ABSTRACT
The unhappy Charlotte wiped away her tears before the return of her husband; for her good sense taught her, that repining, or complaint, would only serve to tear asunder the last weak cords of affection, and altogether detach a heart, which she was now sensible she held only by the ties of pity. Love is a plant of delicate texture, and, when it droops, will never be revived by the tears of reproach; which, like petrifying drops, harden, instead of cherishing, the spot where they fall.
