homes, and Titus is left alone with Sesto and Annio. Then follows the offer of the imperial crown to Servilia; after which comes scene seventh, containing a beautiful and perfectly Italian dialogue, in which Annio fulfils his mission, by announcing to his own betrothed bride that she is chosen to fill the high dignity of wife to Cæsar.

The great charm of the Clemenza di Tito, the point in which it leaves all competition behind, is the absolute concentration of interest which attaches to it. There is no little inferior underplot to divert the mind from the consideration of Tito's wrongs and Tito's clemency. Every minute ramification in the tale is but one of the threads on which hang the whole movement of the interest, towards which we are conducted by a little train of excitement in perfect keeping with the main action, of which we are not for one moment suffered to lose sight. Even the loves of Annio and Servilia are not to be looked upon merely as an episode. The honour conferred by Titus on the latter was necessary to kindle to its utmost rage the passionate jealousy of Vitellia, and serves to display, in one beautiful and touching scene, the magnanimous condescension of Titus when the gentle sister of his friend flings herself upon his justice and confesses herself betrothed to Annio. Hear the words with which the address of the trembling maiden is answered by the hero whom she was rejecting:

"Grazie, o Numi del ciel. Pure una volta

Senza larve sul viso

Mirai la verita."

But let us hasten into the presence of Vitellia, who is discovered by her lover chafed into frenzy by the preference shown to Servilia. The whirlwind of insulted vanity is not to be allayed but by the sacrifice of that which fate has denied her to enjoy, and it is thus her fury vents itself on the first appearance of her infatuated tool

"Che rechi? Il Campidoglio

E acceso? è incenerito?

Lentulo dove sta? Tito e punito?"

And when Sextus, reminding her of her own command, "Il sospendere il colpo," ventures a remonstrance on this sudden and unjustifiable resolve, she answers him in a burst of magnificent declamation which thrills us with horror. She tempts him first with the prospect of glory and the possession of that hand which leads him on; and then, in the precipitance of her fury, exclaims

"Non basta? Ascolta

E dubita se puoi. Sappi che amai
Tito finor; che se rimane in vita
Se può pentir; ch' io ritornar potrei
Non mi fido di me, forse ad amarlo."

This is too much for human feeling to endure. Blinded by passion as Sextus is, we cannot reconcile to our notions of humanity his tolerance of a spectacle so revolting as Vitellia's heart laid bare in its nakedness. We are utterly repelled by it, and we conclude, while she yet speaks, that Sextus must be repelled also. But it is not so: Sextus leaves the presence of his mistress, the pledged murderer of his friend, without so much as a remonstrance to indicate his abhorrence of the act.

We have now arrived at the stir and bustle of the plot. The treason goes on under the fostering care of Sextus, whose heart fails him, however, at the very moment when the fruits of his devices have begun to show themselves. He relents, and would fain dissolve the conspiracy just as Titus falls into the hands of those who seek his life. The Emperor is stabbed, Sextus having faintly interposed to save him, and the weight of his friend's murder hangs upon the wretched man's conscience. Meanwhile Vitellia receives at one and the same moment intelligence of her own accession to the purple, and of the success of the terrible plot which places it beyond her reach. Pudelio informs her both of Servilia's magnanimous rejection of Titus, and of the supposed death of the emperor. She is maddened with rage, and, seeking out Sextus, loads him with reproaches because he has accomplished her wishes too faithfully. The wretched pair are thus circumstanced when Annio enters. He hastens to assure Sextus that his friend is not dead, that the wound which he had received in the scuffle is not even dangerous, that Lentulus, who had put on the imperial robes, has been slain by his own wife, who, in the confusion of the moment, mistook him for Titus; and then suddenly discovers, in the man to whom he is addressing himself, the leader in this foul and most unnatural conspiracy. Annio, horrified though he be, cannot divest himself entirely of ancient predilections. He resolves to save Sextus; and, with this view, changes garments with him, in order that he may pass with the less risk into the Emperor's presence. He is not aware that the robe which he puts on bears upon its shoulder the stain of the assassin; but the fact was so; and out of that circumstance arises a scene of no ordinary interest. While these things are going on elsewhere, Titus and Servilia meet; and the Emperor, stung to the heart by the ingratitude of Rome, gives utterance to a burst of sorrow which is quite overpowering :

Nothing can exceed the splendour of this speech, which is still in progress when Sextus presents himself-that his whole soul may be harrowed up by the display of a tender and uncompromising confidence, of which he knows that he is unworthy. He is on the point of disclosing all but just at this moment Vitellia, his evil genius, interposes, and the lips which had begun to move are rendered mute. Just then Annio comes in arrayed in the bloody garment of Sextus, and is instantly seized amid the execrations of all who regard him as the assassin. A strange and well-managed scene follows. Sextus endeavours to free the innocent, or at least halts and falters in his iniquities. Vitellia unblushingly strives to fix on Annio the guilt which is her own. Her machinations prove successful. Annio is arrested as the culprit, while Sextus, won over by her blandishments, engages to secure his own and her safety by flight. He will not go, however, till he has engaged his mistress to undertake for the safety of his friend; and she promises everything

"A tutti i Numi il giuro

I lo defendero."

But scarce are the words uttered ere Publius rushes in, and the whole

face of affairs is changed. He states that Lentulus yet lives, that he has disclosed all, and that Sextus is the real author of the conspiracy of the capitol. The miserable culprit is seized, and our anticipations of the result are all at fault again.

The second act closes admirably. With it ends the career of crime which Sextus has been running, while Vitellia's last hope of escape from detection and disgrace is overthrown. The skein of their destiny is involved beyond the power of mortal unravelling, and the doom of both seems inevitable. Yet is there one arm capable of saving-one heart so great as to desire their preservation; and to the operations of these we turn from the horrors which we have hitherto been pursuing, with an intensity of delight which may be felt, but which defies description. The whole of the third act is replete with a melancholy and unflagging. interest. First, we have delineated the unshaken confidence of Tito in the honour of his friend; next, the gradual but long-resisted conviction that the confidence has been misplaced; then the agony of disappointment, displaying itself in the desperate hope that Sextus may yet, by some means or another, exonerate himself of the guilt; and, last of all, in the seventh scene, that colloquy, unrivalled in power, in which Titus endeavours to elicit from the fallen Sextus the motives of a treason to him so inexplicable.

Can anything be more touchingly simple or beautiful than the appeal of Titus?" Ah Sesto è dunque vero? Dunque vuoi la mia morte? Se Tito Augusto hai potuto obbliar, di Tito amico come non ti sovvenne?" Can the agony be exceeded of Sextus's reply?" Ah Tito! ah mio clementissimo prence! non più, non più." This is quite sublime, and our interest has reached the utmost height to which it can attain, without positive suffering, when Titus makes the last tender and affectionate call upon the delinquent for his confidence

"Odimi, O Sesto

Siam soli; il tuo sovrano

Non e presente. Apri il tuo core a Tito
Confidate all' amico: io ti prometto

Che Augusto nol saprà"

We know nothing, in any language, more affecting than this. Our sympathy for both is indeed stretched to the uttermost, and the climax is one not only of surpassing interest, but of admirable dramatic effect; for the injuries of the noble Titus are scarcely more exciting than the situation of Sexto, despite of his crimes and his weakness. There is something horrible in the alternative proposed to him of betraying the woman whom he loves with such guilty devotion, or of standing before the friend whom he worships as a monster of gratuitous and unqualified treachery. What appeal can lie from the gloomy despair of these words—“ Ch' io merito la morte, e ch' io la bramo ?" Titus can find none, so he departs in anger and bitter sorrow.

Our attention is now confined to the movements of the hero, whom we follow into the solitude of his privacy. There we may listen to the yearning of his affection, to the pleading of his mercy, to the stern, rigorous demand of his imperial justice, and sympathise with each emotion of his elevated and princely nature as it arises. That is a fine soliloquy, full of natural and beautiful feeling which closes with the triumph of his clemency

"Viva l'amico

Benche infedele; e se accusarmi il mondo

Vuol pur di qualche errore

M' accusi di pietà, non di rigore."

The decision is worthy of him who makes it, but it remains a secret, and Annio and Servilia are importunate with the newly-elected Empress to sue for the pardon of her former lover. There is, however, no redeeming point in the character of Vitellia-not even the spirit of daring which, in the breast of woman as well as of man, proves often the attendant upon crime. She will not sacrifice her new-born hopesher dawning visions of future glory-to redeem from death the wretched man whom her love had led on to his ruin. Her only care is to ascertain how far she may have been implicated in the last interview between the friends, and the ground of her regret that the disclosure came not from her own lip is that

"Confessar l'errore

Sempre in bocca d' un reo che la detesta
Scema d'orror la colpa."

There is no generous burst of self-accusation anywhere-no appeal to Cæsar that he would throw the punishment where it was due-no spontaneous interposition between the unhappy lover and the destiny to which she has led him. The following are the words of a cowardly nature, bold enough to plunge into crime, but too mean to stand against its adverse current:

"Non ha coraggio,

Nè a parlar, nè a tacere,
Nè a restar, nè a fuggir."

The single act which might yet have linked Vitellia to the chain of our sympathies is withheld, and it is not till the very moment which she believes to be the last of Sexto's existence, when the imperial train has entered the arena, and the doom of the prisoner is to be pronounced, that the confession which Annius and Servilia have extorted from her is poured forth. Just as Titus lifts up his voice to proclaim clemency to one criminal, the guilt of another is revealed to him. When he is about to set his friend and confidant free from the merited punishment of death, his betrothed bride steps forward and avows herself beyond the pale of his magnanimity. What a depth of wounded affection is conveyed in these words!

"E quanti mai Quanti siete a tradirmi?"

But the clemency of Titus is not to be arrested or controlled by human interference. He listens to the tale of complicated treason and injustice, and in the majesty of his greatness replies

"Vediamo

Se più costante sia,

L'altrui perfidia o la clemenza mia,

Tutto so tutti assolvo-e tutto oblio."

The weak and faithless Sexto, the treacherous and guilty Vitellia, are pardoned, embraced, and dismissed to the enjoyment of their undeserved happiness, while Titus, the noble and generous, is left to the solitary majesty of his unapproachable virtue.

Such is the "Clemenza di Tito;" without all doubt the masterpiece of this great Italian dramatist. We read it throughout, despite of its errors of conception, with breathless interest; and we closed the book with a mournful but submissive persuasion that earth holds no reward commensurate with the kind of excellence which is there portrayed. For such a soul as that which Metastasio has inspired into his Tito there can be no companionship on this side the grave. The joy of love and the security of friendship are both denied, because the world contains no being worthy or capable of affording either to him. He is the property of earth-his virtues belong to the whole family of man, and it seems to us part of the ordination of Heaven, that, in such cases as his, virtues should never be concentrated. Berenice possessed the undivided empire of his soul, and he resigned her because Rome rebelled against her lineage. Sextus enjoyed the great privilege of his confidence, and he knew so little of its value that his own hand plucked it down, and robbed the solitary prince of the last refuge for his affections. Such is the crucible in which virtue is purified till it is without alloy. There is no such thing as sorrow, no such evil as poverty, till the property of the heart is confiscated, and then begins that ordeal of human fortitude out of which if the sufferer come forth at all, he cometh seven times purified and refined.

OLD AND NEW FRIENDS.

BY T. C. GRATTAN, ESQ., AUTHOR OF HIGH-WAYS AND BY-WAYS."

ONE of the greatest evils of life is, that attachments cannot be always new-that our feelings grow old like ourselves, and, that like other habits, the habit of friendship becomes threadbare and shabby from long use. How glorious is the spring-time of young affection! how blighted and withered its maturity! It is almost rotten before ripe. What a pity it should ever reach the summer season!

There is no greater fallacy than that which leads us to rely for aid on the sympathy of what are by courtesy called old friends-that is to say, near relatives, close neighbours, our father's associates, or our own school companions. There is no comparison between the cold callousness of such and the vigorous warmth of new-formed, and chancechosen connexions. Old friends have been made for us, new ones are of our own making. Our measure, so to express it, has never been taken for the first. No wonder they fit so ill, and hang so loosely. Yet, when a man starts in life, he is so proud of his "old friends," and, what is worse, so sure of them! He reckons his importance in proportion to the number of those reeds, which are not yet broken only because he does not happen to have leaned on them; and the hypocrite world to whom he boasts of his imagined jewels, never has the candour to tell him they are paste. But he finds out the truth!

We marvel at the numerous instances in which old connexions aban Nov.-VOL. LIV. NO. CCXV. 2 E