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but on my daughter's account. At my time of life, its gaieties begin to tire: besides, I love retirement, particularly the retirement of this chateau; I venerate its woods; they were planted by my forefathers; and if ever departed spirits are permitted to review this world, their spirits I think sometimes revisit them. Often, at the solemn hour of twilight, have I fancied their voices mingled in the gale which sighed among the trees: such fancies, perhaps, you'll say are weaknesses; the generality of mankind would consider them so; but they rather strengthen than enervate my mind: they are more soothing to it than language can express; they calm, they refine, they almost exalt it above mortality, and gradually prepare it for that hour which, in the course of nature, I may soon expect. But think not, my love (continued she, on seeing a gloom again stealing over the countenance of Madeline), that you are come to live with a dismal recluse; no,—I love innocent and rational