The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1854-05-27
Grlrttc0 Gtorp.
FLORA BLANCHARD;
OR, DELICATE HEALTH.
CHAPTER |.
A DELICATE CHILD.

Mr.. and Mrs. Blanchard leaned affection
Perfect rest sat upon its little features, and its
fair forehead seemed almost to blend the wise
calmncss of an infant sage with the lovcablc
Willingness with which artists like to paint
Cupid. ItsilaXcn hair clustered in thin natul-
al ringlets, and the picture was one of I'M
taught, and therefore exquisite grace in re-
pose The lips parted, and n smile mantcd
The chcrub face: so innocent and so heavenly,
that it seemed the realization of the beautiful
superstition, that when an infant smiles in
its sleep, it is answering an angels whisper.
Too happy for words, the father pressed
the mothers hand, she answered the silent
token of atlcction, and bowling upon his neck ,
melted to tears. They were not sorrow, but
the testimony of the fnllncss Of that satisfied,
yet anxious joy, that none but mothers
know.
1T is beautiful babe" said tie father.
My hopes are all centred upon the little be-
ing as she sleeps, of what full
hearts arc ycarning over her."
".tnd mine too, Edward. But we must not
hope too much. 1t is delicate child
Little Flora waked--and smile more in
tclligent than the smile in sleep, lighted up
her face, as if in recognition of her parents,
stopped over the cradle, and, taking up her
babe, pressed it to her bosom. The father
looked on while his heart lcapcd with love
and JOY. She was thewife of his choice-the
Child was the first bond ofthcir union. Whcth-
or he Lowell child or mother best, Edward
could not tell; he feared by thought of pre-
could never continc his thoughts to one alone.
And the mother, the child was to her the
image of its father, and therefore she loved it.
The father was the father of her child, and
therefore-more than in her maiden love she
thought she could--she loved him. The two
were her all in life, her first remembrance in
the morning, the companions of her thoughts
all day, and her visitors in dreams at night.
If there be happiness below, it is in such a
union as this, of conjugal and parental love.
Come, fathcr,-rcach baby's possct. Little
Flora says she is hungry. Go to the side
board my dear, and put in tca-spoonful of
wine, 1.-THE child is weak, and you know st.
Paul says use little wine for the stomach's
sakc.''
Timothy, whom st. Paul addressed, was
not nursing infant. Oh, apostle to the Cen
tiles! How many have wrcstcd that scrip
ture to their own dcstruction-how many to
the destruction of their children The child
was doscd with the poisoned pap, and it
scarce required one tea-spoonful of wine to
light its eyes at one year of age, with the I'M
natural brightness of intoxication. "Therc
mother knew it would feel BETTER" Again
the child laughed but it was an idiot laugh,
an epitome and forctaste of the maudlin mirth
which adults mistake for happiness till head
ache follows. Full soon this second stage of
drunkenness fell upon little Flora. Her eyes,
at first joyous and sparkling, soon dmmed,
tllc lltlS lCll llel Heitu was lllTOWI DaCk, anu
again she was laid in the cradle The second
sleep was not like the first. 1t was inter-
ruptcd with starts, and uneasy tossing from
side to side, until at length deep, difficult
lreathing and entire Inconsistencies took
place of the calm rest Flora had enjoyed in
the early part of the evening. Uneasy con-
tortions were on her countenance, between q
smile and expression of pain. If angels
whispered to little Flora before, who whisper
cd now?
The decanter stood on Mrs. Blanchard work.
table. Edward frowned a little. as he put
away his book, which had received staining
drop of the restorative" But how could he
complain when that drop had been spilled in
administering medicine to his child7 He did
reflect that the child, as well as the book, re-
ceived injury from such 'medicine." Mrs.
Banchard's eye wandered from the table to
the hearth, where kettle ofwarm water sim
mercd. Her husband anticipated her wishes,