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poor Mari'a/ sitting under a pop'lar-she was sitting with her elbow/ in her lap', and her he'ad (leaning on one side') within her hand a small brook' ran at the fo'ot of the tre'e.
I bade the postillion go on with the chaise to Moulines and La Fleur to bespeak my sup'per—and that I should w'alk af'ter him.
She was dressed in white', a'nd/ mu'ch as my friend des'cribed her, except that her hair hung loose', which before was twis'ted within a silken ne't. She had superadded likewise to her jacket a pale-green rib'band, which fell across her shoulder/ to the waist'; at the end of which/ hung her pipe'. Her go'at had been as faith'less as her lover'; and she had got a little dôg/ in lieu of him, which she kept tied by a strin'g/ to her gir'dle ; as I looked at her dog', she drew him towards her with the string —“ Thôu shalt not leave me, S'ylvio,” said she'. I looked in Maria's eyes', and saw she was thinking more of her father/ than of her lovủer) or her little goat; for, as she uttered the words', the te'ars/ trickled down her chee'ks.
I sat down close by' her; and Maria let me wipe them awa'y/ as they fell, with my hand'kerchief. I then steeped it in my own and then in hers'-and, then in mine' -and then I wiped hers' again'-an'd, a's I did it, I felt such undescribable emo'tions within' me, as I am sure could not be accoʻunted for/ from any' combinations of matter and m'otion.
I am positive I have a soul'; no'r/ can all the books' (with which materialists have pestered the world') e'ver convi'nce me of the con'trary.
When Maria had come a little to herself, I asked her, if she remembered a pale/ thin person of a man', who had sat down betwixt her and her go'at/ about two years before' ? She said, she was unsettled much at that time', but remembered it upon two' accounts-th'at, ill as she was', she saw the person pi’tied her ; and next', that her goat had stolen his handkerchief, and she had bea'ten him/ for the theft-she had wa'shed it (she sa'id) in the brook', and kept it ever since in her pocket, to restore-it-to-him/ (in case she should ever see him agʻain), wh'ich (she added) he had half pro'mised her. As she told me thi's, she took the handkerchief out of her pocket/ to let me se'e it : she had folded it up neat'ly, in a couple of vine leaves', tied round with a ten dril-on o'pening it, I saw an S/ marked in one of the cor'ners.
She had since that (she told me) strayed as far as Rome', and walked round St. Peter's once-and returned back that she found her way alon'e across the Apennines —had travelled over all Lombardy/ without mo'ney—and through the filinty roads of Sa'voy) without shoes': how she had bo'rne it, and how she had got support'ed, she cou'ld not t'ell—but/ Go'd/ tempers the wind (said Mari'a) to the shorn' lamb'.
Shorn' indeed! and to the quick, said I ; and, wast thou in my own land', where I have a cot'tage, I would tak'e thee to it, and she'lter thee; thou shouldst eat of my own bread', and drink' of my own cup - I would be kind to thy Syl'vio-in all thy we'aknesses and wanderings I would s'eek after thee, and br’ing thee back when the sun went down'/ I would say my prayers', and, when I had done', thou shouldst play the evening soʻng/ upon thy pipe'; nor would the incense' of my sa'crifice be worse a'ccepted, for entering heaven along with that of a broken he’art.
Nature melted within me', as I uttered this'; and Maria obseʼrving (as I took out my ha'ndkerchief ) that it was steeped too much already to be of u'se, would needs go wash it in the stream —And where will you droy it, Maria ? said I—I will dry it in my bo'som, said she-it will do me good'. And is your heart still so warm, Mari'a ? said I'.
I touched upon the string' on which hung all her sor'rows she looʻked/ (with wistful disor'der)* for some time in my face'; and then' (without saying an'y-thing) took her pi’pe and played her service to the Virgin'—The string I had touch'ed/ ceased to vi brate—in a mo'ment or two', Maria returned to herself-let her pipe fall', and rose up.
And where are you go‘ing, Maria ? said I. She said, To Moulines'-Let us go' (said I') together. Maria put her arm within mine', an'd, le'ngthening the string to let the dog fol'low --in that oʻrder, we entered Moulines'.
Though I hate salutations and greetings in the maréket-place, yet'/ when we got into the middle of this, I stop'ped, to take my last loʻok/ and last farewell' of Mari'a.
Mari'a, though not tall, was neverthele'ss of the first order of fine forms'-affi'ction/ had touched her looks' with some'thing/ that was scarce earth'ly—st'ill she was fe'minine :
* Every illustrative or explanatory adverbial phrase will be improved, if read parenthetically.
• Our general duty before a personal pronoun, as well as before proper nouns, is to take a breath and keep the voice up.
† As a general rule, when “but” means except, and immediately précedes a noun or pronoun, it virtually becomes a preposition-governing the noun or pronoun in the objective case, and always requiring to be pronounced with accentual, almost with emphatic, force.
(however affecting the pic'ture was) that I could not bring it near' me, and that the multitude of sad gro'ups in it, did but distra'ct me
I took a single captive, an'd/ having first shut him up in his du'ngeon, I then looked through the twi'light of his grated d'oor/ to take his pic'ture.
I beheld his body-half wasted aw'ay with long expectation and confi'nement, and fel't what kind of sickness of the he'art it is, which arises from h'ope defer'red. Upon looking ne'arer, I saw him p'ale and fev'erish: in thir'ty years, the western breeze/ had not once fan'ned his blo'od—he had seen no s'un, no mộon, in all that time—no'r/ had the voice of frie'nd or ki'nsman/ breathed through his lattice. His chi'ldren
But here my heart began to ble'ed—and I was forced to go on with ano'ther part of the portrait.
He was sitting upon the gro'und/ upon a little straw, in the farthest corner of his dungeon, which wa's/ alte'rnately/* his cha'ir and be'd : a little calendar of small sticks/ was laid at the he'ad, notched all over/ with the dismal day's and ni'ghts/ he had pass'ed there—he had one of these little sticks in his h’and, and, with a rusty n'ail, he was etching another day of mi'sery/ to add to the he'ap. As I darkened the little light/ he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the doo'r, the'n, cast it down-shook his h'ead, and went on with his work of afflic'tion. I heard his chains upon his leg's/ as he turned his bo'dy/ to lay his little sti'ck upon the bu'ndle--He gave a deep sig'h-I saw the iron enter into his so^ul-I burst into te'ars(I could not sustain the picture of confinement, which my fa'ncy had draw'n.)
* Every significant adverb, as well as every adverbial phrase, requires a pause both before and after it.