It shocked my sensibilities to see this woman dashing about through S——­in the elegant equipage once the pride of the now humbled daughter of Squire Floyd, who, since the divorce granted on her application, had lived in strict retirement in her father’s house.  The only time when she was seen abroad, was on the Sabbath, at church, with her two children.  The oldest, a daughter, in her thirteenth year; and the youngest, a boy, ten years of age.  The terrible ordeal passed through by this unhappy woman, had told upon her severely.  In a year, she seemed to have lived ten.  All the fine roundness of her face and person had given way, and she presented the appearance of one who had come out of a long and exhausting illness.

Constance made it a point of duty to visit her often.  She found her states of mind exceedingly variable.  Sometimes she was in patient, tranquil states, and sometimes she manifested great bitterness of spirit, complaining of man’s cruel selfishness, and God’s injustice.  The marriage of Mr. Dewey disturbed her considerably.  One day, not long after this event, Constance called to see her.  She was in one of her darker moods; and all the comforting suggestions which my good wife could make, seemed to go for nothing.  They were sitting near a window, overlooking the street, when Delia suddenly turned pale, and caught her breath.  A carriage went sweeping by at the moment, drawn by two spirited horses,

“Is that the woman?” she exclaimed, as soon as she recovered herself.

“That is the woman,” Constance replied.

Delia clutched her hands so tightly that her arms quivered, and grew rigid; while her pale face darkened with an expression so like revenge, that Constance felt a shudder of fear in her heart.

“If my prayers for her are answered,” said the excited woman, speaking through her closing teeth, “she will find that day the darkest in the calendar of her life, when she stepped between me and my husband.  I have only curses for her in my heart.  Only curses!”

Constance, startled, and almost frightened by this wild burst of feeling, endeavored to soothe her; but the storm was too fierce to own the power of her gentle persuasions, and raged on for its brief season.

“I thought her mind had given way,” said my wife, on relating what she had seen and heard.  “It was fearful to look upon a human creature so terribly moved.”

“The trial to her feelings must have been very

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“But I thought the severe discipline through which she had passed, had chastened and subdued her,” answered Constance.  “I saw, or believed that I saw, the beginnings of a new and true life in her soul.  But over all this, passion has swept with its besom of destruction.”

“The better states,” I replied, “may not have been destroyed in this evil whirlwind.  Such states, when once formed, usually retire and hide themselves until the storm has spent its fury.”