They'll soon unclasp themselves. Wait but a little You know you 're sure of her! App. I have not time To idle with thee; give her to my Lictors. Vir. Appius, I pray you wait! If she is not A moment with her nurse; perhaps she 'll give me And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it, App. Have your wish. Be brief! Lictors, look to them. Virginia. Do you go from me? Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me with you? Will you take me home again? O, bless you? bless you! My father! my dear father! Art thou not My father? [VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously round the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall, with a knife upon it. Vir. This way, my child—No, no; I am not going [Virginius secures the knife. Vir. Short time for converse, Appius, But I have. [VIRGINIA shrieks, and falls half-dead upon her father's shoulder.] Vir. Another moment, pray you. Bear with me A little 'Tis my last embrace. 'Twon't try Your patience beyond bearing, if you 're a man! Long. My dear child! My dear Virginia! [Kissing her. [Stabs her, and draws out the knife. ICILIUS breaks from the soldiers that held him, and catches her.] Lo, Appius, with this innocent blood I do devote thee to the infernal gods! App. Stop him! Seize him! Vir. If they dare To tempt the desperate weapon that is maddened [Exit through the soldiers. James Sheridan Knowles. From the Dodge Club: or, Italy in MDCCCLIX. She La Cica did not speak the best English in the world; yet that could not account for all the singular remarks which she made. Still less could it account for the tender interest of her manner. had remarkably bright eyes. Why wandered those eyes so often to his, and why did they beam with such devotion-beaming for a moment only to fall in sweet innocent confusion? La Cica had the most fascinating manners, yet they were often perplexing to the Senator's soul. "The Countess," he thought, "is a most remarkable fine woman; but she does use her eyes uncommon, and I do wish she wouldn't be quite so demonstrative." At last the Senator came to this conclusion: La Cica was desperately in love with him. She appeared to be a widow. Now if the poor Cica was hopelessly in love, it must be stopped at once. For he was a married man, and his good lady still lived, with a very large family, most of the members of which had grown up. La Cica ought to know this. She ought indeed. But let the knowledge be given delicately, not abruptly. On the following evening they walked on the balcony of La Cica's noble residence. She was sentimental, devoted, charming. The conversation of a fascinating woman does not look so well when reported as it is when uttered. Her power is in her tone, her glance, her manner. Who can catch the evanescent beauty of her expression or the deep tenderness of her well-modulated voice? Who indeed? "Does ze scene please you, my Senator?" "Very much indeed." "Youar countrymen haf tol me zey would like to stay here alloway." "It is a beautiful place." "Did you aiver see any thin moaire loafely?" And the Countess looked full in his face. "Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The next instant he blushed. He had been betrayed into a compliment. The Countess sighed. "Helas! my Senator, that it is not pairmitted to moartals to sociate as zey would laike." "'Your Senator," "thought the gentlemen thus addressed; "how fond, how tender-poor thing! poor thing!" "I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," said he. "How I adamiar youar style of mind, so differente from ze ItaliYou are so stong-so nobile. Yet would I laike to see moar of ze poetic in you." ana. "I always loved poetry, marm,” said the Senator, desperately. "Ah-good—nais-eccelente. I am plees at zat," cried the Countess, with much animation. "You would loafe it more eef you knew Italiano. Your langua ees not sufficiente musicale for poatry." "It is not so soft a language as the I-talian." "Ah-no-not so soft. Very well. And what theenka you of ze Italiano?" "The sweetest language I ever heard in all my born days." "Ah, now-you hev not heard much of ze Italiano, my Senator." "I have heard you speak often," said the Senator, naively. "Ah, you compliment! I sot you was aboove flattera." And the Countess playfully tapped his arm with her little fan. "What Ingelis poet do you loafe best?" "Poet? English poet ?" said the Senator, with some surprise. "Oh—why, marm, I think Watts is about the best of the lot !" "Watt? Was he a poet? I did not know zat. He who invented ze stim-injaine? And yet if he was a poet it is naturale zat you loafe him best." "Steam-engine? Oh no! This one was a minister.” "A meeneestaire? Ah! an abbe? I know him not. Yet I haf read mos of all youar poets." "He made up hymns, marm, and psalms—for instance: 'Watts Divine Hymns and Spiritual Songs.' "Songs? Spirituelle? Ah, I mus at once procuaire ze works of Watt, which was favorit poet of my Senator." "A lady of such intelligence as you would like the poet Watts," said the Senator, firmly. "He is the best known by far of all our poets." "What? better zan Shakespeare, Milton, Bairon? You much surprass me." "Better known and better loved than the whole lot. Why, his poetry is known by heart through all England and America." "Merciful Heaven! what you tell me! ees eet possibl! An yet he is not known here efen by name. It would please me mooch, my Senator, to haire you make one quotatione. Know you Watt? Tell me some words of his which I "I have a shocking bad memory." may remembaire." "Bad memora! Oh, but you remember somethin, zis most beautiful charm nait - you haf a nobile soul-you must be affecta by beauty by ze ideal. Make for me one quotatione." And she rested her little up imploringly in his face. hand on the Senator's arm, and looked The Senator looked foolish. He felt even more so. Here was a beautiful woman, by act and look showing a tender interest in him. Perplexing - but very flattering after all. So he replied: "You will not let me refuse you any thing." "Aha! you are vera willin to refuse. It is difficulty for me to excitare youar regards. You are fill with the grands ideas. But come- will you spik for me som from your favorit Watt?" "Well, if you wish it so much," said the Senator, kindly, and he hesitated. "Ah-I do wish it so much!" "Ehem!" "Begin," said the Countess. "Behold me. I listen. I hear everysin, and will remember it forava." The only thing that the Senator could think of was the verse which had been running in his head for the last few days, its measured rhymth keeping time with every occupation: "Stop one moment," said the Countess. "I weesh to learn it from you;" and she looked fondly and tenderly up, but instantly dropped her eyes. "Ma willina sol wooda sta- 9.99 "In such a frame as this,' " prompted the Senator. 666 'Een socha framas zees.' WaitMa willina sol wooda sta in socha framas zees.' Ah, appropriat! but could I hope zat you were true to zose lines, my Senator? Well?" "And sit and sing herself away,' ,'" said the Senator, in a faltering voice, and breaking out into a cold perspiration for fear of committing himself by such uncommonly strong language. "Ansit ansin hassaf awai,'" repeated the Countess, her face lighting up with a sweetly conscious expression. The Senator paused. "I-ehem! I forget." "Forget? Impossible ! " "I do really." "Ah now! Forget? I see by your face--you desave. Say on." The Countess again gently touched his arm with both her little hands, and held it as though she would clasp it. |