No farther fubterfuge, no farther chance; 'Tis Pallas, Pallas, gives thee to my lance Each Grecian ghost by thee depriv'd of breath, Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death. HOMER. Maria. THEY were the fweetest notes I ever heard; and I inftantly let down the foreglass to hear them more distinctly-'Tis Maria, faid the postillion, observing I was listening-Poor Maria, continued he, leaning his body to one fide to let me fee her, (for fhe was in a line betwixt us) is fitting up an on a bank playing her vefpers upon her pipe, with her little goat befide her. The young fellow uttered this with an accent and a look fo perfectly in tune to a feeling heart, that I instantly inade a vow, I would give him a four and twenty fous piece, when I got to Moulines faid I. And who is poor Maria? The love and pity of all the villages around us; faid the poftillion it is but three years ago, that the fun did not fhine upon fo fair, fo quick-witted and amiable a maid; and better fate did Maria deserve, than to have her banns forbid, by the intrigues of the curate of the parish who published them-· He was going on, when Maria, who had made a fhort paufe, put the pipe to her mouth and began the fame air again-they were the fame notes; yet were ten times fweeter; It is the evening fervice to the Virgin, faid the young man-but who has taught her to play it-or how The came by the pipe, no one knows; we think that Heaven has affifted her in both; for ever fince fhe has been unfettled in her mind, it feems her only con folation folation-fhe has never once had the pipe out of her hand, but plays that fervice upon it almost night and day. The poftillion delivered this with fo much difcretion and natural eloquence, that I could not help decyphering fomething in his face above his condition, and fhould have fifted out his hiftory, had not poor Maria taken fuch full poffeffion of me. We had got up by this time almoft to the bank where Maria was fitting she was in a thin white jacket, with her hair, all but two treffes, drawn up into a filken net, with a few olive leaves twisted twisted a little fantastically on one fide-fhe was beautiful; and if ever I felt the full force of an honeft heart-ach, it was the moment I faw her -God help her! poor damfel! above a hundred maffes, faid the poftillion, have been said in the several parish churches and convents around, for her,but without effect; we have still hopes, as she is fenfible for fhort intervals,that the Virgin at last will restore her to herfelf; but her parents, who know her beft, are hopeless upon that score, and think her senses are loft for ever. As the poftillion spoke this, VOL. II. D Maria |