The weekly Panola star. [volume] (Panola, Miss.) 1857-1881, 1861-01-31

hours ir lle saefel slalIe 5nae hnl
luted Ny ibe SACRED rfucurs of-
Michael Angelo, unused he tho sull
tiry ioeof N GaliIoi, aud in the
dusky aisle anl typls of the OH
cathclrale eIldod along the sunny
Afno beuoaih true Italian .ky, and
passing dayi on deaoln,c Nallambr0.
sa with Italy th' sweet land of sous,
" love, of romance, al nay lrtt.
Hero ! really believe ! enjoyed prr
feet happlnus, rendy, however, 10 dc.
part for Rome aud Naples upon ihr
receipt Of my expected letters
One day, catclcssly nuntoriug IL
a cathedral, my attention was arrest.
ed by one Of the most exquisite forms
! ever bchcld, passing up an aisle
closely followed by an attendant. I
cannot describe the bewitching grace.
fulncss Of her gait, accompanied by
that firnicntc yolupiuous languor
only to be seen among the dark.eyed
daughters Of Italy, She was ycIlcd,
but | caught glimpses of dreamy,
tender eyes, with shadowy, ictty
frlngcs, showers of soft, raven curls,
and little hands like Parian marble.
She knclt before picture Of the
Virgin. her attendant just behind.
and !, Carlton, prompted by the civil
in my nature, knel, by her side. |
was intoxicated by her beauty, grace,
the delicate perfumes surrounding
her. The last prayer finished, she
mingled with the crowd of dcyotccs
at the door, aud after dipping her
white finger in u chalice Of holy
water, disappeared in the crowd.
"And You did no, follow herr
eagerly inquired Carlton.
Il dared mo-, her youthful dignity
was in itself sufficient TO check my
impcrlincnt demonstrations, yet fell
prcscn,imeht that We should NEE,
again, and we did. At mass, ange
las and vcspers ] met her daily. ye,
/ had only learned her name, Beat
rice, from accidentally seeing it writ
ten on the page OF her nissal. Oul
language was Of the eyes, yet, Carl
ton | did not love her. confess all
! shall bare my heart aud shaw yo,
the cSten, Of my folly and love foI
adventure. No. ! did not love her,
he repeated dreamily. "Thorc wcr,
holy memories in my breast, ; quiet
sacred happiness rooted there; blu'
forget-ine-not eyes as true rs heaven
n ,ress Of pale gold hair rooted nea
my heart, and the echoes Of the sweet
est voice tha, ever vowed the faith o
man. This is why ! did not loy'
Beatrice; call il spell cast upoI
my passions; Imagination. a demoI
l sought not to cxcrcise-call j, y ha
you will. As said before. We me
daily and yet ! had never spoken
though she once smiled a dcliciou
smile. and murmured thanks rs | re
stored her handkerchief.
II was Christmas eve. The bell
were Ginning vespcrs. ! stood, a
; usual, watching her appearance. 4
violen, quarrel at that momen, tool
place between ragged Armcnial
and an Italian. One stabbed th
other 10 the heart, and, endcavoriny
,omakc hi. escape, rushed full again.
the beautiful Beatrice, who was iu.
turning tue corner. Flying to he
, , aii. anil uplifting her fainting forn
! from the ground, with The nasis,ane
of her maid. we conveyed her to
passing empty carriage, and spring
ing in after them. ] bad the pleasur
Of receiving her thanks. uttered il
tones SO exquisi.ely musical iha, IN.
arden, admiration was more than eve
D fred. Arriving at pretty littl
villa near the banks Of the Arnc
Beatrice once more gracefully es
} pressed her gratitude, and was abou
D waving farewell, when my evil ID
mon prompted me to insist upon ac
: companying them into the house
4 The maid half uttered maledictior
.cJ Tl..tr;s. turpel oale but n tran