Sandra Belloni -- Volume 7

s in a sling, and his Italian servant following him, kept close by his side, with a r

enile points of honour: we are, in short, a civilized people; and seeing that Success has made us what we are, we advise other nations to succeed, or be quiet. Of all of which the gravely-smiling gentleman appeared well aware; for, with an eye that courted none, and a perfectly calm face, he passed through the crowd, only once availing himself of his brown-faced Beppo's spontaneously depressed shoulder when a twinge of pain shooting from his torn foot took his strength away. While he remained in

he is E

e deserves w

ng, short, emphatic, and not uncheerful apparently, if estimated by the hearty l

uring. I don't deny 'em their merits, and I don't mind listening to their squalling, now and then: though, I'll tell you what: have you ever noticed the calves of those singers?-I mean, the men. Perhaps not-for they' ve got none. They're sticks, not legs. Who can think much of fellows with such legs? Now, the next time y

e person who had just kindly furnished a topic. He had been met on his way by a lady unmistakeably foreign in her a

shot!-count how many for one day's work! Ten at Verona; fifteen at Mantua; five-there, stop! If we enter into another alliance with those infernal ruffians!-if they're not branded in the face of Europe as inhuman butchers! if I-by George! if I were

Braintop, there, sufficient for the purpose. For what I've got to go through, among them at Brookfield, Mr. Pow's, it's perf'ctly awful. Mr. Braintop," she turned to the youth, "you may go now. And don't go takin' ship and sailin' for Italy after the little Belloni, for ye haven't a chance-poor fella! though he combs 's hair so careful, Mr. Pow's, and ye might almost laugh and cry together to see ho

ne?" said Merthyr, look

, dear! it makes my blood creep to see a man who's been where t

what day?"

That's certain. Gall'ns of tears has poor Mr. Braintop cried over it, bein' one of the mew-in-a-corner sort of young men, ye

of the window. His wounds throb

Mrs. Chump was giving him the reasons

nin' sends me two thousand pounds-not a penny less! and ye'll believe me, I was in a stiff gape for five minutes when

the opportunity of her name being pronounc

out to the man: if he'd been one o' them that wears a wig, I couldn't ha' spoken so-'Stop ut,' I cries, not a bit afraid of 'm. I wouldn't let the man go on, for all I want to know is, that I'm not rrooned. And now I've got money, I must have friends; for when I hadn't, ye

pared to alight. "Oh! and are ye goin' to let me face the Poles without anyone to lean on in that awful moment, and no one to bear witness how kind I've spoken of

," Merthyr pleaded. "

hfo

'll be goin' on my knees to ye, Mr. Pow's. Weren't ye sent by heaven now? And you to run away! And if you're woundud, won

eyes, and her hot hand

mirable seasoning of stateliness with kindness. Cornelia and Arabella took her hand, listening with an incomparable soft smile to her first protestations, which they quieted, and then led her to Mr. Pole; of whom it may be said, that an accomplished coquette could not in his situation have behaved with a finer skill; so that, albeit received back into the house, Mrs. Chump had yet to discover what her footing the

st; that such was his express desire; that it was her duty to herself and others. And while saying this, which seemed to indicate that widowhood would be her state as far as he was concerned, he pressed her hand with extre

fect comprehension of the apology for his visit, and of his welcome: and they talked, argued a little, differed,, until the terrible thought that he talked, and even looked like some one else, drew the blood from her lips, and robbed her pulses of their play. She spoke of Emilia, saying plainly and humb

r Wilfrid produced a m

as gone to Verona. We

e," she said; a

lous embrace, she gave him the following letter straightway, to save him, haply, from the false shame of that eager demand for one, which she saw ready to leap to words in his eyes. He read it,

Frie

to talk of it!-I never can think it the Devil who has got the upper hand. What succeeds, I always think should succeed-was meant to, because the sky looks clear over it. This knocks a blow at my heart and keeps it silent and only just beating. I feel th

lm friend! to keep calling you friend, and friend, puts me to sleep softly!-Yes, I have my voice. I felt I had it, like some one in a room with us when we will not open our eyes. There was misery everywhere, and yet I was glad. I kept it secret. I began to feel

. He heard me, and my scheme succeeded. If Italy knew as well as I, she would never let her voice be heard till she is sure of it:-Yes! from foot to head, I knew it was impossible to fail. If a country means to be free, the fire must run through it and make it feel that certainty. Then-away the whitecoat! I sang, and the man twisted, as if I had bent him in my hand. He rushed to me, and offered me any terms I pleased, if for three years I would go to the

Merthyr! I should sink to the ground like a dead body when I think of separation from you for three years. But, what am I? I am a raw girl. I command nothing but raw and flighty hearts of men. Are th

half-despise a man to love him? May no dear woman that I know ever marry the man she first loves! My misery now is gladness, is like rain-drops on rising wings, if I say to myself 'Free! free, Emilia!' I am bound for three years, but I smile at such a bondage to my body. Evviva! my soul is free! Three years of freedom, and no sounding of myself-th

l, and take sharp words, and fret at trifles! I lift my face to that prospect as if I smelt new air. I am changeing-I have no dreams of Italy, no longings, but go to see her like a machine ready to do my work. Whoever speaks to me, I feel that I look at them and know

hudder at the thought of one we knew. He makes Love seem like a yellow light over a plague-spotted city, like a painting I have seen. Goodbye to the name of Love for three years! My engagement to Mr. Pericles is that I am not to write, not to receive letters. To you I say now, trust me for thre

a

ly and aff

r fr

hter by the m

lessandra

ITOR'S B

the deep is of

ong the road, ad

ad been eyeing a g

r. Pericles is tha

my first question is,

astly

ld Apri

he. Not now?-does

ay at Life! When you

in England, breathing

hort, a civi

into the hazy inter

Emilia, that grew mo