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Setting the moral question aside, then, and considering the circumstance only in relation to the general principles of human nature and action, there was not sufficient motive to induce Lady Marchmont to undertake such a deadly task. It was when her strongest feelings had been aroused,—when her heart's only treasure of love had been wrecked by treachery and deception,—when hate and scorn took the place of that love,—when her timely repentance and true humiliation were harshly rejected by her husband,—when the fearful elements of crime were thus evoked, and gathered themselves into passion's blackness of darkness,—it was then, and not till then, when the wild tempest of conflicting emotions overwhelmed the soul with agony, that we can fancy a demon of darkness to have seized the helm of reason, and driven with terrible yet momentary impulse the scarcely-conscious spirit to some deed of desperation. We may be wrong, but we think the annals of murder will afford few precedents of deliberate resolve, of thoughtfully conceived and skilfully executed plans, except the agencies in the instigation of the crime have been the cunning of insanity, the diabolical spirit of revenge, or some long-cherished purpose of guilt, originating with characters totally different from that of Lady Marchmont. Her conduct, indeed, in this particular, is so utterly out of keeping, not only with philosophy, but with probability, that it is a matter of wonder the strange anomaly should have been overlooked by the gifted writer, who knew so well the mechanism of human nature, and had observed with so much acumen the varied revealings of its inner impulses and outward actions.
There is yet a deeper fault visible on some of L. E. L.'s pages, which it were a crime against our conscience to pass over in silence. We allude to her
