ra. You, Signor Capuzzi, are the first composer in all Italy, and
it is only the incredible frivolity of the Romans, and the envy of the
_Maestri_, that are to blame for the circumstance that anything except
your compositions is to be heard on the stage. Signor Pasquale, I came
to beg you, on my knees, to allow me to represent your immortal works
in my theatre."

"My good Signor Nicolo!" cried the old fellow, with bright sunshine in
his face, "why are we talking here in the public street? Will you be
kind enough to climb up a steep flight of stairs, and come with me into
my humble dwelling?"

As soon as he got into the room with Nicolo, he hauled out a great
packet of dusty music-manuscript, opened it up, turned pages over, and
began that frightful yelling and screeching which he called "singing."
Nicolo demeaned himself like one enraptured. He sighed, he groaned; he
cried "bravo!" from time to time, and "Bravissimo! Benedetto Capuzzi!"
At length, as if in an excess of blissful enthusiasm, he fell at the
old man's feet, and clasped his knees, hugging them so very tightly,
however, that Capuzzi gave a great bound to try and shake him off,
screamed with the pain, and cried out: "All the Saints! let me go,
Signor Nicolo! you'll be the death of me!"

"No!" cried Nicolo. "No, Signor Pasquale! I will not rise from this
spot till you promise to let me have that heavenly aria which you have
just rendered so magnificently, so that Formica may sing it two nights
hence on my stage."

"You are a person of some taste," sighed Pasquale; "a man of insight;
to whom, rather than to you, should I intrust my compositions? You
shall take all my arias with you (Oh! oh! do let me go!) but, oh
heavens! I shall not hear them--my heavenly masterpieces! (Oh, oh! let
go my legs, Signor Nicolo!)"

"No!" cried Nicolo, still on his knees, and firmly grasping the old
man's spindle-shanks like a vice. "No, Signor Pasquale! I will not let
you go till you give me your word that you will come to my theatre the
evening after to-morrow. Have no fear of being attacked again. You may
be certain that, when the Romans have heard those arias of yours, they
will carry you home triumphantly in a torchlight procession. But even
if they do not, I and my trusty comrades will arm, and escort you
safely home."

"You and your comrades will escort me home, will you?" Pasquale
inquired; "how many of them might there be?"

"Eight or ten people will be at your dis