_Francis the First_ bears irrefragable evidence that her reading has lain much among the old poets, and that Shakspeare is one of her most favourite ones. "Triboulet," the king's jester, may be instanced as an example of this; and "Margaret of Valois" furnishes another. "Françoise de Foix" is a more original conception; timid, yet fond, sacrificing her honour to save her brother's life, but rendered wretched by remorse; and not able to endure the presence of her affianced husband, who, believing her pure and sinless as he left her, appeals to her, when "Gonzales" reveals her shame. This same "Gonzales," urged on by vengeance, and ready to do aught--nay, more than "may become a man,"--to seek its gratification, is a boldly drawn character. The introduction of the poet "Clément Marot" is no less happy than judicious; and Miss Kemble gives him a very beautiful speech, addressed to his master "Francis the First," in which the charm that reigns about the presence of a pure woman is so eloquently described, as to have reminded me of the exquisite passage in _Comus_, although there is not any plagiary in Miss Kemble's speech. A poetess herself, she has rendered justice to the character of Clement Marot, whose honest indignation at being employed to bear a letter from the amorous "Francis" to the sister of "Lautrec," she has very gracefully painted. The "Constable Bourbon" is well drawn, and has some fine speeches assigned to him; and "Gonzales" gives a spirited description of the difference between encountering death in the battle-field, surrounded by all the spirit-stirring "pomp and circumstance of glorious war," and meeting the grisly tyrant on the scaffold, attended by all the ignominious accessories of a traitor's doom. This Tragedy, when given to the public, will establish Miss Kemble's claims to distinction in the literary world, and add another laurel to those acquired by her family. There are certain passages in the speeches of "Gonzales," that, in my opinion, require to be revised, lest they should provoke censures from the fastidious critics of the present time, who are prone to detect evil of which the authors, whose works they analyse, are quite unconscious. Innocence sometimes leads young writers to a freedom of expression from which experienced ones would shrink back in alarm; and the perusal of the old dramatists gives a knowledge of passions, and of sins, known only through their medium, but the skilful developement of which, subjects a female writer, and more particularly a youthful one, to ungenerous animadversion. It is to be hoped, that the friends of this gifted girl will so prune the luxuriance of her pen, as to leave nothing to detract from a work so creditable to her genius. Charles Kemble rendered ample justice to his daughter's Tragedy by his mode of reading it; and we counted not the hours devoted to the task. How many reminiscences of the olden time were called up by hearing him!