NURSERY SONG.

"TWAS once upon a time

When Jenny Wren was young, So daintily she danced,

And so prettily she sung,
Robin Redbreast lost his heart,
For he was a gallant bird;

So he doff'd his hat to Jenny Wren,
Requesting to be heard.

O dearest Jenny Wren,

If you will but be mine,

You shall feed on cherry pie, you shall,
And drink new currant wine;
I'll dress you like a goldfinch,
Or any peacock gay;

So, dearest Jen, if you'll be mine,
Let us appoint the day.
Jenny blushed behind her fan,

And thus declared her mind:

Since, dearest Bob, I love you well,
I'll take your offer kind;

Cherry pie is very nice,

And so is currant wine;

But I must wear my plain brown gown,

And never go too fine.

Robin Redbreast rose up early,

All at the break of day,

And he flew to Jenny Wren's house,

And sang a roundelay

He sang of Robin Redbreast

And little Jenny Wren,

And when he came unto the end

He then began again.

CLEANLINESS.

COME, my little Robert, near:
Fie! what filthy hands are here!
Who that e'er could understand
The rare structure of a hand,
With its branching fingers fine,
Work itself of hands divine,
Strong yet delicately knit,
For ten thousand uses fit,
Overlaid with so clear skin
You may see the blood within,
And the curious palm disposed
In such lines some have supposed
You may read the fortune there
By the figures that appear-
Who this hand would choose to cover
With a crust of dirt all over,
Till it looked in hue and shape
Like the forefoot of an ape?
Man or boy, that works or plays
In the fields or the highways,
May, without offence or hurt,
From the soil contract a dirt,
Which the next clear spring or river
Washes out and out for ever;
But to cherish stains impure,

Soil deliberate to endure
On the skin to fix a stain,
Till it works into the grain,
Argues a degenerate mind,
Sordid, slothful, ill-inclined,
Wanting in that self respect
Which does virtue best protect:
All endearing cleanliness,
Virtue next to godliness-
Easiest, cheapest, needfullest duty,
To the body health and beauty,-
Who that's human would refuse it,
When a little water does it?

HYMN.

THERE's not a leaf within the bower,
There's not a bird upon the tree,
There's not a dew-drop on the flower,
But bears the impress, Lord! of thee.
Thy hand the varied leaf design'd,

And gave the bird its thrilling tone; Thy power the dew-drop's tints combin'd, Till like a diamond's blaze they shone. Yes, dewdrops, leaves, and buds, and all, The smallest, like the greatest thingsThe sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball, Alike proclaim thee King of Kings.

But man alone to bounteous Heaven,
Thanksgiving's conscious strain can raise,
To favoured man alone 'tis given
To join the Angelic choir in praise.

THE DAIRYMAID AND HER CHICKENS. ONE day a buxom dairymaid, putting a pot of new milk on her head, set off to the nearest market town to sell it. As she went along, beguiling the journey with a song, she began to reckon up her profits, and how she would employ them. "I shall get as much for my milk,” she thought, "as will buy me a hundred eggs; these, when hatched, will give me a nice lot of chickens, and when they are fattened I can sell them at market for as much as will buy me a pig. Then the pig will grow bigger and bigger every day, and when he is fat I can sell him for as much money as will buy me a cow, and then the cow will give me plenty of milk every day, and there will be a calf, a pretty, lively, frisky creature-" As she said these words, the milkmaid gave her head a toss, and down came her pitcher of milk to the ground, and every drop was spilled, and all her beautiful prospects disappeared with it. Sitting down on a green bank, she shed many tears, saying to herself, "How foolish it was of me to count my chickens before they were hatched."

canopy;

The silent stars their watches keep,

While all the world is hushed in sleep.

NURSERY SONG.
TWINKLE, twinkle, little star:
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Then the traveller in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark:
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep;
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveller in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star!

THE YOUNG LETTER WRITER.
DEAR Sir, Dear Madam, or Dear Friend,
With ease are written at the top;
When those two happy words are penned,
A youthful writer oft will stop,
And bite his pen, and lift his eyes,
As if he thinks to find in air
The wished for following words, or tries
To fix his thoughts by fixed stare.
But, haply, all in vain, the next
Two words may be so long before
They'll come, the writer, sore perplext,
Gives, in despair, the matter o'er;
And when maturer age he sees
With ready pen so swift inditing,
With envy he beholds the ease

Of long-accustomed letter-writing.
Courage, young friend; the time may be,
When you attain maturer age,
Some, young as you are now, may see
You with like ease glide down a page.
Even then, when you, to years a debtor,
In varied phrase your meaning wrap,
The welcom'st words in all your letter

May be those two kind ones at the top.

LAZY sheep, pray tell me why,
In the pleasant fields you lie,
Eating grass and daisies white,
From the morning till the night:
Everything can something do,
But what kind of use are you?

Nay, my little master, nay,
Do not serve me so, I pray :
Don't you see the wool that grows
On my back to make you clothes?
Cold, yes, very cold you'd be,
If you had no wool from me.
Then the farmer comes at last,
When the merry Spring is past,
And cuts my woolly coat away,
To warm you in the Winter's day;
Little master, this is why

In the pleasant fields I lie.

COME thou soft and balmy breeze,

Waft the vernal sweets around, From blooming flowers and blossom'd trees, While the echoing hills resound Notes that wild musicians sing In honour of the cheerful spring.

ON downy wing the butterfly

Flies on from field to bower, Sports in the sunshine of the breeze, Or rests upon the flower.

In sunshine nurtured and preserved,
Its brief existence flies:

Its gaudy pride a shower destroys,
It fades, it droops, it dies.

WHERE ER the hapless sons of grief
In low distress are laid,
Soft be our hearts their pains to feel,
And swift our hands to aid.
Under the gentle sway of Love
Be ev'ry passion brought,

O be the law of love fulfill'd
In ev'ry act and thought.

VOL. I.-No. 8.

THE THREE QUESTIONS. URING the sunset of a summer's day I chanced to enter one of those numerous glens in the north country, where a ruined castle and a parish kirk present an image of war and peace, and where a clear deep stream, tenanted with trouts, runs glittering in link succeeding link amongst the homes and gardens of the peasantry. The beauty and seclusion of the scene induced me to stop and gaze; several old gray-headed men walked idly about, shepherds and hinds returned from their labours on the hills, their wives saw them approach with a silent gladness of eye; the whole place swarmed with children.

A

young mother, a mother and a widow, sat at her door spinning flax; one son had just returned from school, the flask which held milk for his mid-day meal was on his back, his catechism was in his hand, while a brother and a sister, both less than himself, stood with their hands and hats filled with flowers which they had gathered in their native glen.

She smiled on her children, set her wheel aside, clasped her hands on her knees, and looked upward, silent and happy. Her little daughter, with dark eyes, a head overflowing with glittering curls, and a voice as sweet as music, tried several innocent stratagems to gain her mother's notice; she held up her hat and flowers, showed first a foxglove and then a honeysuckle, crying, "Look, mother, look, I pulled this at the Raven's Crag, and Johnnie pulled that by the Otter's Pool." Her mother answered only by passing her hand tenderly over her head, and stroking down her clusters of natural curls.

The moon now became a visitor, and rising over the eastern woods, dropt her light into every nook of the glen, making stream and cottage shine. The little girl looked anxiously in her mother's face, and said, "Who made the moon, mother; and why is it shining there?" Her mother seemed in no haste to speak, but sat looking upwards, in quiet gladness of heart. The child made her bands quiver and her feet patter, and cried again with importunate impatience of voice,

66 WHO MADE THE MOON ?"

"The moon was made, Mary," said her mother, "to give us light by night, as the sun gives us light by day; a mild and sober light, refreshing to our eyes and pleasant to look upon. It has risen where it rises now, shining with the same beauty and purity, since woods grew and water ran, since man obeyed God and little children loved His name.

"The moon was made to be the evening companion to man, to cheer him with its dewy light when the sun which ripens corn and fruit is withdrawn, and man retires from labour. It rises now in its appointed place, to fulfil the will of its Maker, as you, my child, rise in the morning at the command of your mother; it has its evening duty to do on earth, as you have your bed-time duty to do to God.

PRICE ONE PENNY.

"Yon cloud now passing along hides its beauty but for a moment; like virtue, it shines though it is out of our sight. Your uncle, he stands on deck and rejoices as it rises above the waters. He who is sailing on the wide sea, is glad of the rising of the moon; thinks how often he has seen it rise where you now stand; its presence connects his heart with home, and he blesses the moon, and blessing the moon is honouring the moon's Maker.

"Your father, too, my poor children, who is now where the blessed are, loved the same moon which you love; and as he came to us at eve, blessed the planet which released him from toil and sent him home to his babes and me. And I, too, have blest the

moon, my beloved children, in other days as well as now. "When I was a maiden and in my teens, I was glad to see it rise in the evening and shine on the way along which your father came loved and the flowers which I planted. to sing a song nigh my window, and walk among the trees which I

"The moon, my child, is pleasant to the weary husbandman; he wipes his hot brow, and sits and rests him when its light arises. It is pleasant to the wise man, for he has leisure then to give counsel to others and to do his duty to heaven. It is welcome to those who are thirsty for knowledge: they sit and gather wisdom from the words of the wise, from the songs of the poets, and the sermons of divines.

"It is gladsome to the song-birds, for they sit quiet among the branches, nor dread any longer the hawk. It is pleasant to the deer, they roam then among the dewy groves and by the running streams, for the horn is silent and the chase-dog is chained. It is pleasant to the horse, for he reposes from toil; and to the milch cow, ruminating over her crib of new-mown clover.

"It is dear to the flowers, for they gather their leaves together, and sleep in fragrance till the sun awakes them. It is pleasant, too, to look upon, for see how brightly it shines on Torthorold Castle, softening into beauty all that is rough and rugged in the mossy walls."

Her eldest son looked on the ruin, through whose battered and breached sides the moonlight found a passage, and with a voice anxious and enthusiastic, said,

66 WHO BUILT TORTHOROLD CASTLE ?"

She smiled on her child, and answered, "History says it was built by a bold baron to repel the Southron; but tradition tells another tale. In this glen there lived on a time a man who made shoes; and in allusion at once to his trade and his disposition, his neighbours called him Skrinky Hardscraes. Now, this man was skilful and diligent, and who on all the banks of the Nith could measure a foot and put it handsomely into black leather compared to him? He was a merry man, too; he whistled as he made his shoes, and sang as he took them home, and no one in the valley was so happy till he dreamed a dream.

"He dreamed thrice in one night that he found a coffer of gold

at the end of London Bridge; and as he rose from his sleep he was heard to exclaim, 'O what o' gold! and pure gold too.' He thought of his dream, and was sure it would come to pass, so he took his staff in his hand and a bag to carry the gold, and went on his way. "Now, the story of his dream ran through the valley, and when his neighbours saw him depart, they one and all followed him to the gorge of the glen, crying, 'Skrinky Hardscraes, you 're mad—O what o' gold! and pure gold too.' But he heard them as if he heard them not, and he travelled till he came to London; and the rising sun shone bright on wall and tower and stream, and brighter still on the bridge.

tears.

"He went to the bridge, but no coffer of gold was there; so he sat down on a stone, clasped his hands, sat his knees together, and placed his heels apart like a good shoemaker, and was very sorrowful. Thousands and tens of thousands of people passed him; he sighed to see them go gaily by, and he thought on his house in the glen with its garden filled with flowers and gooseberry bushes, and on the scoffs and laughter of his neighbours, and he almost shed "Now there came to the end of the bridge an old man with a box of spice and a bag of oranges, and he sat down, and opening the little box, from which the smell of cinnamon arose, spread out his oranges, and cried, 'Buy, buy, who will buy.' And Skrinky bought an orange, for sorrow makes the heart dry, and he sucked it and sighed; and the old man said, 'Friend, thou art sad.' And Skrinky said, 'I am sad because I have been foolish ;' and the old man said, 'If all the foolish were sad, there would be few dry cheeks in London.' And Skrinky smiled as well as his sorrow would let him, and made answer, 'Of my folly you shall judge,' and so he told his dream. In truth,' said the old man, folly flourishes in the north as well as in the south; there are some very foolish creatures in the world, though I am not one of them. Of my wisdom be thou the judge. I dreamed a dream and I dreamed it thrice, that in a wild place called Torthorold, where dwells a man called Skrinky Hardscraes, there is as much red gold in a coffer under his middle beehive as would buy a baron's land and build a stately tower, but I am not the fool to run and seek it.' Skrinky said nought, but bought another orange, and returned home. "Now word flew far and wide that the dreamer was coming, and out gushed the whole population of the glen to meet him. 'Where's the gold, Skrinky, ye got at London Bridge?' cried one; Skrinky, will thou dream me a golden dream ?' cried a second; Stick to your inseam awls, outseam awls, pegging awls, and closing awls,' shouted a third; while, worse than all, a man who was infected with the incurable malady of rhyme chanted aloud :

O silly Skrinky Hardscraes!

When red grapes grow on Tinwald braes,
When eagles build 'mong Amisfield broom,
When ships of might down Lochar swoom,
When Scotland is to England knit
By might of sword or slight of wit,
When in Lochmaben Castle stark
The blind bats build and foxes bark,
And Nith's cold water carries cream,
Thou 'lt find red gold to rid thy dream.

Skrinky smiled to one and shook his empty bag good humouredly at another, and went home and recommenced his whistling and his making of shoes.

"It happened soon after that the neighbours saw him measuring out the foundations and giving directions for building a grand castle, and they rubbed their eyes and said, 'Skrinky's wiser than we believed him ;' but when they beheld the walls rising and saw towers climbing into the air, and the dreamer presiding over all, they rubbed their eyes again, and Skrinky said unto them, Neighbours, have ye dreamed a dream?' and they said, 'Whose tower is that ?' And he made answer, 'It belongeth to one who was once a maker of shoes, but who is now a bold border baron; a foolish man, a dreamer of dreams, and Skrinky Hardscraes is his name.'

"And they all wondered and cried, Long live the dreamer of dreams, and long live Skrinky Hardscraes; may his banner ever float free on his castle wall, and may his lance pierce as surely as his

elson !'

"And so Torthorold Castle was built, my child; and there it will stand, says the legend, till Nith runs dry." The widow's son looked on the stream as it flowed and dimpled in the sweet moonlight, and said,

แ WHEN WILL THE NITH RUN DRY ?" "The Nith will never run dry, my child, while the sun shines and the grass grows. It runs and will ever run. The folly of man may stain it and turn its course, but still the stream will flow and refresh the land. Nor is it to shine in the sun or glitter to the moon that its Maker has poured it out. There is a use and intention in all the works of nature; nor does she do her work slovenly or unwisely

like man. That river is made up of many brooks, and each brook waters its own little vale, refreshes its own trees and flowers, turns the mill which grinds the corn, supplies water to the maiden to bleach her linen, is drink to man and beast, and contains within its bosom ten thousand speckled trouts which leap in the water and play in the sunlighted pools.

"All those brooks gather into one and form a river, broad and deep, on the banks of which castles and cities are built, and on the bosom of which ships swim as swans do, and, spreading out their wings, bring to us the fatness of far countries.

"The river has its people also as the earth has. The fish which come there come as food to man, and nothing can surpass them in beauty as they glide along in their native element. God sends the river and God sends the fish, that they may be a benefit and a blessing to the sons of men. Listen, my children. There was once a good man who lived in this vale, and he had a wife and seven children. And it was a time of drought and of famine, and crops failed and cattle died, and his children cried for bread and he had none to give them. And he went out and the moon shone bright on the hill and bright on a rich man's flock of sheep, and the unhappy man said to himself, 'I shall take one from the fold, for my children will surely perish.' And he took a staff in his hand and began to wade the river: as he passed through, he saw two large fish struggling to swim up the ford, and he struck them with his staff and carried them home, and said, 'Eat, ana bless the Lord, for He is good, and has delivered me this night from a great sin; eat, for these are of his providing.' So he asked a blessing when they were dressed, and his wife and children ate, and want fled and never more returned; and before he died he told me the story, that the mercy of God might be known among us. Let us go in and bless Him and praise Him, my children, for He is good and He is merciful and He is wondrous."

LADY MOON.

LADY MOON, Lady Moon, where are roving?
Over the sea.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
All who love me.

Are not you tired with rolling, and never
Resting to sleep?

Why look so pale, and so sad, as for ever
Wishing to weep?

Ask me not this, little child, if you love me;
You are too bold:

I must obey my dear father above me,
And do as I'm told.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
Over the sea.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving? All who love me.

R. M. MILNES.

TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

HYLOCK, the Jew, lived at Venice: he was an usurer, who had amassed an immense fortune by lending money at great interest to Christian merchants. Shylock, being a hard-hearted man, exacted the payment of the money he lent with such severity that he was much disliked by all good men, and particularly by Anthonio, a young merchant of Venice; and Shylock as much hated Anthonio, because he used to lend money to people in distress, and would never take any interest for the money he 'lent; therefore great was the enmity between this covetous Jew and the generous merchant AnthoWhenever Anthonio met Shylock on the Rialto (or Exchange), he used to reproach him with his usuries and hard dealings, which the Jew would bear with seeming patience, while he secretly meditated

nio.

revenge.

had the most unwearied spirit in doing courtesies; indeed he was Anthonio was the kindest man that lived, the best conditioned, and one in whom the ancient Roman honour more appeared than in any that drew breath in Italy. He was greatly beloved by all his fellowcitizens; but the friend who was nearest and dearest to his heart was Bassanio, a noble Venetian, who, having but a small patrimony, had nearly exhausted his little fortune by living in too expensive a manner for his slender means, as young men of high rank with small fortunes are too apt to do. Whenever Bassanio wanted money, Anthonio assisted him; and it seemed as if they had but one heart and one purse between them.

One day Bassanio came to Anthonio, and told him that he wished to repair his fortune by a wealthy marriage with a lady whom he dearly loved, whose father, that was lately dead, had left her sole

heiress to a large estate; and that in her father's lifetime he used to visit at her house, when he thought he had observed this lady had sometimes from her eyes sent speechless messages, that seemed to say he would be no unwelcome suitor; but not having money to furnish himself with an appearance befitting the lover of so rich an heiress, he besought Anthonio to add to the many favours he had shown him, by lending him three thousand ducats.

Anthonio had no money by him at that time to lend his friend; but expecting soon to have some ships come home laden with merchandise, he said he would go to Shylock, the rich money-lender, and borrow the money upon the security of those ships.

Anthonio and Bassanio went together to Shylock, and Anthonio asked the Jew to lend him three thousand ducats upon any interest he should require, to be paid out of the merchandise contained in his ships at sea. On this Shylock thought within himself, "If I can once catch him on the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him he hates our Jewish nation; he lends out money gratis; and among the merchants he rails at me and my well-earned bargains, which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe if I forgive him!" Anthonio finding he was musing within himself and did not answer, and being impatient for the money, said, "Shylock, do you hear? will you lend the money?" To this question the Jew replied, "Signor Anthonio, on the Rialto many a time and often you have railed at me about my moneys and my usuries, and I have borne it with a patient shrug, for sufferance is the badge of all our tribe; and then you have called me unbeliever, cut-throat dog, and spit upon my Jewish garments, and spurned at me with your foot, as if I was a cur. Well then, it now appears you need my help; and you come to me, and say, Shylock, lend me moneys. Has dog money? Is it possible a cur should lend three thousand ducats? Shall I bend low and say, Fair sir, you spit upon me on Wednesday last, another time you called me dog, and for these courtesies I am to lend you moneys." Anthonio replied, "I am as like to call you so again, to spit on you again, and spurn you too. If you will lend me this money, lend it not to me as to a friend, but rather lend it to me as to an enemy, that, if I break, you may with better face exact the penalty." Why, look you," said Shylock, "how you storm! I would be friends with you, and have your love. I will forget the shames you have put upon me. I will supply your wants, and take no interest for my money." This seemingly kind offer greatly surprised Anthonio; and then Shylock, still pretending kindness, and that all he did was to gain Anthonio's love, again said he would lend him the three thousand ducats, and take no interest for his money; only Anthonio should go with him to a lawyer, and there sign in merry sport a bond, that if he did not repay the money by a certain day, he would forfeit a pound of flesh, to be cut off from any part of his body that Shylock pleased. "Content," said Anthonio: "I will sign to this bond, and say there is much kindness in the Jew."

66

;

Bassanio said, Anthonio should not sign to such a bond for him but still Anthonio insisted that he would sign it, for that before the day of payment came his ships would return laden with many times the value of the money.

Shylock, hearing this debate, exclaimed, "O father Abraham, what suspicious people these Christians are! Their own hard dealings teach them to suspect the thoughts of others. I pray you tell me this, Bassanio: if he should break this day, what should I gain by the exaction of the forfeiture? A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, is not so estimable, nor profitable neither, as the flesh of mutton or of beef. I say, to buy his favour I offer this friendship: if he will take it, so; if not, adieu."

At last, against the advice of Bassanio, who, notwithstanding all the Jew had said of his kind intentions, did not like his friend should run the hazard of this shocking penalty for his sake, Anthonio signed the bond, thinking it really was (as the Jew said) merely in sport.

The rich heiress that Bassanio wished to marry lived near Venice, at a place called Belmont: her name was Portia, and in the graces of her person and her mind she was nothing inferior to that Portia, of whom we read, who was Cato's daughter, and the wife of Brutus. Bassanio being so kindly supplied with money by his friend Anthonio, at the hazard of his life, set out for Belmont with a splendid train, and attended by a gentleman of the name of Gratiano. Bassanio proving successful in his suit, Portia in a short time consented to accept of him for a husband.

to

Bassanio confessed to Portia that he had no fortune, and that his high birth and noble ancestry were all that he could boast of; she, who loved him for his worthy qualities, and had riches enough not regard wealth in a husband, answered with a graceful modesty, that she would wish herself a thousand times more fair, and ten thousand times more rich, to be more worthy of him; and then the accomplished Portia prettily dispraised herself, and said she was an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpractised, yet not so old but that

she could learn, and that she would commit her gentle spirit to be directed and governed by him in all things; and she said, "Myself and what is mine, to you and yours is now converted. But yesterday, Bassanio, I was the lady of this fair mansion, queen of myself, and mistress over these servants; and now this house, these servants, and myself, are yours, my lord; I give them with this ring:" presenting a ring to Bassanio.

Bassanio was so overpowered with gratitude and wonder at the gracious manner in which the rich and noble Portia accepted of a man of his humble fortunes, that he could not express his joy and reverence to the dear lady who so honoured him by anything but broken words of love and thankfulness; and taking the ring, he vowed never to part with it.

Gratiano and Nerissa, Portia's waiting-maid, were in attendance upon their lord and lady, when Portia so gracefully promised to become the obedient wife of Bassanio; and Gratiano, wishing Bassanio and the generous lady joy, desired permission to be married at the same time.

"With all my heart, Gratiano," said Bassanio, "if you can get a wife."

Gratiano then said that he loved the lady Portia's fair waiting gentlewoman Nerissa, and that she had promised to be his wife, if her lady married Bassanio. Portia asked Nerissa if this was true. Nerissa replied, "Madame, it is so, if you approve of it." Portia willingly consenting, Bassanio pleasantly said, "Then our weddingfeast shall be much honoured by your marriage, Gratiano."

The happiness of these lovers was sadly crossed at this moment by the entrance of a messenger, who brought a letter from Anthonio containing fearful tidings. When Bassanio read Anthonio's letter, Portia feared it was to tell him of the death of some dear friend, he looked so pale; and inquiring what was the news which had so distressed him, he said, "O sweet Portia, here are a few of the unpleasantest words that ever blotted paper: gentle lady, when I first imparted my love to you, I freely told you all the wealth I had ran in my veins; but I should have told you that I had less than nothing, being in debt." Bassanio then told Portia what has been here related, of his borrowing the money of Anthonio, and of Anthonio's procuring it of Shylock the Jew, and of the bond by which Anthonio had engaged to forfeit a pound of flesh, if it was not repaid by a certain day: and then Bassanio read Anthonio's letter; the words of which were, "Sweet Bassanio, my ships are all lost, my bond to the Jew is forfeited, and since in paying it is impossible I should live, I could wish to see you at my death; notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if your love for me do not persuade you to come, let not my letter." "O my dear love," said Portia, "despatch all business, and begone; you shall have gold to pay the money twenty times over, before this kind friend shall lose a hair by my Bassanio's fault; and as you are so dearly bought, I will dearly love you." Portia then said she would be married to Bassanio before he set out, to give him a legal right to her money; and that same day they were married, and Gratiano was also married to Nerissa; and Bassanio and Gratiano, the instant they were married, set out in great haste for Venice, where Bassanio found Anthonio in prison.

The day of payment being past, the cruel Jew would not accept of the money which Bassanio offered him, but insisted upon having a pound of Anthonio's flesh. A day was appointed to try this shocking cause before the Duke of Venice, and Bassanio awaited in dreadful suspense the event of the trial.

When Portia parted with her husband, she spoke cheeringly to him, and bade him bring his dear friend along with him when he returned; yet she feared it would go hard with Anthonio, and when she was left alone she began to think and consider within herself, if she could by any means be instrumental in saving the life of her dear Bassanio's friend; and notwithstanding, when she wished to honour her Bassanio, she had said to him with such a meck and wife-like grace, that she would submit in all things to be governed by his superior wisdom, yet being now called forth into action by the peril of her honoured husband's friend, she did nothing doubt her own powers, and by the sole guidance of her own true and perfect judgment, at once resolved to go herself to Venice, and speak in Anthonio's defence.

Portia had a relation who was a counsellor in the law; to this gentleman, whose name was Bellario, she wrote, and stating the case to him, desired his opinion, and that with his advice he would also send her the dress worn by a counsellor. When the messenger returned, he brought letters from Beilario of advice how to proceed, and also everything necessary for her equipment.

Portia dressed herself and her maid Nerissa in men's apparel, and putting on the robes of a counsellor, she took Nerissa along with her as her clerk; and setting out immediately, they arrived at Venice on the very day of the trial. The cause was just going to be heard before the duke and senators of Venice in the senate-house, when Portia entered this high court of justice, and presented a letter from

Bellario, in which that learned counsellor wrote to the duke, saying he would have come himself to plead for Anthonio, but that he was prevented by sickness, and he requested that the learned young doctor, Balthasor (so he called Portia), might be permitted to plead in his stead. This the Duke granted, much wondering at the youthful appearance of the stranger, who was prettily disguised by her counsellor's robes and her large wig.

And now began this important trial. Portia looked around her and she saw the merciless Jew; and she saw Bassanio, but he knew her not in her disguise. He was standing beside Anthonio, in an agony of distress and fear for his friend.

The importance of the arduous task Portia had engaged in gave this tender lady courage, and she boldly proceeded in the duty she had undertaken to perform: and first of all she addressed herself to Shylock; and allowing that he had a right by the Venetian law to have the forfeit expressed in the bond, she spoke so sweetly of the noble quality of mercy, as would have softened any heart but the unfeeling Shylock's; saying, that it dropped as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath, and how mercy was a double blessing, it blessed him that gave, and him that received it; and how it became monarchs better than their crowns, being an attribute of God himself; and that earthly power came nearest to God's, in proportion as mercy tempered justice; and she bid Shylock remember that as we all pray for mercy, that same prayer should teach us to show mercy. Shylock only answered her by desiring to have the penalty forfeited in the bond. Is he not able to pay the money?" asked Portia. Bassanio then offered the Jew the payment of the three thousand ducats as many times over as he should desire: which Shylock refusing, and still insisting upon having a pound of Anthonio's flesh, Bassanio begged the learned young counsellor would endeavour to wrest the law a little, to save Anthonio's life. But Portia gravely answered, that laws once established must never be altered. Shylock hearing Portia say that the law might not be altered, it seemed to him that she was pleading in his favour, and he said, "A Daniel is come to judgment ! O wise young judge, how I do honour you! how much elder are you than your looks!"

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Portia now desired Shylock to let her look at the bond; and when she had read it, she said, "This bond is forfeited, and by this the Jew may lawfully claim a pound of flesh, to be by him cut off nearest Anthonio's heart." Then she said to Shylock, "Be merciful: take the money and bid me tear the bond." But no mercy would the cruel Shylock show; and he said, "By my soul I swear, there is no power in the tongue of man to alter me." Why then, Anthonio," said Portia, " 'you must prepare your bosom for the knife :" and while Shylock was sharpening a long knife with great eagerness to cut off the pound of flesh, Portia said to Anthonio, “Have you anything to say ?" Anthonio with a calm resignation replied, that he had but little to say, for that he had prepared his mind for death. Then he said to Bassanio, "Give me your hand, Bassanio. Fare you well! Grieve not that I am fallen into this misfortune for you. Commend me to your honourable wife, and tell her how I have loved you!" Bassanio in the deepest affliction replied, "Anthonio, I am married to a wife who is as dear to me as life itself; but life itself, my wife, and all the world, are not esteemed with me above your life I would lose all, I would sacrifice all to this devil here, to deliver you."

Portia hearing this, though the kind-hearted lady was not at all offended with her husband for expressing the love he owed to so true a friend as Anthonio in those strong terms, yet could not help answering, "Your wife would give you little thanks, if she were present, to hear you make this offer." And then Gratiano, who loved to copy what his lord did, thought he must make a speech like Bassanio's, and he said, in Nerissa's hearing, who was writing in her clerk's dress by the side of Portia, "I have a wife, whom I protest I love; I wish she were in heaven, if she could but entreat some power there to change the cruel temper of this currish Jew." "It is well you wish this behind her back, else you would have but an unquiet house," said Nerissa.

Shylock now cried out impatiently, "We trifle time; I pray you pronounce the sentence." And now all was awful expectation in the court, and every heart was full of grief for Anthonio.

Portia asked if the scales were ready to weigh the flesh; and she said to the Jew, "Shylock, you must have some surgeon by lest he bleed to death." Shylock, whose whole intent was that Anthonio should bleed to death, said, "It is not so named in the bond." Portia replied, "It is not so named in the bond, but what of that? It were good you did so much for charity." To this all the answer Shylock would make was, "I cannot find it; it is not in the bond." "Then," said Portia, "a pound of Anthonio's flesh is thine. The law allows it, and the court awards it. And you may cut this flesh from off his breast. The law allows it, and the court awards it." Again Shylock exclaimed, "Oh wise and upright udge! A Daniel is come to judgment!" And then he sharpened

his long knife again, and looking eagerly on Anthonio, he said "Come, prepare!" Tarry a little, Jew," said Portia; "there is sonething else. This bond here gives you no drop of blood; the words expressly are "a pound of flesh.' If in the cutting off the pound of flesh you shed one drop of Christian blood, your lands and goods are by the law to be confiscated to the State of Venice." Now as it was utterly impossible for Shylock to cut off the pound of flesh without shedding some of Anthonio's blood, this wise discovery of Portia's that it was flesh and not blood that was named in the bond, saved the life of Anthonio; and all admiring the wonderful sagacity of the young counsellor, who had so happily thought of this expedient, plaudits resounded from every part of the senate house; and Gratiano exclaimed, in the words which Shylock had used, "Oh wise and upright judge! Mark, Jew, a Daniel is come to judgment!" Shylock, finding himself defeated in his cruel intent, said with a disappointed look, that he would take the money; and Bassanio, rejoiced beyond measure at Anthonio's unexpected deliverance, cried out "Here is the money!" But Portia stopped him saying, "Softly, there is no haste; the Jew shall have nothing but the penalty: therefore, prepare, Shylock, to cut off the flesh; but mind you shed no blood; nor do not cut off more nor less than just a pound; be it more or less by one poor scruple, nay, if the scale turn but by the weight of a single hair, you are condemned by the laws of Venice to die, and all your wealth is forfeited to the senate." "Give me my money, and let me go," said Shylock. "I have it ready," said Bassanio; "here it is."

Shylock was going to take the money, when Portia again stopped him, saying, “Tarry, Jew; I have yet another hold upon you. By the laws of Venice, your wealth is forfeited to the State, for having conspired against the life of one of its citizens, and your life lies at the mercy of the Duke; therefore, down on your knees, and ask him to pardon you."

The Duke then said to Shylock, "That you may see the difference of our Christian spirit, I pardon you your life before you ask it; half your wealth belongs to Anthonio, the other half comes to the State."

The generous Anthonio then said that he would give up his share of Shylock's wealth, if Shylock would sign a deed to make it over at his death to his daughter and her husband; for Anthonio knew that the Jew had an only daughter who had lately married against his consent to a young Christian, named Lorenzo, a friend of Anthonio's, which had so offended Shylock that he had disinherited her.

The Jew agreed to this; and being thus disappointed in his revenge and despoiled of his riches, he said "I am ill. Let me go home: send the deed after me, and I will sign over half my riches to my daughter." "Get thee gone, then," said the Duke, "and sign it; and if you repent your cruelty and turn Christian, the State will forgive you the fine of the other half of your riches."

The Duke now released Anthonio, and dismissed the court. He then highly praised the wisdom and ingenuity of the young counsellor, and invited him home to dinner. Portia, who meant to return to Belmont before her husband, replied, "I humbly thank your grace, but I must away directly." The Duke said he was sorry he had not leisure to stay and dine with him; and turning to Anthonio, he added, "reward this gentleman; for in my mind you are much indebted to him."

The Duke and his senators left the court; and then Bassanio said to Portia, "Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend Anthonio have by your wisdom been this day acquitted of grievous penalties, and I beg you will accept of the three thousand ducats due unto the Jew." "And we shall stand indebted to you over and above," said Anthonio "in love and service evermore."

Portia could not be prevailed upon to accept the money; but upon Bassanio still pressing her to accept of some reward, she said "Give me your gloves; I will wear them for your sake;" and then Bassanio taking off his gloves, she espied the ring which she had given him upon his finger; now it was the ring the wily lady wanted to get from him to make a merry jest when she saw her Bassanio again, that made her ask him for his gloves and she said, when she saw the ring, "And for your love I will take this ring from you." Bassanio was sadly distressed that the counsellor should ask him for the only thing he could not part with, and he replied in great confusion that he could not give him that ring, because it was his wife's gift, and he had vowed never to part with it; but that he would give him the most valuable ring in Venice, and find it out by proclamation. On this Portia affected to be affronted, and left the court, saying "You teach me, sir, how a beggar should be answered."

"Dear Bassanio," said Anthonio, "let him have the ring; let my love and the great service he has done for me be valued against your wife's displeasure." Bassanio, ashamed to appear so ungrateful, yielded, and sent Gratiano after Portia with the ring; and then the clerk Nerissa, who had also given Gratiano a ring, she begged his