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 aether, and are
reflected on the dark mirror of the waters; that hour, which, of all
others, inspires the mind with pensive tenderness, and often elevates
it to sublime contemplation. When the moon shed her soft rays among 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
expression of his own, and endeavoured to bear it, as he meant, with
philosophy, he had, in truth, no philosophy that could render him calm
to such losses. One daughter was now his only surviving child; and,
while he watched the unfolding of her infant character, with anxious
fondness, he endeavoured, with unremitting effort, to counteract
those traits in her disposition, which might hereafter lead her from
happiness. She had discovered in her early years uncommon delicacy
of mind, warm affections, and ready benevolence; but with these was
observable a degree of susceptibility too exquisite to admit of lasting
peace.
As she advanced in youth, this sensibility gave a pensive tone to
her spirits, and a softness to her manner, which added grace to beauty,
and rendered her a very interesting object to persons of a congenial
disposition. But St. Aubert had too much good sense to prefer a charm
to a virtue; and had penetration enough to see, that this charm was too
dangerous to its possessor to be allowed the character of a blessing. He
endeavoured, therefore, to strengthen her mind; to enure her to habits
of self-command; to teach her to reject the first impulse of her
feelings, and to look, with cool examination, upon the disappointments
he sometimes threw in her way. While he instructed her to resist first
impressions, and to acquire that steady dignity of mind, that can alone
counterbalance the passions, and bear us, as far as is compatible with
our nature, above the reach of circumstances, he taught himself a
lesson of fortitude; for he was often obliged to witness, with seeming
indifference, the tears and struggles which his caution occasioned her.
In person, Emily resembled her mother; having the same elegant symmetry
of form, the same delicacy of features, and the same blue eyes, full
of tender sweetness. But, lovely as was her person, it was the varied
expression of her countenance, as conversation awakened the nicer
emotions of her mind, that threw such a captivating grace around her: