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(8) ently despatched to the object of them. But Malfato, the person thus sought, had already a deep-rooted and nobler attachment of his own, of which the only outward signs were estrangement from society and a deep melancholy; and bitter scorn and reproof are the only returns which these proffers of lighter love win from this gloomy but virtuous Genoese. The schemes of vengeance projected by the mortified Levidolche, as hot in anger as in love—the hand by which she endeavours to accomplish her purposes -and the unexpected results in which they terminatebelong to that part of the plot in which it would be unwise to forestall the reader's gratification. The · letter which conveyed the tender of Levidolche's new loves had for its bearer Futelli, a dependant of Adurni, to whom he recites its contents, as well as the passionate terms in which it had been intrusted to him ; but as a newer project was now labouring in thạt young lord's brain, these proofs of his mistress's inconstancy seem to excite little else in him than a feeling of curiosity as to the manner in which they will be received by his unwilling rival, Malfato. The scheme which now occupied the young Adurni's brain was a design upon the affections of the wife of the absent Auria ; and accordingly one of the next scenes exhibits Spinella and her sister as the guests of the too susceptible Adurni. A rich banquet, soft music, whatever could gratify the senses had been prepared for the occasion-Adurni pours forth his protestations of love; but the answers of the gentle, pureminded Spinella must soon have convinced him of the utter uselessness of continuing his pursuit, had not a stronger interruption occurred to awaken him to a sense of his criminal purpose. Auria, though absent, had left behind him a friend, as watchful to perceive any intended injury to his honour, as resolute and prompt to frustrate its accomplishment. This colloquy is accordingly broken in upon very suddenly by Aurelio, who upbraids Adurni with his treacherous hospitality, accuses Spinella of " loss to every brave respect,” announces the return of Auria to Genoa, and threatens them both with the consequences of their supposed guilt. Spinella, though conscious of innocence, breaks away, and becomes a fugitive none knows where.

The announcement of Aurelio was in one respect at least correct. Auria, with Ford's usual disregard to any thing


hike the unities of time and place, had returned home, a conqueror in the highest sense of the word; and a profusion of honours and rewards waits upon his brilliant services. He is appointed admiral of Genoa, a thousand ducats are presented to him from the public treasury, the f. of Corsica (a month's stay being allowed before e proceeded to his office) is conferred upon him, and his name is solemnly enrolled among the worthies of his country. But these honours and rewards come too late. The star which had shed light and happiness on the more straitened fortunes of Auria had disappeared; his home is desolate, and in the phrensied anguish of the moment his sword is almost drawn upon the friend to whose giddy zeal and rash indiscretion he considers himself indebted for the awkward situation in which he finds himself placed— his suspicions raised, but not so certified as to justify him in calling Adurni to account. Spinella, meantime, had taken refuge in the house of her cousin Malfato, that cousin who had long sighed for her in secret, but who, considering their nearness of blood as an inseparable bar to their union, had never told his tale of love, till the wrongs of Spinella and her present situation wring it from him, in language so delicately reserved, that even a woman's quick sense hardly perceives its meaning, till the narrative draws towards a close.-The justice finally done to the “pure and unflawed” virtues of Spinella—the means by which all “crooked surmises” on the part of Aurelio are removed—the dignified repentance exhibited by Adumi, contrasting strongly as it does with his former levity and rashness—and the development of Auria's character, so new in an Italian husband, will be best learned from the drama itself. The under-plot of the “Lady's Trial” consists in the amusement derived from the fantastic imagination of Amoretta, daughter of the Genoese citizen Trelcatio. With more pride than fortune (“since she herself, with all her father's store, can hardly weigh above 400 ducats”) this lisping beauty discards a train of worthy suitors “only for that they are not dukes or counts.” To work the silly maiden's reformation, two pretended lovers are, with her father's connivance, provided to play upon her feelings and propensities—Guzman, a solemn bombastic Spaniard, whose whole wealth appears to lie in his language, which certainly

is rich enough, and Fulgoso, a livelier coxcomb, whom the late Flemish wars had lifted from a sutler's hut into opulence, and into such gentility as opulence can confer. It is to be hoped that we may attribute to design, rather than to accident, that the humbler characters of the “ Lady's Trial” are at all events inoffensive. This was probably Ford's last play, and leads us to hope with Mr. Gifford, “that its author had at last suspected his want of genuine humour, and recollected, before he closed his theatrical career, that a dull medley of extravagance and impurity was ill calculated to supply the defect.


Language and matter, with a fit of mirth,
That sharply savours more of air than earth,
Like midwives, bring a play to timely birth.

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But where's now such a one, in which these three,
Are handsomely contriv’d? or, if they be,
Are understood by all who hear or see?

Wit, wit's the word in fashion, that alone
Cries up the poet, which, though neatly shown,
Is rather censured, oftentimes, than known.

He who will venture on a jest, that can
Rail on another's pain, or idly scan
Affairs of state, oh! he's the only man!

A goodly approbation, which must bring
Fame with contempt, by such a deadly sting!
The Muses chatter, who were wont to sing.

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Your favours in what we present to-day;
Our fearless author boldly bids me say,
He tenders you no satire, but a play ;
In which, if so he have not hit all right,
For wit, words, mirth, and matter as he might,
He wishes yet he had, for your delight.

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1 See the Dedication to the Sun's Darling.


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