funeral eulogy myself will speak_.

There are some impressive dramatic situations, the finest of which is
at the close of the second act, after the murder of Britannicus, the
result of a threat from Agrippina to dethrone her refractory son in
behalf of the rightful heir:

_Nero_. How is Britannicus?

_Agrip_. Dead.

_Nero_. Are you sure?

_Agrip_. Go see his corpse there, and assure yourself.

_Nero_. Dead? Poor Britannicus! who might have sat
Upon this very throne instead of me!

_Agrip_. Nero!

_Nero_. My mother!

_Agrip_. Ah! I understand.

_Nero_. Take him and make him emperor--if you can.

This has what the French call the _coup de fouet_. But the power and
progress of the play are clogged by two faults--defective construction
and a curious diffuseness and lack of concentration in many of the
scenes and speeches. The action is sadly impeded, for instance, by the
author's not making one business of Seneca's death, but spinning it
out through four scenes of going and coming, as also with Poppaea's,
and even more with Nero's, where the intercalation of long
conversations with changes of places and personages is hurtful, almost
destructive, to the effect. This appears to be the result of too close
an adherence to fact, which brings us back to our original grievance
against dramatizing history. The loss of force from lack of
concentration probably arises from carelessness, haste or want of
revision. From the same causes may spring, too, sundry anachronisms of
expression, such as "For God's sake;" vulgarisms like "Leave me alone"
for "Let me alone;" extraordinary commonplaces, as in the comparison
of popular favor to a weathercock, and of woman's love to a flower
worn, then thrown aside; and a constant lapsing from the energy and
spirit of the dialogue into flatness, familiarity and triviality.
There is an occasional not unwholesome coarseness which recalls Mr.
Story's Elizabethan masters, as in the following passage:

What a crew is this
Which just have fled! Foul suckers that drop off
When they no more can on their victims gorge!
This Tigellinus....
Within his sunshine basked and buzzed and stung;
And, now the shadow comes, off, like a fly--
A pestilent and stinking fly--he goes!

But it is unpardonable to make even Nero say, "I have to rinse my
mouth after her kiss."

The fine qualities of the composition give the blemishes relief, and
the material des