ife, not only as it preserves us in
the various and dangerous temptations that call us from rectitude and
virtue, but as it limits the indulgences which are termed virtuous,
yet which, extended beyond a certain boundary, are vicious, for their
consequence is evil. All excess is vicious; even that sorrow, which is
amiable in its origin, becomes a selfish and unjust passion, if indulged
at the expence of our duties--by our duties I mean what we owe to
ourselves, as well as to others. The indulgence of excessive grief
enervates the mind, and almost incapacitates it for again partaking of
those various innocent enjoyments which a benevolent God designed to be
the sun-shine of our lives. My dear Emily, recollect and practise the
precepts I have so often given you, and which your own experience has so
often shewn you to be wise.

'Your sorrow is useless. Do not receive this as merely a commonplace
remark, but let reason THEREFORE restrain sorrow. I would not annihilate
your feelings, my child, I would only teach you to command them; for
whatever may be the evils resulting from a too susceptible heart,
nothing can be hoped from an insensible one; that, on the other hand,
is all vice--vice, of which the deformity is not softened, or the effect
consoled for, by any semblance or possibility of good. You know my
sufferings, and are, therefore, convinced that mine are not the light
words which, on these occasions, are so often repeated to destroy even
the sources of honest emotion, or which merely display the selfish
ostentation of a false philosophy. I will shew my Emily, that I can
practise what I advise. I have said thus much, because I cannot bear to
see you wasting in useless sorrow, for want of that resistance which
is due from mind; and I have not said it till now, because there is
a period when all reasoning must yield to nature; that is past: and
another, when excessive indulgence, having sunk into habit, weighs
down the elasticity of the spirits so as to render conquest nearly
impossible; this is to come. You, my Emily, will shew that you are
willing to avoid it.'

Emily smiled through her tears upon her father: 'Dear sir,' said she,
and her voice trembled; she would have added, 'I will shew myself worthy
of being your daughter;' but a mingled emotion of gratitude, affection,
and grief overcame her. St. Aubert suffered her to weep without
interruption, and then began to talk on common topics.

The first person who came