charity of no trivial kind. From one of the windows I saw a little
boy, nine or ten years old, stretching out his hands towards me, and
I heard him call out, "Mamma, mamma, they have placed somebody up
there in the Piombi. Oh, you poor prisoner, who are you?"

"I am Silvio Pellico," was the reply.

Another older boy now ran to the same window, and cried out, "Are
you Silvio Pellico?"

"Yes; and tell me your names, dear boys."

"My name is Antonio S-, and my brother's is Joseph."

He then turned round, and, speaking to some one within, "What else
ought I to ask him?" A lady, whom I conjecture to have been their
mother, then half concealed, suggested some pretty words to them,
which they repeated, and for which I thanked them with all my heart.
These sort of communications were a small matter, yet it required to
be cautious how we indulged in them, lest we should attract the
notice of the jailer. Morning, noon, and night, they were a source
of the greatest consolation; the little boys were constantly in the
habit of bidding me good night, before the windows were closed, and
the lights brought in, "Good night, Silvio," and often it was
repeated by the good lady, in a more subdued voice, "Good night,
Silvio, have courage!"

When engaged at their meals they would say, "How we wish we could
give you any of this good coffee and milk. Pray remember, the first
day they let you out, to come and see us. Mamma and we will give