-sixth novel of the second part of Bandello's novels bears a very striking general resemblance to the plot of this comedy.

Ambrogio was the father of a son and a daughter, Paolo and Nicuola, remarkable for their extraordinary beauty and perfect resemblance to each other. Their age was about fifteen years, when Rome was sacked by the united arms of Spain and Germany. Paolo, the boy, was made prisoner, and carried by a person of consideration to Naples. The distressed Ambrogio retired with his daughter to Aix, where she became enamoured of the wealthy and accomplished Lattantio. She was happy in the return of her passion, till the charms of a rival seduced her lover from his faith. Every expedient to recall his affections was resorted to in vain, and the unhappy Nicuola resolved, in de

spair, to disguise herself as a boy, and enter the service of Lattantio, in the capacity of his page. Her father quitted Aix for a time, and by the aid of her nurse she effected her scheme. The attention and graceful assiduity of Nicuola quickly engaged the confidence of her master. Alas! this happiness proved but a prelude to the bitterest mortification. In the hope that the beautiful person and insinuating address of his page might propitiate the affections of Catella, his new mistress, Lattantio despatched Nicuola as a messenger of love to her. The beauty of the emissary proved dangerous to the lady, who yielded her heart a willing captive, and openly avowed her weakness. The sudden return of Ambrogio compelled the reluctant Nicuola to fly from the service of Lattantio. At this critical juncture the long lost brother, Paolo, re-appeared. His master died at Naples, and bequeathed to him his wealth, and Paolo immediately set out in search of his parent and his sister. Arriving at Aix, he accidentally passed the house of Catella, who mistook Paolo for the page of whom she was enamoured, and ordered her maid to invite him in. He entered with a mind full of doubts regarding the quality of the lady.

In the mean time Lattantio was much distressed

by the unaccountable disappearance of his page, for whom he felt the greatest regard: he instituted the most anxious inquiries, and Nicuola was at length traced to the house of her nurse Philippa. The good woman vehemently denied that either man or boy had taken refuge there; and then contrived so skilfully to avail herself of her knowledge of Lattantio's affairs as gradually to excite his attention. She enlarged on the pangs of unrequited love, she assured him of the hopelessness of his passion for Catella, who doated on another; and then, reverting to his former attachment, obtained the important confession, that if the beautiful Nicuola retained her regard for him, she was doubly entitled to his affection. "She loves you yet," exclaimed Philippa, "loves you with unabated ardour; and often

has she declared to me that she shall never cease to do so but with life."-" Alas!" interrupted Lattantio, "do not endeavour to deceive me?"—“ I do not deceive you," replied Philippa; "I can convince you of the truth of what I say: Nicuola loves you; for youshe deserted her father's house; for you she discarded the timidity of her sex, the wealth she was heir to, and the rank she filled in life; and entered your service as a menial-as a page. Behold!" she continued, presenting her in the dress of a boy to Lattantio, "behold your Nicuola,