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carried on in their presence, let them strive to suppress it, or,
this unavailing, let them have the ears of the deaf. My expe-
rience has shown me, that women who have a taste for this
class of conversation, and I have known a few "ladies" of
education incline this way, are always more or less low in
morals and bad at heart; whilst no moment in my friend'y
intercourse with those of noble lives and noble characters has
ever been sullied by one thought, one word, or act, that the
world might not know, or hear, or see; and I have risen, as 1
always rise, with my conviction strengthened of the beau ycliff, a thousand feet above the cataract; and the Christian
and enormous moral worth of purity in the habits and con-
versation of our sex. If this is so, let it be a beauty and a
moral worth amongst us in poor homes, in mills, in factories,
in shops; it is a beauty and moral worth that shall make a
gentlewoman of the poorest worker; and therefore let par-harvest field.
liamentary commissioners and writers upon social progress
be presently conscious of its advance, and record it as a sign
of sterling and great significance.

to her hands strengthened every root. How was she ever to
descend? That fear, then, but once crossed her heart, as up
-up-up-to the little image made of her own flesh and blood.
"The God who holds me now from perishing,-will not the
same God save me, when my child is on my bosom?" Down
came the fierce rushing of the eagles' wings, -each savage bird
dashing close to her head, so that she saw the yellow of their
wrathful eyes. All at once they quailed and were cowed.
Yelling, they flew off to the stump of an ash jutting out of the
mother falling across the eyrie, in the midst of bones and blood,
clasping her child,-dead-dead-dead,-
‚—no doubt,—but un-
mangled and untorn, and swaddled up, just as it was, when
she laid it down asleep, among the fresh hay, in a nook of the

LESSONS IN READING AND ELOCUTION. No. XXI.

CHILD CARRIED AWAY BY AN EAGLE.

THE great Golden Eagle, the pride and the pest of the parish, stooped down, and away with something in his talons. One single sudden female shriek,-and then shouts and outcries, as if a church spire had tumbled down on a congregation at a sacrament! "Hannah Lamond's bairn! Hannah Lamond's bairn!" was the loud fast-spreading cry. "The eagle 's ta'en off Hannah Lamond's bairn!' and many hundred feet were in another instant hurrying towards the mountain. Two miles, of hill, and dale, and copse, and shingle, and many intersecting brooks, lay between; but, in an incredibly short time, the foot of the mountain was alive with people.

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The eyrie was well known, and both old birds were visible on the rock-ledge. But who shall scale that dizzy cliff, which Mark Steuart, the sailor, who had been at the storming of many a fort, attempted in vain? All kept gazing, weeping, wringing of hands in vain, rooted to the ground, or running back and forwards, like so many ants essaying their new wings in discomfiture. "What's the use,-what's the use,ony puir human means? We have no power but in prayer!" and many knelt down,-fathers and mothers thinking of their own babies, as if they would force the deaf heavens to hear! Hannah Lamond had all this while been sitting on a rock, with a face perfectly white, and eyes like those of a mad person, fixed on the eyrie. Nobody had noticed her; for strong as all sympathies with her had been at the swoop of the eagle, they were row swallowed up in the agony of eyesight."Only last sabbath was my sweet wee wean baptized, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost!" and, on uttering these words, she flew off through the brakes, and over the huge stones, up-up-up-faster than ever huntsman ran in to the death,-fearless as a goat playing among the precipices.

No one doubted, no one could doubt, that she would soon be dashed to pieces. But have not people who walk in their sleep, obedient to the mysterious guidance of dreams, climbed the walls of old ruins, and found footing, even in decrepitude, along the edge of unguarded battlemen's, and down dilapidated stair cases, deep as draw. wells, or coal-pits, and returned with open, fixed, and unseeing eyes, unharmed to their beds, at midnight? It is all the work of the soul, to whom the body is a slave; and shall not the agony of a mother's passion, who sees her baby, whose warm mouth had just left her breast, hurried off by a demon to a hideous death,-bear her limbs aloft wherever there is dust to dust, till she reach that devouring den, and fiercer and more furious far, in the passion of love, than any bird of prey that ever bathed its beak in blood, throttle the fiends that with their heavy wings would fain flap her down the cliffs, and hold up her child, in deliver ance, before the eye of the all-seeing God!

No stop,-no stav,-she knew not that she drew her breath. Beneath her feet Providence fastened every loose stone, and

Oh! what a pang of perfect blessedness transfixed her heart from that faint feeble cry:-"It lives-it lives-it lives!" and baring her bosom, with loud laughter, and eyes dry as stones, she felt the lips of the unconscious innocent once more murmuring at the fount of life and love! "O Thou great, and thou dreadful God! whither hast thou brought me,-one of the most sinful of thy creatures? Oh! save my soul, lest it perish, even for thy own name's sake! O thou, who diedst to save sinners, have mercy upon me!"

Cliffs, chasms, blocks of stone, and the skeletons of old trees,-far-far down, and dwindled into specks, a thousand creatures of her own kind, stationary, or running to and fro! Was that the sound of the waterfall, or the faint roar of voices? Is that her native strath?-and that tuft of trees, does it contain the hut in which stands the cradle of her child? Never more shall it be rocked by her foot! Here must she die,-and when her breast is exhausted, her baby too! And those horrid beaks, and eyes, and talons, and wings, will return; and her child will be devoured at last, even within the dead bosom that can protect it no longer.

Where all this while was Mark Steuart, the sailor? Half way up the cliffs. But his eye had got dim, and his head dizzy, and his heart sick ;—and he who had so often reefed the top-gallant sail, when at midnight the coming of the gale was heard afar, covered his face with his hands, and dared look no longer on the swimming heights.

"And who will take care of my poor bed-ridden mother?" thought Hannah, whose soul, through the exhaustion of so many passions, could no more retain, in its grasp, that hope which it had clutched in despair. A voice whispered, "God!" She looked around, expecting to see an angel-but nothing moved, except a rotten branch, that, under its own weight, broke off from the crumbling rock. Her eye,-by some secret sympathy of her soul with the inanimate object,watched its fall and it seemed to stop, not far off, on a small platform.

Her child was bound within her bosom,-she remembered not how or when,-but it was safe ;-and scarcely daring to open her eyes, she slid down the shelving rocks, and found herself on a small piece of firm root-bound soil, with the tops of bushes appearing below. With fingers suddenly strengthened into the power of iron, she swung herself down by brier, and broom, and heather, and dwarf-birch. There, a loosened stone leapt over a ledge; and no sound was heard, so profound was its fall. There the shingle rattled down the screes, and she hesitated not to follow. Her feet bounded against the huge stone that stopped them, but she felt no pain. Her body was callous as the cliff.

Steep as the wall of a house, was now the side of the precipice. But it was matted with ivy centuries old,-long ago dead, and without a single green leaf,-but with thousands of arm-thick stems, petrified into the rock, and covering it as with a trellis. She bound her baby to her neck, and with hands and feet clung to that fearful ladder. Turning round her head and looking down, lo! the whole population of the parish, -so great was the multitude, on their knees! and hush! the voice of psalms! a hymn breathing the spirit of one united prayer! Sad and solemn was the strain,-but nothing dirgelike,-breathing not of death, but deliverance. Often had she sung that tune-perhaps the very words, but them she heard 10t,-in her own hut, she and her mother, or in the kirk, along with all the congregation. An unseen hand seemed fastening her fingers to the ribs of ivy; and, in sudden inspiration, believing that her life was to be saved,

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tor that seized those -, and each seemed to upon every face. The from above. Even the in leapt from his seat, we-strick, showed that He spoke not, but the temple, from which Ay approached him, and into his ear, the emperor is dissolved; and recoverigh a very different feelfierce tones, to his guards, ant, hid away among the ip and the place. Seize death!"

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LESSONS IN ITALIAN GRAMMAR.-No. XXXII.

ZA.

By CHARLES TAUSENAU, M.D.,

Of the University of Pavia, and Professor of the Italian and German
Languages at the Kensington Proprietary Grammar School.

II.

Il signor N. mi ha in-vi-a-to al prán-zo; pên-so, che vi tro-ve-d ú-na nu-me-16-sa com-pa-gní-a. U-sci-à Ella &g-gi a ca-vá-lo? Le mi-e soêl-le ar-ri-ve-an-no prê-sto. Pietro ch had been deepen- vi ren-de-à túr-to quéi-lo ch' egli ha pé-so. Perchè non mi he sun; a distant peal na El-la ren-dú-to il mi-o sa-lúero? U-na vôl-ta ren-de-ré-mo 1, at the same moment, cómo dél-le nô-stre a-zió-ni. Ri-spon-de-rò á1·la Sú-a lê •te-ra Avice of preternatural ai nô-ve di quéo mé... e. Quá do ti-ni-ré-te vót? A với the whole multitude già fi-ní-to, s' E'l-la non m'a-vésse im-pe-di-to. Finiste King eternal, immor--dún-que. Ar-ver-tiò Sú-o pú-dre dél-la di Lê,i ne-gli.gên. Man-ge-tê-i un fi-co, se non te-messi il mal di dênsti. Non ven-de-tê-i la mi-a pí-pa di schiú-ma di má-re, se le cir-co-s án-ze non mi ob-hli-ga-se-ro. Se vói a-má-ste ve-ra, mén-te la lingua i-ta-lia-na, la stu-die-é-ste con pù dielie gên-zi. Vor-tê-i che voi ter-mi-ná-ste l'ô-ne-ra che aé-te co-min-ciá-ta. Gio-ván-ni, pôrsta su--í-ne, pé-re e pó-mi. Mi ri-son-da, il più prê-sto possi-bi-le. Sóm-ma qué si nú. me-ri: trô-ve-tá-i ú-va sốm-ma di tre côn-o no-vấn-ta nô-ve zec-chi-ni d'ô-ro. Guar-da-te-vi, qué-sto ca-ne môr-de; non lo bat-té-te. Go-dé-te, a-mi-co mí-o, del ri-pô-so e dél-la fortú-na che me-ri-ta-te! Ub-bi-dí- e ai ge-ni-tó-ri, di-mo-strå-te si-ma ai pre-cet-to-ri, e non con-trad-di-te ai su-pe-rió-ri. A-vé-te com-prá-to tê-i li-bri, im-pre-stá-te-me-li, dá-te-me-ne al-mé-no al-cú-ni. Mo-strá-te-mi la pén-na che a-vé-te tem. prá-ta. Il -stro tem-pe-ri-no non tá-glia più. Se avete di-man-da-to il mi-o, ve lo a-vie-i pre-stá-to con pia-cé-re. Brá-ma El-la, che L'ac-com-pú-gni ál-la pas-se-gia-ta? La rin-giá-zio, La prê-go di re-sá-rẻ a cá sa, af-fin chè ło La tôi, quán-do ri-tor-ne-rd. Lêg-go mól-to, ma non cre-dé-te, che lêg-ga trôp-po. Vô-glio, che spés-so par-liá-te i-ta-liá-no, e vói mi ub-bi-di-ré-te. Cié-do, che i miê-i cu-gi-ni mi pá. ghi-no ôg-gi, e che mi rên-da-no il li-bro, che ho 16-ro prestá-to. Mi con-i-di il Sú-o cor-dô-glio, s' E'l-la vuô-le, ch' 1-0 La con-só-li. Quest' o-ro-lô-gio non va bé-ne, man-da-te-lo dall' o-riuo-lá-jo, at-fin-chè lo ri-på-ri. Té-mo, che non nêvi-chi qué-sta sé-ra. Non cré-do, che piô-va ôg-gi. Non è si-cú-ro, ch' é-gli pár-ta di-ma-ni. Mi-a má-dre non vuole, ch' 1-0 a-spêr-ti più a lún-go. Non sf-tri-ò, ch' E'l-la fú-mi ta-bar-co. Mi pare, ch' i-o non m' in-gan-ni. E' bên tísto, ch' E'l-la áb-bia per-dú-to tán-to da-na-ro. E-ra im-pos-sibi-le, ch' E'l-la ar-ri-vás-se in dú-e giór-ni. Il nô-stro sêr-vo è il più gran pol-tró-ne, ch'io co-no-sca, Il mio vicino è il più brá-vo uô-mo, ch' í-o áb-bia ve-dú-to. Mo-strá-te-mi ú-no che non abbia má-i com-més-so un fal-lo. A'-ma il tuo prôssi-mo. Per-dó-na ai tuô-i ne-mi-ci. O’-gni o-lê-sto uô-mo pá-ghi i suô-i dé-bisti. La sêr-y r-va cón-ti bê-ne qué-sto da-ná. ro. Giuo-chia-mo un pô-co al-le các-te. Prê-di il tuo da-ná-ro. Cór-ri & chia-má-re il mê-di-co. Scrí-vi a ú-a mádre. Be-tiá-mo in-siê-me un bic-chiê-re di birra. Met-té-te le sê-die in 6r-di-ne. Par-ti di qui, e par-ta anch' é-gli. A-pri-te la pôr-ta. Non a-vér sêm-pre giuô-chi in cá-po. Non ê-se-re caí-vo, fan-ciúl-lo! Guglielmo non sia così pí-gro. Non sia-te impa-ziên-ti. Non man-gia-re tan-te su-si-ne. Sí-i al-lé-gro e non te-mé-re niên-te. Non fuma-re ta-bac-co út-to il giór-no. Ma-rísa! non pêr-de-ré il tuo ná-stro. Non a-pri-te le fi-nê-stre,

I the servants of the temple, vy soon emerged, saying that temple, in all its aisles and

scured by thick clouds, which, ..., began now nearer and nearer roll their thunders. The priest prayer to the god, to whom the solemnly consecrated. He again lifted up his voice. But no sooner the temple, and besought his ear, sterior, the same awful sounds issued Thy gods, Q Rome, are false and one! seemed to me with superstitious fear, ring it, artfully and with violence, the i dignity. His voice was a shriek, rather ance, as it cried out, "This is but a rch the temple, till the accursed Nazarine him piece-meal !—," More he would he instant, a bolt of lightning shot from the og upon a large sycamore, which shaded a court, clove it in twain. The swollen cloud ent burst, and a deluge of rain poured upon ple, the gazing multitudes, and the kindled red fires went out, in hissing darkness; a whirled the limbs of the slaughtered victims d abroad over the neighbouring streets. All uproar, terror and dismay. The crowds sought houses of the nearest inhabitants, and the porches Aurelian and the senators, and those nearest the interior of the temple. The heavens blazed: pick flashing of the lightning; and the temple itself rock beneath the voice of the thunder. I never Rome so terrific a tempest. The stoutest trembled; ung by a thread. Great numbers, it has now been every part of the capitol, fell a prey to the fiery bolts. itol itself was struck, and the brass statue of Vesnathe forum, thrown down, and partly melted. The n a few hours, overran its banks, and laid much of the d its borders under water.- William Ware.

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Il n'y a point de paix pour les méchants.—Isate.

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she became almost as fearless, as if she had been changed into a winged creature.

Again her feet touched stones and earth, he rsalm was hushed, but a tremulous sobbing voice was close beside her and lo! a she-goat, with two litle kids at her feet. "Wild heights," thought she, "do these creatures climb;-but the dam will lead down her kid by the easiest paths, for oh! even in the brute creatures, what is the holy power of a mother's love!" and turning round her head, she kissed her sleeping baby, and for the first time she wept.

Overhead frowned the front of the precipice, never touched before by human hand or foot. No one had ever dreamt of scaling it; and the golden eagles knew that well in their instinct as, before they built their eyrie, they had brushed it with their wings. But all the rest of this part of the mountain-side, though scarred, and seamed, and chasmed, was yet accessible;

and more than one person in the parish had reached the bottom of the Glead's Ciff. Many were now attempting it,and ere the cautious mother had followed her dumb guides » hundred yards, though among dangers, that although enough to terrify the stontest heart, were traversed by her without a shudder, the head of one man appeared, and then the head of another; and she knew that God had delivered her and her child, in safety, into the care of their fellow-creatures.

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Not a word was spoken, eyes said enough,-she hushed her friends with her hands, and with uplifted eyes, pointed to the per guides sent to her by heaven. Small green plats, where those creatures nibble the wild flowers, became now more frequent, -trodden lines, almost as easy as sheep-paths, showed tha the dam had not led her young into danger; and now the brush-wood dwindled away into straggling shrubs; and th party stood on a little eminence above the stream, and formin part of the strath,

There had been trouble and agitation, much sobbing, many tears, among the multitude, while the mother scaling the cliffs :-sublime was the shout that echoed the moment she reached the eyrie;-then had succe silence deep as death;-in a little while arose the h prayer, succeeded by mute supplication;-the wil thankful and congratulatory joy had next its sw now that her salvation was sure, the great crow like the wind-swept wood. And for whose sake w alternation of agony? A poor, humble creature, u many even by name,-one who had but few wished for mure, contented to work all day, h any where, that she might be able to su, mother and her little child,-and who on Sabb: in an obscure pew, set apart for paupers, in the Wilson.

TO THE CONDOR

Wondrous, majestic bird: whose 1
Dwells not with puny warblers of
Nor on earth's silent bre

erful to soar in strength and
weep the azure bosom of
Chooses its place of re

hursling of the tempest
nions at the daylight's
In what far clime
ou in silence, breat
ound thee swells
Suspend thy tire

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Yet 'tis thy s
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Tô-stro man-ê-lo. Mi servi...rd déi vô tri lí-bri. Si sêr-va déi miê-i. Nói ei ser-via-mo si és-so di qué-sta car-óz-za, l'-o mi vê-sto. Ve-sti-te-vi an-che. Nói ci ve-si-ré-mo più lár-di. Fran-ce-sco, non ti la vrái an-có-ra? Mila-ve-d in qué-sto mo-mén-to. Non vi siê-te an-có-ra la-vá-ti. La-váte-vi le máni e ve-sí-te-vi. Nói ci la-ve-ré-mo ôg-gi con á-cqua di pioggia. Per-chè Ma-rián-na non mê-te le scar-pe? El-la si la-ve-rà i piê-di. Se a-rés-si dell' á-cqua, mi la-veê- an-che i piê-di. A che ó-ra vi le-va-te või or-di-na-riamén-te ? Mi lẻ-vo 6-gni mat-ti-na al-le tê-i; e mi có-ri-co al-le nô-ve. Cár-lo si le-ve-la di-má...ni á-le quát-tro; é-gli par cciso), to i-rà per Cro-ne-stát-te. Ci le-via-mo più tár-di di Lê-i. Al-tre-vôl-te non ci le-va-vá-mo co-si tár-di. Ri-po-sa-te-vi un pô-co. Mi ri-po-se-1ò un mo-mén-to, só-no stan-chís-si-mo. colto), to Có-me si chia-ma qué-sto gió-va-ne? E'-gli si chia-ma Gughêl-mo. Cré-do, ch' é-gli si chia-mi Gu-gliêl-mo. E vói, có-me vi chia má-te: Mi chia mo Ric-car-do. Fa-te il vô-stro tê-ma; at-fret-tá-te-vi. I'-o mi pên-to del mi-o dilê -10. Mi-o fra-têl-lo si pen-ti-rà d' a-vér men-ti-to. Non mi sổ-no an-có-ra ral-le-giá-to ôg-gi. Ti tê-i in-gan-ni-to Mi-a so-1€l-la non s’è an-có-ra le-và-ta. A che ó-ra s'è E'l-la e-vá-ta qué-sta mat-tí-na? Mi só-no le-vá-to ál-le cín-que; milê-vo 6-gui giór-no di buôn ô-ra, Quán-do mi có-ri-co & -le diê-ci, mi sé-glio al-le cín-que; e quán do mi có-ri-co al-le are, there is or un-di-ci, mi své-glio dó-po le sê-i. Hô ve-dú-to il di Lê-i fraêl-lo. E'l-la S'è in-gan-ná-ta, mí-o fra-têl-lo non è più qui. Non mi só-no in-gan-ná-to, gli hô par-la-to. A che 6-ra vi siê-te vói co-ri-ca-ti jê-ri? Ci siá-mo co-ri-cá-ti ál-le ún-di-ci e mêz-zo. Le tú-e so-rêl-le non si só-no an-có-ra ve-sti-te. Siá-mo stá-ti in cam-pá-gna, ci siá-mo bê-ne di-ver-tí-ti. Mi só-no le-vá-to da un' ó-ra. Non ti ê-i an-6-ra le-vá-to? Se a-vés-si a-vú-to dell' a-cqua, mi sa-tê-i la-va-to. Vô-stro fra-êl-lo s'è già la-vá- o, ma le vô-stre so-rê-le non si xó-no An-có-ra la-va-te. La pri-ma-vé-ra s’av-vi-c1-na. Si ri-côr-da El-la an có ra di qué lo che il fo-re-stiê-re ci rac-con-tò? Ei, me ne ri-côr-do an-có-ra. Ci con-for-me-ré-mo in ó-gui pún-to al co-mán-do che ci a-vé-te dá-to. Fá-te-vi co-rág-gio e con-so-la-te-vi, le cir-co-stan-ze si can-ge-ián-no. Mi lu-sin-go ch' E'l-la ci o-norerà ôg-gi dél-la Sú-a pre-sên-za. El-la si côl-lo-ca sêm-pre di-nán-zi a me, si côl-lo-chi al-tró-ve. Il vô-stro a-mí-co s'è ro-vi-ná-to. Mi-a má-dre s'è ral-le-grá-ta mól-to di ri-vedér-la. Qué-sti si-guó-ri si só-no mói-to di-ver-1í-ti al bál-lo. E's-si si só-no pro-pó-sti d' an-dár-vi án-che la set-ti-má-na che viê.ne.

tlo), to make umerable

Landlady

rate

part. letto), to read to seal, wafer

to find, meet with ature from venire

b, to send

di libri, bookbinder

them to him

bird

(they) make

nest

Crioso, artificial

2. God

them

e, art, skill

So, I can

kordarsi, to recollect

conoscere (past part. conosciuto),
to know

rallegrarsi, to be delighted
salute, health

quanto, how much

quadro, picture

sa,

ar

IV.

knows (sa Ella? do you
know?)

"ân-ta di ca-pír tutto quello che nói ar-ri-ve-rà questa sé-ra; nói ci di-verdi-ver-ti-ré-te án-che. Mi ral-lé-gro di -le-griá-mo sin-ce-ra-mén-te di tro-var-la A-mo che si ral-lé-gra dél-la for-tú-na Perchè vi af-flig-e-te vói? Mi af-flig-go i-o cu-gi-no. Ral-le-gia-te-vi, a-mí-ci, del Le mi-e cu-gí-ne só-no in cam-1 á-gna; si mól-to. Ci sa-no ral-le-grá-ti dél-la let-tú-ra era in-ter-es-sán-te. Non vi fi-da-te di lui. dé-la vô-stra pro-més-sa. Co-pri-te-vi col

nato or -80.

nate Preterite: rima-si,—nesti,—se ;—nemmo,—neste,—sero: note of the preceding exercise also relating to the following oth gli, to him, and le, to her or (in addressing politely) to you. meet with one of the pronouns lo, la li, le, ne, they are for the phony changed into glielo, gliela, it to him, it to her. it to you; ele, them to him, them to her, them to you; and gliene, some to e to her, some to you (or of it, of them, to him, to her, to you). se of the passage is the only guide in such cases. lore a verb beginning with a vowel or smpure gli is put in the place owed by 8). accusative li (m.), them, which is only used before consonants (not

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sinceramente, sincerely, truly
fortuna, fortune, prosperity
affligersi, to grieve
morte, death
campagna, country
lettura, reading
interessante, interes ing
fidarsi to trust 10, rely on
promessa, promise
coprirsi, to cover one's self
mantello, cloak, great coat
servirsi, to make use of
carrozza, coach
vestirsi, to put on one's clothes, Riccardo, Richard
dress (one's self)
fate, do or make (ve)
Francesco, Francis
affrettarsi, to make haste
lavarsi, to wash (one's self) difetto, fault, error, failing
non ancora, not yet
di buon ora, early

Cronestatte, Cronstadt
più tardi di, later than
riposarsi, to repose or rest
one's self

stanchissimo, very tired
chiamarsi, to be called, bear a

name

• In Italian a verb is generally made reflective when it denotes some act performed by the agent (or sujet) on one part of himself,.g. on a limb of his body, on a part of his dress, etc. The English possessive pronouns, my, thy. his, etc., in such cases are translated by the reflective or conjonctive pro un and by the definite article, e. g he cuts his hir, &.gli xi á glia i ca-pél-li (i. c. he cuts to himself the hair): I cut my balls, mi tá glio le inghie (i. e. I cut to myself the nalls); I have hurt my hand, mi son fit-ta má-te ál-la má-no (i. e. I have done some harm to myself on the hand).

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