saffron glow of the west, spreading
beyond the twilight of middle air. The bat flitted silently by; and,
now and then, the mourning note of the nightingale was heard. The
circumstances of the hour brought to her recollection some lines, which
she had once heard St. Aubert recite on this very spot, and she had now
a melancholy pleasure in repeating them.

SONNET

Now the bat circles on the breeze of eve,
That creeps, in shudd'ring fits, along the wave,
And trembles 'mid the woods, and through the cave
Whose lonely sighs the wanderer deceive;
For oft, when melancholy charms his mind,
He thinks the Spirit of the rock he hears,
Nor listens, but with sweetly-thrilling fears,
To the low, mystic murmurs of the wind!
Now the bat circles, and the twilight-dew
Falls silent round, and, o'er the mountain-cliff,
The gleaming wave, and far-discover'd skiff,
Spreads the gray veil of soft, harmonious hue.
So falls o'er Grief the dew of pity's tear
Dimming her lonely visions of despair.

Emily, wandering on, came to St. Aubert's favourite plane-tree, where so
often, at this hour, they had sat beneath the shade together, and with
her dear mother so often had conversed on the subject of a future state.
How often, too, had her father expressed the comfort he derived from
believing, that they should meet in another world! Emily, overcome by
these recollections, left the plane-tree, and, as she leaned pensively
on the wall of the terrace, she observed a group of peasants dancing
gaily on the banks of the Garonne, which spread in broad expanse below,
and reflected the evening light. What a contrast they formed to the
desolate, unhappy Emily! They were gay and debonnaire, as they were wont
to be when she, too, was gay--when St. Aubert used to listen to their
merry music, with a countenance beaming pleasure and benevolence. Emily,
having looked for a moment on this sprightly band, turned away, unable
to bear the remembrances it excited; but where, alas! could she turn,
and not meet new objects to give acuteness to grief?

As she walked slowly towards the house, she was met by Theresa. 'Dear
ma'amselle,' said she, 'I have been seeking you up and down this half
hour, and was afraid some accident had happened to you. How can you like
to wander about so in this night air! Do come into the house. Think what
my poor master would have said, if he could see you. I am sure, when my
dear lady died, no gentleman could take it mo