the fall of Carthage and her glorious martyr-chief, is one of the grandest themes in ancient history. The merit of this piece, thought out for long years in retirement by a young woman (and, as a drama, overladen with thought and knowledge), is to seize the historical conditions with such reality and such truth, and to have kept so sustained a flight at a high level of heroic dignity. The interest lies in the conception of Hannibal's career and genius; but the execution is far from inadequate. And there is true vigour and nobility in such scenes as the conference between Hannibal and Scipio, in the last scene in the senate of Carthage, and especially in the last farewell of Ada and Hannibal—which is essentially romantic rather than classical or dramatic.
In "Gemma of the Isles," in "The Lost Son," and in the unfinished dramas, we find the same tragic situations, the cruel alternatives of destiny, presented with an equal absorption in noble aspirations and in self-renunciation before the altar of Duty. There are musical lyrics, graceful fancies, and pathetic legends, scattered through them all. But the quality which I find most
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