Her. She is quite lost. Duch. Pray, give me, sir, your pardon: -vol. v. pp. 341, 342. Shirley is still more successful in a kind of romantic tragi-comedy, crowded in general with incident and adventure, often wild and extravagant, but always full of life and amusement; sometimes, as in the diverting play of the Sisters,' the comic part greatly predominating; sometimes, as in the Young Admiral,' the interest being serious and tragic, but the catastrophe without bloodshed. It is not easy to give a fair notion of these pieces, by extracting single speeches or even scenes. It is the general effect of the whole drama, with all its intricacies of plot, however inconsistent, its rapid succession of perilous or diverting situations, however strangely brought about, and its varieties of character-it is the animation, the excitement of the dramatized romance-for such, as in a former article we attempted to explain, are all the plays of this school,-which constitutes their chief excellence. The Brothers' is another drama of the same class, though less raised above the level of common life. In this play, the bustle and intricacy of a Spanish plot is mingled up with scenes of a kind of quiet pathos, in which Shirley, apt to overstrain the more violent passions, is often inimitably happy. There is something exquisitely touching in the following scene. Nothing is laboured, nothing forced. The truth,-the simplicity of nature is perfectly preserved, while a hue of poetic fancy is thrown over the whole dialogue. Its very tranquillity is affecting, and a deep emotion is produced by the absence of all effort to produce emotion. Fernando, the elder son of Don Ramirez, is in love with Felisarda, the poor daughter of Theodoro, and the humble companion of Jacinta. Ramirez is supposed to have died in a fit of passion at the disobedience of Fernando, in refusing to pay his court to the rich heiress Jacinta, of whom his brother Francisco is enamoured. With his dying breath he disinherits Fernando, who is reduced to the most abject poverty. Fel. Why should Í Give any entertainment to my fears? Suspicions are but like the shape of clouds, And idle forms i' the air, we make to fright us. As Fel. Shall I want fortitude to bid him welcome? [Asile, Sir, if you think there is a heart alive That can be grateful, and with humble thought And prayers reward your piety, despise not Am fearful to come near, and breathe a kiss With one warm sigh, meet and dry up this sorrow. I look upon the world, and race of men, Thyself, poor Felisarda; I am mortal; But borrow'd to come to thee once again, And, ere I go, to clear how much I love thee- A tale will make thee sad, but I must tell it, There is one dead that lov'd thee not. Fel. One dead That lov'd me not? this carries, sir, in nature No killing sound; I shall be sad to know A charity at death. Fer. Thy cruel enemy, And my best friend, hath took eternal leave, And's gone-to heaven, I hope; excuse my tears, For I did love my father. Fel. Fel. Ha! your father? Fer. Yes, Felisarda, he is gone, that in Fel. Now trust me, My heart weeps for him; but I understand Fer. He did Command me, on his blessing, to forsake thee. The soul, and curse his son for honest love? Fer. But not so mortal; For his last breath was balsam pour'd upon it, And I, that groan'd beneath the weight of that Anathema, sunk almost to despair, Where night and heavy shades hung round about me, Found myself rising like the morning star To view the world. Fel. Never, I hope, to be Eclips'd again. Fer. This was a welcome blessing. Fel. Heaven had a care of both: my joys are mighty. And say I love, but rather than the peace And live for ever happy, thou deserved'st it. Fel. Those accents did Not sound so cheerfully. Fer. Dost love me? Fel. Sir? Fer. Do not, I prithee, do not; I am lost, Alas! I am no more Fernando, there Is nothing but the empty name of him That did betray thee; place a guard about Thy heart betime, I am not worth this sweetness. Fer. Desert me, goodness, When I upbraid thy wants. "Tis I am poor, For For I have not a stock in all the world Of so much dust, as would contrive one narrow But the small earth I borrow, thus to walk on; Fel. I must beseech you stay a little, sir, Fer. "Tis sad truth. Fel. This is a happiness I did not look for. Fel. Yes, sir, a happiness. Fer. Can Felisarda take delight to hear What hath undone her servant? Fel. Heaven avert it. But 'tis not worth my grief to be assured Fer. Those shadows will not feed more than Fel. 'Tis ease And wealth first taught us art to surfeit by: And the kind earth keep us alive and healthful, your fancies: The brooks, not there suspected, as the wine. Health to our loves; our lives shall there be free Fel. Fel. Oh, Felisarda? If thou didst own less virtue I might prove That thou mayst change for a more happy bridegroom; As make thee miserable by expecting me. But that I have no fortune now to serve thee. We shall be married when our spirits meet.'-vol. i. pp. 246–252. Scenes like this are interspersed throughout the whole of the intermediate compositions which form nearly two-thirds of Shirley's dramas. They bear considerable resemblance to some of Calderon's plays, those which are not in his more serious vein, but more elevated and poetical than those Capo y Espada comedies, from which the later English comic writers borrowed so largely. There is the same disregard of probability, (this, however, the animation and activity of the scene scarcely allow us time to detect, or inclination to criticize)—the same love of disguises, princesses in the garb of pages, princes who turn out to be changelings, and humbler characters who turn out to be princes, everybody in love, and everybody in love with the wrong personuntil, by some unexpected dénouement, they all fall into harmonious and well-assorted couples-and a general marriage winds up the whole piece. Like the great Spanish dramatist, Shirley delights in throwing his leading characters into the most embarrassing situations-their constancy is exposed to the rudest trials; sometimes he has caught the high chivalrous tone of self-devotion, the sort of voluntary martyrdom of love which will surrender its object, either at the call of some more commanding duty, or for the greater glory and happiness of its mistress. We would direct particular attention to The Grateful Servant.' There is still another class of drama in which Shirley is extremely successful, though here, likewise, the skill of the author is rather shown in the general conduct of his piece, than in the striking execution of single parts. It is a poetic comedy of English and domestic manners, mingled with serious, sometimes with pathetic |