of exposition; the action is developed by such threadbare theatrical devices as a lost letter and an overheard conversation; the voluble speeches of the several characters are, throughout, declamatory effusions almost unbelievably divorced from the apposite utterance of any rational human being under the circumstances. An Altamont who has been assured and reassured from his bride’s own lips of her aversion for him can fling himself from a quarrel with his life-long friend in hysterical defence of her, to seek solace in her arms-- _There if in any pause of love I rest Breathless with bliss upon her panting breast, In broken, melting accents I will swear, Henceforth to trust my heart with none save her;_ a Sciolto who has given his daughter a dagger with which to end her shame, and then has arrested her willing arm with the prayer that she will not dispatch herself until he is gone from the sight of her, can thereupon take leave of her with the statement: _There is I know not what of sad presage That tells me I shall never see thee more._ The play, which enjoyed an immense fame, high contemporary appreciation, and a long career on the stage, remains a curious memorial of the taste of a bygone day. It is noteworthy that in _The Fair Penitent_ Horatio, as Romont in all modern reproductions of _The Fatal Dowry_, is the great acting part--not the husband. In 1758 was produced at the Hay market a drama entitled _The Insolvent or Filial Piety_, from the pen of Aaron Hill. In the preface it is said--according to Genest (IV, 538)--“Wilks about 30 years before gave an old manuscript play, called the _Guiltless Adulteress_, to Theo. Cibber who was manager of what then was the Summer Company--after an interval of several years this play was judged to want a revisal to fit it for representation--Aaron Hill at the request of Theo. Cibber almost new wrote the whole, and the last act was entirely his in conduct, sentiment and diction.” In reality, _The Insolvent_ is _The Fatal Dowry_ over again, altered to tragicomedy, and with the names of the characters changed. The first two Acts of Hill’s play proceed much after the manner of its prototype, with close parallels in language. From thenceforward, however, the action diverges. The bride, Amelia, resists the further attentions of her former sweetheart. They are none the less observed and suspected by her husband’s friend, who speaks of the matter to both her father and her lord. The former promises to observe her with watchful eye; Chalons, the husband, is at first resentful of the imputation, but presently yields to his friend’s advice, that he pretend a two-days’ journey, from which he will return unexpectedly. During his absence, his wife’s maid introduces the lover into her mistress’ chamber while Amelia sleeps. There Chalons surprises him kneeling beside the bed, and kills him. Amelia stabs herself, but the confession of her maid reveals her innocence, and her wound is