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VOL. I.
THE CJiBLYE T
Is published every Saturday , by P. 1.
ROBIJYSOJY, Warrenton Geo. at.
three dollars per annum , which may be
discharged by two dollars and fifty
cents if paid within sixty days of the
time of subscribing.
THE WIFE.
To a fond and confiding girl, few
hours in life are so full of boyance and
hope, of kindness and affection, as
tho se of courtship; and few, it
may be truly said, are so important
to her future welfare and happiness.
In her lover, she too often sees all
that is worthy and respectable in man,
the ardour of her affection softens the
most offensive traits of character, and
obliterates all minor feelings. What
ever she may have collected from po
etry, is brought in aid of her imma
gination, which pictures, in most
glowing Colours, the character of a
husband, and her affection persuades
her that in her lover, she has found a
perfect representative of this idol pic
ture.
In dreams of confidence in the pru
dence of her choice, and delightful an
ticipation of succeeding years of af
section and happiness, she is led to
the alter; and how often, alas, does
one short year bring home to her ach
ing bosom the sad reality of the fals*.
ity and emptiness of her hopes of all
mutual love, tender assiduity and
lasting affection. Yesterday, the
lover was all attention, and love
marked every action; to day, the hus
band is cold, distant, and neglectful;
prefering the company of the worth
less and dissipated, to that of her,
who but a few days since, he flattered
himself was dearer to him thau all the
world beside.
1 can hardly picture to myself, a
situation more truly heart-rending
and deplorable, than that, of a female
who has found every want anticipa
ted, and reasonable wish gratified
under the paternal roof, with the
warm confidence of youth to repose
on the bosom of affection, but finding
her confidence betrayed, her affection
slighted, and herself, with a helpless
offspring, left to struggle with unkind
ness, poverty and want. Such, alasj
is too often the case in this world of
uncertainty, where we find mixed
with ihr kindest blessing of our
Heavenly Father, evils which almost
stagger our strongest faith.
In my boyish days, when every
thing was bright and sunny, and
pleasure sported in beautiful prespect
ive before me, I sometimes wandered
to a neighbouring farm house, to pass
an idle hour with its lovely and inno
cent inmates, w ho were as thoughtless
and cheerful as myself. Among these
beautiful girls was one more advanced
in age than the rest, whose modesty
and blooming beauty was the admira
tion and envy of the village throng.
Twenty winters have passed over my
head since l saw her sporting on the
green, and yet at this distant day, I
cannot re'ollect her sylph like form,
her sprightly manner, and her affec
tionate smile without a .thrill of de-
light.
.Eliza’s hand had been often soli
cited by her equals, and even by those
whose fortunes were much superior
to her own, but none were able to win
her heart. About her twentieth year,
she met at a friends a gentleman who
had recently come to reside in the
neighbourhood, his figure was ele
gant; his features regular, and his
whole appearance such, as at first
sight, was calculated to excite the af
fection of a young, inexperienced and
susceptible gild. He was flippant,
bold and even boistmus; which, to one
little acquainted with the world, might!
VVarrest/*?-, Mireh 28* 1821).
i loicau; a gr .t. iieg- o; >t o'.icst; oiu i<
was, in fact, nothing but the ebullition
of an irritable and petulent temper,
lo this man Eliza became most pas
sionately attached—he offered li**r his
hand, and it was accepted, m oppose
tiori to the advice and entreaties ot her
parents.
it was about this time, 1 lelt
the paternal roof, and new scenes
and increasing cares almost obliterat
ed the beautiful Eliza from my re
collect! in.
During one of the inclement nights
of our New-England w inters, 1 was
called to an obscure part of the city,
to visit, professionally, a poor and
helpless wretch, wiio was pining with
disease produced by intemperance.
As 1 sat by the bed of the sufferer,
1 heard in an adjoining room, the
voice of a female, pleading with great
earnestness with one who appeared to
be the employer f her husband, ‘For
heaven*s sake,’ she said, *do keep
back every cent you can of bis earn
ings; not a shilling that enters his
pocket over finds its way here. Tin
tippling shop and tavern take all—it
is hard, and perhaps wrong to spe.k
of one‘s husband thus. The time
was, when 1 did not believe it possi
ble; but what am I to do—where am
l to seek sustenance, clothing and
fuel for these, my freezing and starv
ingchildren? But, my dear sir, this
is but a small part of what 1 suffer.
Ob! 1 could sustain myself under pov
erty and want; I could live with him
cheerfully and affectionately under
all the vicissitudes of fortune, if 1
could only receive the love and kind
ness which is a wife*s due-
I < nquir.ed the name of her who had
so strongly excited my sympathy; in a
moment the beautiful Eliza flitted be
fore my mind—she, who at twenty
years was so beautiful, so affectionate
and so happy, that angels might al
most have envied her lot. 1 arose
with an indistinct feeling that 1 should
meet something which my youthful
rnind was wout to contemplate with
such delight. I entered the room,
but what did I see? the shadow of her
whose earthly dawn was the promise
of earthly bliss- Would to God it
had never been my lot to have thus
encountered her, who, in youth, had
left such a magic and undying spell on
my mind.
DUTIES OF UUSBA.YDS.
Conjugal love and duty is a sub
ject too often treated with jocular le
vity in conversation: It is, however,
a high and holy, and delightful sub- 1
ject. as it is treated by the sacred
writers. If, therefore, any believer
has hitherto trusted his conjugal char
acter to general principles of proper
ty, or left it to he regulated by cir
cumstances, lie is now bound, from
this moment, to bring all domestic
habits directly to the cross of Christ,
and to submit them to whatever im
provement is suggested and enforced
by the* glories of redeeming love. 1
And bear in mind, that it is our
own domestic happiness which is thus
consulted in this high example. The
glory of God is indeed, the final end
of all the means employed for making
husbands and wives live ‘as heirs to
gether of the grace of life;’ but, then,
such living will be our own glory too,
and its own reward, by the peace end
harmony which it will create and
confirm. And without domestic j
peace and harmony, what are any of.)
or all, the other blessings or this life?
—Splendid misery, however many.
But where love unites hearts and gra
cious principle is the guardianof con
jugal love, how many of the comforts
o flit'e uaay be wanting, without being
sii;s oass .!,* a it! lioyV many of too
trills us life borne without beHig
u oi'h felt.
DUTIES OF WIVES.
It is of great importance, to enforce
here the absolute necessity of making
and keeping that really a home,
which is a duty to be fond
if. ami constant to. No man can
love a Bedlam or rhiuior, filth or dis
order. Relative duties are recipro
cal; and it is as mud, and solemnly,
die duty of a wife to endear home bj
temper order and elodiiiess, as of a
Husband to be devoted to home; mutu
cl effort can alone (take the house a
home—and offatcMi do it. Any
well disposed fern Jo can render tin*
domestic fireside ofia godly mail more
nagnetic in its attractions than any
>ther social circles whatever. Only
let there he, room at the fireside for
c family alter, and a hearty welcome
to a godly roan‘B favourite books, and
ocrasionlly to his religious friends; lei
him only fell that his comfort and
taste are consulted, and that care is
taken not to hinder his piety;—and a
hold i9 obtained on his heart and hab
its, almost omnipotent, But if he be
often disconcerted, and no effort made
to aecomunodite him, and no smiles
thrown arounl bis meals or his eve
nings, it is on trail y impossible to se
cure domestic happiness. Uis prin
ciples may maintain the routine of his
domestic duties; but ill temper, or in
attention, on the part of the wife, will
assurdly wither his domestic feelings
and effections. But how easily is all
this avoided? It never can be any wo
mans interest to cross even the
foibles of her husband, when they an
harmless.
DUTIES OF CHILDREN.
The obedience of children to their
parents, is, in itself ‘right,’ equitable,
and reasonable, a debt due to the in
struments of their existence, and the
tender guardians of their infancy; and
generally conductive to their good.
Indeed the sentiments of all nations
coincide in this; ami the law of God
expressively commands children ‘to
honor’ the persons and authority of
both father and mother, and to require
their kindness, as they have opportu
uity and ability. This was placed
ju the decalogue, ‘as the first com
oiaridment’ of the second table, being
the first of the relative duties, and
tfie source of all others; and a prom
ise of long life in the land of Canaan
was annexed to it, as given to the
| Israelites which might be generally
I applied to Christian*, and encourage
them to expert temporal comfort and
I length of days, as a gracious recom
jpcnsefor their obedience, unless the
Lord should see good to reward \
| more liberally in another life. In**
deed, it has been observed in every
age, that those who have distinguish
! eil themselves by filial obedience were
remarkably prosperous.
From the Western Souvenir.
the deserted children.
A REAL INCIDENT.
In the Autumn of 1823, a man
was descending the Ohio river, with
three small children, in a canoe. H
had lost his wife, and in the cmigrat
ing spirit ofour people, was transport
iog his all to anew country, where he
might again begin the world.—Arriv
ing towards evening at a small island,
he landed ‘ there with the ol
encamping for the night. After re
niaining a short time, he determined
to visit the opposite shore, for the pur
pose, probably, of purchasing pro
visions; and telling his children In
would soon return to them, he paddled
off, leaving them <thue oil the island,
Unfortunately* he met on the sh re.
some loose company who invited him
to drink, lie became intoxicated aid
in attempting to return to the island
in the night was drowned. The ca
noe floated away and no one knew
>f the catastrophe until the following
day.
The poor, deserted children, in the
mean whilp, wandered about the un
inhabited island, straining their little
eyes to catch the glimpse of their fa
’her. Night came, and they had no
fire no food—no bed to rest upon, and
10 parent to watch over them. The
weather was extremely cold, and tho
eldest child, though hut eight years
,f age, remembered to have heard
that persons, who slept in the ndd
were sometimes ehil‘d to death. She
continued, therefore, to wander about;
and when the youngest children, worn
>ut with fatigue and drowsiness;
were ready to drop into slumber, she
kept them awake with amusing and
alarming stories. At last, nature
■ mild hold out no longer, and the lit
tle ones chilled and aching with cold,
threw themselves on the ground.
Their sister sat down, and spreai ing
out her garments as wide as possible,
drew them on her lap. and endeavored
to impart the warmth of her own bosom
as they slept sweetly on her arms.
Morning came, and the desolate
children sat on the shore, weeping bit
terly. At length they were filled
with joy, at the sight of a canoe ap
proaching the island. But they B<>oa
discovered that it was filled with In
dians; their delight was ( hanged into
terror, and they tied into the woods;
Believing that the savages had mur
dered their father, and now were
come to seek for them they crou< to and
under the bushes hiding in breathless
fear, like a brood of young partridges.
The Indians having kindled a fire,
sat down around it and began to rook
their morning meal, and the eldest
child, as she peeped out from her hid
ing place, began to think that they
hd not killed their father. She re
fl rted too that they must inevitably
starve, if left on this lone island, while
on the other hand, there was a possi
bility of being kindly treated by tho
Indians. The cries too, of her broth
er and sistar, who had been begging
piteously for food, had pierced, her
heart ,and awakened all her energy.
She told the little ones, over
whose feeble mind 9 her fine spirit had
acquired an absolute sway, to get up
and go w ith her—then taking a hand
of each, she fearlessly led them to the
Indian camp fire. Fortunately, the
savages understood our language,
and when the little girl explained to
them what hrd occurred, they receiv
ed the deserted children kindly, and
conducted them to the nearest of our
towns, where they were kept by some
benevolent people until their own re
lations claimed them.
An Irishman observing a pair of en
normous long legged stockings hang
ing in a hosier‘B window, stepped in
and inquired who they were made
for—to which the clerk replied, ‘For
no body in particular.* ‘Arrab, hon
ey,* said pat, what a long leggen fel
low that Mr. No-boddy iu particular
must be.’
In reading the life of any great man,
vou will always, in the course of his his
tory, chance upon some obscure individ
ual, who, on some particular occasion,
was greater than him whose life you are
leading.
Women generally consider consequen
ts in love, seldom in resentment.
No. 43.