I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul.
SHAKESPEARE
Madame St. Aubert was interred in the neighbouring village church; her
husband and daughter attended her to the grave, followed by a long train
of the peasantry, who were sincere mourners of this excellent woman.
On his return from the funeral, St. Aubert shut himself in his chamber.
When he came forth, it was with a serene countenance, though pale in
sorrow. He gave orders that his family should attend him. Emily only was
absent; who, overcome with the scene she had just witnessed, had retired
to her closet to weep alone. St. Aubert followed her thither: he took
her hand in silence, while she continued to weep; and it was some
moments before he could so far command his voice as to speak. It
trembled while he said, 'My Emily, I am going to prayers with my family;
you will join us. We must ask support from above. Where else ought we to
seek it--where else can we find it?'
Emily checked her tears, and followed her father to the parlour, where,
the servants being assembled, St. Aubert read, in a low and solemn
voice, the evening service, and added a prayer for the soul of the
departed. During this, his voice often faltered, his tears fell upon the
book, and at length he paused. But the sublime emotions of pure devotion
gradually elevated his views above this world, and finally brought
comfort to his heart.
When the service was ended, and the servants were withdrawn, he tenderly
kissed Emily, and said, 'I have endeavoured to teach you, from your
earliest youth, the duty of self-command; I have pointed out to you the
great importance of it through life, 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.