FULVIA. Aye, he !— His name stuck in my throat-I could not speak it. The scene in the hall of the house of Lecca, where the conspirators are again met at midnight, is finely conceived, and would tell strongly on the stage. Cæsar, thunderstruck at the horrid designs disclosed, when the brutal Cethegus says, exclaims We must fire all the city, and spare none : What! wouldst thou make a slaughter-house of Rome ? Shall rape and murder be let loose? shall Ate Ride through our streets unreined? or, are we Gauls? To be subjected to such horrors? Romans ! Can we dare call ourselves by that high name? No, by the gods! We have sworn to cleanse the state: I am a Roman with a Roman's heart! And if my country falls will not survive her. If we're not met for one great purpose;—if Oaths solemnly pledged are nothing;-if our honour Sits in our councils ;-then let every man, Like me, throw down his dagger, and depart! (Going, Cataline stays him.) Cethegus rushes upon Cæsar to kill him. Fulvia interposes, advancing from behind the altar's recess. CESAR. Fulvia! FULVIA. Strike!-I have lived too long. Conspiracy! Point not your swords at me, for I am wound That turns them into straws! My life is here, Kill me-but touch not him-I come to claim him : (Placing her arm within Casar's.) For he holds nought in common with those who The gods have chosen higher instruments Fear us not: Than me, to save her in her peril-Hark! (Thunder.) We think we have sufficiently shown, meagre and mutilated as our extracts necessarily are, that the author of Italy' has in this tragedy risen even above his former self. Cataline is full of finely drawn characters, striking scenes, and the most noble sentiments. It has all the classic grace and purity of Ion, with that fiery energy of style in which Ion is wanting. Cataline's desperation, Cethegus's butcher's thirst for blood, the sly cunning and avarice of Crassus, and the glorious intellect, wisdom, and consuming eloquence of Cicero, are all painted in colours of force and enthusiasm deserving of the subject. The speeches are short, pithy, and every way adapted to speaking. The language is not the echo of a past age merely because that age was dramatic, but is the living language of the present, strong as the feeling and fervid as the passions of the day. Mr. Reade has wisely adhered, as closely as the rules of the drama will permit, to the very progress of the historic events, and the language of the different parties as given by Sallust and Cicero. The whole of the grand scene in the Senate, where Cicero embodies in himself the finest image of the consummate statesman, the devoted patriot, and the triumphant orator, to be found on the face of all history, is most admirably given, and brings back the entrancing sense of wonder, ardour, and breathless admiration with which we first read Cicero's own orations against Cataline. We must be pardoned for giving one more extract,-a portion of this scene- Enter CATALINE. CESAR (aside to Crassus). Resolve sits on his brow: now, if he conquer, All the patricians join him to a man. (Cataline takes his seat by Cato, who rises and passes over to the other side.) CATO. Let those sit by thee who uphold thee: Cato Sides with his country and with virtue ! Is this CATALINE. How grave Father? ye look coldly on me, And half distrustfully. Have I done aught To merit your reproof?-if so advise me. CICERO (rising impetuously). What! dar'st thou enter in the Senate-house? Of all good men-appalled thee? Knowest thou not, Worthless; yet not so: for the gods have saved me To be the worker of thy ruin! There There sits the man who hath planned out your murders. Under your eyes; and yet he lives! Oh! age, And manners! this the Senate knows: and still HE LIVES-lives did I say?-He comes among us ; And with his wolfish eye marks out each man For his particular slaughter! while we think We've done enough if we avoid his strokes, And make them straws. I see ye are moved, grave Fathers! The heart of falsehood by denying me! But we must not go on. The whole Senate is thrown into commotion; and Cataline finding every thing go against him, makes a hasty retreat, first throwing off his robes, and showing himself completely armed, and bellowing forth Away! or I will cut ye down like sheep So will I cast ye to the dust, ye bondsmen ! Who cling round and encumber Freedom's limbs. Mr. G. P. R. James is one of the most prolific and indefatigable writers of the age; but he is at the same time one of the most sterling and soundhearted. A single sentence in one of his recently published works, may indicate sufficiently what are his views of the present morbid craving for the exploits of thieves and murderers; I consider it an insult to virtue to make vice 'attractive.' It is upon this principle that the present drama, 'Blanche of Navarre,' is written, and from this it derives not the least of its merits. We are always glad to applaud the sentiments of an honest and conscientious writer, and the pleasure is doubled when the talent displayed is equal to the virtue. Both these recommendations are combined in Blanche of Navarre. It is written with great spirit, great felicity of style, and nobility of sentiment, which warms and animates the heart of the reader as he proceeds. The story is simply this. Philip, king of Navarre, has married Isabel, of Valois, who is just on the point of arriving at his palace with her attendants-the king and his sister, the princess Blanche, have been brought up together, and are strongly attached; Blanche is not only beautiful, but of a thoroughly beautiful and excellent nature; she is full of a noble simplicity and true womanly affection. Isabel arrives, a princely, gay, and fascinating woman, but at the same time ambitious, imperious, and of the most violent passions. In her suite is Francis, Count of Foix, a gay gallant, who prides himself on his favour with the ladies. He offends the Navarrese nobles by the light strain in which he speaks of their favorite princess, is challenged by one of them, and seriously wounded. This, and what he sees further of Blanche, brings him to his senses. By the beauty of her character, and the charms of her conversation, he becomes an altered man. He soon gives proofs of the total change of his sentiments, and seeks to win the affections of Blanche. This is gall and wormwood to Queen Isabel, who is only too much attached to him herself. She instigates the king against Blanche, who is confined to the Castle of Llanora. The Count, however, succeeds in liberating her, and they fly to France, but are overtaken by the Navarrese troops, they fight, Blanche escapes into France, but the Count, uncertain of fate, returns into Navarre, in the very face of his enemies, is taken, and condemned to die for high treason. In the mean time, Blanche, who has heard of his ill fortune, has obtained an escort from the king of France, and with an effectual remonstrance from that monarch, arrives just in time to save his head. . Such is a bare outline of the incidents; but the working of them out, the development of the characters, and the vigour and vivacity of the dialogue, are all worthy of Mr. James's fame. It is not by particular passages that the merit of this drama can be shown, but we may select a passage or two of poetical beauty or heroic sentiment. This is a lively picture of a busy square in a gay city: In my tower There is a latticed window, looking forth Walks slow across, with russet gown, bare feet, What God gives freely, scarce importunes man.-p. 37. The feeling excited by a multitude is here as fine as the sketch of the multitude was graphic. The multitude! I love the multitude, To gaze upon them in their holiday, And think, though fate and fortune are resolved I on another stage should move from them, There is not one that passes 'neath mine eyes, Who has not some affections in his breast Hope, fear, love, sorrow, care, the thoughts of home, Ay, noble thoughts, too, and ingenuous pride In me the drop of Adam's blood that still And makes mankind all brothers.-Here we're well. ..—p. 55. The Lords of Ellingham is a tragedy founded on the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Cobham, and others on a charge of high treason, in the reign of James I. We believe the author, Mr. Spicer, is a young man, and this drama, as a first production, does him great honour. It abounds with talent which time and experience may ripen into great power. It everywhere exhibits a highly poetical mind, and a flowing, and often nervous style; but the language wants condensation, and variety of cadence. In going through the play you become sensible of a |