 past doubting that there are many noble and striking features in his character. But alas, after all, he is but a poor nobleman, and it is not very probable that the rich and powerful Doge of Venice will ever bestow his niece on one who, to speak plainly, arrived here little better than a beggar. No, no, child, believe me, a romantic adventurer is no fit husband for Rosabella of Corfu.

Rosabella.—Dear Camilla, who was talking about husbands? What I feel for Flodoardo is merely affection, friendship.

Camilla.—Indeed! Then you would be perfectly satisfied, should some one of our wealthy ladies bestow her hand on Flodoardo?

Rosabella (hastily).—Oh! Flodoardo would not ACCEPT her hand,
Camilla; of that I am sure.
Camilla.—Child, child, you would willingly deceive yourself. But be assured that a girl who loves ever connects, perhaps unconsciously, the wish for an eternal UNION with the idea of eternal AFFECTION. Now this is a wish which you cannot indulge in regard to Flodoardo without seriously offending your uncle, who, good man as he is, must still submit to the severe control of politics and etiquette.

Rosabella.—I know all that, Camilla, but can I not make you comprehend that I am not in love with Flodoardo, and do not mean to be in love with him, and that love has nothing at all to do in the business? I repeat to you, what I feel for him is nothing but sincere and fervent friendship; and surely Flodoardo deserves that I should feel that sentiment for him. Deserves it, said I? Oh, what does Flodoardo NOT deserve?

Camilla.—Ay, ay, friendship, indeed, and love. Oh, Rosabella, you know not how often these deceivers borrow each other's mask to ensnare the hearts of unsuspecting maidens. You know not how often love finds admission, when wrapped in friendship's cloak, into that bosom, which, had he approached under his own appearance, would have been closed against him for ever. In short, my child, reflect how much you owe to your uncle; reflect how much uneasiness this inclination would cost him; and sacrifice to duty what at present is a mere caprice, but which, if encouraged, might make too deep an impression on your heart to be afterwards removed by your best efforts.

Rosabella.—You say right, Camilla. I really believe myself that my prepossession in Flodoardo's favour is merely an accidental fancy, of which I shall easily get the better. No, no
