, and that the two lovers whose fate we have become interested
in, cannot possibly be made happy in the first or even in the second
volume. But the expedients employed to delay this term of felicity, are
sometimes such as the laws of a civilized society ought really to
proscribe. I will mention the first example that occurs to me, though
your better memory will directly suggest many more striking and more
flagrant. It is taken from the work of no mean artist; indeed, none but
a writer of more or less talent could inflict this gratuitous anguish
upon us. In the novel of _Rienzi_, a young nobleman, Adrian, goes to
Florence, at that time visited by the plague, to seek his betrothed
Irene, sister of the Tribune. Fatigue, the extreme heat, and his own
dreadful anxiety, have thrown him into a fever, and he sinks down in the
public thoroughfare. It is Irene herself who rushes to his assistance.
Every one else avoids him, thinking him struck by the plague. She and a
benevolent friar convey him, still in a state of unconsciousness, into
an empty and deserted palace which stood by, and of which there were
many at that time in Florence. She tends him, nurses him day and night,
aided only by the same pious and charitable friar. In his delirium he
raves of that Irene who is standing by his head, and who thus learns
that it is to seek her he has exposed himself to the horrors of the
plague. At the end of this time the friar, who had administered to the
patient some healing draught, tells her, on leaving, that Adrian will
shortly fall into a sound slumber--that this will be the crisis of his
fever--that he will either wake from this sleep restored to
consciousness and health, or will sink under his malady. Adrian falls
accordingly into a sound sleep, Irene watching by his side. Now we know
that the patient is doing well, and our hearts have been sedulously
prepared for the happy interview that is promised us, when, on awaking,
he will see beside him the loved Irene whom he has been seeking, and
recognise in her the saviour of his life. But this sleep lasts longer
than Irene had anticipated; she becomes alarmed, and goes away to seek
the friar. The moment she has left the room, Adrian wakes!--finds
himself well and alone--there is no one to tell him who it is that has
preserved his life; nor has Irene, it seems, left any trace of her
presence. He sallies forth again into the city of the plague to seek
her, and she is destined to return t