he is in herself a piece of reality, in whose possible
existence we have no doubt: and yet a human being, in whom the moral,
intellectual, and sentient faculties should be so exquisitely blended
and proportioned to each other; and these again, in harmony with all
outward aspects and influences probably never existed--certainly could
not now exist. A woman constituted like Portia, and placed in this age,
and in the actual state of society, would find society armed against
her; and instead of being like Portia, a gracious, happy, beloved, and
loving creature, would be a victim, immolated in fire to that
multitudinous Moloch termed Opinion. With her, the world without would
be at war with the world within; in the perpetual strife, either her
nature would "be subdued to the element it worked in," and bending to a
necessity it could neither escape nor approve, lose at last something of
its original brightness; or otherwise--a perpetual spirit of resistance,
cherished as a safeguard, might perhaps in the end destroy the
equipoise; firmness would become pride and self-assurance; and the soft,
sweet, feminine texture of the mind, settle into rigidity. Is there then
no sanctuary for such a mind?--Where shall it find a refuge from the
world?--Where seek for strength against itself? Where, but in heaven?

Camiola, in Massinger's Maid of Honor, is said to emulate Portia; and
the real story of Camiola (for she is an historical personage) is very
beautiful. She was a lady of Messina, who lived in the beginning of the
fourteenth century; and was the contemporary of Queen Joanna, of
Petrarch and Boccaccio. It fell out in those days, that Prince Orlando
of Arragon, the younger brother of the King of Sicily, having taken the
command of a naval armament against the Neapolitans, was defeated,
wounded, taken prisoner, and confined by Robert of Naples (the father of
Queen Joanna) in one of his strongest castles. As the prince had
distinguished himself by his enmity to the Neapolitans, and by many
exploits against them, his ransom was fixed at an exorbitant sum, and
his captivity was unusually severe; while the King of Sicily, who had
some cause of displeasure against his brother, and imputed to him the
defeat of his armament, refused either to negotiate for his release, or
to pay the ransom demanded.

Orlando, who was celebrated for his fine person and reckless valour, was
apparently doomed to languish away the rest of his life in a dungeon,