That voice is the voice of patience and resignation;
that voice is one that bears everything calmly and dispassionately,
amid the most distressing scenes; when the fates are arrayed against
her peace, and apparently plotting for her destruction, still she
is resigned.
Woman's affections are deep, consequently her troubles may be made
to sink deep. Although you may not be able to mark the traces of her
grief and the furrowings of her anguish upon her winning countenance,
yet be assured they are nevertheless preying upon her inward person,
sapping the very foundation of that heart which alone was made
for the weal and not the woe of man. The deep recesses of the soul
are fields for their operation. But they are not destined simply
to take the regions of the heart for their dominion, they are not
satisfied merely with interrupting her better feelings; but after
a while you may see the blooming cheek beginning to droop and fade,
her intelligent eye no longer sparkles with the starry light of heaven,
her vibrating pulse long since changed its regular motion, and her
palpitating bosom beats once more for the midday of her glory.
Anxiety and care ultimately throw her into the arms of the haggard
and grim monster death. But, oh, how patient, under every
pining influence! Let us view the matter in bolder colors;
see her when the dearest object of her affections recklessly seeks
every bacchanalian pleasure, contents himself with the last rubbish
of creation.
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