{"newspaper_name": "The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware register.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
If it seemed bright to others, it seemed dou-
blv SO e. them; and lost in the plenitude Of
their happiness, they forgot, ifit had ever en-
tered their minds, how much care and caution,
what watchfulness and forbcarance, what
Kindness and prudence, were necessary to
secure the peace and tranquility they now
enioyed. Love does not burn always with
the brightness of its first light; but it often
grows more and moro deep, sincere and un-
changing, as time rolls away. The feelings
remain as tender and susceptible, after the
shield that protected them from every un-
kind word or act has been broken.


The business in which they were engaged
was prosperous one; and Henry was
man of business industrious, attentive and
intelligent. Every one who spoke of them
prophesed that they would speedily realize
a splendid independence. They were the
pride of the village. But how small matter
sometimes, gives an unexpected direction
to the fortunes Of kingdoms, cities and indi-
viduas! 1t happened one afternoon, several


months after her marriage, that Mary had
little tea-party, at which several OF the


matrons of the village were present, and as
is often the case long and learned disser-


tation on the matter of managing husbands,
had been given alternately by one and ano-


ther; husbands and prudent wives know


what such amount to, and Of how much value
they are to young housekeepers. Unfortu-
natcly. Henry returned in the evening, fa-


tigued and weary, in both body and mind,


with the labours OF the day, and took his


seat at the table. HIS favourite dish was


not there. He cnquired tor it in a lyle


that. perhaps, savouie ed little of reproach;


it was unintentonal. Mary was in the pre-


sence of her selfconstituted preceptors; she


was ashamed TO appear too submissive be-
fore them, and besides her feelings were


wounded by her husbands manner; she re-
piled, as she thought, spiritedly; but it was


really harsh. Henry cast single glance
Iacross the table, pushed back his plate. and


rising, left the room. 1t was the first er-


ror. They were both sensible of it in mo-


ment; but who sheuld make the first con-


ccssior., where both were plainly wrong?


As Henry walked down the street enga-


ged in unpleasant meditations, and envelop-


inr himselfin in the gloom; bright light from
the uppcr windows OF the village inn, attract
ed his notice. he stepped over, party of
CAV young men were about sitting down to
supper; they urged him to join the club;
: the temptation under the circumstances OF
the case was all powerful. Supper over, he
DELAYED a little longer, and little longer;
; taking his leave; liquor was introduced, and
, he drank; music came next, and cards fol-
lowed; though he did not join in the last, he
, looked on the games without abhorrence;
! the dread he had been brought up in of evil,
had been broken.


! Returning late at night; his spirits heat
cd with wine, and the recollection of his
J, wife's behaviour before him, he found her
y retired; and passed the night in another
room. The morning brought cool meet
e ing; the formal interchange of a few words,
and parting without explanation or COM
+ plant. The seed Of discomfort was sown; it
G bore the fruit that might be expected. His
d home was no longer the centre ct attraction
G to Henry. His tavern companions were gay,
: good humoured and attractive; and he left
4 the fresde of his own mansion, which no
! longer wooed him as zealously and power
" fully as the Alehouse club, of which he was
is soon the very centre and life. The second
/ error was committed.


&c Though unseen by their friends dark
t, cloud now brooded over the fortunes of our
e Young couple. 1t gathered blackness, until
:, pcrceptihle TO every eye; and when it burst
It. carried ruin and ISOLATION with it. Driven
l. to the dangerous company Of dissipared,
= fashionable men, Henry contracted all their
i; habits, he became dru,kard and ii gam
c. bier. Tie domestic circle was deserted
a and its obligations forgotten. Mary met her
" husbands harshncss and faithlessness with
n reproachcs ana bitterness; they both began
IS in error, and continued so. These occa-
II stoned loud and long, and violent collisions;
G, fearful example was thus sci before theii
! children, who grew up disobedient, Violent,
6, and D ssonate And though for many long
It, wears the impending bolt OF ruin was stayed
a Just above their heads, ut last it sped.
III Henry died lingering and awful death
III His estate Is found to be insolvet; his chill


tlren grew up to ruin; and Mary, the once


beautiful, enchanting Mary Conway, ended


her life in poverty and obscurity. Thus


fatal in its direct and natural consequence cs
a. was all error; a single error; the offspring
In rather of accident than intention. i leave
,st the moral for others to trace out and apply,
he


of THE DUKE OF ORLEANS.
IL This Prince (says Paris letter) is, a,
ny every BODY knows, excessively rich: but i
he is not as generally known, that he is his owl
III st ward and accountant. The Duke know
e. his receipts and expenditures to centime-
he He cuts no grass to make hay, because h,
"a might have Idle fellows, and hay wasted-
VS. He goes into the fields with those who wisl
ial to purchase, and sells the grass as it stands
&C. so that all the expense Of converting it int
,c- hay, and of its removal, falls upon the pur
,e, chaser. He then cal -ulates how much III
nd horses ought to cat in year, and purchase
ne at the best rate to that extent. He does tn


IA.