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[00:01] This episode of Sleepy is proudly sponsored by Green Chef. I've tried different diets before, in a pinch, thinking I need to make a change, and, you know, I've tried cutting out carbs. No bread, no pasta, no rice. And for a few days, it felt like I was doing something good for myself. But the truth is, I love carbs. And I was just cutting out the foods that I loved, and because of that, it didn't last. Most quick fixes don't. That is why Green Chef feels honestly different. Because instead of cutting everything out, what they do is they focus on real balanced meals that are easy to stick with because they're delicious. With Green Chef, you get over 40 recipes each week made with organic produce and responsibly sourced proteins. You can choose what matters to you, Mediterranean, high protein, or their new longevity line, which is built around brain and gut health specifically. I recently made one of their rice bowls for dinner and it came together in about 20 minutes. Everything was pre-portioned and simple and healthy and delicious. And I still get to eat what I love and still feel great after. Green Chef also includes free, unlimited one-on-one nutrition coaching. And they're the only certified clean meal kit with 20% less food waste and 100% offset delivery emissions. I use Green Chef and you should too. Head to greenchef.com/50sleepy and use code 50sleepy to get 50% off your first month, then 20% off for two months. That's code 50sleepy at greenchef.com/50sleepy. I'll have a link for this in the show notes. Eat well, sleep well. This episode of Sleepy is proudly sponsored by Avocado Green Mattress. There's something really reassuring about knowing what you're actually sleeping on every night. And Avocado makes certified organic mattresses, pillows, and solid wood furniture without harmful chemicals, using real materials chosen with care. Nothing flashy, nothing artificial, just thoughtfully made products designed to support better sleep and healthier living. If you've listened to the show, you know that I ironically have had a hard time sleeping for many, many years and I assumed that waking up tired was just part of life. Like that was the baseline. But switching to a truly supportive mattress changed that for me in a very real way. Sleep sopped feeling like something that I had to fight for and started feeling like something my body could actually settle into and something I look forward to all day. What stands out about Avocado is how transparent and intentional they are. Certified organic, non-toxic materials, responsibly sourced and made to last. It really creates a bedroom that feels cleaner, calmer and easier to rest in. You can feel the difference, not just physically, but mentally too. Better sleep doesn't come from hacks or trends. It comes from getting the basics right. And getting a well-made mattress is one of those decisions that makes everything else in your life feel easier. From your mornings to your mood throughout the entire day. So when it comes to what you sleep on, real wins. Real is better. Go to avocadogreenmattress.com/sleepy to check out their mattress and bedding sale. That's avocadogreenmattress.com/sleepy. avocadogreenmattress.com/sleepy. I'll have a link for this in the show notes. Hey. My name is Otis Gray, and you're listening to Sleepy. A podcast where I read old books to help you get to sleep. And this is a midweek short story for you. Tonight's story is by an author that we haven't read on the show in quite a bit. And honestly, it's usually an author that we read during the fall and the winter, none other than Washington Irving. But here are a lot of really great short stories, and we're gonna read one tonight. And before we get to this snoozy bedtime reading, I just want to profoundly thank all of our patrons on patreon.com. If you are a patron, thank you so, so much. It means a lot to me that you are here and you are helping to make this show happen. So, thank you. And if you are listening and you don't know what I'm talking about, patrons on patreon, they help keep the show going. They are listeners that pledge a couple bucks a month to be a part of making this show directly. And you get cool perks in exchange. Like at $2 a month, you get access to the ad-free version of Sleepy. At $5, you get access to our poetry feed, all kinds of episodes you've never heard before. But even a dollar means so much to me. And even a dollar, no matter how much you give, I will happily read your name on our next Sunday show after you do. So, if you would like to join the thousands of Sleepy listeners who are a part of making the show on Patreon, you can do that by going to patreon.com/sleepyradio. Thank you. And as always, the music you're hearing is by my good friend James Lebkowski, and the cover of her Sleepy is by Gracie Cana. Well, tonight, like I said, I don't usually read Washington Irving in the warmer months, but there's this collection of short stories by Washington Irving, the sketchbook of Geoffrey Cran, and I've been really wanting to dive into that because I just really love Irving's writing. I think he's a fascinating storyteller, and reading his stories out loud, he's definitely one of those authors who think, maybe imagines that he's being retold and read out loud by a fire, or maybe by a bed like we are tonight. Anyways, they're really a pleasure to read. So tonight, we'll be reading a really beautiful, touching story called The Wife. I hope your April is going fantastic so far, and you're getting good sleep. And I hope as the flowers start to bloom, and the weather starts to get warmer, you can snooze so deeply to this reading of The Wife, a short story by Washington Irving. And now is the time for you to fluff up your pillow just how you like it. Feel yourself melt into your bed. Get real comfortable. Close your eyes, and let me read to you. The Wife. The treasures of the deep are not so precious as are the concealed comforts of a man locked up in woman's love. I sent the air of blessings when I came but near the house. What a delicious breath marriage sends forth. The violet beds, no sweeter. A Middleton. I've 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 the sublime. Nothing can be more touching than to behold a soft and tender woman who had been all weakness and dependence and alive to every trivial roughness, while threading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in force to be the comforter in support of her husband under misfortune and abiding with untrinking firmness, the bitterest blasts of adversity. As the vine, which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak, have been lifted by it into sunshine, well, when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils and bind up its shattered boughs, so it was beautifully ordered by Providence. That woman, who is the mere dependent and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay in solace when smitten with sudden calamity. Winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the drooping head and binding up the broken heart. I was once congratulating a friend who had around him a blooming family, knit together in the strongest affection. I can wish you no better lot, said he with enthusiasm, than to have a wife and children. If you are prosperous, there they are to share your prosperity. If otherwise, they are there to come for you. And indeed, I have observed that a married man falling into misfortune is more apt to retrieve his situation in the world than a single one, partly because he is more stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence. But chiefly, because his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments and his self-respect kept alive by finding that though all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the monarch. Whereas a single man is apt to run, to waste and self-neglect, to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin like some deserted mansion for want of an inhabitant. These observations call to mind a little domestic story of which I was once a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had married a beautiful and accomplished girl who had been brought up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is true, no fortune, but that of my friend was ample, and he delighted in the anticipation of indulging her in every elegant pursue and administering to those delicate tastes and fancies that spread a kind of witchery about the sex. Her light, said he, shall be like a fairy tale. The very difference in their characters produced a harmonious combination. He was of a romantic and somewhat serious cast. She was all life and gladness. I have often noticed the mute rapture with which she would gaze upon her in company, of which her sprightly powers made her the delight. And now, in the midst of applause, her eye would still turn to him, as if there alone she sought favor and acceptance. When leaning on his arm, her slender form contrasted finely with his tall, manly person. The fond, confiding air with which she looked up to him seemed to call forth the flush of triumphant pride and cherishing tenderness, as if he doted on his lovely burden from its very helplessness. Never did a couple set forward on the flowery path of early and well suited marriage with a fairer prospect of felicity. It was the misfortune of my friend, however, to have embarked his property in large speculations. And he had not been married many months, when by a succession of sudden disasters, it was swept from him, and he found himself reduced to almost penury. For a time, he kept his situation to himself, and went about with a haggard countenance and a breaking heart. His life was but a protracted agony, and what rendered it more insupportable was the necessity of keeping up a smile in the presence of his wife. For he could not bring himself to overwhelm her with the news. She saw, however, with the quick eyes of affection that all was not well with him. She marked his altered looks and stifled sighs, and was not to be deceived by his sickly and vapid attempts at cheerfulness. She tasked all her sprightly powers and tender blandishments to win him back to happiness. But she only drove the arrow deeper into his soul. The more he saw, caused to love her, the more torturing was the thought that he was soon to make her wretched. A little while, Thay and the smile will vanish from that cheek. The song will die away from the lips. The luster of those eyes will be quenched with sorrow. And the happy heart, which now beats lightly in that bosom, will be weighed down like mine by the cares and miseries of the world. A length, he came to me one day and related his whole situation in a tone of deepest despair. When I had 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, Grady, 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 light, 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. How can she bear neglect? She has been the idol of society. Oh, it will break her heart. It will break her heart. I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow. For sorrow relieves itself by words. When his paroxysm has subsided, and he had relapsed into a moody silence, I resumed the subject gently, and urged him to break his situation at once to his wife. He shook his head mournfully, but positively. Bower you to keep it from her. It is necessary she should know it, that you may take the steps proper to the alteration of your circumstances. You must change your style of living. Nay, observing a pain to pass across his countenance. Don't let that afflict you. I am sure you never have placed your happiness in outward show. You have yet friends, warm friends, who will not think the worse of you for being less splendidly lodged. And surely, it does not require a palace to be happy with Mary. I could be happy with her, cried he, convulsively in a hovel. I could go down with her into poverty and the dust. I could, I could. God bless her, God bless her, cried he, bursting into a transport of grief and tenderness. And believe me, my friend, said I, stepping up and grasping him warmly by the hand. Believe me, she can be the same with you. I, more, it will be a source of pride and triumph to her. It will call forth all the latent energies and fervent sympathies of her nature, for she will rejoice to prove that she loves you for yourself. There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity, but which kindles up and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity. No man knows what the wife of his bosom is. No man knows what a ministering angel she is until he is gone with her through the fiery trials of this world. There was something in the earnestness of my manner and the figurative style of my language that caught the excited imagination of Leslie. I knew the auditor I had to deal with, and following up the impression I had made, I finished my persuading him to go home and unburden his sad heart to his wife. I must confess, now withstanding all I had said, I felt some little solicitude for the result. Who can calculate on the fortitude of one whose life has been a round of pleasures? Her gay spirits might revolt at the dark, downward path of low humility, suddenly pointed out before her, and might cling to the sunny regions in which they had hitherto reveled. Besides, ruin in fashionable life is accompanied by so many galling mortifications, to which in other ranks it is a stranger. And sure, I could not meet Leslie the next morning without trepidation. He had made the disclosure. And how did she bear it? Like an angel, it seemed rather to be a relief to her mind, for she threw her arms around my neck, and asked if this was all that had lately made me unhappy. But poor girl, Addie, she cannot realize the change we must undergo. She has no idea of poverty, but in the abstract, she has only read of it in poetry, where it is allied to love. She feels as yet no privation. She suffers no loss of accustomed conveniences nor elegancies. When we come practically to experience its sordid cares, its paltry wants, its petty humiliations, then will be the real trial. But said I, now that you have got over the severest task, that of breaking it to her, the sooner you let the world into the secret, the better. The disclosure may be mortifying, but then it is a single misery, and soon over, whereas you otherwise suffer it in anticipation every hour in the day. It is not poverty, so much as pretense that harasses a ruined man, the struggle between a proud mind and an empty purse, the keeping up a hollow show that must soon come to an end. Have the courage to appear poor, and you disarm poverty of its sharpest sting. On this point, I found Leslie perfectly prepared. He had no false pride himself, and as to his wife, she was only anxious to conform to their altered fortunes. Some days afterwards, he called upon me in the evening. He had disposed of his dwelling house, and taken a small cottage in the country a few miles from town. He had been busy all day in sending out furniture. The new establishment required few articles, and those of the simplest kind. All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold, accepting his wife's harp. That, he said, was too closely associated with the idea of herself. It belonged to the little story of their loves. For some of the sweetest moments of their courtship, for those when he had leaned over that instrument and listened to the melting tones of her voice. I could not but smile at this instance of romantic gallantry in adoring husband. He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had been all day superintending its arrangement. My feelings had become strongly interested in the progress of his family story, and as it was a fine evening, I offered to accompany him. He was worried with the fatigues of the day, and as we walked out, I felt a bit of gloomy musing. Poor Mary, at length broke with a heavy sigh from his lips. And whatever, asked I, has anything happened to her? What, said he, darting an impatient glance, is it nothing to be reduced to this paltry situation, to be caged in a miserable cottage, to be obliged to toil almost in the menial concerns of her wretched habitation? Has she then repined at the change? Repined, she has been nothing but sweetness and good humor. Indeed, she seems in better spirits than I have ever known her. She has been to me all love and tenderness and comfort. Admirable girl, exclaimed I, You call yourself poor, my friend. You never were so rich. You never knew the boundless treasures of excellence you possessed in that woman. Oh, but my friend, if this first meeting at the cottage were over, I think I could then be comfortable. But this is her first day of real experience. She's been introduced into a humble dwelling. She has been employed all day in arranging its miserable equipment. She has, for the first time, known the fatigues of domestic employment. She has, for the first time, looked around her on a home destitute of everything elegant, almost of everything convenient, and may now be sitting down, exhausted and spiritless, brooding over a prospect of future poverty. There is a degree of probability in this picture that I could not gainsay, so we walked on in silence. After turning from the main road up a narrow lane, so thickly shaded with forest trees, as to give it a complete air of seclusion, we came inside of the cottage. It was humble enough in its appearance for the most pastoral poet, and yet it had a pleasing rural look. A wild vine had overrun one end with a profusion of foliage. A few trees threw their branches gracefully over it, and I observed several pots of flowers tastefully disposed about the door and on the grass plot in front. A small wicked gate opened a footpath that wound through some shrubbery to the door. Just as we approached, we heard the sound of music. Leslie grasped my arm. We paused and listened. It was Mary's voice singing in the style of the most touching simplicity. A little air of which her husband was peculiarly fond. I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He stepped forward to hear more distinctly. His step made a noise on the gravel walk. A bright beautiful face glanced out at the window and vanished. A light footstep was heard, and Mary came tripping forth to meet us. She was in a pretty rural dress of white. A few wild flowers were twisted in her fine hair. A fresh bloom was on her cheek, her old countenance beamed with smiles. I had never seen her look so lovely. My dear George Cratchy, I'm so glad you are come. I've been watching and watching for you, and running down the lane, and looking out for you. I've sat at a table under a beautiful tree behind the cottage, and I've been gathering some of the most delicious strawberries, for I know you are fond of them, and we have such excellent cream. And everything is so sweet and still here. Oh, said she, putting her arm within his, and looking up brightly in his face. Oh, we shall be so happy. Poor Leslie was overcome. He caught her to his bosom. He folded his arms around her. He kissed her again and again. He could not speak, but the tears gushed into his eyes. And he has often assured me, that though the world has since gone prosperously with him, and his life has indeed been a happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment of more exquisite felicity. Thank you for listening to Sleepy, good night.