The Mysteries of Udolpho

Can Music's voice, can Beauty's eye,

Can Painting's glowing hand supply

A charm so suited to my mind,

As blows this hollow gust of wind?

As drops this little weeping rill,

Soft tinkling down the moss-grown hill;

While, through the west, where sinks the crimson day,

Meek Twilight slowly sails, and waves her banners gray?

MASON

Emily, some time after her return to La Vallee, received letters from

her aunt, Madame Cheron, in which, after some common-place condolement

and advice, she invited her to Tholouse, and added, that, as her late

brother had entrusted Emily's EDUCATION to her, she should consider

herself bound to overlook her conduct. Emily, at this time, wished

only to remain at La Vallee, in the scenes of her early happiness, now

rendered infinitely dear to her, as the late residence of those, whom

she had lost for ever, where she could weep unobserved, retrace their

steps, and remember each minute particular of their manners. But she was

equally anxious to avoid the displeasure of Madame Cheron.

Though her affection would not suffer her to question, even a moment,

the propriety of St. Aubert's conduct in appointing Madame Cheron for

her guardian, she was sensible, that this step had made her happiness

depend, in a great degree, on the humour of her aunt. In her reply, she

begged permission to remain, at present, at La Vallee, mentioning the

extreme dejection of her spirits, and the necessity she felt for quiet

and retirement to restore them. These she knew were not to be found at

Madame Cheron's, whose inclinations led her into a life of dissipation,

which her ample fortune encouraged; and, having given her answer, she

felt somewhat more at ease.

In the first days of her affliction, she was visited by Monsieur

Barreaux, a sincere mourner for St. Aubert. 'I may well lament my

friend,' said he, 'for I shall never meet with his resemblance. If I

could have found such a man in what is called society, I should not have

left it.' M. Barreaux's admiration of her father endeared him extremely to Emily,

whose heart found almost its first relief in conversing of her parents,

with a man, whom she so much revered, and who, though with such an

ungracious appearance, possessed to much goodness of heart and delicacy

of mind. Several weeks passed away in quiet retirement, and Emily's affliction

began to soften into melancholy. She could bear to read the books she

had before read with her father; to sit in his chair in the library--to

watch the flowers his hand had planted--to awaken the tones of that

instrument his fingers had pressed, and sometimes even to play his

favourite air. When her mind had recovered from the first shock of affliction,

perceiving the danger of yielding to indolence, and that activity alone

could restore its tone, she scrupulously endeavoured to pass all her

hours in employment. And it was now that she understood the full value

of the education she had received from St. Aubert, for in cultivating

her understanding he had secured her an asylum from indolence, without

recourse to dissipation, and rich and varied amusement and information,

independent of the society, from which her situation secluded her. Nor

were the good effects of this education confined to selfish advantages,

since, St. Aubert having nourished every amiable qualify of her heart,

it now expanded in benevolence to all around her, and taught her, when

she could not remove the misfortunes of others, at least to soften them

by sympathy and tenderness;--a benevolence that taught her to feel for

all, that could suffer.