of ascertaining with her own ears the profligate sentiments of the man, for whom she had put in jeopardy her character, and risked her honour; and whom now she hears boasting with his associates of his conquests, among which she is already numbered.

In his 'Donna Ambiziosa,' Nota has described a woman of inferior extraction, but vain and ambitious, married to a man of weak character, who becomes the humble slave of her caprices; she persuades him to give up a profitable business, in which he has realized his property, and to set up as a man of independent fortune. She aspires to obtaining a title for him, by making friends at court; and for this purpose she intrigues with several of the local authorities, and she even induces her husband to accommodate one of them, a receiver-general, with a considerable sum, to fill up a deficit in the revenue chest. She also persuades her husband to bestow his only daughter on a profligate nobleman, in preference to an honest young man, to whom she is attached. The result of all her intrigues is, that she ruins her husband, exposes herself, is forsaken by her pretended friends, and is at last saved from utter destruction by the timely assistance of a brother, who had been from home since a boy and was considered as lost, but who re-appears now with the rank of a general. Such characters as the ambitious woman' were not uncommon in the petty Italian states, and are not perhaps even now altogether extinct. Women are known to have borne a great share of the odium attached to the disastrous political measures of the late Italian wars and revolutions.

In another play, 'La Lusinghiera,' Giulia, the heroine, is a sprightly young widow from Perugia, à papal city, renowned for its classical lake, its rich territory, its fat cattle, its idle aristocracy, buxom dames, and thriving convents. In an inland town of this sort, the wealthy landed proprietors, having no scope for exertion, and little opportunity or wish for acquiring information, either sink into grovelling pleasures, or resort to the dangerous pastimes of play and gallantry. The fair Giulia, in her widow's weeds, had already attracted a host of admirers in her native town; but apparently not satisfied with the extent of her conquests, she has undertaken a journey to Rome, in quest of fresh incense and fresh adoration. She prevails on her uncle, Don Ambrogello, a talkative, unsuspecting old batchelor, to afford her his protection; a task, of the difficulties of which the good-natured man is not at first aware. They have hardly been, however, a few days in the metropolis, when the newly arrived beauty finds herself besieged by no less than four gallants. Three of these are well-drawn caricatures, each of a particular cast; a pedantic cruscante, a Frenchified young dandy, and a coarse vulgar upstart, who has purchased the title of count, and talks in the same breath of his love for Giulia, and of the great bargains he is making by some speculations in corn. The fourth admirer, Edward, is really attached to Giulia, and has followed her from Perugia; and she, were she left to the

impulse of her own heart, would return his affection. But her mind is inflated with vanity, her temper is capricious and imperious; she dreams of nothing but fresh conquests, and fresh victims, whom she thinks of discarding also, after a time, to make room for others, little caring for their feelings or peace of mind. And in truth, with most of her lovers, she need not give herself much trouble on the latter score, as they are just as devoid of feeling, and as impenetrable to passion, as she herself is. But the case is different with regard to poor Edward, whose wretched fate or weakness it is, to be desperately in love with this jilt. She had promised him, that on leaving her native town, she would discard all her flatterers, and reward at last his constancy by bestowing her hand on him. But nothing is farther from her real intentions. The nature of these she discloses in a scene with her maid, Lisa, her trusty confidante, who is herself almost startled by the heartlessness and duplicity of her mistress. We shall give one extract, as a specimen of Nota's style of dialogue. Lisa has just brought in some letters from the Perugian admirers of her mistress. Giulia reads them one after the other, with inward triumph, but with apparent carelessness; and comments upon each, as follows:

"Poor Count Alphonso says he cannot live long unless he sees me return. Were he as pleasing to me as I have appeared agreeable to him.. but he is dull, captious and obstinate, and we want men docile and pliant. The Marquis Auriga says that he sighs, he droops, he dies for me. Poor man! and I do not even think of him. The Chevalier Ulderico....let us peruse his epistle: Mudam, I cannot bear my life far from you, moments appear to me like ages, day and night you are present to my thoughts, but a cruel jealousy torments me,' &c. &c. Poor madman! I don't dislike him, but he always repeats the same phrases, and does not perceive that this continual repetition will at last become wearisome. I must, however, answer the two I care most about."

Lisa.-"Pardon me, but you have not yet perused Edward's note of this morning."

'Giulia.—“Oh yes! I shall read it....did he call betimes this morning?" • Lisa.—“ He did, but Pasquali told me that he went away again with his brother."

Giulia. .—“Oh, he will soon come back."

" Lisa.—“ Truly I don't know, he seems tired out, he looks very much altered."

'Giulia.- "But! this is nothing: meantime I shall write to Perugia, as this afternoon I am expecting visits. You have seen then the Chevalier

Giraldino? always gay, always lively:"
"Lisa." He is also to come to-day."

Giulia." I like that young man very much. He has travelled, has been at Paris, speaks elegantly, has a smattering of every thing, and is a very pink of politeness."

Lisa.-"Thanks to fate, we may then begin to think of bridals."

"Giulia.—" Bridals! no indeed! he who will pass tolerably well for a cavalier servente, will not suit me for a husband; and all that politeness, all

those elegancies and pleasing follies in which the Chevalier excels, would be nothing but intolerable affectation in a husband, of which I should grow tired in a month."

"Lisa." He, however, and many more besides, entertain hopes.".... "Giulia.—“ And I shall not drive them away. Such is my pleasure, to see one sighing, the other languishing, a third fearing, a fourth despairing."

'Lisa." But poor Edward.". Giulia.-"You pity him, I see."

"Lisa." He loves you."

"Giulia.--" He loves me rather too much, and this tires me."

"Lisa." Indeed, Madam, now I don't understand you: I never heard before a woman complain of too much tenderness in an admirer."

"Giulia." Poor simpleton! because they would not tell you all the truth. But believe me, that singleness of heart which never furnishes a pretence for a fit of jealousy, for a moment of suspicion; that assiduous courtship, that dull sameness, which eternally repeats to you that which you know by heart; that remaining for hours fixed to a chair in the drawingroom-oh! these are truly tiresome."

“Lisa.—“Then I see that you have not decided yet among so many." "Giulia." Not yet, I have not yet found one who could induce me to decide."

"Lisa." You ought at least to undeceive poor Edward; that young man is going mad for you."

"Giulia." Not I indeed, the others may perhaps grow tired at last, but Edward will always remain faithful to me.'

"Lisa.-" And for his reward?...."

Giulia.-"Listen, that you may form a better opinion of me. If within a twelvemonth I don't find another person to my taste, I shall then think of rewarding Edward's constancy."

' Giulia.—“ He himself sought his chains, let him bear them now; many others are in the same predicament. Thus I avenge so many poor women who blindly believe the fine promises of their lovers, and waste afterwards in sighs and tears the best days of their lives."

"Lisa.—“ If you have no commands for me at present, I am going to pay my respects to a gentleman from Bologna, in whose family I served for three years, and who, I understand, has just arrived in this hotel." "Giulia." Do as you please, but be quick."

'Lisa.-" Yes Madam."

"Giulia." Hear! who is this gentleman?" "Lisa.-"The Marquis Rodrigo Argellati." "Giulia." Is he young."

Lisa.

"He is young, of a noble and wealthy family, and an only son." 'Giulia." You mentioned his name to me once before." 'Lisa.- "Two

years ago he was accounted the most accomplished and amiable nobleman in Bologna."

'Giulia." I believe it all."

Lisa." If by chance, he should wish to be introduced to you."
Giulia." Not now, I have too many already about me."

Lisa." I crave your pardon, Madam."

"Giulia.—" However....if he were to shew great desire, if he were really in earnest, you will tell me of it, and we shall see."

Lisa." I understand you perfectly, Madam." (Aside. I know already that she wishes for nothing better than to make his acquaintance). ACT. 1. Sc. xv.

Such characters as Giulia's are by no means very rare in some of the finest countries in Europe, and among some of the fairest of its daughters. It is lamentable to see beauty, natural perspicacity, grace, accomplishments, and talents, the best gifts of nature, thus misused. The sequel of Giulia's story is, that this same Marquis Rodrigo, with whom she soon gets acquainted, and whom she hopes to captivate also, being a man of experience, soon sees through her arts, and becomes the means of undeceiving poor Edward, and of exposing Giulia's duplicity, before her admirers and her uncle. Giulia, overwhelmed with confusion, sets off precipitately from Rome, promising that she will profit by the severe lesson she has just received.

The following are some of the titles of Nota's other plays:- Il Progettista,' II Filosofo Celibe,' La Pace Domestica,' 'I Litiganti,' 'Il Nuovo Ricco.' They have been acted repeatedly, and with full success, on the different Italian stages, at Naples, Milan, and Turin. The collection of his plays has already gone through several editions, and he is still writing to increase it.

We may observe here, en passant, that the Italians place the interest of a play, chiefly in the vivacity and spirit of the dialogue, and in the natural imitation of manners, joined to the well-kept unity of the action, rather than in the variety and combination of the incidents. They say, that theatrical imitation is like imitation in painting; that in both, the parts ought to be subservient to the effect of the whole; and that in every dramatic composition, there ought to be a principal character always kept in view, to display which the incidents should principally serve, and the dramatis personæ ought to have all an intimate connexion with, and reference to, this principal subject. This unity of action, this gradual harmony of perspective, appears to be deeply rooted in the minds and taste of the Italians, perhaps from the classic elements of their national character and literature; perhaps, also, from the genius of their tongue, to which we have alluded in a former article. They will sooner or later give up the unities of time and place, but they will preserve the unity of subject. Romanticism, with them, will be always tempered by classicism; we mean, in regular composition. In one thing, however, and that is in their fondness for the farcical, or buffo, the Italians are inclined to break through all rules, and to indulge their boisterous mirth, which breaks out in sudden bursts, from under the general gravity and thoughtfulness of their character. This is shewn by their excellent berneschi, or mock

* See article on Manzoni, vol. iii. of the M. R., p. 484.

heroic poems; by their cicalate, or burlesque dissertations; and by their farse, which form the great attraction of the minor theatres of their principal cities, and in which one or two of the masks, or provincial clowns, generally act a part.

Besides true comedy, which is the same that the French call haute comedie; and the farsa, of which we have just spoken, the Italians distinguish a third class, viz., the drama, which includes the serious and didactic, and the sentimental dramas. Of this sort are many of Nota's, and of Count Giraud's plays*. The latter writer, a native, we believe, of Rome, but of French extraction, is, next to Nota, the most popular dramatist of Italy now living. Professor Barbieri, of Milan, is also a dramatic writer of some reputation; he has published a collection of plays, some of his own composition, and others from the various dramatists already mentioned, besides translations from the French, German, and English. Among the latter we find La Scuola Della Maldicenza, translated from Sheridan's original, by Countess Locatelli. Barbieri's collection is styled; Nuova Raccolta Teatrale, o sia repertorio scelto ad uso dei Teatri Italiani.

ART. II. Hellenische Altersthumskunde aus dem Geseihtspunste des Staates; von Wilhelm Wachsmuth. Erster Theil. 1 vol. 8vo. Halle, Black & Young: London.

1826.

In a country, where classical education is so general as in ours, few persons are to be found totally unacquainted with the leading features of Grecian history, manners, and religion. Indeed, till of late years, Greece and her mighty Western sister exercised an undue influence on the minds and reasonings of modern Europe; they were looked up to as models on every subject, they were considered as having attained the very pinnacle of human perfection. The wisdom of the ancients was proverbial, in politics, in arms, and in arts; they were esteemed to have arrived at a degree of eminence which modern times might copy, but could never hope to surpass. The political writers of Europe eulogised the institutions of antiquity, (which term was appropriated to Greece and Rome, par excellence); moralists justified every assertion by the authority of the ancients, and poets extolled to the skies the virtues, the happiness, the genius, the liberty, the every thing of ancient Greece and Italy; and philologists finally assured us, that their languages had arrived to a degree of philosophical precision, power, and beauty, not to be hoped for in the barbarous dialects, bastards of the Latin or descendants of the rude Teutonic, to the use of which we, born in these degenerate days, are condemned.

* Commedie del Conte Giraud, 6 vol. 12mo. Firenze. 1825. Teatro domestico per istruzione della gioventù. 2 vol. 12mo. ibid.