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the Virgin. - The string I had touched ceased to vibrate; - in a



moment or two Maria returned to herself, - let her pipe fall, - and

rose up.



And where are you going, Maria? said I. - She said, to Moulines. -

Let us go, said I, together. - Maria put her arm within mine, and



lengthening the string, to let the dog follow, - in that order we

enter'd Moulines.



MARIA. MOULINES.

Though I hate salutations and greetings in the market-place, yet,



when we got into the middle of this, I stopp'd 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



woman, that could the traces be ever worn out of her brain, and

those of Eliza 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.



THE BOURBONNNOIS.

There was nothing from which I had painted out for my self so



joyous a riot of the affections, as in this journey in the vintage,

through this part of France; but pressing through this gate, of



sorrow to it, my sufferings have totally unfitted me. In every

scene of festivity, I saw Maria in the background of the piece,



sitting pensive under her poplar; and I had got almost to Lyons

before I was able to cast a shade across her.



- Dear Sensibility! source inexhausted of all that's precious in

our joys, or costly in our sorrows! thou chainest thy martyr down



upon his bed of straw - and 'tis thou who lift'st him up to Heaven!

- Eternal Fountain of our feelings! - 'tis here I trace thee - and



this is thy "divinity which stirs within me;" - not that, in some

sad and sickening moments, "my soul shrinks back upon herself, and



startles at destruction;" - mere pomp of words! - but that I feel

some generous joys and generous cares beyond myself; - all comes



from thee, great - great SENSORIUM of the world! which vibrates, if

a hair of our heads but falls upon the ground, in the remotest



desert of thy creation. - Touch'd with thee, Eugenius draws my

curtain when I languish - hears my tale of symptoms, and blames the



weather for the disorder of his nerves. Thou giv'st a portion of

it sometimes to the roughest peasant who traverses the bleakest



mountains; - he finds the lacerated lamb of another's flock. - This

moment I behold him leaning with his head against his crook, with



piteous inclination looking down upon it! - Oh! had I come one

moment sooner! it bleeds to death! - his gentle heart bleeds with



it. -

Peace to thee, generous swain! - I see thou walkest off with



anguish, - but thy joys shall balance it; - for, happy is thy

cottage, - and happy is the sharer of it, - and happy are the lambs



which sport about you!

THE SUPPER.



A shoe coming loose from the fore foot of the thill-horse, at the

beginning of the ascent of mount Taurira, the postilion dismounted,



twisted the shoe off, and put it in his pocket; as the ascent was

of five or six miles, and that horse our main dependence, I made a



point of having the shoe fastened on again, as well as we could;

but the postilion had thrown away the nails, and the hammer in the



chaise box being of no great use without them, I submitted to go on.

He had not mounted half a mile higher, when, coming to a flinty



piece of road, the poor devil lost a second shoe, and from off his

other fore foot. I then got out of the chaise in good earnest; and



seeing a house about a quarter of a mile to the left hand, with a

great deal to do I prevailed upon the postilion to turn up to it.



The look of the house, and of every thing about it, as we drew

nearer, soon reconciled me to the disaster. - It was a little farm-



house, surrounded with about twenty acres of vineyard, about as

much corn; - and close to the house, on one side, was a potagerie



of an acre and a half, full of everything which could make plenty

in a French peasant's house; - and, on the other side, was a little



wood, which furnished wherewithal to dress it. It was about eight

in the evening when I got to the house - so I left the postilion to






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