of his sobriety. And she, too, distrusted it. He had
wounded her family pride, to be sure: but what really kept her silent
was the dread of discovering him to be drunk and letting him see that
she had discovered it.

Yet she had great need of tears: for on more than one account she
respected her husband, even liked him, and did most desperately long
to be loved by him. After all, she had borne him children: and since
they had died he was her only stay in the world, her only hope of
redemption. Years after there was found among her papers a
tear-blotted sheet of verses dating from this sorrowful time: and
though the sorrow opens and shows ahead, as in a flash, the contempt
towards which the current is sweeping her, you see her travel down to
it with hands bravely battling, clutching at the weak roots of love
and hope along the shore:

"O thou whom sacred rites design'd
My guide and husband ever kind,
My sovereign master, best of friends,
On whom my earthly bliss depends:
If e'er thou didst in Hetty see
Aught fair or good or dear to thee,
If gentle speech can ever move
The cold remains of former love,
Turn thou at last-my bosom ease,
Or tell me _why_ I fail to please.

"Is it because revolving years,
Heart-breaking sighs, and fruitless tears
Have quite deprived this form of mine
Of all that once thou fancied'st fine?
Ah no! what once allured thy sight
Is still in its meridian height.
Old age and wrinkles in this face
As yet could never find a place;
A youthful grace informs these lines
Where still the purple current shines,
Unless by thy ungentle art
It flies to aid my wretched heart:
Nor does this slighted bosom show
The many hours it spends in woe.

"Or is it that, oppress'd with care,
I stun with loud complaints thine ear,
And make thy home, for quiet meant,
The seat of noise and discontent?
Ah no! Thine absence I lament
When half the weary night is spent,
Yet when the watch, or early morn,
Has brought me hopes of thy return,
I oft have wiped these watchful eyes,
Conceal'd my cares and curb'd my sighs
In spite of grief, to let thee see
I wore an endless smile for thee.

"Had I not practised every art,
To oblige, divert and cheer thy heart,
To make me pleasing in thine