ornaments, and every thing that appeared denoted the false taste and corrupted sentiments of the present owner. St. Aubert followed a gay Parisian servant to a parlour, where sat Monsieur and Madame Quesnel, who received him with a stately politeness, and, after a few formal words of condolement, seemed to have forgotten that they ever had a sister. Emily felt tears swell in her eyes, and then resentment checked them. St. Aubert, calm and deliberate, preserved his dignity without assuming importance, and Quesnel was depressed by his presence without exactly knowing wherefore. After some general conversation, St. Aubert requested to speak with him alone; and Emily being left with Madame Quesnel, soon learned that a large party was invited to dine at the chateau, and was compelled to hear that nothing which was passed and irremediable, ought to prevent the festivity of the present hour St. Aubert, when he was told that company were expected, felt a mixed emotion of disgust and indignation against the insensibility of Quesnel, which prompted him to return home immediately. But he was informed that Madame Cheron had been asked to meet him; and when he looked at Emily, and considered that a time might come when the enmity of her uncle would be prejudicial to her, he determined not to incur it himself, by conduct which would be resented as indecorous, by the very persons who now showed so little sense of decorum. Among the visitors assembled at dinner were two Italian gentlemen, of whom one was named Montoni, a distant relation of Madame Quesnel, a man of about forty, of an uncommonly handsome person, with features manly and expressive, but whose countenance exhibited, upon the whole, more of the haughtiness of command, and the quickness of discernment than of any other character. Signor Cavigni, his friend, appeared to be about thirtyinferior in dignity, but equal to him in penetration of countenance, and superior in insinuation of manner. Emily was shocked by the salutation with which Madame Cheron met her father-Dear brother, said she, I am concerned to see you look so very ill; do, pray, have advice! St. Aubert answered, with a melancholy smile, that he felt himself much as usual; but Emily's fears made her now fancy that he looked worse than he really did. Emily would have been amused by the new characters she saw, and the varied conversation that passed during dinner, which was served in a style of splendour she had seldom seen before, had her spirits been less oppressed. Of the guests, Signor Montoni was lately from Italy, and he spoke of the commotions which at that period agitated the tountry; talked of party differences with warmth, and then lamented the probable consequences of the tumults. Hin friend spoke with equal ardour of the politics of his coun try; praised the government and prosperity of Venice, and boasted of its decided superiority over all the other Italian states. He then turned to the ladies, and talked with the same eloquence of Parisian fashions, the French opera, and French manners; and on the latter subject he did not fail to mingle what is so particularly agreeable tc French taste. The flattery was not detected by those to whom it was addressed, though its effects in produ cing submissive attention did not escape his observation. When he could disengage himself from the assi duities of the other ladies, he sometimes addressed Emily: but she knew nothing of Parisian fashions, or Parisian operas; and her modesty, simplicity, and correct manners, formed a decided contrast to those of her female com panions. After dinner, St. Aubert stole from the room to view onco more the old chesnut which Quesnel talked of cutting down. As he stood under its shade, and looked up among its branches, still luxuriant, and saw here and there the blue sky trembling between them, the pursuits and events of his early days crowded fast to his mind, with the figures and characters of friends-long since gone from the earth and he now felt himself to be almost an insulated being, with nobody but his Emily for his heart to turn to. He stood lost amid the scenes of years which fancy called up, till the succession closed with the picture of his dying wife; and he started away, to forget it, if possible, at the social board. St. Aubert ordered his carriage at an early hour, and Emily observed that he was more than usually silent and dejected on the way home; but she considered this to be the effect of his visit to a place which spoke so eloquently of former times, nor suspected that he had a cause of grief which he concealed from her. On entering the chateau she felt more depressed than ever, for she more than ever missed the presence of that dear parent who, whenever she had been from home, used to welcome her return with smiles and fondness: now all was silent and forsaken! But what reason and effort may fail to do, time effects: week after week passed away, and each, as it passed, stole something from the harshness of her affliction, till it was mellowed to that tenderness which the feeling heart cherishes as sacred. St. Aubert on the contrary, visibly declined in health; though Emily, who had been so constantly with him, was almost the last person who observed it. His constitution had never recovered from the late attack of the fever; and the succeeding shock it received from Madame St. Aubert's death had produced its present infirmity. His physician now ordered him to travel; for it was perceptible that sorrow had seized upon his nerves, weakened as they had been by the preceding illness; a variety of scene, it was probable, would, by amusing his mind, restore them to their proper tone. For some days, Emily was occupied in preparations to attend him; and he, by endeavours to diminish his expenses at home during the journey-a purpose which determined him at length to dismiss his domestics. Emily seldom opposed her father's wishes by questions or remonstrances, or she would now have asked why he did not take a servant, and have represented that his infirm health made one almost necessary. But when, on the eve of their departure, she found that he had dismissed Jaques, Francis, and Mary, and retained only Theresa, the old housekeeper, she was extremely surprised, and ventured to ask his reason for having done so. To save expenses, my dear, he replied:-we are going on an expensive excursion. The physician had prescribed the air of Languedoc and Provence; and St. Aubert determined, therefore, to travel leisurely along the shores of the Mediterranean, towards Provence. They retired early to their chamber on the night before their departure; but Emily had a few books and other things to collect, and the clock had struck twelve before she had finished, or had remembered that some of her drawing instruments, which she meant to take with her, were in the parlour below. As she went to fetch these, she passed her father's room, and perceiving the door half open, concluded he was in his study; for, since the death of Madame St. Aubert, it had been frequently his custom to rise from his restless bed, and go thither to compose his mind. When she was below stairs she looked into this room, but without finding him; and as she returned to her chamber, she tapped at his door, and receiving no answer, stepped softly in to be certain whether he was there. The room was dark, but a light glimmered through some panes of glass that were placed in the upper part of a closet door. Emily believed her father to be in the closet, and, surprised that he was up at so late an hour, apprehended he was unwell, and was going to inquire: but, considering that her sudden appearance at this hour might alarm him, she removed her light to the staircase, and then stepped softly to the closet. On looking through the panes of glass, she saw him seated at a small table, with papers before him, some of which he was reading with deep attention and interest, during which he often wept and sobbed aloud. Emily, who had come to the door to learn whether her father was ill, was now detained there by a mixture of curiosity and tenderness. She could not witness his sorrow without being anxious to know the subject of it; and she therefore continued to observe him in silence, concluding that those papers were letters of her late mother. Presently he kneeled down, and, with a look so solemn as she had seldoin seen him assume, and which was mingled with a certain wild expression, that partook more of horror than of any other character, he prayed silently for a considerable time. When he arose, a ghastly paleness was on his countenance. Emily was hastily retiring; but she saw him turn again to the papers, and she stopped. He took from among them a small case, and from thence a miniature picture. The rays of light fell strongly upon it, and she perceived it to be that of a lady, but not of her mother. St. Aubert gazed earnestly and tenderly upon this por trait, put it to his lips, and then to his heart, and sighed with a convulsive force. Emily could scarcely believe what she saw to be real. She never knew till now that he had a picture of any other lady than her mother, much less that he had one that he evidently valued so highly; but having looked repeatedly, to be certain that it was not the resemblance of Madame St. Aubert, she became entirely convinced that it was designed for some other person. At length St. Aubert returned the picture in its case; and Emily, recollecting that she was intruding upon his private sorrows, softly withdrew from the chamber. -000 CHAPTER III. "O how canst thou renounce the boundless store All that the mountains sheltering bosom shields, O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ↑ These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health, THE MINSTREL ST. AUBERT, instead of taking the more direct road, that ran along the feet of the Pyrenees to Languedoc, chose one that, winding over the heights, afforded more extensive views and greater variety of romantic scenery. He turned a little out of his way to take leave of M. Barreaux, whom he found botanizing in the wood near his chateau, and who, when he was told the purpose of St. Aubert's visit, expressed a degree of concern, such as his friend thought it was scarcely possible for him to feel on any similar occasion They parted with mutual regret. If any thing could have tempted me from my retirement, said M. Barreaux, it would have been the pleasure of accompanying you on this little tour. I do not often offer compliments; you may, therefore, believe me when I say, that I shall look for your return with impatience. The travellers proceeded on their journey. As they ascended his heights, St. Aubert often looked back upon his chateau in the plain below: tender images crowded to his mind; his melancholy imagination suggested that he should return no more; and, though he checked this wandering thought, still he continued to look, till the haziness of distance blended his home with the general landscape, and St. Aubert seemed to "Drag at each remove a lengthening chain.” He and Emily continued sunk in musing silence for some leagues; from which melancholy reverie Emily first awoke, and her young fancy, struck with the grandeur of the objects around, gradually yielded to delightful impressions. The road now descended into glens, confined by stupendous walls of rock, gray and barren, except where shrubs fringed their summits, or patches of meagre vegetation tinted their recesses, in which the wild goat was frequently browsing. And now the way lay to the lofty cliffs, from whence the landscape was seen extending in all its magnificence. Emily could not restrain her transport as she looked over the pine forests of the mountains upon the vast plains, that (enriched with woods, towns, blushing vines, and plantations of almonds, palms and olives) stretched along, till their various colours inelted in distance into one harmonious hue, that seemed to unite earth with heaven. Through the whole of this glorious scene the majestic Garonne wandered; descending from its source, among the Pyrenees, and winding its blue waves towards the Bay of Biscay. The ruggedness of the unfrequented road often obliged the wanderers to alight from their little carriage; but they thought themselves amply repaid for this inconvenience by the grandeur of the scenes; and, while the muleteer led his animals slowly over the broken ground, the travellers had leisure to linger amid these solitudes, and to indulge the sublime reflections, which soften, while they elevate the heart, and fill it with the certainty of a present God! Still the enjoyment of St. Aubert was touched with that pensive melancholy which gives to every object a mellower tint, and breathes a scacred charm over all around. They had provided against part of the evil to be encountered from a want of convenient inns, by carrying a stock of provisions in the carriage; so that they might take refreshment on any pleasant spot, in the open air, and pass the nights wherever they should happen to meet with a |