and contempt for all human affairs, as Lady Macbeth does by the force of passion!  Her fault seems to have been an excess of that strong principle of self-interest and family aggrandizement, not amenable to the common feelings of compassion and justice, which is so marked a feature in barbarous nations and times.  A passing reflection of this kind, on the resemblance of the sleeping king to her father, alone prevents her from slaying Duncan with her own hand.

In speaking of the character of Lady Macbeth, we ought not to pass over Mrs. Siddons’s manner of acting that part.  We can conceive of nothing grander.  It was something above nature.  It seemed almost as if a being of a superior order had dropped from a higher sphere to awe the world with the majesty of her appearance.  Power was seated on her brow, passion emanated from her breast as from a shrine; she was tragedy personified.  In coming on in the sleeping-scene, her eyes were open, but their sense was shut.  She was like a person bewildered and unconscious of what she did.  Her lips moved involuntarily—­all her gestures were involuntary and mechanical.  She glided on and off the stage like an apparition.  To have seen her in that character was an event in every one’s life, not to be forgotten.

The dramatic beauty of the character of Duncan, which excites the respect and pity even of his murderers, has been often pointed out.  It forms a picture of itself.  An instance of the author’s power of giving a striking effect to a common reflection, by the manner of introducing it, occurs in a speech of Duncan, complaining of his having been deceived in his opinion of the Thane of Cawdor, at the very moment that he is expressing the most unbounded confidence in the loyalty and services of Macbeth.

     There is no art
     To find the mind’s construction in the face: 
     He was a gentleman, on whom I built
     An absolute trust. 
     O worthiest cousin, [addressing himself to Macbeth]
     The sin of my ingratitude e’en now
     Was great upon me, &c.

Another passage to show that Shakespeare lost sight of nothing that could in anyway give relief or heightening to his subject, is the conversation which takes place between Banquo and Fleance immediately before the murder-scene of Duncan.

   Banquo.  How goes the night, boy?

   Fleance.  The moon is down:  I have not heard the clock.

   Banquo.  And she goes down at twelve.

   Fleance.  I take’t, tis later, Sir.

   Banquo.  Hold, take my sword.  There’s husbandry in heav’n,
     Their candles are all out.—­
     A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
     And yet I would not sleep:  Merciful Powers,
     Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
     Gives way to in repose.

In like manner, a fine idea is given of the gloomy coming on of evening, just as Banquo is going to be assassinated.