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with the sweetness of her father, that her countenance, though mournful, was highly pleasing. The maids and shepherds of the neighbouring plains gathered round, and. called her Pity. A redbreast was observed to build in the cabin where she was born ; and while she was yet an infant, a dove pursued by a hawk flew into her bosom. This nymph had a dejected appearance, but so soft and gentle a mien, that she was beloved to a degree of enthusiasm. Her voice was low and plaintive, but inexpressibly sweet ; and she loved to lie for hours together on the banks of some wild and melancholy stream, singing to her lute. She taught men to weep, for she took a strange delight in tears'; and often, when the virgins of the hamlet were assembled at their evening sports, she would steal in among them, and captivate their hearts by her tales full of a charming sadness. She wore on her head a garland composed of her father's myrtles twisted with her mother's cypress.

One day as she sat musing by the waters of .Helicon, her tears by chance fell into the fountain ; and ever since the Muses' spring has retained a strong taste of the infusion. Pity was commanded by Jupiter to follow the steps of her mother through the world, dropping balm into the wounds she made, and binding up the hearts she had broken. She follows with her hair loose, her bosom bare and throbbing, her garments torn by the briers, and her feet bleeding with the roughness of the path. The nymph is mortal, for her mother is so; and when she has filled her destined course upon the earth, they shall both expire together, and Love be again united to Joy, his immortal and long-betrothed bride.

MRS. BARBAULD.

CHAPTER IX.

THE DEAD ASS.

And this, said he, putting the remains of a crust into his wallet-and this should have been thy portion, said he, hadst thou been alive to have shared it with me. I thought, by the accent, it had been an apostrophe to his child ; but

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it was to his ass, and to the very ass we had seen dead in the road, which had occasioned La Fleur's misadventure. The man seemed to lament it much ; and it instantly brought into my mind Sancho's lamentations for his; but he did it with more touches of nature.

The mourner was sitting upon a stone bench at the door, with the ass's pannel and its bridle on one side, which he took up from time to time—then laid them down-looked at them, and shook his head. He then took his crust of bread out of his wallet again, as if to eat it; held it some time in his hand—then laid it upon the bit of his ass's bridle-looking wistfully at the little arrangement he had made—and then gave a sigh.

The simplicity of his grief drew numbers about him, and La Fleur among the rest, while the horses were getting ready: as I continued sitting in the postchaise, I could see and hear over their heads.

He said he had come last from Spain, where he had been from the farthest borders of Franconia ; and had got so far on his return home, when the ass died. Every one seemed desirous to know what business could have taken so old and poor a man so far a journey from his own home.

It had pleased Heaven, he said, to bless him with three sons, the finest lads in all Germany; but having in one week lost two of them by the smallpox, and the youngest falling ill of the same distemper, he was afraid of being bereft of them all, and made a vow, if Heaven would not take him from him also, he would go in gratitude to St. Iago, in Spain.

When the mourner got thus far in his story, he stopped to pay nature her tribute—and wept bitterly.

He said Heaven had accepted the conditions; and that he had set out from his cottage with this poor creature, who had been a patient partner of his journey—that it had eaten the same bread with him all the way, and was unto him as a friend.

Every body who stood about heard the poor fellow with concern- -La Fleur offered him money-The mourner said he did not want it it was not the value of the ass-but the loss of him—The ass, he said, he was assured, loved him—and upon this told them a long story of a mischance upon their passage over the Pyrenean mountains, which had separated them from each other three days; during which time the ass had sought him as much as he had sought the ass, and that neither had scarce eaten or drank till they met.

Thou hast one comfort, friend, said I, at least, in the loss of thy poor beast; I am sure thou hast been a merciful master to him.-Alas! said the mourner, I thought so, when he was alive-but now he is dead I think otherwise -I fear the weight of myself, and my afflictions together, have been too much for him—they have shortened the poor creature's days, and I fear I have them to answer for.—Shame on the world! said I to myself—Did we but love each other as this poor soul loved his ass- -twould be something

STERNE.

CHAPTER X.

THE SWORD.

WHEN states and empires have their periods of declension, and feel in their turns what distress and poverty is—I stop not to tell the causes, which gradually brought the house of d'E**** in Britany into decay. The Marquis d'E**** had fought up against his condition with great firmness; wishing to preserve, and still show to the world, some little fragments of what his ancestors had been—their indiscretion had put it out of his power. There was enough left for the little exigencies of obscurity—But he had two boys, who looked up to him for light-he thought they deserved it. He had tried his sword-it could not open the way—the mounting was too expensivemand simple economy was not a match for it—there was no resource but commerce.

In any other province in France, save Britany, this was smiting the root for ever of the little tree his pride and affection wished to see reblossom—But in Britany, there being a provision for this, he availed himself of it; and taking an occasion when the states were assembled at Rennes, the Marquis, attended with his two sons, entered the court; and having pleaded the right of an ancient law of the duchy which, though seldom claimed, he said was no less in force, he took his sword from his side-Heresaid he-take it; and be trusty guardians of it, till better times put me in condition to reclaim it.

The president accepted the marquis's sword-he staid a few minutes to see it deposited in the archives of his house --and departed.

The marquis and his whole family embarked the next day for Martinico, and in about nineteen or twenty years of successful application to business, with some unlooked for bequests from distant branches of his house--returned home to reclaim his nobility, and to support it.

It was an incident of good fortune, which will never happen to any traveller but a sentimental

one,

that I should be at Rennes at the very time of his solemn requisition ; I call it solemn-it was so to me.

The marquis entered the court with his whole family ; he supported his lady-his eldest son supported his sister, and his youngest was at the other extreme of the line next his mother-he put his handkerchief to his face twice

There was a dead silence. When the marquis had approached within six paces of the tribunal, he gave the marchioness to his youngest son, and advancing three steps before his family-he reclaimed his sword. His sword was given him, and the moment he got it into his hand he drew it almost out of the scabbard—it was the shining face of a friend he had once given up. He looked attentively a long time at it, beginning at the hilt, as if to see whether it was the same—when observing a little rust which it had contracted near the point, he brought it near his eye, and bending his head down over it-I think I saw a tear fall upon the place: I could not be deceived by what followed.

“I shall find,” said he,“ some other way to get it off.”

When the marquis had said this, he returned his sword into its scabbard, made a bow to the guardian of it-and, with his wife and daughter, and his two sons following him, walked out. O how I envied him his feelings !

STERNE.

CHAPTER XI.

MARIA.

First Part.

- They were the sweetest notes I ever heard ; and I instantly let down the fore glass to hear them more distinctly

-"Tis Maria, said the postilion, observing I was listeningPoor Maria, continued he, (leaning his body on one side to let me see her, for he was in a line between us,) is sitting upon a bank playing her vespers upon a pipe, with her little goat beside her. The young

fellow uttered this with an accent and a look so perfectly in tune to a feeling heart, that I instantly made a vow I would give him a four and twenty sous piece when I got to Moulines.

-And who is poor Maria ? said I. The love and pity of all the villages around us, said the postilion ;-it is but three years ago, that the sun did not shine upon so fair, so quick-witted, and amiable a maid ; and better fate did Maria deserve, than to have her bans forbid by the intrigues of the curate of the parish who published them

He was going on, when Maria, who had made a short pause, put the pipe to her mouth, and began the air again —they were the same notes—yet were ten times sweeter : It is the evening service to the Virgin, said the young man —but who has taught her to play it-or how she came by her pipe, no one knows: we think that Heaven has assisted her in both; for ever since she has been unsettled in her mind, it seems her only consolation-she has never once had the pipe out of her hand, but plays that service upon

it almost night and day.

The postilion delivered this with so much discretion and natural eloquence, that I could not help deciphering something in his face above his condition, and should have sifted out his history, had not poor Maria taken such full possession of me.

We had got up by this time almost to the bank where Maria was sitting: she was in a thin white jacket, with her

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