feel and understand. Every one can sympathise with their sufferings; and that which others commiserate, is felt with less agony by ourselves. But who can sympathize with guilt, or who lament the just reward of crime?
There is a pang, beyond all others—a grief, which happily for human nature few have been called upon to encounter. It is when an erring but not hardened heart, worked up to excess of passion, idolized and flattered into security, madly betraying every sacred trust, receives all unlooked for, from the hand it adores, the dreadful punishment which its crime deserves. And, if there can be a degree still greater of agony, shew to the wretch who sinks beneath the unexpected blow—shew her, in the person of her only remaining friend and protector, the husband she has betrayed—the lover of her youth! Oh shew him unsuspicious, faithful, kind; and do not judge her, if at such moment, the dream dispelled, frantic violence impelling her
