do it, even to please her mother; the poor girl's heart is sorrow-struck
for ever. She will never smile again. As it is, however, the steady
subdued melancholy of her manner increases the respect, without
lessening the love, of all who know her. Who, indeed, could see her,
and hear her sad history without loving her purity, and her devoted
affection to the memory of him that was only the husband of a day,
without pitying the stricken girl who suffered so much, and wishing that
time, which weans us from our greatest sorrows, may, by its influence,
mellow her afflictions, until the bitterness of their spirit passes out
of her soul.

Reader, if you want a moral, look upon the wasted brow of Hugh
O'Donnell, and learn to restrain your passions and temper within its
proper limits.