Beneath the window was a toilet spread, And a fire gleamed upon a crimson bed." He paused, he rose; with troubled joy the Wife Felt the new era of her changeful life; Frankness and love appear'd in Stafford's face, And all her trouble to delight gave place. Twice made the Guest an effort to sustain Her feelings, twice resumed her seat in vain, Nor could suppress her shame, nor could support her pain. Quick she retired, and all the dismal night Thought of her guilt, her folly, and her flight; Then sought unseen her miserable home, To think of comforts lost, and brood on wants to come. TALE XVII. RESENTMENT. She hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity; Yet, notwithstanding, being incensed, is flint: Her temper, therefore, must be well observed. SHAKESPEARE, Henry IV, 2. Three or four wenches where I stood cried--"Alas! good soul!" and forgave him with all their hearts; but there is no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. Julius Caesar. How dost? Art cold? I'm cold myself.--Where is the straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. King Lear. -------------------------- Females there are of unsuspicious mind, Easy and soft and credulous and kind; Who, when offended for the twentieth time, Will hear the offender and forgive the crime: And there are others whom, like these to cheat, Asks but the humblest efforts of deceit; But they, once injured, feel a strong disdain, And, seldom pardoning, never trust again; Urged by religion, they forgive--but yet Guard the warm heart, and never more forget: Those are like wax--apply them to the fire, Melting, they take th' impressions you desire; Easy to mould and fashion as you please, And again moulded with an equal ease: Like smelted iron these the forms retain, But once impress'd, will never melt again. A busy port a serious Merchant made His chosen place to recommence his trade; And brought his Lady, who, their children dead, Their native seat of recent sorrow fled: The husband duly on the quay was seen, The wife at home became at length serene; There in short time the social couple grew With all acquainted, friendly with a few; When the good lady, by disease assail'd, In vain resisted--hope and science fail'd: Then spoke the female friends, by pity led, "Poor merchant Paul! what think ye? will he wed? A quiet, easy, kind, religious man, Thus can he rest?--I wonder if he can." He too, as grief subsided in his mind, Gave place to notions of congenial kind: Grave was the man, as we have told before; His years were forty--he might pass for more; Composed his features were, his stature low, His air important, and his motion slow: His dress became him, it was neat and plain, The colour purple, and without a stain;