Here we will concede, that something like what Mr. Talfourd means by fascination is consistent with truth, and may be introduced into christian literature. That man is prepared for the part which he is to act in some cases, we presume no christian will deny. Now this preparation is, or may be at least, something aside from the action of divine providence and of sanctifying grace, an action upon the mind, ennobling and shaping it, filling it with enthusiasm, and even with dim presentiments of its future dignity. And on the contrary there is a preparation of the wicked for their downfall, and the part of shame they are to act, a panic fear, an unaccountable foreboding, which asserts without reasoning and above reason the cause of divine justice. We should not object to this relation of the mind to its supreme governor, if sparingly introduced into literature. We say sparingly, for to give it prominence or tangibleness would be to divest it of its nature, which is essentially indistinct and shadowy.

We pass next to the plot. This is arranged in the main with very great skill and judgment. The author shows himself a master-workman in his architecture, and especially in so constructing the short action as to throw the greatest interest into Ion's part. There is but one thing to which we seriously object. The denouement is brought about, as our readers have been already told, by a certain man, who was appointed with another to murder the infant Ion, and who, having failed to finish his work, leaves the infant where the priest of Apollo finds

it. This man returned to Argos on the day when the events of the play took place, was taken with the plague and died. Before his death he wrote to Medon a full account of the affair, and of Ion's parentage. Now we object not to the sufficiency of the proof which attends this discovery; nor to accident considered in itself. What men call accident, is, we believe, as legitimate a part of true tragedy as cause and effect, mind, or providence. But the resort to accident here is too plainly seen; it is too evidently a device to move the plot along. It destroys the dream, that we have been contemplating truth. We know it may be said many actual things are wholly improbable; many things more strange have happened, than that this man should return from his exile of a life on the day, and just at the moment of the day when Mr. T. wanted it. But how are we to produce the impression of conformity to nature, which is essential to a work of art occupied with human life, if we introduce not merely improbable coincidences, but such as are evidently resorted to out of a necessity created by ourselves.

But in addition to this there are two places where we are not sure, that Mr. Talfourd is treading upon safe ground. The first is near the beginning, where the sages are persuaded to send Ion instead of one of themselves, on a message to the tyrant; the motive alledged being, that they see him to be divinely called to the office. Now that Ion should conceive himself to be thus called, enthusiasm, or Mr. Talfourd's "fascination," if admitted, would explain. But we see no sufficient reason why the sages, as men of ordinary prudence, should attribute Ion's altered conduct and heroic determination to a special divine cause, or why they should intrust an important matter to hands so young.

The second is of slight importance to the whole plot, and perhaps would be thought by many hardly worthy of notice. We refer to the covered way, of which Medon suddenly bethinks himself, as leading from the temple to the king's chamber. This looks too much like the awkward invention of an ordinary mind. It is a piece sewed over a hole by an unfortunate cobbler. If the passage was there, why had it not been used? But how could it have been there and have been open, when it might have led assassins at every instant to the bedside of a tyrant?

But aside from these few faults, as we regard them, the felicity of Mr. Talfourd in weaving the web of his plot is wonderful. Every incident seems to have been put into its place in conformity with the dictates of the deepest and most careful reflection. A story and a moment of time are chosen, which allow the author to press into the brief space of a day the events of years. The reader's mind seems to have passed down a long stream of time, and yet, when we think of the moment, that we have been with the characters, everything seems probable in the adjustments of the piece, and nothing requires us to make a longer stay. There is no hurry, and what is more deserving of praise, no agitation, but rather entire calmness. The events are as unlike those of a melo-drama as are the actors.

We come next, by a natural progress, to the situations of the tragedy before us. These are, as may be gathered from our abstract, often novel and deeply interesting. The love of Clemanthe breaking out just at the time when Ion is torn away, and their passages with one another, afterward, when the calm enjoyment of requited affection lay in the future on the borders of hope and despair, although appendages to the main action, deepen its tone in no small degree. Of Ion's first interview with Adrastus, we may speak more fitly in another place. Of the second, where he comes into his chamber to destroy him, and is discovered to be

say. Recognitions like this e, that they are difficult to f. We think Mr. Talfourd mpse of this secret to his come out, and well also in of Ion's voice, and his lineae needs no proof when the we ask, was the firm persuathe testimony to which he ild was dead, was this to be ness, and the mere word of ulous, and hope inclined to fourd could have managed it we are more doubtful of is remark we extend to the is parent up to the time of

racter-painting in this tragof the ancient drama, to es it from those particular e the works of Shakspeare ver all others. There are nent characters which posstus and of Ion; and these

that we shall not attempt ir remarks upon these two ch the character of Adrastus account given. He could -scribed to be. It may be that he should change his his presence, and instead of r of his dearest secrets. At -ded to lead Ion upon his helt and transmute the hard will lay no stress upon this. antage, that from the first powerfully brought out. It earn it from the mouths of oice, and we become so full d so interested in the develconsummated by his self- but a dark and bottomless nk of nothing else. What beautiful than a youth with

But in addition to this there are two places where we are not sure, that Mr. Talfourd is treading upon safe ground. The first is near the beginning, where the sages are persuaded to send Ion instead of one of themselves, on a message to the tyrant; the motive alledged being, that they see him to be divinely called to the office. Now that Ion should conceive himself to be thus called, enthusiasm, or Mr. Talfourd's "fascination," if admitted, would explain. But we see no sufficient reason why the sages, as men of ordinary prudence, should attribute Ion's altered conduct and heroic determination to a special divine cause, or why they should intrust an important matter to hands so young.

The second is of slight importance to the whole plot, and perhaps would be thought by many hardly worthy of notice. We refer to the covered way, of which Medon suddenly bethinks himself, as leading from the temple to the king's chamber. This looks too much like the awkward invention of an ordinary mind. It is a piece sewed over a hole by an unfortunate cobbler. If the passage was there, why had it not been used? But how could it have been there and have been open, when it might have led assassins at every instant to the bedside of a tyrant?

But aside from these few faults, as we regard them, the felicity of Mr. Talfourd in weaving the web of his plot is wonderful. Every incident seems to have been put into its place in conformity with the dictates of the deepest and most careful reflection. A story and a moment of time are chosen, which allow the author to press into the brief space of a day the events of years. The reader's mind seems to have passed down a long stream of time, and yet, when we think of the moment, that we have been with the characters, everything seems probable in the adjustments of the piece, and nothing requires us to make a longer stay. There is no hurry, and what is more deserving of praise, no agitation, but rather entire calmness. The events are as unlike those of a melo-drama as are the actors.

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We come next, by a natural progress, to the situations of the tragedy before us. These are, as may be gathered from our abstract, often novel and deeply interesting. The love of Clemanthe breaking out just at the time when Ion is torn away, and their passages with one another, afterward, when the calm enjoyment of requited affection lay in the future on the borders of hope and despair, although appendages to the main action, deepen its tone in no small degree. Of Ion's first interview with Adrastus, we may speak more fitly in another place. Of the second, where he comes into his chamber to destroy him, and is discovered to be

his son, we hardly know what to say. Recognitions like this are so aside from human experience, that they are difficult to succeed in, and difficult to judge of. We think Mr. Talfourd has done well in giving but a glimpse of this secret to his reader until he was ready to have it come out, and well also in so preparing Adrastus by the tones of Ion's voice, and his lineaments to receive the secret, that he needs no proof when the truth is revealed to him. But still we ask, was the firm persuasion of many years, fortified by all the testimony to which he could have access, that his infant child was dead, was this to be overthrown without proof by a likeness, and the mere word of an enemy? Is not joy itself incredulous, and hope inclined to fear? We know not how Mr. Talfourd could have managed this part better than he has done, but we are more doubtful of it than of any other scene. And this remark we extend to the whole interview between Ion and his parent up to the time of the latter's death.

There is little opportunity for character-painting in this tragedy; the ideal and general nature of the ancient drama, to which as a class it belongs, removes it from those particular views of human nature which give the works of Shakspeare one of their greatest superiorities over all others. There are properly not more than two prominent characters which possess individual traits, those of Adrastus and of Ion; and these traits consist so much in emotions, that we shall not attempt to draw a precise line between our remarks upon these two points. Of the influences under which the character of Adrastus was formed, we have a probable account given. He could hardly fail to become what he is described to be. It may be doubted how far it is true to nature, that he should change his purpose when Ion is admitted into his presence, and instead of destroying him make him the sharer of his dearest secrets. At least, if a divine fascination is needed to lead Ion upon his course, it is as much needed to melt and transmute the hard metal of his father's soul. But we will lay no stress upon this. The play opens with this great advantage, that from the first the author's conception of Ion is powerfully brought out. It captivates us at once, even as we learn it from the mouths of the sages before we hear his own voice, and we become so full of Ion through the whole piece, and so interested in the developments of his character till it is consummated by his selfsacrifice, and this too, with nothing but a dark and bottomless grave to leap into, that we can think of nothing else. What of earthly loveliness can be more beautiful than a youth with