The following, the Plot and Fourth Act of a Tragedy, called "Neville," which was sent in a complete state, some years since by a friend to the celebrated actor Kean, who returned for answer that he was on the eve of departure for America, and could not then attend to it, we think not unworthy the notice of our readers. The fair copy retained by the writer, was destroyed by accident, and the rough draft of the Fourth Act being found amongst some old papers, it has been offered to us for publication. The Plot, though simple, we think interesting; the interest, well sustained and accumulated in the last Act, and the unities of time and place correctly observed. In the last Scene of the Fourth Act, the author has displayed such an originality of conception, and so complete a knowledge of stage effect, that we cannot think the lost parts of the Tragedy, had we been able to present them to our readers, would have been found less deserving of their approbation.

The Count Trionfi, an Italian nobleman, residing at his villa near Naples, has long been under the guidance of his Confessor, a Jesuit, named Ignatio, and induced by this influence and the splendid reputation of his reputed nephew, Agostino Coviello, who had risen to high rank in the Austrian service, had determined to bestow on him his only daughter, Francesca Trionfi, in marriage. Agostino arrives from the army at the opening of the Drama, for this purpose, and immediately after, Neville and Seymour, two young Englishmen, travelling in Italy; the former, the son of a bosom friend of the Count, who had known the elder Neville during a long residence in his earlier days in England. The Confessor, preparatory to the expected final establishment and completion of his hopes of Agostino's fortune, entrusts to him the secret of his being his son, and the fate of his mother, a Nun, who having violated her vows, he assisted to fly, but who was wrested from him, by the faithlessness of a Monk whom he had trusted; the former disappearing

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without Ignatio having been able to ascertain her fate, and the latter falling by the hand of an assassin, hired by Ignatio to revenge his treachery. In an excursion in the bay, an accident occurs, in which Neville rescues Francesca from drowning, and an esteem which had been mutually conceived during a former slight acquaintance in Florence, becomes a passion, which is pressed upon the Count by Neville, the Countess, and Francesca with such force, that he consents to their marriage, and the abandonment of his intentions with respect to Agostino Coviello. The plot has reached to this stage at the conclusion of the Third Act.

ACT IV.

SCENE "THE GARDENS OF THE VILLA.”
Enter Ignatio and the Count meeting.
Trionfi.-Father Ignatio, I have met you here,

To tell you of a change in my late views,
Which may seem fickle, but was unforeseen,
And worse than both, may cause you much regret.
Ignatio-My lord, whate'er it is, think not of me
As an impediment-I shall rejoice

To find, that I must make a sacrifice ;-
If it prove only, in the merest trifle,
An aid to your designs.

Trionfi.-I do believe you: Yet your loss is great-
So great, that it being unavoidable,

Alone should make you suffer the privation.
Ignatio. My lord! I court it in your service.
Trionfi.-I need not tell you for how long a time,

Your nephew's marriage to my dear Francesca,
Was the completion of my chiefest wishes;
Her heart, I counted, was yet unimpressed,

No flattering sighs, I thought, had soothed her ear;
But the first flower, that blooms of early youth,
Is love-which opens in its earliest spring,-

The duties, and the virtues, linger later,
Oft till it dies: they are of summer's growth,
Sometimes, alas! as late as even the autumn.

Ignatio. This is pure folly, but it portends no good. (Aside.)
Trionfi.-When she resided, not long since in Florence,

I found Francesca knew a noble Briton-
Whom foreign travel led to that fair city:
There a familiarity commenced,

That in young bosoms oft gives birth to passion;

With them, however, it was latent still

At her departure, and return to Naples.

Months passed away-not so her fond remembrance;
And two days since, its unexpected cause
Arrived unlooked for, at Marino.

Ignatio. Would the earth first had swallowed him.
Neville! or Seymour!

Trionfi.-Neville!-the son of my most valued friend.
Ignatio. A strange coincidence, and let me hope-
As happy as 'tis strange.

(Aside.)

Trionfi.-Scarcely six hours had passed, since he arrived,
When that distracting accident occurred―
Francesca's life vibrated in Fate's balance,
And 'twas his arm made her scale descend.

Ignatio.-There was a time, when our great precursors,
For this had granted him the Civic crown.
Trionfi. His just reward. Ere this, they both had felt
More than esteem. But with the magic touch
Of passion's wand, it is transformed to love:
Eternal constancy is on their lips-

Youth's fervid fancies glow within their hearts;
The burst of feeling cannot be suppressed
To which I yield, for I can not resist it.
Ignatio.-Think not, my lord, that I have any thought-
Save my regard for you, when I advise

You seek some other reason for compliance;
Those hasty unions, like the break of day,
Which sometimes glitters with too early sunshine,
May be succeeded by a clouded noon.

Trionfi.-It happens, doubtless, but who can foresee it,
Nor do I dread such a recurrence here.

Neville's repute gives honourable hopes;

His father was my friend, my daughter loves him; Had he not saved her I were childless now; The Countess, too, implores me to consentWhat better omens could high Heaven afford. Ignatio. Why none! I only caution some delay, Let time confirm the force of their first loveAnd then their union follow.

Trionfi.-I wished it thus-but I could not be heard-
So rapid is the course of the events,

Which chase each other in these few last hours;
And so quick, too, shall the remaining be,

That on to-morrow morning it is fixed,

To celebrate the nuptials.

Ignatio.-Confusion! on to-morrow? Is it possible. (Aside.)
Trionfi.-You are desired to join their willing hands.
Ignatio. I shall be ready: but they
Outstrip all consideration.

Trionfi.-There's a cause even for this;

Late on last night a courier arrived,

Who came almost on wings of wind from Britain,
To Neville he conveyed some hasty lines,

Which cautioned him, that on his speed alone

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Rested his chance of ever seeing more,

(Aside.)

My oldest friend, his sire, who now reclines,
Upon that couch from which he ne'er will rise;
So, when the last words of your rites are o'er,
He plies the spur for England.
Ignatio.-Destruction follow him with quicker pace,
This all indeed is pushed with breathless haste,
Intent and act are almost simultaneous;
But let me pray its issue may be blest-
I shall be ready to perform my office.
Trionfi.-I have not yet adverted to the point,

That most involves your interest-your silence
On the reverse of Agostino's hopes,

Is more than delicate, and well fulfils
My estimation of your sterling worth.
Ignatio.-My lord! I pray you to be silent,

We're still your debtors for your first designs,
Their disappointment is the work of destiny.
Trionfi.-Upon it I shall only say thus much,
I found Francesca was immoveable;

His numerous merits had not touched her heart,
Which was long time before pre-occupied;
What then remains-I still am his firm friend,
And shall approve it with more force than ever;
The structure of his fortunes hitherto,
Has gained no more than my assisting hand;
Henceforward I'm sole architect.-Tell him
That I engross the edifice myself,
Nor shall I rest, until it be upraised,
To the last pinnacle of his high wishes:
Give him this pledge, assure him my esteem
And friendship shall become his more than ever.
Ignatio, solus.

So ends the dream of long expectant years,
The breath of youthful vows sweeps all my plans
As clear away, as could the tempest's rage.
To-morrow, too! No time for an attempt,
To break their purpose by some deep laid wiles,
They've baffled the old serpent-the young lion
Is still a danger in their joyous path:

I know not how to quell him-much I fear
No toils of mine can hold him-here he comes!
Enter Agostino.

(Exit)

Agostino.-There seems some change of the accustomed smiles,
That cheered the past fair greetings of our hosts;
Just now I saw the Countess, at a distance,
Approaching towards me. When I met her view,
I thought she wished, and straight she sought to shun me.

Anon, I met her daughter-she, too, stopt,
As if my absence would have given her pleasure;
And when I bowed, in making my salute,

Her glance was more than half averted from me-
What does this mean?

Ignatio. I scarce can tell, but I have my suspicions.
Agostino.-These Britons, too, monopolize the Count-

He treats them as they were his guardian angels,
When go they hence? I hope they'll soon depart.

Ignatio. Soon and too late, they go to-morrow.
Agostino.-Why that is well-would they had never come.
Ignatio. What cause have you to deprecate their presence?
Agostino.-There's one who is too much with this Francesca,
She seems to be too partial even to both;
Coquetting has my hatred: most of all
In her, who one day I shall call my own.

Ignatio. One day-one only, for to-morrow's sun,
Shall see her wedded to another.

Agostino.-What! to another! Francesca! You rave.
Ignatio. You will rave, rather when I do impart,

The Count's last resolution. This moment
He is departed; after leaving me
Commissioned to inform you of his will,
Which is, that on to-morrow morn,

Francesca shall become the wife of Neville.

Agostino. Death and destruction, what is it I hear!
Ignatio. It is too true! but to relieve the force

Of such a fall from your late towering hopes;
He charges me to say, his future care,

Shall be, henceforward, to build up your fortune,
Which shall be carried to a speedy heigth,
That only shall fall short, of what he first,
Solely designed in favor of yourself.

Agostino. I can't believe such shameful fickleness,

The vane that turns with the weak wind is surer-
It cannot be.

Ignatio. It is not wise in you to talk thus of it;
Your better choice is to believe the truth,
And learn to bear it with unruffled front.
Agostino.-Can he intend thus to destroy my hopes?
What reason can he give for his desertion?
Is there a cause or even a pretence?

Ignatio. One is, Francesca's fixed aversion.

Agostino. What matters that? Let his commands compel her, Men are obedient when they're sent to death

Women should be so-when ordained to marry.

Ignatio. The soldier's law suits not domestic life—
Another cause, that their detested union

So rapidly approaches, is the power,