Speak kindly to her, little dost thou know What utter wretchedness, what hopeless wo Hang on those bitter words—that stern reply— The cold demeanor and reproving eye; The death-steel pierces not with keener dart Than _unkind words_ in woman’s _trusting_ heart. The frailer being by thy side Is of a finer mould—keener her sense Of pain—of wrong—greater her love of Tenderness. How delicately tuned her heart! Each ruder breath upon its strings complains In lowest notes of sadness, not _heard_ but _Felt_. It wears away her life like a deep Under current, while the fair mirror of The changeless surface gives not _one sign_ _Of wo_. ELLA. * * * * * SENSE AND SYMPATHY. BY F. E. F. CHAPTER I. Use every man after his desert, and who shall escape whipping. HAMLET. “Did you ever hear a man talk so like a fool as Mr. Barton did yesterday, Sarah?” said Mary Minturn to Miss Gorham. “I declare, I pitied his wife—did not you?” “No, certainly not,” replied her friend. “Why should I? Mr. Barton does not talk more like a fool now than he did before his marriage. Fanny chose him with her eyes or rather ears open, and if she could put up with his folly then, she may now.” “True enough,” answered Mary. “And how she came to fall in love with him passes my comprehension. I would not have believed it had it not actually happened.” “Really, Mary,” said Sarah laughing, “your sympathies and compassions often pass my comprehension. Here you are pitying Fanny for having married a man, who, by your own account, she is in love with.” “No, Sarah,” replied Mary, “I am not pitying her for marrying the man she is in love with, but for being ashamed of the man she loves.” “Ashamed of the man she loves!” repeated Miss Gorham with infinite contempt. “Now, really, Mary, you had better reserve your compassion for a more deserving object. If Fanny has married a man she is ashamed of, she should be ashamed of herself.” “Did you see how painfully she colored as she caught the glance you gave me, when he was attempting an account of Dr. H’s lecture? I could not help feeling for her.” “I did not remark it,” replied Miss Gorham, “and I have no sympathy for a woman who has so little feeling or principle, I care not which, as to marry a man she despises. She probably does not feel for herself, and I do not know why we should put ourselves to the pain of feeling for her. I remember the time when Fanny Jones used to laugh at Tom Barton as much as either you or I.” “So do I,” replied Mary. “She little thought then she would ever have him.” “But finding she could get nobody better, she has thought it as well to marry him, and that is what you call falling in love, Mary.”