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the gay and in the busy scenes of the world; but the flattering portrait of mankind, which his heart had delineated in early youth, his experience had too sorrowfully corrected. Yet amidst the changing visions of life, his principles remained unshaken, his benevolence unchilled; and he retired from the multitude, more in pity than in anger, to scenes of simple nature, to the pure delights of literature, and to the exercise of domestic virtues.
He was a descendant from the younger branch of an illustrious family, and it was designed, that the deficiency of his patrimonial wealth should be supplied either by a splendid alliance in marriage, or by success in the intrigues of public affairs. But St. Aubert had too nice a sense of honour to fulfil the latter hope, and too small a portion of ambition to sacrifice what he called happiness to the attainment of wealth. After the death of his father he married a very amiable woman, his equal in birth, and not his superior in fortune. The late Monsieur St. Aubert's liberality, or extravagance, had so much involved his affairs, that his son found it necessary to dis. pose of a part of the family domain; and, some years after his marriage, he sold it to Monsieur Quesnel, the brother of his wife, and retired to a small estate in Gascony, where conjugal felicity and parental duties divided his attention with the treasures of knowledge and the illuminations of genius.
To this spot he had been attached from his in fancy. He had often made excursions to it when a boy; and the impression of delight given to his mind by the homely kindness of the gray headed peasant, to whom it was entrusted, and whose fruit and cream never failed, had not been oblite. rated by succeeding circumstances. The green pastures, along which he had so often bounded in
the exultation of health and youthful freedomthe woods, under whose refreshing shade he had first indulged that pensive melancholy, which af terwards made a strong feature of his character -the wild walks of the mountains, the river, on whose waves he had floated, and the distant plains, which seemed boundless as his early hopes-were never after remembered by St. Aubert but with enthusiasm and regret. At length he disengaged himself from the world, and retired hither, to realize the wishes of many years.
The building, as it then stood, was merely a summer cottage, rendered interesting to a stranger by its neat simplicity, or the beauty of the surrounding scene; and considerable additions were necessary to make it a comfortable family residence. St. Aubert felt a kind of affection for every part of the fabric, which he remembered in his youth, and would not suffer a stone of it to be removed; so that the new building, adapted to the style of the old one, formed with it only a simple and elegant residence. The taste of Ma. dame St. Aubert was conspicuous in its internal finishing, where the same chaste simplicity was observable in the furniture, and in the few ornáments of the apartments, that characterized the manners of its inhabitants.
The library occupied the west side of the châ. teau, and was enriched by a collection of the best books in the ancient and modern languages. This room opened upon a grove, which stood on the brow of a gentle declivity, that fell towards the river, and the tall trees gave it a melancholy and pleasing shade; while from the windows the eye caught, beneath the spreading branches, tlie gay and luxuriant landscape stretching to the west, and overlooked on the left by the bold precipices of the Pyrenées. Adjoining the library was a greenhouse, stored with scarce and beau
tiful plants; for one of the amusements of St. Aubert was the study of botany and among the neighbouring mountains, which afforded a luxurious feast to the mind of the naturalist, he often passed the day in the pursuits of his favourite science. He was sometimes accompanied in these little excursions by Madame St. Aubert, and frequently by his daughter; when with a small osier basket to receive plants, and another filled with cold refreshments, such as the cabin of the shep. herd did not afford, they wandered away among the most romantic and magnificent scenes, nor suffered the charms of Nature's lowly children to abstract them from the observance of her stupendous works, When weary of sauntering among cliff's that seemed scarcely accessible bu to the steps of the enthusiast, and where no track appeared on the vegetation, but what the foot of the izard had left, they would seek one of those green recesses, which so beautifully adorn the bosom of these mountains; where, under the shade of the lofty larch or cedar, they enjoyed their simple repast, made sweeter by the waters of the cool stream, that crept along the turf, and by the breath of wild flowers and aromatic plants, that fringed the rocks, and inlaid the grass.
Adjoining the eastern side of the greenhouse, looking towards the plains of Languedoc, was a room, which Emily called hers, and which con tained her books, her drawings, her musical instruments, with some favourite birds and plants. Here she usually exercised herself in elegant arts, cultivated only because they were congenial to her taste, and in which native genius, assisted by the instructions of Monsieur and Madame St. Aubert, made her an early proficient. The windows of this room were particularly pleasant; they de. scended to the floor, and, opening upon the little rawn that surrounded the house, the eye was led
between groves of almond, palm trees, flowering ash, and myrtle, to the distant landscape, where the Garonne wandered.
The peasants of this gay olimate were often seen on an evening, when the day's labour was done, dancing in groups on the margin of the river. Their sprightly melodies, débonnaire steps, the fanciful figure of their dances, with the tasteful and capricious manner in which the girls adjusted their simple dress, gave a character to the scene entirely French.
The front of the château, which, having a southern aspect, opened upon the grandeur of the mountains, was occupied on the ground floor by a rustic hall, and two excellent sitting rooms. The first floor, for the cottage had no second story, was laid out in bedchambers, except one apartment that opened to a balcony, and which was generally used for a breakfast room.
In the surrounding ground, St. Aubert had made very tasteful improvements; yet such was his attachment to objects he had remembered from his boyish days, that he had in some instances sacrificed taste to sentiment. There were two old larches that shaded the building, and interrupted the prospect; St. Aubert had sometimes declared that he believed he should have been weak enough to have wept at their fall. In addition to these larches he planted a little grove of beech, pine, and mountain ash. On a lofty terrace, formed by the swelling bank of the river, rose a plantation of orange, lemon, and palm trees, whose fruit, in the coolness of evening, breathed delicious fragrance With these were mingled a few trees of other species. Here, under the ample shade of a plane tree, that spread. its majestic canopy towards the river, St. Aubert loved to sit in the fine evenings of summer, with his wife and children, watching beneath its foliage
the setting sun, the mild splendour of its light fading from the distant landscape, till the sha dows of twilight melted its various features into one tint of sober gray. Here, too, he loved to -read and to converse with Madame St. Aubert; or to play with his children, resigning himself to the influence of those sweet affections, which are ever attendant on simplicity and nature. He has often said, while tears of pleasure trembled in his eyes, that these were moments infinitely more delightful than any passed amid the brilliant and tumultuous scenes that are courted by the world. His heart was occupied; it had, what can be so rarely said, no wish for a happiness beyond what it experienced. The consciousness of acting right diffused a serenity over his man. ners, which nothing else could impart to a man of moral perceptions like his, and which refined his sense of every surrounding blessing.
The deepest shade of twilight did not send him from his favourite plane tree. He loved the soothing hour, when the last tints of light die away; when the stars, one by one, tremble through ether, and are reflected on the dark mirror of the waters; that hour, which, of all others, inspires the mind with pensive tender. ness, and often elevates it to sublime contemplation. When the moon shed her soft rays jamong the foliage, he still lingered, and his pastoral supper of cream and fruits was often spread beneath it. Then, on the stillness of night, came the song of the nightingale, breathing sweetness, and awakening melancholy.
The first interruptions to the happiness he had known since his retirement were occasioned by the death of his two sons. He lost them at that age when infantine simplicity is so fascinating; and though, in consideration of Madame St. Aubert's distress, he restrained the expres