threaten. On the first intimation of her father's harshness, she consoles her cousin beneath his sentence of banishment by no less a measure than instantly proposing to share it; and she not only proposes this, but actually does accompany her into exile. Throughout the play, wherever Rosalind appears, there too is Celia. When one approaches, the other is not far distant. They enter together; and they make their exit in company. In one scene we have, "Enter Rosalind, reading a paper;" and a moment after, "Enter Celia, reading a paper."

Celia is a worshipper of her cousin; and yet so pure in her loving idolatry, that neither the idol appears conscious of superiority, nor does the idolater become inferior. Celia accompanies and attends her friend implicitly, but so genuine and spontaneous is her personal attachment that she scarcely seems to follow Rosalind. She is, in fact, her double, her very shadow; yet so clear and lustrous is her own affectionate nature that it is never thrown into shadow, even by the effulgence of Rosalind's wit. The very generosity with which she constantly, and as if involuntarily, cedes the precedence to Rosalind's keener intellect, only serves to heighten the effect of her own fine understanding and just perception. Indeed, Celia would be a wit and heroine of the first water in any other play, and as a character by herself. But seen by the side of Rosalind-to whom her own modesty (the modesty of loving-kindness) chooses to yield the palm, in standing silently by, while her cousin keeps up the ball of wit-raillery with others-she does not display to the same brilliant advantage. What she does say, however, amply testifies that, if she chose, she could shine to the full as brightly as the gifted Rosalind: by which means the poet has ingeniously conveyed to us the impression that hers is a voluntary nonspeech, a silence arising from preference to hear her cousin, and from no deficiency on her own part.

He has another artistic subtlety, in the resemblance with which he has invested Celia's wit in its congenial quality with that of her cousin. It is the resemblance-totally apart from the servility of imitation or plagiarism-which unconsciously colours the thoughts and mode of speech of one who lovingly admires another.

Rosalind is Celia's ideal of excellence-morally, intellectually, and personally-and she unwittingly allows her heart, mind, and frame to become as much one as possible with those of this cherished being. Her spirit assimilates by intensity of appreciation, as her exterior conforms, in matters of gesture, conduct, and habit, by daily and affectionate companionship. This is no copying; it is just the similarity, the accordance, that naturally grows out of a strong and enduring attachment.

As an example of what I mean, with regard to this resemblance in the tone of the two cousins' imaginative wit, I would point to the circumstance of their both dealing in classical and poetical allusions, which seems to tell of their having read together, thought together, and discussed together the beauties of the old mythology. This is remarkable; for the instances might be multiplied to a curious extent.

It is a singular thing, as a corroboration of the loving terms on which Celia feels herself with her cousin, of the perfect ease of heart which reigns between them, and which characterises the regard that Celia bears towards Rosalind,that the flow of wit, which betokens Celia to be no less accomplished in intellectual sprightliness than her cousin, always pours forth most freely when she is alone with Rosalind. When they are both in the company of others, she stands tranquilly by, letting her brilliant cousin take the lead in conversation and bandy repartee with the rest. She seems not only content, but best pleased, to listen while Rosalind gives free scope to her gay-souled sallies. When they are by them

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sves, she rejoins, retorts, and tosses jests to and fro, with as playful animation as her friend,-bantering her, teasing her, sporting with her curiosity, plaguing and joking her about her love and her lover, with as hearty a spirit, as much roguery and mischief, as much pretended mercilessness of wit, as need be. But, true to her kindly nature, her humour is always affectionate, her sportiveness ever gentle; and both have the genuine soul of kindness-they know when to cease. Celia, loving Celia, always checks the career of her wit, when it curvets beyond the comfort of her interlocutor. She regards the feelings of her friend, even beyond the prosperity of her jest, a rare virtue in a wit, more especially in a womanwit.

But Celia is pre-eminently womanly. She has the best qualities of womanly nature. She is devoted, constant, femininely gentle, yet frank and firm in opinion. She has touches of warmth, both of liking and disliking-of out-and-out eager partizanship, and at times of vehement indignation; and these qualities are essentially womanly. For instance, how like a woman in its acknowledgment of the want of personal strength her taking refuge in a crafty device-and that an unfair one -is that exclamation of hers when Orlando is about to try his match with Charles, the wrestler. She says:-" I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg." One would swear that none but a woman would have thought of that speech. Then observe her womanly delicacy, and discretion too, on behalf of her cousin Rosalind, who betrays her incipient love for Orlando by returning towards him, affecting to think that she hears him address them, and saying:

"He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes :
I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies."

This palpable hint is enough for Celia; and Orlando, not able to respond to it, being overpowered with his own newborn passion for Rosalind, Celia smilingly recalls her friend with the words, "Will you go, coz?"

Again, afterwards, what nice consideration and complete womanly tact she betrays, when Rosalind, recovering from her swoon, well-nigh reveals the secret of her disguise by answering Oliver's, "Well, then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man," with "So I do; but i' faith, I should have been a woman by right;" Celia interposes, and says, "Come, you look paler and paler; pray you draw homewards. Good sir, go with us." Even those simple words, "Good sir, go with us," are in perfect keeping with the feminine beauty of the character. They secure support for her fainting cousin, and secure the prolonged stay of the man with whom she has just begun to feel herself falling fast and deeply in love.

The whole of this "love at first sight" on her part, is managed with Shakespeare's masterly skill. I have always felt those three little speeches to be profoundly true to individual nature, where the ladies are questioning Oliver respecting the incident of the lioness and the snake in the forest, and of Orlando's timely succour. Celia exclaims, in amazement, "Are you his brother?" Rosalind says, "Was it you he rescued?" And Celia rejoins, "Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?" Celia's first exclamation is surprised concern to find that this stranger, who interests her, is that unnatural brother of whom she has heard. Rosalind's thought is of her lover, Orlando's generosity in rescuing one who has hitherto behaved so unnaturally towards himself; while Celia recurs to the difficulty she has in reconciling the image of one who has acted basely and cruelly, with him she sees before her who is speedily becoming to her the impersonation of all that is attractive, estimable, and loveable in man. Her affectionate nature cannot persuade itself to believe this villany of him; she therefore incredulously reiterates, "Was't YOU that did so oft contrive to kill him?" And his

reply is a beautiful evidence of the sweetness which beams transparent in her; since it already influences him, by effecting a confirmation of the virtuous resolves to which his brother's generosity has previously given rise, and by causing him to fall as suddenly in love with her, as she with him. He says:

"'Twas I; but 'tis not I ;-I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am."

It is one of the refined beauties that distinguish Shakespeare's metaphysical philosophy, to show us how a fine nature acting upon an inferior one, through the subtle agency of love, operates beneficially to elevate and purify. At one process it proclaims its own excellence, and works amelioration in another. Celia's charm of goodness wins the unkind brother of Orlando (Oliver) to a passionate admiration of herself, at the same time that it excites his emulation to become worthy of her. It begins by teaching him the bravery of a candid avowal of his crime-the first step towards reformation. Celia's loving-kindness, like all true loving-kindness, hath this twofold virtue and grace; it no less benefits her friends than adorns herself. In enumerating the touches that go to make up the exquisite character of Celia-a character often too lowly rated, from the circumstance of its being seen in juxtaposition with the more brilliant Rosalind, (for, in fact, its own mild radiance of loving-kindness is no less intense; it is only less striking than the vivid intellectual sunshine of her cousin ;)-in alluding, I say, to the lovely touches that characterise her, I would not omit to note that interesting and natural one, where, on Rosalind's swooning,