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she expected this; for the same night she wrote to him herself. Her letter was long and eloquent. Its expressions seemed to proceed from the over-flowings of a passionate and loving heart. She referred to Alleyn as a common friend, and urged expedition in every measure that was to be pursued. This letter was intercepted and carried to her parents. On the following day Alleyn received a despairing note, entreating him not to attempt to come to the convent. "Alas! she wrote, "how truly miserable I am! What a fate! I suffer, and am the cause of a thousand griefs to others. Oh heaven! I were better dead; then I should cease to lament, or at least to occasion wretchedness to others. Now I am hated by others, and even by myself-Oh, my incomparable friend! Angel of my heart! Can I be the cause of misery even to you? See Giacomo, my beloved friend; tell him how deeply I pitym, but counsel him in my sist from all further pur permit me to ob parents, and they will never Consent. My sole aim now is to escape from this pri
Another and another letter came; and she most earnestly begged him not to come to the convent. Thus nearly a month passed, when one morning early Alleyn was surprised by a visit from the Superior of the convent of St. S- -The old lady seemed very full of matter. She drank the rosoglio presented to her, took snuff, and opened her budget. She talked of the trouble she had ever had with poor Clorinda; inveighed against Giacomo; during her long discourse she praised her own sagacity, the tender affection of Clorinda's parents, and related how she had always opposed the entrance of young men into the convent and their free communication with Clorinda, except his own; but that his politeness and known integrity had in this particular caused her to relax her discipline; and she concluded by inviting him to visit the convent whenever it should be agreeable to him. She then took her leave.
Alleyn was much disturbed. He wished not to go to St. S;
he knew that he ought not to see Clorinda again. He resolved not to go out at all, and sat thinking of her beauty, love, and unaffected manners, until he resolved to walk that he might get rid of such thoughts. He hurried down the Corso, and before he was aware found himself before the door of the convent of St. S. He paused, again he moved, and entered the outer hallhis hand was on the bell, when the door opened and Giacomo came out. Seeing Alleyn, he threw himself into his arms, shedding a torrent of tears. This exordium startled our Englishman; the conclusion was soon told: Clorinda had married Romani the day before, and on the same evening had quitted Rome for Spoleto.
This news sobered Alleyn at once he shuddered almost to think of the folly he had been about to commit, feeling as one who is stayed by a friendly hand when about to place his foot beyond the brink of a high precipice. They turned from the convent door. "And yet," said Alleyn as he walked on, are you secure of the truth of your account? The Superior called on me yesterday and invited me to visit St. SWhy should she do this if Clorinda were gone? I have half a mind to go and fathom this mystery."
"Ay, go by all means," replied Giacomo bitterly, "you will be welcome; fill your pockets with sugar plums; dose the old lady with rosoglio, and kiss the gentle nuns, the youngest of whom bears the weight of sixty years under the fillet on her brow. They miss your good cheer, and who knows, Clorinda gone, what other nets they may weave to secure so valuable a prize. True, you are an Englishman and a heretic; words which, interpreted into pure Tuscan, mean an untired prodigal, and one, pardon me, whose conscience will no more stickle at violating yon sanctuary than at eating flesh on Fridays. Go by all means, and make the best of your good fortune among these Houris."
"Rather say, take post horses for Spoleto, friend Giacomo. And yet neither it is all vanity and vexation of spirit. I will go paint my Profession of Eloisa."
Some folks there are whom others well might teach,
'Tis quite a punishment to hear them preach,
Yet they will still be preaching.
You pride you on your robes of golden hue:
Know, the poor glow-worm hath its brightness too.
You'll have me praise your book, you've often hinted: Well then! your book is beautifully-printed.
Dick bought and read our fav'rite author through,
He who marries once may be
Pardon'd his infirmity;
He who marries twice is mad;
Marrying thrice-don't spare the lad→
ON THE DEATH OF A BEAUTIFUL GIRL.
Sweet maid! she's gone; now, Poets, you may say,
The longest of epitaphs chaunting humanity
'Tis the cant of a priest, or the whine of a lover,
Or the bounce of a pop-gun, that bursts and is over.
Fill every line
Over my shrine
With wine! whine! wine!
Whine! wine! whine.
I heard a bursting grape-bunch taunt a rose
Dick stole but twenty shillings, and Dick straight
Dick, hadst thou stolen as many hundred weight,