ly,
in the bygone days of the Carbonaro conspiracies. The chief persons were
two young noblemen, friends affectionately attached to each other, and a
beautiful girl born in the lower ranks of life.

On the rising of the curtain, the scene before us was the courtyard of
a prison. We found the beautiful girl (called Celia as well as I can
recollect) in great distress; confiding her sorrows to the jailer's
daughter. Her father was pining in the prison, charged with an offense
of which he was innocent; and she herself was suffering the tortures
of hopeless love. She was on the point of confiding her secret to her
friend, when the appearance of the young nobleman closed her lips. The
girls at once withdrew; and the two friends--whom I now only remember as
the Marquis and the Count--began the dialogue which prepared us for the
story of the play.

The Marquis had been tried for conspiracy against the reigning Prince
and his government; had been found guilty, and is condemned to be shot
that evening. He accepts his sentence with the resignation of a man
who is weary of his life. Young as he is, he has tried the round of
pleasures without enjoyment; he has no interests, no aspirations, no
hopes; he looks on death as a welcome release. His friend the Count,
admitted to a farewell interview, has invented a stratagem by which the
prisoner may escape and take to flight. The Marquis expresses a grateful
sense of obligation, and prefers being shot. "I don't value my life,"
he says; "I am not a happy man like you." Upon this the Count mentions
circumstances which he has hitherto kept secret. He loves the charming
Celia, and loves in vain. Her reputation is unsullied; she possesses
every good quality that a man can desire in a wife--but the Count's
social position forbids him to marry a woman of low birth. He is
heart-broken; and he too finds life without hope a burden that is not
to be borne. The Marquis at once sees a way of devoting himself to his
friend's interests. He is rich; his money is at his own disposal; he
will bequeath a marriage portion to Celia which will make her one of the
richest women in Italy. The Count receives this proposal with a sigh.
"No money," he says, "will remove the obstacle that still remains. My
father's fatal objection to Celia is her rank in life." The Marquis
walks apart--considers a little--consults his watch--and returns with a
new idea. "I have nearly two hours of life still left," he says. "Send