ening comparison,
served to heighten.

The dance ceased on the approach of the carriage, which was a phenomenon
in these sequestered woods, and the peasantry flocked round it with
eager curiosity. On learning that it brought a sick stranger, several
girls ran across the turf, and returned with wine and baskets of grapes,
which they presented to the travellers, each with kind contention
pressing for a preference. At length, the carriage stopped at a neat
cottage, and his venerable conductor, having assisted St. Aubert to
alight, led him and Emily to a small inner room, illuminated only by
moon-beams, which the open casement admitted. St. Aubert, rejoicing in
rest, seated himself in an arm-chair, and his senses were refreshed by
the cool and balmy air, that lightly waved the embowering honeysuckles,
and wafted their sweet breath into the apartment. His host, who was
called La Voisin, quitted the room, but soon returned with fruits,
cream, and all the pastoral luxury his cottage afforded; having set down
which, with a smile of unfeigned welcome, he retired behind the chair of
his guest. St. Aubert insisted on his taking a seat at the table, and,
when the fruit had allayed the fever of his palate, and he found himself
somewhat revived, he began to converse with his host, who communicated
several particulars concerning himself and his family, which were
interesting, because they were spoken from the heart, and delineated
a picture of the sweet courtesies of family kindness. Emily sat by her
father, holding his hand, and, while she listened to the old man, her
heart swelled with the affectionate sympathy he described, and her
tears fell to the mournful consideration, that death would probably
soon deprive her of the dearest blessing she then possessed. The soft
moon-light of an autumnal evening, and the distant music, which now
sounded a plaintive strain, aided the melancholy of her mind. The old
man continued to talk of his family, and St. Aubert remained silent.
'I have only one daughter living,' said La Voisin, 'but she is happily
married, and is every thing to me. When I lost my wife,' he added with
a sigh, 'I came to live with Agnes, and her family; she has several
children, who are all dancing on the green yonder, as merry as
grasshoppers--and long may they be so! I hope to die among them,
monsieur. I am old now, and cannot expect to live long, but there is
some comfort in dying surrounded by one's children.'

'My goo