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VOL. I. tu*. cam \ v is published every Saturday , by P. L ROBIJVSO\\ fVarrentun . Go. at three dollars per annum , irfucli mty be discharged by two dollars and fifty * cents if paid within sixty days of the time of sitbscr hinsr - r TALKS. TUB WIFE. The treasures of the deep are not so pre cious As are the concealed comforts of man Lock (J up iu woman*® love. I scent the air Os blessings, when I come but near the house. What a <1 licious breath marriage sends forth The violets becks not sweeter. MIDDLETON. I have often had occasion t * remark the fortitude with which Women sus tain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters whi h bre :k down the spirit of man, ami prostrate him in the dust, seem to call] forth all the energies oftlje softer sexj and give such intrepidity and eleva tion to their character, that at times it approaches to sublimity. Nothing can be more touching than to behold a soft and tender female, who had be n all,.weakness and dependence, and alive to every trivial roughness v idle treading the prosperous paths es life, suddenly rising iu mental free, to he the comforter and sup porter of her husband, under misfor tune, and alii iirg with unshrinking firmness, the bitterest blasts of adver sitv. Ah the vine which has long twined i f sgr* eful f..liago around the oak, and *n lilted by it into spnehine, uiM. when lie hardy plant is rifled by the thunderbolt, <|ing round it with its cur es-.i g t ndrils. and hind, up its shatti red b ughs; s is it beautifully, ordered bv P•m le > • sh it wimao w h is the a ’re and -pendant and oraa merit of m n in his happier hours, si ould he nis stay ami s dace when s nitten wiUi sudden calamity, wind iog herself into the rugg*d recesses of bis nature, tenderly supporting the drooping head, arid binding up the broken heart. I wa* once congratulating a friend, who had around hi o a bl >omiug fan ily, knit together in th* strongest af fection. 1 can wish you no better lot, s <id he, with enthusiasm *tha i to Irove a wife and children—if you are pr ispernus, there they are, to share >'•“ prosperity, if otherwise, there tb‘*y are to comfort you.* And, in dth'd, I have observed that married men f tiling into misfortune; are more stimulated to exertion by tin* necessi ties ot the helpless and beloved beings Vho depend upon them for subsis tence; but chiefly -because their spir its are soothed and relieved by domes tic endearments, and their self respect kept alive by finding, that tho’ all a broad is d.-rkiu ss and humiliation, y<-t there is still a little world of love, of which they are monarrhs. Where a single man is apt to run to waste and self neglect; to fancy tTTmseTT lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant. ‘These observations call to mind a little domestic story, cf which I was o; ‘ a witness. My intimate friend. had married a beautiful and a compUsled girl, who bad been brought up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is true, no fortune but that “f m\ triend was ample, and he delighted in the anticipation of in dulging h r in every elegant pursuit, and administering to those delicate YVarrenton, December 20, 1828. WiM 4il-I Hi I l-l *1 fipl*- U .1 of w itchery ab>*ut the sex.—‘Her life,* sai 1 he, •shall *>e like a fairy tale/ , Tin* very difference in th- ir charac ters pc.(lured an harmonious combi nation; lie was of a roman ic, am; somewhat, serious cast; she was all i life and gladness. 1 have oftei. noticed the mute rapture witi. | which he would gaze upon her i. company, of wiiich Iter sprightly po\v l ers made her the delight; and how, in | the midst of applause, her eye would still turn to hi u, as if there alone she song it favor and acceptance. Win /eauiig on h s arm, er slender form Contrasted fi oly with his t 11, man ly pers >u. The f ind confiding air with which she looked up to him, seemed to call forth a flush of triumph ant p* file and cherishing tenderness as if lied* ted m his lovely burthen for its very helplessness. Never <1 i<! a cotipb* set forw u*d on the flowery path of early and well suited marriage with a fairer prosp *ct of felicity. It was the misiiap of my friend, however to have embarked his fortune iu large speculations, ami he had not been married many months, when by a succession <f sudden disasters, it was swept from him, and he found himself reduced almost to penury Tor a time he kept his situation to himself and went about wih a bag gard countenance and a breaking heart. llis life was hut a protra ted agony,* end vvh.it rendered if more in supportable, was the necessity of keeping up a smile in the p -eseuce of his wife, for lie could not bring liimscit to overwhelm her with the news. She s i\v, h iwever, with the qin k eyes of affection* that all was not w. !l; with him. She marked his altered looks and si isl and sighs, and was not to be <le eived by his sickly and vapid at tempts at cheerfulness. She tasked : II her sprightly powers and tender j blendish merits to wi.i him back to li tppin ss; but she only drove the ar row deeper into his soul. The more he saw cause to love her, the more torturing was the thought that he was soon to m ike her wretched. A little while, thought he, and th * smile will vanish fro n that cheek the song will die away fro n those lips the lustre of thos* eyes will he (pi-u< li ed withs >rr *w; and the hap heart whi li now bents lightly in th a b so n. will be w iglied down, like mine, by the cares and miseries of the world. At length he came to me* one day, and rel ated his whole situation in the tone d‘the deepest despair. When I had heard him through, 1 inquired, ‘does your wife know all this?’ At the question lie burst into an agony of tears. ‘For God’s sake* cried he, •if you have any pity ori me, do not mention my wifi ; it is the thought of her that drives ine almost to madness!’ ‘And why nol?* said I, •She must know it sooner or later; you cannot ! keep it long from her, and the iutelli I genre may break upon her iu a more j startling manner, than if imparted by I yourself; for the accents oMhosi* we love soften the harshest tidings Be sides you are depriving you; self of the comforts of her sjmpathy, and riot merely that: but also endangering the only bend that can keep hearts to- J get bee—an unreserved community of thought and feeling. She will soon perceive that something is secretly preying upon your mind; and true love will not brook reserve but feels undervalued and outraged, when even the sol row of those it loves are con cealed from it/ • Uii! but my friend! to think w hat a blow 1 am to give to all her future | prospects; how 1 am to strike her ve- Cj. *■l.o (> t * earth, by te ii .g i/t that her husband is a beggar! that she is to fmogo ail the elegancies of lip* — .11 the pleasures of society—to sink vith me into indigence and obscurity! i'o tell her th it 1 have dragged her lownfrnii the sphere iu which she •night liav co tinned to move in con stant brigh ..css—the light of every aeart! How can she bear poverty? she has been brought up in all the re finements of opulence. liow can sto ical* neglect? gin* has been flu* idol of Society . Oh, it will break her heart, t will break her heart!— * I saw his grief was eloquent, and I et it have its flow, for sorrow relieves itself by words. When his paroxism had subsided, and he had relapsed in to moody silence, 1 resumed the sub je. t gently, and urged him to bre k his si<nation at once to his wife—He shook his head mournfully, but posi tively. •But how are you to keep it from her? It is necessary she should know it, th it you may take the steps pro per to the alteration of your circum stances. You must change your sty I of living—nay, observing a pang to pass across his countenance, do not let that ailli t you. I am sure you have ne.v r placed your happiness in outward show—you have yet* friends, who will not think the worse of you lor being less splendidly lodged; and mu— ly ii do< s not require palat eto be happy with Mary/ •a could go down with her into pov erty and tiie dust!—l could—l could —G .n bless her! God bless her!* in and be, bursting into a transport of grief and tenderness. • Ynd believe me, my friend/ said I, sl> ,ip.'g up, and. grasping him warm ly by tiie. tifnd, ‘believe me, she can be the same vwith you. \yr, more, it will be a source ot pride and triumph to her -it will call 1 >rtb all the latent energies and fervent sympathies of her nature, for she will rejoice to prove that she loves you for yoursed There is in every true worn -m s hear a spark of heavenly fire, which li.- dormant iu the broad diy light .i prosperity; bir wd h ki idles up, and beams and ol iz s in the dar\ bur of adversity. N > man knows what the wife of his h som is—n mm ku ivvs what a ministering .iiigd she i —until lie has gone vvitli her through tiie fiery trials of this world/ Tnere was something in the ear estness of manner, and the figurative style of my language, that c mght the ex ited imagination of Leslie. I knew the auditor I had to deal with, and following op the i upression I had made, I finished by persuading him to go home and unburden his sad heart to his wife. I must confess, notwithstanding all I had said, I felt some solicitude for tin result. Who can calculate on the lortitude of one whose life has been a round of pleasures? Her gay spirits might revolt at the. dark, downward path of low humility, suddenly pointed out bes .re her, and might cling to tin sunny regions in which they liar] liitli erto revelled. Besides, ruin in sash ioiiable life is a coinplished by so rna iiy galling mortifications, to which fi other ranks, it is a stranger. In short, I could riot meet Leslie, tin next morning, without trepidation lie had i *‘<le the disclosure. • And how did she bear it?* • Like an ang-1! it seemed rather to be a relief to her mind, for she threw her arms around my neck, and askei. if this was all that had lately mad ; rrte unhappy—but poor/ added he, sin Cannot realize the change we must un dergb. She has uo idea of poverty but in the abstract: she has only rear! of it iu poetry, where it is allied to love. She feels as yet no privation, she experiences no want of accustomed conveniences or elegancies. Winn we come particularly to experenre is sordid cares, its paltry wants, its petty humiliations—then will be the re I trial/ ‘But/said I, ‘now that you have got over the severest task, flint of breaking it to her, the sooner you let the world into the secret the better. Tlu* disi I sure may be mortify ing, but then it is a single misery, and soon li ver, whereas you otherwise suffer it, in anticipation, every hour iu the day. Ir is not poverty, so much as pretence, that liHirasses a ruined man—the struggle between a proud mind and an empty purse—the keeping up a hollow show that must soon come to an end. H ive the courage to appear poor and you disarm poverty of its sharpest sting/ On this point I found Leslie perfectly prepared. Me had no false pride.himself, am) as to his wife, she was only anxious to conform to their altered fortunes. Some days afterwards he called upon me in the evening. He had dis posed of his dwelling house, and taken a small cottage to the country a fi*vv miles trom town, lie-had been busied all day in sending out furniture. /The new establ islunent required few arti cles, and those of the simplest kind. All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold, excepting his wife’s harp.—That, ho said, was t o closely associated with the idea of herself; it belonged to the little story of th*ir loves, for some of the sweet est moments of their courtship were those when he had leaned over that instrument and listened to the melting tom sos her voice. I could not hut smile at this instance of romantic gal lantry in a doating husband. lie was now going out to the rot t -.ge, where his wife had been all day; s iperinfetiding its arrangement. My feelings had become strongly interests ed in the progress of his family story, and as it was evening, I offered to ac cmi >my him. lie was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and as we walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing. • Toor Mary!* at length broke with a Heavy sigh, from his lips. •And what of her/ asked I, ‘has any thing happened to her?* • What said lie, darting an impatient glance *is if nothing to he reduced to tins paltry situation—to be caged in i miserable cottage—to be obliged to toil almost in the menial concerns of her wretched habitation!* •‘Has she then refined at the change?* ‘Repined! she has been nothing but sweetness and good humor. Indeed, she seems iu belter spirits than I have ever know n her.; Mie lias been to me all love, and tenderness, and comfort!* •Admirable girl!* exclaimed 1, *You call yourself poor, my friend; you never were so rich—you never knew <tie boundless treasures of excellence you possessed iu that woman. 9 •Oh, but my friend, if this first meeting at the cottage, were over, I think 1 could then be comfortable. But this is her first day of real expe rience: She has been introduced into a humble dwelling—she has been em ployed all day arranging its miserable equipments—she has for tlie first ime know n the fatigues of domestic employment—she has for the first ‘ime looked around her on a home destitute of every thing elegant, and dmust convenient; and may now be sitting down, exhausted and spiritless, No. 3<>.