per quite so well when the leaden casket was chosen;
Bassanio seemed more afraid of her than rejoiced, and looked much more
at Nerissa than at her, whilst she moved as slowly, and spoke in as
cold and measured a way, as if it had been the Prince of Morocco who had
unfortunately hit upon the right casket.

In the grand concluding scene she was, however, all that could be
wished. She really made a very pretty picture in the dark robes, the
glowing carnation of her cheek contrasting with the grey wig, beneath
which a few bright ringlets still peeped out; one little white hand
raised, and the other holding the parchment, and her eyes fixed on the
Jew, as if she either imagined herself Portia, or saw her brother in
Antonio's case, for they glistened with tears, and her voice had a
tremulous pleading tone, which fairly made her grandfather and mother
both cry heartily.

"Take, then, thy bond; take thou thy pound of flesh!"

The Duke (little Willy) was in an agony, and was forcibly withheld by
Bassanio from crying "No, he shan't!" Nerissa was so absorbed as even to
have forgotten herself; Shylock could hardly keep his countenance up to
the necessary expression of malice and obduracy; even Johnny and Dick
were hanging with breathless attention on the "but," when suddenly there
was a general start throughout the party; the door opened; Atkins, with
a voice and face full of delight, announced "Master Roger," and there
entered a young man, in a pea jacket and worsted comforter.

Such confusion, such rapture as ensued! The tumultuous welcomes and
handshakings before the sailor had time to distinguish one from another,
the actors assuming their own characters, grandmamma and Mrs. Roger
Langford asking dozens of questions in a breath, and Mr. Roger Langford
fast asleep in his great arm-chair, till roused by Dick tugging at his
arm, and Willy hammering on his knee, he slowly arose, saying, "What,
Roger, my boy, is it you? I thought it was all their acting!"

"Ah! Miss Jessie," exclaimed Roger; "that is right: I have not seen such
a crop of shining curls since I have been gone. So you have not lost
your pink cheeks with pining for me. How are they all at home?"

"Here, Roger, your Aunt Mary," said his mother; and instantly there
was a subduing of the young sailor's boisterous mirth, as he turned
to answer her gentle welcome. The laugh arose the next moment at the
appearance of the still half-disguised actors: Alex without Bass