Ill-placed Confidence.
Among the bitter varieties of sorrow, forming the inheritance of the human kind, there are few more humiliating, more fitted to cleave into the inmost soul, than a discovery of the unworthiness of those we love; of a breach of confidence in that heart wherein we have deposited the whole treasure of our affections. There is a degree of self-abasement connected with the disappointment, which recoils with double force on our perceptions; the sharpness of the pain admits of no mitigation.