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flinty roads of Savoy without shoes: how she had borne it, and how she had got supported, she could not tell--but God tempers the wind, said Maria , to the shorn lamb.
Shorn indeed, and to the quick, said I': and wast thou in my own land, where I have a cottage, I would take thee to it and shelter thee; thou shouldst eat of my own bread, and drink of my own cup--I would be kind to thy Sylvio--in all thy weaknesses and wanderings I would seek after thee, and bring thee back-when the sun went down I would say my prayers, and when I had done, thou shouldst play thy evening song upon thy pipe ; nor would the incense of my sacrifice be worse accepted for entering, heaven along with that of a broken! heart.
Nature melted within me as I uttered this; and Maria observing as I took out my handkerchief, that it was steeped too much already to be of use, would needs go wash it in the stream --and where will you dry it, Maria ? said I--) will dry it in my bosom, said she--it will do me good.
And is your heart still so warm, Maria ? said I.
I touched upon the string on which hung all her sorrows--she looked with wistful disorder for some time in my face; and then, without saying any thing, took her pipe , and played her service to the Virgin. The string I had touched, ceased to vibrate--in a monient or two Maria returned to herself--let her pipe fall, and rose up.
And where are you going , Maria ? said I-She said, to Moulins. Let us go, said I, together. Maria put her arm within mine , and lengthening the striug , to let the dog follow, in that order we entered Moulins.
Though I hate salutations and greetings in the market-place, yet when we got into the middle of this, I stopped to take my last look and last farewell of Maria.
Maria , though not tall, was nevertheless of the first order of fine forms--affliction had touched her looks with something that was scarce earthly--still she was feminine : and so much was there about her of all that the heart wishes, or the eye looks. for in a woman, that could the traces be ever worn out of her brain , and those of Eliza's out of mine , she should not only eat of my bread and drink of my own cup, but Maria should lie in my bosom, and be unto me as a daughter.
Adieu, poor luckless maiden ! imbibe the oil and wine which the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, now pours into thy wounds--the Being who has twice bruised thee can only bind them up for ever. STERNE.
CHA P. X II.
Vet it has been my lot to mark
Two travellers of such a cast,
Who ever saw so fine a blue ? »
'Tis green-I saw it with these eyes,
« I've seen it, Sir , as well as you, . » And must again affirm it blue ; » At leisure I the beast survey'd » Extended in the cooling shade. »
< 'Tis green , 'tis green ; Sir , I assure ye » » Green, » cries the other in a fury
Why, Sir-d'ye think I've lost my eyes ? »
« 'Twere no great loss , » the friend replies;
So bigh at last the contest rose ,
« Sirs, » cries the umpire, a cease your pother, » The creature's neither one nor t'other. » I caught the animal last night, » And view'd it o'er by candle-light : ' w I mark'd it well. 'twas black as jet
» You stare-but Sirs, I've got it yet,
» Well then, at once to ease the doubt,»
He said ; then full before their sight Produc'd the beast, and lo! 'twas white. Both star'd, the man look'd wond'rous wise « My children, » the Cameleon cries, (Then first the creature found a tongue) » You all are right, and all are wrong: » When next you talk of whát you view, » Think others see as well as you: » No wonder, if you find that none » Prefers your eye-sight to his own. »
MERRICK. CHA P. X II I.
The Youth and the Philosopher.
A Grecian Youth, of talents rare,
The Muses drop the learned lyre,
Howe'er the Youth with forward air,
Triumphant to the goal return'd,
Amazement seiz'd the circling crowd;
W HERE London's column, pointing at the skies,