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I am positive I have a soul; nor can all the books with which materialists have pesterd the world ever convince me of the contrary. Maria When Maria had come a little to herself, I askd her if she rememberd a pale thin person of a man, who had sat down betwixt her and her goat about two years before? She said, she was unsettled much at that time, but rememberd it upon two accountsthat, ill as she was, she saw the person pitied her; and next, that her goat had stolen his handkerchief, and she had beat him for the theftshe had washd it, she said, in the brook, and kept it ever since in her pocket, to restore it to him in case she should ever see him again, which, she added, he had half promised her. As she told me this, she took the handkerchief out of her pocket to let me see it; she had folded it up neatly in a couple of vine leaves, tied round with a tendril;on opening it, I saw an S. markd in one of the corners. She had since that, she told me, strayd as far as Rome, and walkd round St. Peters onceand returnd backthat she found her way alone across the Apennineshad travelld over all Lombardy without moneyand through the flinty roads of Savoy without shoeshow she had borne it, and how she had got supported, she could not tellbut God tempers the wind, said Maria, to the shorn lamb.2 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 cupI would be kind to thy Sylvioin all thy weaknesses and wanderings, I would seek after thee and bring thee backwhen 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 utterd this; and Maria observing, as I took out my handkerchief, that it was steepd too much already to be of use, would needs go wash it in the stream.And where will you dry it, Maria? said IIll dry it in my bosom, said shetwill do me good. And is your heart still so warm, Maria? said I. I touchd upon the string on which hung all her sorrowsshe lookd with wistful disorder for some time in my face; and then, without saying any thing, took her pipe, and playd her service to the VirginThe string I had touchd ceased to vibratein a moment or two Maria returned to herselflet her pipe falland rose up. And where are you going, Maria? said IShe said, to MoulinesLet us go, said I, togetherMaria put her arm within mine, and lengthening the string, to let the dog followin that order we enterd Moulines. Maria Moulines Tho I hate salutations and greetings in the market-place, yet when we got into the middle of this, I stoppd to take my last look and last farewell of Maria. Maria, though not tall, was nevertheless of the first order of fine formsaffliction had touchd her looks with something that was scarce earthlystill she was feminineand 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 Elizas out of mine, she should not only eat of my bread and drink of my own cup, but Maria should lay in my bosom, and be unto me as a daughter. |
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