At length he came to me one day, and related his whole situation
in a tone of the deepest despair. When I heard him through I inquired,
"Does your wife know all this?"- At the question he burst into an
agony of tears. "For God's sake!" cried he, "if you have any pity on
me, don't mention my wife; it is the thought of her that drives me
almost to madness!"
"And why not?" said I. "She must know it sooner or later: you cannot
keep it long from her, and the intelligence may break upon her in a
more startling manner, than if imparted by yourself; for the accents
of those we love soften the harshest tidings. Besides, you are
depriving yourself of the comforts of her sympathy; and not merely
that, but also endangering the only bond that can keep hearts
together- 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; it feels undervalued and outraged,
when even the sorrows of those it loves are concealed from it."
"Oh, but, my friend! to think what a blow I am to give to all her
future prospects- how I am to strike her very soul to the earth, by
telling her that her husband is a beggar! that she is to forego all
the elegancies of life- all the pleasures of society- to shrink with
me into indigence and obscurity! To tell her that I have dragged her
down from the sphere in which she might have continued to move in
constant brightness- the light of every eye- the admiration of every
heart!- How can she bear poverty? she has been brought up in all the
refinements of opulence.
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