© 
■=@ 
122 THE BROKEN HEART. 
soft cheeks grow pale, how many lovely forms 
fade away into the tomb, and none can tell the 
cause- that blighted their loveliness! As the 
dove will clasp its wings to its sides, and cover 
and conceal the arrow that is preying on its vitals, 
so it is the nature of women to hide from the 
world the pangs of wounded affection. The love 
of a delicate female is always shy and silent. 
Even when fortunate, she scarcely breathes it to 
herself; but when otherwise, she buries it in the 
deep recesses of her bosom, and there lets it cower 
and brood among the ruins of her peace. With 
her the desire of her heart has failed. The great 
charm of existence is at an end. She neglects 
all the cheerful exercises which gladden the spirits, 
quicken the pulses, and send the tide of life in 
healthful currents through the veins. Her rest is 
broken — the sweet refreshment of sleep is poi¬ 
soned by melancholy dreams — “ dry sorrow drinks 
her blood,” until her enfeebled frame sinks under 
the slightest.injury. Look for her after a while, 
and you will find friendship over her untimely 
grave, and wondering that one who but lately 
glowed with all the radiance of health and beauty 
should so easily be brought down to “ darkness 
and the worm.” You will be told of some wintry 
chill, some casual indisposition, that laid her low ; 
but no one knows of the mental malady that pre¬ 
viously sapped her strength, and made her so easy 
a prey to the spoiler. 
© - ■ © 
