ANDREA (who has been watching him with triumph.)
Enough!

Our private conference is ended.-Now
My lords, I speak to all-and first to thee
Guido D'Arezzi, who now standest here
A simple noble like the rest no more—
The state which did descend upon thy birth
Thou hast put by, to let it pass on

To the next heir-nor now can thy caprice
Cause the descending stream to mount again
With backward course to suit thy changed desire;
It must flow downwards in its lawful channel.
The Duke Viotto's dead-from him the crown
Devolves upon Leonte-but he stands
Arraigned a traitor and a murderer,

Which bars his right till he shall be absolved.
I, then, the next of blood, in his abeyance
Lay claim to this vacated chair-and here
I stand upon my title. Lords! your voices!

Duke Andrea!

SEVERAL NOBLES.

GUIDO.

Slaves! What not one voice for Guido?

But do not fear (To Leonte) they shall not harm thee boy,
Thy father will protect thee still.

Oh father;

LEONTE.

Let them go on-my blood will satisfy them,

And shall be freely shed; I will not grudge it,

No! not its latest drop. (aside) Father! I charge thee

By all the memory of unbroken love

That knit our hearts till now-by all thy hopes

To meet thy son again in happier climes,

And as thou wouldst secure the time to make

Peace with offended heaven--by these I charge thee
Forbid them not to work their will on me;

But save thyself!

As yet Guido remains unconvinced of the innocence of his wife, and consequently of the legitimacy of the murdered

Viotto. But it is reserved for Andrea to produce the damning proofs that Guido has been the slave of a false conviction, and acting throughout on mistaken evidence of her guilt. Finding that Leonte is likely to suffer for the murder, Guido boldly avows himself the criminal to the astonishment and delight of Andrea, who forthwith proceeds to show the horrorstricken Guido that he has been the murderer of his own lawful son:

ANDREA.

He was thy son!
I marked him for my purpose,
I knew him weak, suspicious, and I then
Was at the very foot of fortune's wheel,
Without a friend, or means, or hope to stay me:
Desperate men have desperate expedients,
And I sought mine in that confiding letter
She wrote to me in our fond days of love.
With this my copy, I contrived the other
Pretending her confession; and I bore them
Together to Viotto, claiming him

To be my child. He trusted to the tale,
As thou didst afterward-Oh! well did both
Deserve the punishment for being wrought
To doubt the purity of such a woman!
I prospered, and he lavished on me all
My fancied claim required.

GUIDO, (gasping.)

The proof! the proof!

Thou cans't not give me proof-thy word is nothing!

ANDREA.

Behold the first rough sketch of the forged paper
A bungling work-then this-a better copy-
This better still-although not perfect, yet

In part so like, you'd almost swear it her's.

With prudent care, I thought these might be useful work should ever need undoing

In case my

And kept them jealously.

[Guido drops the papers from his hands and sinks into his

Now art thou happier than Andrea?
Thou my successful rival-thou on whom
Fortune has poured her gifts yet not enough,

Till thou hadst also robbed my little store

Thou had'st her!-Thou didst triumph and she left thee
The precious gifts formed in her own sweet mould—
Look how it strove with thee that rich bequest-
Look what a wretched thing thou droopest there
Thou murderer of thy child!

I yield-I yield!

GUIDO. (faintly.)

I feel it coming-Death be quick! yes here
Children-Viotto-come-I pardon thee-
There 'tis forgotten-I perhaps was harsh
And thou ungentle-but 'tis pardoned now!
There-there-Leonte too and Angela.
That's well-all friends-and yet I cannot pray,
That's strange too is it not? But you'll pray for me
Viotto too you'll join them! there! that's kind,
And it is happier to be kind is't not?

So! sweet after such sorrow! (gradually sinking)

Come my bride

ANDREA.

We'll tarry now no longer. Angela

Let us be gone.

GUIDO. (starting.)

Ha! that was Andrea's voice!

The world's come back again,-stay, there's a thing
I'd left undone with you Lord Andrea.

I have some small strength left, (rising) and that is wanting To fill your triumph-but there-not to these,

This way, they'll hear us. (drawing him forwards.) You

shall tell them then

When I am gone of all your cunning practise,

How I was tricked-'twill make them laugh or weep
I know not rightly which. Hush! more this way,
Look, how they watch us! You shall tell them too
What wreck you made of me,-how you did sweep,
How you did sweep

My children from the earth, and then how proudly
You trampled on my head,---nearer I say,
Their eyes are on us-and you then shall add-
How I repaid it (stabbing him) ha ha! ha! ha! ha!
Look there (pointing) the conqueror ! look! look! ha ha!

[Dies.

Throughout the whole of this tragedy, the genius of the author whether in the constructiveness of his plot or the tone of poetical feeling which pervades the dialogues, is manifestly displayed; and we observe no flagging of the interest in the whole course of the play. There is no weakness in the style that would indicate that the writer had in any way "overshot himself," but a certain amount of firmness in the developement of the characters, which shows the perfect ease with which the author brings out the points of character it is his purpose to pourtray.

There may be some little objection to some of the incidents in a moral point of view, but of these we have spoken.

"Guido D'Arezzi" can detract nothing from the flourishing laurels of its talented author, who, as one of our living dramatists need yield the palm to none. His style of writing comprehends all that the mind can take an interest in, whether it be the tenderness of Love, the ardour of Devotion, the outbursts of Anger, the hatred of Jealousy, or the ravings of Remorse; and in the developement of each he is equally successful. Should Mr. Lovell put this play upon the stage, with some little pruning there cannot be a doubt of its complete success.

In closing our criticisms on this beautiful production, we cannot conclude without expressing our thanks for the kindness with which we have been favored in being allowed the perusal of this tragedy, which is as yet unpublished---save what has from time to time appeared in the columns of this journal.

A. R.

FINE ARTS.

SINCE the last month's number, there is but little to report in this department of our magazine, although the profession of artists in all branches of the Fine Arts is more busily engaged at this period of the year than at any other time, in preparing works for the forthcoming exhibitions at the Society of British Artists, Suffolk-Street; the Free Exhibition of Modern Art, (late the Chinese Gallery), Hyde Park Corner; the Royal Academy; and the two Societies of Painters in Water colours.

Of these several exhibitions, with one exception, there is no certainty that an artist who is a non-member of any of them, can have his works exhibited. At the two Water colour Societies, none but members, and a very limited number of artists, called associates, are permitted to exhibit. At the Royal Academy it is sufficiently notorious that a wretchedly limited space obliges that body to reject annually as many works as would suffice to make another exhibition; while the hanging committee, with their whims and prejudices, and the operatives who screw the pictures on the walls, having their knowledge of symmetry, cause the selections of particular works for particular places,-not by merit,-but by a much more easy method of judging, namely, a two-foot rule. The consequence of this uncertainty is, to confine artists to painting pictures of a small size, and with as little work as possible; so that they may undergo their fate with as little damage as need be to themselves; for the innocent aspirant who is led into the executing of a large picture, is almost sure to find it stigmatized by rejection.

The Society of British Artists, have, by injudicious proceedings, thrown so many obstacles in the way of their brother artists who would have supported their gallery, by imposing a registration fee of five shillings for each exhibitor; and then hanging in bad places all the works sent by non-members; by the ridiculous affectation of rejecting talented artists as members, with a view to keep the sales to the Art-Union prize-holders limited to the smallest number of their own members possible; these with the recent circumstances which have been publicly disclosed, have given rise to a large association of artists who wish to bring their works fairly and