to give you an opportunity of shewing me
much kind attention. I cannot doubt, that you will extend this kindness
to my daughter, when I am gone; she will have need of it. I entrust her
to your care during the few days she will remain here. I need say no
more--you know the feelings of a father, for you have children; mine
would be, indeed, severe if I had less confidence in you.' He paused. La
Voisin assured him, and his tears bore testimony to his sincerity, that
he would do all he could to soften her affliction, and that, if St.
Aubert wished it, he would even attend her into Gascony; an offer so
pleasing to St. Aubert, that he had scarcely words to acknowledge his
sense of the old man's kindness, or to tell him, that he accepted it.
The scene, that followed between St. Aubert and Emily, affected La
Voisin so much, that he quitted the chamber, and she was again left
alone with her father, whose spirits seemed fainting fast, but neither
his senses, or his voice, yet failed him; and, at intervals, he employed
much of these last awful moments in advising his daughter, as to her
future conduct. Perhaps, he never had thought more justly, or expressed
himself more clearly, than he did now.

'Above all, my dear Emily,' said he, 'do not indulge in the pride of
fine feeling, the romantic error of amiable minds. Those, who really
possess sensibility, ought early to be taught, that it is a dangerous
quality, which is continually extracting the excess of misery, or
delight, from every surrounding circumstance. And, since, in our passage
through this world, painful circumstances occur more frequently than
pleasing ones, and since our sense of evil is, I fear, more acute than
our sense of good, we become the victims of our feelings, unless we can
in some degree command them. I know you will say, (for you are young, my
Emily) I know you will say, that you are contented sometimes to suffer,
rather than to give up your refined sense of happiness, at others;
but, when your mind has been long harassed by vicissitude, you will be
content to rest, and you will then recover from your delusion. You will
perceive, that the phantom of happiness is exchanged for the substance;
for happiness arises in a state of peace, not of tumult. It is of a
temperate and uniform nature, and can no more exist in a heart, that is
continually alive to minute circumstances, than in one that is dead to
feeling. You see, my dear, that, though I would guard you agai