ttled ferocity of
expression, there was yet something above the stamp of the vulgar
ruffian,--something eloquent of the motive no less than the deed, and
significant of that not ignoble perversity of mind which diminished the
guilt, yet increased the dreadness of the meditated crime, by mocking it
with the name of virtue.

As he had finished his task, and hiding the pistol on his person waited
for the hour in which his accomplice was to summon him to the fatal
deed, he perceived, close by him on the table, the letter which the
woman had spoken of, and which till then, he had, in the excitement of
his mind, utterly forgotten. He opened it mechanically; an enclosure
fell to the ground. He picked it up; it was a bank-note of considerable
amount. The lines in the letter were few, anonymous, and written in a
hand evidently disguised. They were calculated peculiarly to touch the
republican, and reconcile him to the gift. In them the writer professed
to be actuated by no other feeling than admiration for the unbending
integrity which had characterized Wolfe's life, and the desire that
sincerity in any principles, however they might differ from his own,
should not be rewarded only with indigence and ruin.

It is impossible to tell how far, in Wolfe's mind, his own desperate
fortunes might insensibly have mingled with the motives which led him to
his present design: certain it is that wherever the future is hopeless
the mind is easily converted from the rugged to the criminal; and
equally certain it is that we are apt to justify to ourselves many
offences in a cause where we have made great sacrifices; and, perhaps,
if this unexpected assistance had come to Wolfe a short time before,
it might, by softening his heart and reconciling him in some measure
to fortune, have rendered him less susceptible to the fierce voice of
political hatred and the instigation of his associates. Nor can we, who
are removed from the temptations of the poor,--temptations to which ours
are as breezes which woo to storms which "tumble towers,"--nor can we
tell how far the acerbity of want, and the absence of wholesome
sleep, and the contempt of the rich, and the rankling memory of better
fortunes, or even the mere fierceness which absolute hunger produces in
the humours and veins of all that hold nature's life, nor can we tell
how far these madden the temper, which is but a minion of the body,
and plead in irresistible excuse for the crimes which our w