p grief must
know the relief which sympathy can afford. The sympathy of friendship
is sweet and soothing. There is balm in the counsel of a kind
companion.

My sorrow had been long pent up within my own bosom, and yearned to find
expression. Stranger among strangers, I had no one to share it with me.
Even to the good Reigart I had not confessed myself. With the
exception of Aurore herself, Eugenie--poor Eugenie--was alone mistress
of my secret. Would that she of all had never known it!

Now to this youth Eugene--strange coincidence of name!--I was resolved
to impart it--resolved to unburden my heart. Perhaps, in so doing I
might find consolation or relief.

I waited for the night. It was at night he had promised to come. I
waited with impatience--with my eyes bent almost continuously on the
index finger of time, and chafing at the slow measured strokes of the
pendulum.

I was not disappointed. He came at length. His silvery voice rang in
my ears, and he stood before me.

As he entered my room, I was once more struck with the melancholy
expression of his countenance--the pale cheek--the resemblance to some
face I had met before.

The room was close and hot. The summer had not yet quite departed. I
proposed a walk. We could converse as freely in the open air, and there
was a lovely moon to light us on our way.

As we sallied forth, I offered my visitor a cigar. This he declined,
giving his reason. He did not smoke.

Strange, thought I, for one of a race, who almost universally indulge in
the habit. Another peculiarity in the character of my new acquaintance!

We passed up the Rue Royale, and turned along Canal Street in the
direction of the "Swamp." Presently we crossed the Rue des Rampartes,
and soon found ourselves outside the limits of the city.

Some buildings appeared beyond, but they were not houses--at least not
dwelling-places for the living. The numerous cupolas crowned with
crosses--the broken columns--the monuments of white marble, gleaming
under the moon, told us that we looked upon a city of the dead. It was
the great cemetery of New Orleans--that cemetery where the poor after
death are _drowned_, and the rich fare no better, for they are _baked_!

The gate stood open--the scene within invited me--its solemn character
was in unison with my spirit. My companion made no objection, and we
entered.

After wending our way among tombs, and statues, and monuments; miniature
temple