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Irving, Washington, 1783-1859

"Tales of a Traveller"

He walked out with his
Venetian friends and a young Frenchman of an interesting demeanor, who
had become sociable with them in the course of the conversation. They
directed their steps toward the sea, which was lit up by the rising
moon. The Venetian, out of politeness, left his beautiful wife to be
escorted by the Englishman. The latter, however, either from shyness or
reserve, did not avail himself of the civility, but walked on without
offering his arm. The fair Venetian, with all her devotion to her
husband, was a little nettled at a want of gallantry to which her
charms had rendered her unaccustomed, and took the proffered arm of the
Frenchman with a pretty air of pique, which, however, was entirely lost
upon the phlegmatic delinquent.
Not far distant from the inn they came to where there was a body of
soldiers on the beach, encircling and guarding a number of galley
slaves, who were permitted to refresh themselves in the evening breeze,
and to sport and roll upon the sand.
"It was difficult," the Frenchman observed, "to conceive a more
frightful mass of crime than was here collected. The parricide, the
fratricide, the infanticide, who had first fled from justice and turned
mountain bandit, and then, by betraying his brother desperadoes, had
bought a commutation of punishment, and the privilege of wallowing on
the shore for an hour a day, with this wretched crew of miscreants!"
The remark of the Frenchman had a strong effect upon the company,
particularly upon the Venetian lady, who shuddered as she cast a timid
look at this horde of wretches at their evening relaxation.


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