She may safely say as much as that. And, when he fails, she smooths her exit from his mind by the kind phrase, "A gentle riddance." Then she marks the difference between the women whose hearts can reflect and the Desdemonas of mere sentiment. The former have a firm partition that prevents the mingling of venous and arterial blood: this in the latter has never been quite closed, or is too thin, and liable to be ruptured by emotion. So Desdemona, "A maiden never bold, Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion Blush'd at herself," broke, as she said, into "downright violence and scorn of fortunes." She "did love the Moor to live with him." Portia, on the contrary, says, "Let all of his complexion choose me so,"--it is a hint of the natural aversion of all natures who are representatives of one distinct type from mixing their love with those of another. But I cannot agree with a criticism of John Quincy Adams to the effect that Shakspeare wrote the tragedy of "Othello" on purpose to show the disastrous consequences of miscegenation. Desdemona's weak point is the only fatality in the play. She began by deceiving her father, and secretly made a match which broke his heart. But if she had not recurred to deceit again, and lied to her husband about the handkerchief, his smouldering jealousy would have never blazed. Want of frankness was her contribution to Iago's plot, the element that made it a success. Portia stood to her oath, and ran all risks. Portia has the strong sense to expect that the majority of her noble admirers will be taken by appearance. She is not quite sure, but has an instinct, that these gentlemen who are after her are also after her pretty property of Belmont, and will be likely to choose the metals responsive to this temper. Bassanio frankly acknowledges to a friend that he would like to repair his broken fortunes; but Shakspeare shows him to be a lover before he gives this mercenary hint; and he has reason to surmise that Portia loves him. This unspoken mutuality dignifies his quest; as if Shakspeare himself would not admit the charge that he is a fortune-hunter. And it is noticeable how little consequence we attach to Bassanio's character. We do not care to see him in any action, or to have him show a worthiness to be Portia's lover. He is but the lay-figure of her love: there is so much of her that there must be a great deal of him, and he may be spared the trouble of appearing at full length. And we never suspect her of belonging to that tribe of bright women who, either from instinct or calculation, marry good-natured, well-mannered numskulls, and never have reason to sue for a divorce. Shakspeare ennobles Bassanio when the divining soul sees through the leaden lid.