Fromthattimeuntilthemomentofarrival，itwasallfeverish
excitement。Theshipsofwar，thatprowledlikeguardiangiants
alongthecoast；theheadlandsofIreland，stretchingoutintothe
channel；theWelshmountains，toweringintotheclouds；allwere
objectsofintenseinterest。AswesaileduptheMersey，I
reconnoitredtheshorewithatelescope。Myeyedweltwithdelight
onneatcottages，withtheirtrimshrubberiesandgreengrassplots。I
sawthemoulderingruinofanabbeyoverrunwithivy，andthetaper
spireofavillagechurchrisingfromthebrowofaneighboring
hill—allwerecharacteristicofEngland。
Thetideandwindweresofavorablethattheshipwasenabledto
comeatoncetothepier。Itwasthrongedwithpeople；some，idle
lookers—on，others，eagerexpectantsoffriendsorrelatives。Icould
distinguishthemerchanttowhomtheshipwasconsigned。Iknewhimby
hiscalculatingbrowandrestlessair。Hishandswerethrustintohis
pockets；hewaswhistlingthoughtfully，andwalkingtoandfro，a
smallspacehavingbeenaccordedhimbythecrowd，indeferencetohis
temporaryimportance。Therewererepeatedcheeringsandsalutations
interchangedbetweentheshoreandtheship，asfriendshappenedto
recognizeeachother。Iparticularlynoticedoneyoungwomanofhumble
dress，butinterestingdemeanor。Shewasleaningforwardfromamong
thecrowd；hereyehurriedovertheshipasitnearedtheshore，to
catchsomewished—forcountenance。Sheseemeddisappointedand
agitated；whenIheardafaintvoicecallhername。Itwasfromapoor
sailorwhohadbeenillallthevoyage，andhadexcitedthesympathy
ofeveryoneonboard。Whentheweatherwasfine，hismessmateshad
spreadamattressforhimondeckintheshade，butoflatehis
illnesshadsoincreased，thathehadtakentohishammock，andonly
breathedawishthathemightseehiswifebeforehedied。Hehadbeen
helpedondeckaswecameuptheriver，andwasnowleaningagainst
theshrouds，withacountenancesowasted，sopale，soghastly，that
itwasnowondereventheeyeofaffectiondidnotrecognizehim。But
atthesoundofhisvoice，hereyedartedonhisfeatures；itread，
atonce，awholevolumeofsorrow；sheclaspedherhands，uttereda
faintshriek，andstoodwringingtheminsilentagony。
Allnowwashurryandbustle。Themeetingsofacquaintances—the
greetingsoffriends—theconsultationsofmenofbusiness。Ialone
wassolitaryandidle。Ihadnofriendtomeet，nocheeringto
receive。Isteppeduponthelandofmyforefathers—butfeltthatI
wasastrangerintheland。
THEEND。
1819—20
THESKETCHBOOK
THEWIDOWANDHERSON
byWashingtonIrving
Pittieoldeage，withinwhosesilverhaires
Honourandreverenceevermorehaverain’d。
MARLOWE’STAMBURLAINE。
THOSEwhoareinthehabitofremarkingsuchmatters，musthave
noticedthepassivequietofanEnglishlandscapeonSunday。The
clackingofthemill，theregularlyrecurringstrokeoftheflail，the
dinoftheblacksmith’shammer，thewhistlingoftheploughman，the
rattlingofthecart，andallothersoundsofrurallaborare
suspended。Theveryfarm—dogsbarklessfrequently，beingless
disturbedbypassingtravellers。AtsuchtimesIhavealmostfancied
thewindssunkintoquiet，andthatthesunnylandscape，withits
freshgreentintsmeltingintobluehaze，enjoyedthehallowedcalm。
Sweetday，sopure，socalm，sobright，
Thebridaloftheearthandsky。
Wellwasitordainedthatthedayofdevotionshouldbeadayofrest。
Theholyreposewhichreignsoverthefaceofnature，hasitsmoral
influence；everyrestlesspassionischarmeddown，andwefeelthe
naturalreligionofthesoulgentlyspringingupwithinus。Formy
part，therearefeelingsthatvisitme，inacountrychurch，amid
thebeautifulserenityofnature，whichIexperiencenowhereelse；and
ifnotamorereligious，IthinkIamabettermanonSundaythanon
anyotherdayoftheseven。
Duringmyrecentresidenceinthecountry，Iusedfrequentlyto
attendattheoldvillagechurch。Itsshadowyaisles；itsmouldering
monuments；itsdarkoakenpanelling，allreverendwiththegloomof
departedyears，seemedtofititforthehauntofsolemnmeditation；
butbeinginawealthyaristocraticneighborhood，theglitterof
fashionpenetratedevenintothesanctuary；andIfeltmyself
continuallythrownbackupontheworldbythefrigidityandpompof
thepoorwormsaroundme。Theonlybeinginthewholecongregationwho
appearedthoroughlytofeelthehumbleandprostratepietyofatrue
Christianwasapoordecrepitoldwoman，bendingundertheweightof
yearsandinfirmities。Sheborethetracesofsomethingbetterthan
abjectpoverty。Thelingeringsofdecentpridewerevisibleinher
appearance。Herdress，thoughhumbleintheextreme，was
scrupulouslyclean。Sometrivialrespect，too，hadbeenawardedher，
forshedidnottakeherseatamongthevillagepoor，butsataloneon
thestepsofthealtar。Sheseemedtohavesurvivedalllove，all
friendship，allsociety；andtohavenothingleftherbutthehopesof
heaven。WhenIsawherfeeblyrisingandbendingheragedformin
prayer；habituallyconningherprayer—book，whichherpalsiedhandand
failingeyeswouldnotpermithertoread，butwhichsheevidently
knewbyheart；Ifeltpersuadedthatthefalteringvoiceofthat
poorwomanarosetoheavenfarbeforetheresponsesoftheclerk，
theswelloftheorgan，orthechantingofthechoir。
Iamfondofloiteringaboutcountrychurches，andthiswasso
delightfullysituated，thatitfrequentlyattractedme。Itstoodon
aknoll，roundwhichasmallstreammadeabeautifulbend，andthen
wounditswaythroughalongreachofsoftmeadowscenery。The
churchwassurroundedbyyew—treeswhichseemedalmostcoevalwith
itself。ItstallGothicspireshotuplightlyfromamongthem，with
rooksandcrowsgenerallywheelingaboutit。Iwasseatedthereone
stillsunnymorning，watchingtwolaborerswhowerediggingagrave。
Theyhadchosenoneofthemostremoteandneglectedcornersofthe
church—yard；where，fromthenumberofnamelessgravesaround，it
wouldappearthattheindigentandfriendlesswerehuddledintothe
earth。Iwastoldthatthenew—madegravewasfortheonlysonofa
poorwidow。WhileIwasmeditatingonthedistinctionsofworldly
rank，whichextendthusdownintotheverydust，thetollofthe
bellannouncedtheapproachofthefuneral。Theyweretheobsequiesof
poverty，withwhichpridehadnothingtodo。Acoffinofthe
plainestmaterials，withoutpallorothercovering，wasborneby
someofthevillagers。Thesextonwalkedbeforewithanairofcold
indifference。Therewerenomockmournersinthetrappingsofaffected
woe；buttherewasonerealmournerwhofeeblytotteredafterthe
corpse。Itwastheagedmotherofthedeceased—thepooroldwoman
whomIhadseenseatedonthestepsofthealtar。Shewassupportedby
ahumblefriend，whowasendeavoringtocomforther。Afewofthe
neighboringpoorhadjoinedthetrain，andsomechildrenofthe
villagewererunninghandinhand，nowshoutingwithunthinkingmirth，
andnowpausingtogaze，withchildishcuriosity，onthegriefof
themourner。
Asthefuneraltrainapproachedthegrave，theparsonissuedfrom
thechurchporch，arrayedinthesurplice，withprayer—bookinhand，
andattendedbytheclerk。Theservice，however，wasamereactof
charity。Thedeceasedhadbeendestitute，andthesurvivorwas
penniless。Itwasshuffledthrough，therefore，inform，butcoldlyand
unfeelingly。Thewell—fedpriestmovedbutafewstepsfromthechurch
door；hisvoicecouldscarcelybeheardatthegrave；andneverdid
Ihearthefuneralservice，thatsublimeandtouchingceremony，turned
intosuchafrigidmummeryofwords。
Iapproachedthegrave。Thecoffinwasplacedontheground。Onit
wereinscribedthenameandageofthedeceased—"GeorgeSomers，
aged26years。"Thepoormotherhadbeenassistedtokneeldownatthe
headofit。Herwitheredhandswereclasped，asifinprayer，butI
couldperceivebyafeeblerockingofthebody，andaconvulsive
motionofherlips，thatshewasgazingonthelastrelicsofherson，
withtheyearningsofamother’sheart。
Preparationsweremadetodepositthecoffinintheearth。Therewas
thatbustlingstirwhichbreakssoharshlyonthefeelingsofgrief
andaffection；directionsgiveninthecoldtonesofbusiness：the
strikingofspadesintosandandgravel；which，atthegraveof
thosewelove，is，ofallsounds，themostwithering。Thebustle
aroundseemedtowakenthemotherfromawretchedreverie。She
raisedherglazedeyes，andlookedaboutwithafaintwildness。Asthe
menapproachedwithcordstolowerthecoffinintothegrave，she
wrungherhands，andbrokeintoanagonyofgrief。Thepoorwoman
whoattendedhertookherbythearm，endeavoringtoraiseherfrom
theearth，andtowhispersomethinglikeconsolation—"Nay，now—
nay，now—don’ttakeitsosorelytoheart。"Shecouldonlyshake
herheadandwringherhands，asonenottobecomforted。
Astheyloweredthebodyintotheearth，thecreakingofthecords
seemedtoagonizeher；butwhen，onsomeaccidentalobstruction，there
wasajustlingofthecoffin，allthetendernessofthemotherburst
forth；asifanyharmcouldcometohimwhowasfarbeyondthereach
ofworldlysuffering。
Icouldseenomore—myheartswelledintomythroat—myeyesfilled
withtears—IfeltasifIwereactingabarbarouspartinstanding
by，andgazingidlyonthissceneofmaternalanguish。Iwanderedto
anotherpartofthechurch—yard，whereIremaineduntilthefuneral
trainhaddispersed。
WhenIsawthemotherslowlyandpainfullyquittingthegrave，
leavingbehindhertheremainsofallthatwasdeartoheronearth，
andreturningtosilenceanddestitution，myheartachedforher。
What，thoughtI，arethedistressesoftherich！theyhavefriends
tosoothe—pleasurestobeguile—aworldtodivertanddissipatetheir
griefs。Whatarethesorrowsoftheyoung！Theirgrowingmindssoon
closeabovethewound—theirelasticspiritssoonrisebeneaththe
pressure—theirgreenandductileaffectionssoontwineroundnew
objects。Butthesorrowsofthepoor，whohavenooutwardappliances
tosoothe—thesorrowsoftheaged，withwhomlifeatbestisbuta
wintryday，andwhocanlookfornoafter—growthofjoy—thesorrows
ofawidow，aged，solitary，destitute，mourningoveranonlyson，
thelastsolaceofheryears；theseareindeedsorrowswhichmakeus
feeltheimpotencyofconsolation。
ItwassometimebeforeIleftthechurch—yard。OnmywayhomewardI
metwiththewomanwhohadactedascomforter：shewasjust
returningfromaccompanyingthemothertoherlonelyhabitation，andI
drewfromhersomeparticularsconnectedwiththeaffectingsceneI
hadwitnessed。
Theparentsofthedeceasedhadresidedinthevillagefrom
childhood。Theyhadinhabitedoneoftheneatestcottages，andby
variousruraloccupations，andtheassistanceofasmallgarden，had
supportedthemselvescreditablyandcomfortably，andledahappyanda
blamelesslife。Theyhadoneson，whohadgrownuptobethestaffand
prideoftheirage。—"Oh，sir！"saidthegoodwoman，"hewassucha
comelylad，sosweet—tempered，sokindtoeveryonearoundhim，so
dutifultohisparents！Itdidone’sheartgoodtoseehimofa
Sunday，dressedoutinhisbest，sotall，sostraight，socheery，
supportinghisoldmothertochurch—forshewasalwaysfonderof
leaningonGeorge’sarm，thanonhergoodman’s；and，poorsoul，she
mightwellbeproudofhim，forafinerladtherewasnotinthe
countryround。"
Unfortunately，thesonwastempted，duringayearofscarcityand
agriculturalhardship，toenterintotheserviceofoneofthesmall
craftthatpliedonaneighboringriver。Hehadnotbeenlongin
thisemploywhenhewasentrappedbyapress—gang，andcarriedoff
tosea。Hisparentsreceivedtidingsofhisseizure，butbeyondthat
theycouldlearnnothing。Itwasthelossoftheirmainprop。The
father，whowasalreadyinfirm，grewheartlessandmelancholy，and
sunkintohisgrave。Thewidow，leftlonelyinherageandfeebleness，
couldnolongersupportherself，andcameupontheparish。Stillthere
wasakindfeelingtowardherthroughoutthevillage，andacertain
respectasbeingoneoftheoldestinhabitants。Asnooneapplied
forthecottage，inwhichshehadpassedsomanyhappydays，shewas
permittedtoremaininit，whereshelivedsolitaryandalmost
helpless。Thefewwantsofnaturewerechieflysuppliedfromthe
scantyproductionsofherlittlegarden，whichtheneighborswouldnow
andthencultivateforher。Itwasbutafewdaysbeforethetimeat
whichthesecircumstancesweretoldme，thatshewasgatheringsome
vegetablesforherrepast，whensheheardthecottagedoorwhichfaced
thegardensuddenlyopened。Astrangercameout，andseemedtobe
lookingeagerlyandwildlyaround。Hewasdressedinseaman’sclothes，
wasemaciatedandghastlypale，andboretheairofonebrokenby
sicknessandhardships。Hesawher，andhastenedtowardsher，but
hisstepswerefaintandfaltering；hesankonhiskneesbeforeher，
andsobbedlikeachild。Thepoorwomangazeduponhimwithavacant
andwanderingeye—"Oh，mydear，dearmother！don’tyouknowyourson？
yourpoorboy，George？"Itwasindeedthewreckofheroncenoblelad，
who，shatteredbywounds，bysicknessandforeignimprisonment，had，
atlength，draggedhiswastedlimbshomeward，toreposeamongthe
scenesofhischildhood。
Iwillnotattempttodetailtheparticularsofsuchameeting，
wherejoyandsorrowweresocompletelyblended：stillhewasalive！
hewascomehome！hemightyetlivetocomfortandcherishherold
age！Nature，however，wasexhaustedinhim；andifanythinghad
beenwantingtofinishtheworkoffate，thedesolationofhis
nativecottagewouldhavebeensufficient。Hestretchedhimselfonthe
palletonwhichhiswidowedmotherhadpassedmanyasleepless
night，andheneverrosefromitagain。
Thevillagers，whentheyheardthatGeorgeSomershadreturned，
crowdedtoseehim，offeringeverycomfortandassistancethattheir
humblemeansafforded。Hewastooweak，however，totalk—hecould
onlylookhisthanks。Hismotherwashisconstantattendant；andhe
seemedunwillingtobehelpedbyanyotherhand。
Thereissomethinginsicknessthatbreaksdowntheprideof
manhood；thatsoftenstheheart，andbringsitbacktothefeelingsof
infancy。Whothathaslanguished，eveninadvancedlife，insickness
anddespondency；whothathaspinedonawearybedintheneglect
andlonelinessofaforeignland；buthasthoughtonthemother
"thatlookedonhischildhood，"thatsmoothedhispillow，and
administeredtohishelplessness？Oh！thereisanenduring
tendernessintheloveofamothertohersonthattranscendsall
otheraffectionsoftheheart。Itisneithertobechilledby
selfishness，nordauntedbydanger，norweakenedbyworthlessness，nor
stifledbyingratitude。Shewillsacrificeeverycomforttohis
convenience；shewillsurrendereverypleasuretohisenjoyment；she
willgloryinhisfame，andexultinhisprosperity：—and，if
misfortuneovertakehim，hewillbethedearertoherfrommisfortune；
andifdisgracesettleuponhisname，shewillstillloveand
cherishhiminspiteofhisdisgrace；andifalltheworldbesidecast
himoff，shewillbealltheworldtohim。
PoorGeorgeSomershadknownwhatitwastobeinsickness，andnone
tosoothe—lonelyandinprison，andnonetovisithim。Hecouldnot
endurehismotherfromhissight；ifshemovedaway，hiseyewould
followher。Shewouldsitforhoursbyhisbed，watchinghimashe
slept。Sometimeshewouldstartfromafeverishdream，andlook
anxiouslyupuntilhesawherbendingoverhim；whenhewouldtakeher
hand，layitonhisbosom，andfallasleep，withthetranquillityofa
child。Inthiswayhedied。
Myfirstimpulseonhearingthishumbletaleofafflictionwasto
visitthecottageofthemourner，andadministerpecuniaryassistance，
and，ifpossible，comfort。Ifound，however，oninquiry，thatthegood
feelingsofthevillagershadpromptedthemtodoeverythingthatthe
caseadmitted：andasthepoorknowbesthowtoconsoleeachother’s
sorrows，Ididnotventuretointrude。
ThenextSundayIwasatthevillagechurch；when，tomysurprise，I
sawthepooroldwomantotteringdowntheaisletoheraccustomedseat
onthestepsofthealtar。
Shehadmadeanefforttoputonsomethinglikemourningforher
son；andnothingcouldbemoretouchingthanthisstrugglebetween
piousaffectionandutterpoverty：ablackribbonorso—afadedblack
handkerchief，andoneortwomoresuchhumbleattemptstoexpressby
outwardsignsthatgriefwhichpassesshow。WhenIlookedroundupon
thestoriedmonuments，thestatelyhatchments，thecoldmarblepomp，
withwhichgrandeurmournedmagnificentlyoverdepartedpride，and
turnedtothispoorwidow，boweddownbyageandsorrow，atthe
altarofherGod，andofferinguptheprayersandpraisesofa
pious，thoughabrokenheart，Ifeltthatthislivingmonumentofreal
griefwasworththemall。
Irelatedherstorytosomeofthewealthymembersofthe
congregation，andtheyweremovedbyit。Theyexertedthemselvesto
renderhersituationmorecomfortable，andtolightenherafflictions。
Itwas，however，butsmoothingafewstepstothegrave。Inthecourse
ofaSundayortwoafter，shewasmissedfromherusualseatat
church，andbeforeIlefttheneighborhood，Iheard，withafeelingof
satisfaction，thatshehadquietlybreathedherlast，andhadgone
torejointhosesheloved，inthatworldwheresorrowisnever
known，andfriendsareneverparted。
THEEND。
1819—20
THESKETCHBOOK
THEWIFE
byWashingtonIrving
Thetreasuresofthedeeparenotsoprecious
Asaretheconceal’dcomfortsofaman
Lockedupinwoman’slove。Iscenttheair
Ofblessings，whenIcomebutnearthehouse。
Whatadeliciousbreathmarriagesendsforth……
Thevioletbed’snotsweeter。
MIDDLETON。
IHAVEoftenhadoccasiontoremarkthefortitudewithwhichwomen
sustainthemostoverwhelmingreversesoffortune。Thosedisasters
whichbreakdownthespiritofaman，andprostratehiminthedust，
seemtocallforthalltheenergiesofthesoftersex，andgivesuch
intrepidityandelevationtotheircharacter，thatattimesit
approachestosublimity。Nothingcanbemoretouchingthantobeholda
softandtenderfemale，whohadbeenallweaknessanddependence，
andalivetoeverytrivialroughness，whiletreadingtheprosperous
pathsoflife，suddenlyrisinginmentalforcetobethecomforterand
supportofherhusbandundermisfortune，andabiding，withunshrinking
firmness，thebitterestblastsofadversity。
Asthevine，whichhaslongtwineditsgracefulfoliageaboutthe
oak，andbeenliftedbyitintosunshine，will，whenthehardyplant
isriftedbythethunderbolt，clingrounditwithitscaressing
tendrils，andbindupitsshatteredboughs；soisitbeautifully
orderedbyProvidence，thatwoman，whoisthemeredependentand
ornamentofmaninhishappierhours，shouldbehisstayandsolace
whensmittenwithsuddencalamity；windingherselfintotherugged
recessesofhisnature，tenderlysupportingthedroopinghead，and
bindingupthebrokenheart。
Iwasoncecongratulatingafriend，whohadaroundhimablooming
family，knittogetherinthestrongestaffection。"Icanwishyouno
betterlot，"saidhe，withenthusiasm，"thantohaveawifeand
children。Ifyouareprosperous，theretheyaretoshareyour
prosperity；ifotherwise，theretheyaretocomfortyou。"And，indeed，
Ihaveobservedthatamarriedmanfallingintomisfortuneismoreapt
toretrievehissituationintheworldthanasingleone；partly
becauseheismorestimulatedtoexertionbythenecessitiesofthe
helplessandbelovedbeingswhodependuponhimforsubsistence；but
chieflybecausehisspiritsaresoothedandrelievedbydomestic
endearments，andhisself—respectkeptalivebyfinding，thatthough
allabroadisdarknessandhumiliation，yetthereisstillalittle
worldofloveathome，ofwhichheisthemonarch。Whereasasingle
manisapttoruntowasteandself—neglect；tofancyhimselflonely
andabandoned，andhishearttofalltoruinlikesomedeserted
mansion，forwantofaninhabitant。
Theseobservationscalltomindalittledomesticstory，ofwhich
Iwasonceawitness。Myintimatefriend，Leslie，hadmarrieda
beautifulandaccomplishedgirl，whohadbeenbroughtupinthe
midstoffashionablelife。Shehad，itistrue，nofortune，butthat
ofmyfriendwasample；andhedelightedintheanticipationof
indulgingherineveryelegantpursuit，andadministeringtothose
delicatetastesandfanciesthatspreadakindofwitcheryaboutthe
sex。—"Herlife，"saidhe，"shallbelikeafairytale。"
Theverydifferenceintheircharactersproducedanharmonious
combination：hewasofaromanticandsomewhatseriouscast；shewas
alllifeandgladness。Ihaveoftennoticedthemuterapturewith
whichhewouldgazeuponherincompany，ofwhichhersprightlypowers
madeherthedelight；andhow，inthemidstofapplause，hereyewould
stillturntohim，asiftherealoneshesoughtfavorand
acceptance。Whenleaningonhisarm，herslenderformcontrasted
finelywithhistallmanlyperson。Thefondconfidingairwithwhich
shelookeduptohimseemedtocallforthaflushoftriumphant
prideandcherishingtenderness，asifhedotedonhislovelyburden
foritsveryhelplessness。Neverdidacouplesetforwardonthe
flowerypathofearlyandwell—suitedmarriagewithafairer
prospectoffelicity。
Itwasthemisfortuneofmyfriend，however，tohaveembarkedhis
propertyinlargespeculations；andhehadnotbeenmarriedmany
months，when，byasuccessionofsuddendisasters，itwassweptfrom
him，andhefoundhimselfreducedalmosttopenury。Foratimehekept
hissituationtohimself，andwentaboutwithahaggardcountenance，
andabreakingheart。Hislifewasbutaprotractedagony；andwhat
rendereditmoreinsupportablewasthenecessityofkeepingupasmile
inthepresenceofhiswife；forhecouldnotbringhimselfto
overwhelmherwiththenews。Shesaw，however，withthequickeyes
ofaffection，thatallwasnotwellwithhim。Shemarkedhisaltered
looksandstifledsighs，andwasnottobedeceivedbyhissickly
andvapidattemptsatcheerfulness。Shetaskedallhersprightly
powersandtenderblandishmentstowinhimbacktohappiness；but
sheonlydrovethearrowdeeperintohissoul。Themorehesawcause
toloveher，themoretorturingwasthethoughtthathewassoonto
makeherwretched。Alittlewhile，thoughthe，andthesmilewill
vanishfromthatcheek—thesongwilldieawayfromthoselips—the
lustreofthoseeyeswillbequenchedwithsorrow；andthehappy
heart，whichnowbeatslightlyinthatbosom，willbeweigheddown
likemine，bythecaresandmiseriesoftheworld。
Atlengthhecametomeoneday，andrelatedhiswholesituation
inatoneofthedeepestdespair。WhenIheardhimthroughIinquired，
"Doesyourwifeknowallthis？"—Atthequestionheburstintoan
agonyoftears。"ForGod’ssake！"criedhe，"ifyouhaveanypityon
me，don’tmentionmywife；itisthethoughtofherthatdrivesme
almosttomadness！"
"Andwhynot？"saidI。"Shemustknowitsoonerorlater：youcannot
keepitlongfromher，andtheintelligencemaybreakuponherina
morestartlingmanner，thanifimpartedbyyourself；fortheaccents
ofthosewelovesoftentheharshesttidings。Besides，youare
deprivingyourselfofthecomfortsofhersympathy；andnotmerely
that，butalsoendangeringtheonlybondthatcankeephearts
together—anunreservedcommunityofthoughtandfeeling。Shewill
soonperceivethatsomethingissecretlypreyinguponyourmind；and
truelovewillnotbrookreserve；itfeelsundervaluedandoutraged，
wheneventhesorrowsofthoseitlovesareconcealedfromit。"
"Oh，but，myfriend！tothinkwhatablowIamtogivetoallher
futureprospects—howIamtostrikeherverysoultotheearth，by
tellingherthatherhusbandisabeggar！thatsheistoforegoall
theeleganciesoflife—allthepleasuresofsociety—toshrinkwith
meintoindigenceandobscurity！TotellherthatIhavedraggedher
downfromthesphereinwhichshemighthavecontinuedtomovein
constantbrightness—thelightofeveryeye—theadmirationofevery
heart！—Howcanshebearpoverty？shehasbeenbroughtupinallthe
refinementsofopulence。Howcanshebearneglect？shehasbeenthe
idolofsociety。Oh！itwillbreakherheart—itwillbreakher
heart！—"
Isawhisgriefwaseloquent，andIletithaveitsflow；forsorrow
relievesitselfbywords。Whenhisparoxysmhadsubsided，andhehad
relapsedintomoodysilence，Iresumedthesubjectgently，andurged
himtobreakhissituationatoncetohiswife。Heshookhishead
mournfully，butpositively。
"Buthowareyoutokeepitfromher？Itisnecessarysheshould
knowit，thatyoumaytakethestepspropertothealterationof
yourcircumstances。Youmustchangeyourstyleofliving—nay，"
observingapangtopassacrosshiscountenance，"don’tletthat
afflictyou。Iamsureyouhaveneverplacedyourhappinessinoutward
show—youhaveyetfriends，warmfriends，whowillnotthinktheworse
ofyouforbeinglesssplendidlylodged：andsurelyitdoesnot
requireapalacetobehappywithMary—"
"Icouldbehappywithher，"criedhe，convulsively，"inahovel！—I
couldgodownwithherintopovertyandthedust！—Icould—Icould—
Godblessher！—Godblessher！"criedhe，burstingintoatransportof
griefandtenderness。