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 | The works of Washington Irving |  |
THE WIFE.
As are the conceal'd comforts of a man
Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air
Of blessings, when I come but near the house.
What a delicious breath marriage sends forth!—
The violet bed's not sweeter.
Middleton.
I have often had occasion to remark
the fortitude with which women sustain
the most overwhelming reverses of fortune.
Those disasters which break down
the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in
the dust, seem to call forth all the energies
of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity
and elevation 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 been all
weakness and dependence, and alive to
every trivial roughness, while treading
the prosperous paths of life, suddenly
rising in mental force to be the comforter
and supporter of her husband under misfortune,
and abiding, with unshrinking
firmness, the bitterest blasts of adversity.
As the vine, which has long twined its
graceful foliage about the