СНАР. Х. "Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain: PLEASURES OF MEMORY. EMILY purfued her journey, without any accident, along the plains of Languedoc towards the north-weft; and, on this her return to Tholoufe, which she had laft left with Madame Montoni, fhe thought much on the melancholy fate of her aunt, who, but for her own imprudence, might now have been living in happiness there! Montoni, too, often rofe to her fancy, fuch as fhe had feen him in his days of triumph, bold, spirited and commanding; such alfo as fhe had fince beheld him in his days of vengeance; and now, only a few short months had paffed-and he had no longer the power, or the will to afflict;-he had be come come a clod of earth, and his life was va nished like a fhadow! Emily could have wept at his fate, had fhe not remembered: his crimes; for that of her unfortunate aunt she did weep, and all sense of her errors was overcome by the recollection of her misfor tunes. Other thoughts and other emotions fucceeded, as Emily drew near the well-known fcenes of her early love, and confidered, that Valancourt was loft to her and to himself, for ever. At length, she came to the brow of the hill, whence, on her departure for Italy, fhe had given a farewell look to this beloved landscape, amongst whofe woods and fields fhe had fo often walked with Valancourt, and where he was then to inhabit, when she would be far, far away! She faw, once more, that chain of the Pyrenées, which overlooked La Vallée, rifing, like faint clouds, on the horizon. "There, too, is Gafcony, extended at their feet!" faid fhe, “ O my father,—my mother! And there too, is the Garonne !" she added, drying the the tears, that obfcured her fight,-" and Tholouse, and my aunt's manfion-and the groves in her garden !-O my friends! are ye all loft to me-muft I never, never fee ye more!" Tears rushed again to her eyes, and fhe continued to weep, till an abrupt turn in the road had nearly occafioned the carriage to overfet, when, looking up, she perceived another part of the well-known fcene around Tholoufe, and all the reflections and anticipations, which fhe had fuffered, at the moment, when fhe bade it last adieu, came with recollected force to her heart. She remembered how anxiously she had looked forward to the futurity, which was to decide her happiness concerning Valancourt, and what depreffing fears had affailed her; the very words fhe had uttered, as fhe withdrew her last look from, the prospect, came to her memory. "Could I but be certain," he had then faid, "that I fhould ever return, and that Valancourt would ftill live for me-I fhould go in peace !" Now, Now, that futurity, fo anxioufly antici pated, was arrived, he was returned-but what a dreary blank appeared!-Valancourt no longer lived for her! She had no longer even the melancholy fatisfaction of contemplating his image in her heart, for he was no longer the fame Valancourt fhe had cherished there-the folace of many a mournful hour, the animating friend, that had enabled her to bear up against the oppreffion of Montoni-the diftant hope, that had beamed over her gloomy profpect! On per ceiving this beloved idea to be an illufion of her own creation, Valancourt feemed to be annihilated, and her foul fickened at the blank, that remained. His marriage with a rival, even his death, the thought. fhe could have endured with more fortitude, than this discovery; for then, amidst all her grief, fhe could have looked in fecret upon the image of goodnefs, which her fancy had. drawn of him, and comfort would have mingled with her fuffering! Drying her tears, she looked, once more, upon upon the landscape, which had excited them, and perceived, that she was paffing the very bank, where she had taken leave of Valan court, on the morning of her departure from 'Tholoufe, and she now faw him, through her returning tears, fuch as he had appeared, when she looked from the carriage to give him a last adieu-faw him leaning mournfully against the high trees, and remembered the fixed look of mingled tenderness and anguish, with which he had then regarded her. This recollection was too much for her heart, and she funk back in the carriage, nor once looked up, till it ftopped at the gates of what was now her own mansion. Thefe being opened, and by the servant, to whofe care the chateau had been entrusted, the carriage drove into the court, where, alighting, she hastily paffed through the great hall, now filent and folitary, to a large oak parlour, the common fitting room of the late Madame Montoni, where, instead of being received by M. Quefnel, the found a letter from him, informing her, that business of con |