TALBOYS. Othello shows that our Good--our excellence--our capacity of happiness--lies all in Love. That our light in which we walk--our light which we give forth--is Love. He declares this, by cleaving to this Good--by having it--by losing it--by recovering it. The self-consciousness of Othello returns to its unison with universal being--with heaven's harmony of the worlds. Iago denies this Good--never acknowledges it--although he serves involuntarily to demonstrate the truth--of which Othello perishes the self-sacrificed witness. It is great, sir, in the Tragedy, but in him the House of Love is divided against itself. His jealousy, child of his love, lifts up a parricidal hand, wounds and is wounded--but only unto its own death. And what is the feeling left by the catastrophe? NORTH. Say, my friend, say. TALBOYS. Peace--rest--repose--depth of tranquillity--like the sea stilled from storms. NORTH. The charmed calm that reflects heaven. TALBOYS. Peace grounded in this proved thought--that LOVE IS BEST. Of all the Persons, whose stars will you accept to be your own? If you are a man, Othello's; if woman, the wronged and murdered Desdemona's. Study for ever the two closing and summing up verses--"I _kissed_ thee ere I _killed_ thee; no way but this--Killing myself to die upon a kiss!" To gather up all the terror that is past, as if not only the winds were upgathered like sleeping flowers, but upgathered into the sleeping flowers. I don't know how to avoid comparing--all unlike as the characters are--the end of Romeo and Juliet--Lear and Cordelia--Othello and Desdemona. I never can separate them. LOVE the mightiest torn asunder in life--reunited in death. Love--the solace of lapsed and mortal humanity. NORTH. Lend the Old Hobbler your arm. SCENE II.--_Pavilion._ TIME--_After Breakfast._ NORTH--TALBOYS--SEWARD--BULLER. NORTH. NOW FOR THE GRAND INQUIRY. How long, think you, was Othello Governor of Cyprus, and Desdemona the General's wife? TALBOYS. How long? Why, some weeks, or some months; quarter of a year, half a year, a year. NORTH. A most satisfactory answer indeed to a simple question. How long have I been Commander of the Forces at Cladich? TALBOYS. Tents pitched on the 14th May 1849--This is the 24th of June Ditto. You, like Michael Cassio, are "a great arithmetician"--and can calculate the Days. NORTH. That's precise. Let's have some small attempt at precision with respect to the time at Cyprus. TALBOYS. Well then--a Month--TWO MONTHS. NORTH. And you are a Student--a Scholar--in Shakspeare! TALBOYS. What the ace do you mean? NORTH. JUST TWO DAYS. TALBOYS. What the deuce do you mean? THE MAN has lost his Senses. NORTH. Who? Shakspeare? TALBOYS. Really, sir, you are getting daily more and more paradoxical--and I begin to tremble for your wits. NORTH. See that your own have not gone wool-gathering, Talboys. Two Months! For two Months read two Days--I insist on it. TALBOYS.