income, he contrived to fupport, though it is probable M. Quefnel, with his very large one, could not have afforded this.

After diftributing to his penfioners their weekly ftipends, iftering patiently to the complaints of fome, redreffing the

grievances of others, and foftening the difcontents of all, by the look of fympathy and the fmile of benevolence, St. Aubert returned home through the woods,

At fall of eve the fairy-people throng,
In various games and revelry to pafs

"where

The fummer night, as village stories tell.”*

The evening gloom of woods was always delightful to me,"

faid St. Aubert, whofe mind now experienced the fweet calm, which results from the confcioufnefs of having done a beneficent action, and which difpofes it to receive pleasure from every fur"I remember that in my youth this gloom rounding object. ufed to call forth to my fancy a thousand fairy vifions, and rothat high enthufafm, which wakes the poet's dream. I can lintransforming eye into the diftannt obfcurity, and liften with thrilling delight to the myftic murmuring of the woods."

ger,

with folemn fteps, under the deep fhades, fent forward a

O my dear father," faid Emily, while a fudden tear started

to her eye, "how exactly you describe what I have felt so often, and which I thought nobody had ever felt but myfelf! But hark! here comes the fweeping found over the wood-tops; now it dies away; how folemn the ftillness that fucceed! Now the breeze fwells again. It is like the voice of fome fupernatural being-the voice of the fpirit of the woods, that watches over them by night. Ah! what light is yonder? But it is gone.

and now it gleams again, near the root of that large chefnut : look, fir!"

66

Are you fuch an admirer of nature," faid St. Aubert," and fo little acquainted with her appearances as not to know that for the glow-worm? But come," added he gaily, "step a little further, and we fhall fee fairies, perhaps ; they are often companThe glow-worm lends his light, and they in return Do you fee nothing charm him with mufic, and the dance. tripping yonder ?"

ions.

"Well my dear fir," faid fhe, "fince you Emily laughed. allow of this alliance, I may venture to own I have anticipated

* THOMPSON,

you; and almost dare venture to repeat fome vérfes I made one evening in thefe very woods."

"Nay," replied St. Aubert, " difmifs the almoft, and venture quite; ler us hear what vagaries fancy has been playing in your mind. If he has given you one of her spells, you need

not envy thofe of the fairies."

"If it is ftrong enough to enchant your judgment, fir," faid Emily, "while I difclofe her images, I need not envy them. The lines go in a fort of tripping meafure, which I thought might fuit the subject well enough, but I fear they are too irregular.

THE GLOW-WORM,

How pleafant is the green-wood's deep-matted fhade
On a mid fummer's eve, when the fresh rain is o'er;
When the yellow beams flope, and fparkle thro' the glade,
And swiftly in the thin air the light fwallows foar !
But fweeter, fweeter, ftill when the fun finks to reft,
And twilight comes on with the fairies fo gay
Tripping through the foreft-walk, where flowers unpreft
Bow not their tall heads beneath their frolic play.
To mufic's fofteft founds they dance away the hour,
Till moon-light fteals down among the trembling leaves,
And checquers all the ground, and guides them to the bow'r,
The long haunted bow'r, where the nightingale grieves.
Then no more they dance, till her fad fong is done,
But, filent as the night to the mourning attend ;
And often as her dying notes their pity have won,
They vow all their facred haunts from mortals to defend.
When, down among the mountains finks the evening ftar,
And the changing moon forfakes this fhadowy fphere,
How cheerlefs would they be, tho' they fairies are
If I, with my pale light, came not near!

Yet cheerlefs tho' they'd be, they're ungrateful to my love !
For, oft when the travellers benighted on his way,

And I glimmer in the path that would guide him thro' the grove,
They bind him in their magic spells to lead him far aftray;
And in the mire to leave him till the flars are all burnt out,
While in ftrange looking fhapes, they frifk about the ground,
And, afar in the woods, they raise a difmal fhout,
Till I fhrink into my cell again for terror of the found!
But, fee where all the tinny elves come dancing in a ring,
With the merry, merry pipe, and the tabor, and the horn,
And the timbrel fo clear, and the lute with dulcet firing;
Then round about the oak they go till peeping of the morn.
Down yonder glade too lovers feal, to fhun the fairy-queen,
Who frowns upon their plighted vows, and jealous is of me,
That yefler-eve I lighted them, along the dewy green,

20

To feek the purple flow'r, whose juice from all her fpells can free,
And now, to punish me, fhe keeps afar her jocund band,
With the merry, merry pipe, and the tabor and the lute;
If I creep near yonder oak the will wave her fairy wand,
And to me the dance will ceafe, and the mufic all be mute.
O! had I but that purple flow'r whofe leaves her charms can foil,
And knew like fays to draw the juice, and throw it on the wind,
I'd be her flave no longer, nor the traveller beguile,
And help all faithful lovers, nor fear the fairy kind!
But foon the vapour of the woods will wander afar,
And the fickle moon will fade, and the ftars disappear,
Then, cheerlefs will they be, tho' they fairies are,

If I,

with

my pale light, come not near!

Whatever St. Aubert might think of the ftanzas, he would not deny his daughter the pleasure of believing that he approved them; and, having given his commendation, he funk into a reverie, and they walked on in filence.

St.

"A faint erroneous ray

Glanc'd from th' imperfect furfaces of things,
Flung half an image on the ftraining eye;
While waving woods, and villages, and ftreams,
And rocks, and mountain tops, that long retain
The afcending gleam, are all one fwimming fcene,
Uncertain if beheld.*"

Aubert continued filent till he reached the chateau, where

his wife had retired to her chamber. The languor and dejection, that had lately oppreffed her, and which the exertion called

forth by the arrival of her guests had fufpended, now returned

with increafed effect. On the following day, fymptoms of fever appeared, and St. Aubert, having sent for medical advice, learned that her diforder was a fever of the fame nature as that, from which he had lately recovered.

She had, indeed, taken

the infection, during her attendance upon him, and, her confti-
tation being too weak to throw out the difeafe immediately, it
had lurked in her veins and occafioned the heavy languor of
which he had complained. St. Aubert, whofe anxiety for his
wife overcame every other confideration, detained the phyfician
in his houfe. He remembered the feelings and the reflections
that had called a momentary gloom upon his mind, on the day
when he had laft vifited the fifhing-houfe in company with Ma-
dame St. Aubert, and he now admitted a prefentiment that this
But he effectually concealed this
illness would be a fatal one.
from her and from his daughter, whom he endeavoured to re-

* THOMPSON.

*

animate with hopes that her conftant affiduities would not be unavailing. The phyfician, when asked by St. Aubert for his opinion of the diforder, replied, that the event of it depended upon circumftances which he could not afcertain. Madame St. Aubert feemed to have formed a more decided one; but her eyes only gave hints of this. She frequently fixed them upon her anxious friends with an expreffion of pity, and of tenderness, as if the anticipated the forrow that awaited them, and that feemed to fay, it was for their fakes only, for their fufferings, that she regretted life. On the feventh day, the diforder was at its crifis. The Phyfician affumed a graver manner, which the observed, and took occafion, when her family had once quitted the chamber, to tell him, that the perceived her death was approaching. "Do not attempt to deceive me," faid fhe, "I feel that I cannot long furvive. I am prepared for the event, I have long, I hope, been preparing for it. Since I have not long to live, do not fuffer a mistaken compaffion to induce you to flatter my family with falfe hopes. If you do their affliction will only be the heavier when it arrives: I will endeavour to teach them refignation by my example."

The phyfician was affected; he promised to obey her, and told St. Aubert, fomewhat abruptly, that there was nothing to expect. The latter was not philofopher enough to reftrain his feelings when he received this information; but a confideration of the increased affliction which the obfervance of his grief would occafion his wife, enabled him, after fome time, to command

himself in her prefence. Emily was at firft overwhelmed with the intelligence; then, deluded by the ftrength of her wishes, a hope fprung up in her mind that her mother would yet recover, and to this the pertinaciously adhered almoft to the last hour.

The progrefs of this disorder was marked on the fide of Madame St. Aubert, by patient fuffering, and fubjected wishes. The compofure, with which the awaited her death, could be derived only from the retrospect of a life governed, as far as hu man fraility permits, by a conscioufnefs of being always in the prefence of the Deity, and by the hope of an higher world. But her piety could not entirely fubdue the grief of parting from * those whom she fo dearly loved. During these her last hours, fhe converfed much with St. Aubert and Emily, on the profpect of futurity, and on other religious topics. The refignation fhe expreffed, with the firm hope of meeting in a future world the friends fhe left in this, and the effort which fometimes appeared to conceal her forrow at this temporary feparation, frequently affected St. Aubert fo much as to oblige him to leave

the room. Having indulged his tears awhile, he would dry them and return to his chamber with a countenance compofed by an endeavour which did but increase his grief.

Never had Emily felt the importance of the leffons, which had taught her to refrain her fenfibility, fo much as in these moments, and never had the practifed them with a triumph fo complete. But when the laft was over, fhe funk at once under the preffure of her forrow, and then perceived that it was hope, as well as fortitude, which had hitherto fupported her. St. Aubert was for a time too devoid of comfort himself to beftow any on his daughter.

CHA P. II.

"I could a tale unfold, whofe lightest word
Would harrow up thy foul."

MADAME

SHAKESPEARE.

ADAME St. Aubert was interred in the neighbouring village church; her husband and daughter attended her to the grave, followed by a long train of the peafantry, whɔ were fincere mourners of this excellent woman.

On his return from the funeral, St. Aubert fhut himself in his chamber. When he came forth, it was with a ferene countenance though pale in forrow. He gave orders that his family. fhould attend him. Emily only was abfent; who, overcome with the scene she had just witnessed, had retired to her closet to weep alone. St. Aubert followed her thither: he took her hand in filence, while the continued to weep; and it was fome moments before he could fo far command his voice as to speak. It trembled while he faid, "My Emily, I am going to prayers with my family; you will join us. We muft afk fupport from above. Where elfe ought we to feek it, where elfe can we find it ?"

Emily checked her tears, and followed her father to the parlour, where the fervants being affembled, St. Aubert read, in a low and folemn voice,the evening fervice, and added a prayer for the foul of the departed. During this, his voice often faltered, his tears fell upon the book, and at length he paufed. But the fublime emotions of pure devotion gradually elevated his views above this world, and finally brought comfort to his heart.

When the service was ended, and the fervants were withdrawn, he tenderly kiffed Emily, and faid, "I have endeavoured to