possessed. The soft moonlight 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 everything 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 good friend,” said St. Aubert, while his voice trembled, “I hope you will long live surrounded by them.” 

 “Ah, sir! at my age I must not expect that!” replied the old man, and he paused: “I can scarcely wish it,” he resumed, “for I trust that whenever I die I shall go to heaven, where my poor wife is gone before me. I can sometimes almost fancy I see her of a still moonlight night, walking among these shades she loved so well. Do you believe, monsieur, that we shall be permitted to revisit the earth, after we have quitted the body?” 

 Emily could no longer stifle the anguish of her heart; her tears fell fast upon her father’s hand, which she yet held. He made an effort to speak, and at length said in a low voice, “I hope we shall be permitted to look down on those we have left on the earth, but I can only hope it. Futurity is much veiled from our eyes, and faith and hope are our only guides concerning it. We are not enjoined to believe, that disembodied spirits watch over the friends they have loved, but we may innocently hope it. It is a hope which I will never resign,” continued he, while he wiped the tears from his daughter’s eyes, “it will sweeten the bitter moments of death!” Tears fell slowly on his cheeks; La Voisin wept too, and there was a pause of silence. Then, La Voisin, renewing the subject, said, “But you believe, sir, that we shall meet in another world the relations we have loved in this; I must believe this.” “Then do believe it,” replied St. Aubert, “severe, indeed, would be the pangs of separation, if we believed it to be eternal. Look up, my dear Emily, we shall meet again!” He lifted his eyes towards heaven, and a gleam of moonlight, which fell upon his countenance, discovered peace and resignation, stealing on the lines of sorrow. 

 La Voisin felt that he had pursued the subject too far, and he dropped it, saying, “We are in darkness, I forgot to bring a light.” 

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