Laurence Sterne. (1713–1768). A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy.
The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction. 1917.
66. Maria. Moulines
THO’ I hate salutations and greetings in the marketplace, yet when we got into the middle of this, I stopp’d to take my last look and last farewell of Maria. Maria, tho’ not tall, was nevertheless of the first order of fine forms—affliction had touch’d her looks with something that was scarce earthly—still she was feminine—and so much was there about her of all that the heart wishes, or the eye looks for in woman, that could the traces be ever worn out of her brain, and those of Eliza’s out of mine, she should not only eat of my bread and drink of my own cup, but Maria should lay in my bosom, and be unto me as a daughter.
Adieu, poor luckless maiden!—Imbibe the oil and wine which the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, now pours into thy wounds—the being who has twice bruised thee can only bind them up forever.
