this:--

'She has been called, after his words, the moral Clytemnestra of her
husband. Such a surname is severe: but the repugnance we feel to
condemning a woman cannot prevent our listening to the voice of
justice, which tells us that the comparison is still in favour of the
guilty one of antiquity; for she, driven to crime by fierce passion
overpowering reason, at least only deprived her husband of physical
life, and, in committing the deed, exposed herself to all its
consequences; while Lady Byron left her husband at the very moment
that she saw him struggling amid a thousand shoals in the stormy sea
of embarrassments created by his marriage, and precisely when he more
than ever required a friendly, tender, and indulgent hand to save him.

'Besides, she shut herself up in silence a thousand times more cruel
than Clytemnestra's poniard: that only killed the body; whereas Lady
Byron's silence was destined to kill the soul,--and such a
soul!--leaving the door open to calumny, and making it to be supposed
that her silence was magnanimity destined to cover over frightful
wrongs, perhaps even depravity. In vain did he, feeling his
conscience at ease, implore some inquiry and examination. She
refused; and the only favour she granted was to send him, one fine
day, two persons to see whether he were not mad.

'And, why, then, had she believed him mad? Because she, a methodical,
inflexible woman, with that unbendingness which a profound moralist
calls the worship rendered to pride by a feelingless soul, because she
could not understand the possibility of tastes and habits different to
those of ordinary routine, or of her own starched life. Not to be
hungry when she was; not to sleep at night, but to write while she was