at every town and city, sitting down forlorn at the gate ----Has _Amandus!_--has my _Amandus_ enter'd? ----till, ----going round, and round, and round the world----chance unexpected bringing them at the same moment of the night, though by different ways, to the gate of _Lyons_, their native city, and each in well-known accents calling out aloud,
Is _Amandus_ } Is my _Amanda_ } still alive?
they fly into each other's arms, and both drop down dead for joy.
There is a soft ra in every gentle mortal's life, where such a story affords more _pabulum_ to the brain, than all the _Frusts_, and _Crusts_, and _Rusts_ of antiquity, which travellers can cook up for it.
----'Twas all that stuck on the right side of the cullender in my own, of what _Spon_ and others, in their accounts of _Lyons_, had _strained_ into it; and finding, moreover, in some Itinerary, but in what God knows ----That sacred to the fidelity of _Amandus_ and _Amanda_, a tomb was built without the gates, where, to this hour, lovers called upon them to attest their truths ----I never could get into a scrape of that kind in my life, but this _tomb of the lovers_ would, somehow or other, come in at the close----nay such a kind of empire had it establish'd over me, that I could seldom think or speak of _Lyons_--and sometimes not so much as see even a _Lyons-waistcoat_, but this remnant of antiquity would present itself to my fancy; and I have often said in my wild way of running on----tho' I fear with some irreverence---- "I thought this shrine (neglected as it was) as valuable as that of _Mecca_, and so little short, except in wealth, of the _Santa Casa_ itself, that some time or other, I would go a pilgrimage (though I had no other business at _Lyons_) on purpose to pay it a visit."
In my list, therefore, of _Videnda_ at _Lyons_, this, tho' _last_, --was not, you see, _least_; so taking a dozen or two of longer strides than usual across my room, just whilst it passed my brain, I walked down calmly into the _Basse Cour_, in order to sally forth; and having called for my bill--as it was uncertain whether I should return to my inn, I had paid it----had moreover given the maid ten sous, and was just receiving the dernier compliments of Monsieur _Le Blanc_, for a pleasant voyage down the _Rhne_----when I was stopped at the gate----
- at every town, sitting down forlorn at the gate - 'Has my Amandus entered?' - till going round and round the world - chance bringing them at the same moment to the gate of Lyons, their native city, and calling out aloud,
'Is Amandus-
'Is my Amanda-
'-still alive?
- they fly into each other's arms, and both drop down dead for joy-
There is a soft era in every gentle mortal's life, where such a story entertains the brain more than all the Crusts and Rusts of antiquity.
'Twas all that stuck in my own brain from my reading of Lyons; in finding, moreover, that a tomb dedicated to Amandus and Amanda was built outside the gates, where lovers call upon them - I never could get into an amorous scrape, without that tomb, somehow or other, coming into my mind at the close.
- Nay, such an empire had it established over me, that I could not think of Lyons without it entering my fancy; and I have often said in my wild irreverent way, 'I thought this neglected shrine as valuable as that of Mecca, and the Santa Casa, and that some time or other, I would go on a pilgrimage to it.'
In my list of sights, therefore, this, though last, was not, you see, the least; so taking longer strides than usual, I walked down calmly; and had paid my bill - and had moreover given the maid ten sous, and was receiving the wishes of my host for a pleasant voyage down the Rhne - when I was stopped at the gate.