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THE BROKEN HEART. 
123 
She is like some tender tree, the pride and 
beauty of the grove ; graceful in its form, bright 
in its foliage, but with the worm preying at its 
heart. We find it suddenly withering, when it 
should be most fresh and luxuriant. We see it 
dropping its branches to the earth, and shedding leaf 
by leaf, until, wasted and perished away, it falls 
even in the stillness of the forest; and as we muse 
over the beautiful ruin, we strive in vain to collect 
the blast or thunderbolt that could have smitten it 
with decay. 
I have seen many instances of women running 
to waste and self-neglect, and disappearing gradu¬ 
ally from the earth, almost as if they had been ex¬ 
alted to heaven ; and have repeatedly fancied that 
I could trace their death through the various de¬ 
clensions of consumption, cold, debility, languor, 
melancholy, until I reached the first symptom of 
disappointed love. But an instance of the kind 
was lately told to me; the circumstances are well 
known in the country where they happened, and I 
shall give them in the manner in which they were 
related. 
Every one must recollect the tragical story of 
young E-, the Irish patriot; it was too touch¬ 
ing to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in 
Ireland, he was tried, condemned, and executed, 
on a charge of treason. His fate made a deep im¬ 
pression on public sympathy. He was so young 
— so intelligent — so generous — so brave — so 
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