This
reconciles him to life, and life's cares, troubles, and joys. His
spirit is buoyant, come what may; for there is an angel at home, and
there is happiness with her: she is the mother of his children; she
unites with him in love and exertions for the benefit of these. They
are one in these, and with every birth there is a new link to bind and
gladden two hearts. Without the virtuous love of woman, man is a
miserable being, worthless to himself and useless to his kind. But when
the heart's wealth is given to one who has no sympathy with it, and
gives only in return coldness and hate; who betrays every confidence
and disappoints every hope; who is only happy when he is miserable, and
refuses the generous aid a wife owes to his exertions; who rejoices in
his failures, and intrigues to produce them, and weeps over his
successes with the bitterness of disappointment; who hates her
offspring, because they resemble their father; who spurns his caresses,
and turns away from his love--then life's hopes are blighted, and all
is black before. His energies die out with his hopes; the goading
thought is eternally present; he shrinks away from society, and in
solitude and obscurity hides him from the world--which too often
condemns him as the architect of all his misery.
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