The Cecil Whig., 1857-04-04
Gclctt Uulc.
From Te.ersons Magazine.
HENRIETTA BACON.
BY SARAH HAMILTON.
CHAPTER |.

The beautiful and the useful, can they
never bc blended, dear motl,,r or rather may
they not always bc?" asked a little girl look
my sadly down to the coarse knitting work
she held in her small. delicate hands.
She had set for long time gazing intcntly
into the bright blaze that sprang fGully up
the black chimney, upon the sparks that flew
chcerilv upward still further, aud then at the
rcd Goals glowing beneath. 1t was pleas
ant fire IA cheer full. substantial fire. scuing
its warmth far out into the room. but this
was not all: it boastcd something more, some.
thing that irradiat,d the heart. What this
peculiar property was Henrietta Bacon was
striving to find out. vague. half defined idea
nl,eady llumned her mind, and had callcl
forth tl.e above query. .-.
"What do you mean, clnld?" answered the
matter Of fact mother, stepping the busy
wheel to supply herself with another roll.
"Oh. hardly know myself, mother; but
does it never seem to you as if your work
amounted to nothing, just as if you were too
much like that wheel which helps us " be
hure--but--" L..
"W,ll. what of il?" interrupted the moth.
er. seeing Henrietta hestatcd for words to ex
press her meaning: IL suppose we were made
TO work. what would and your father do lift
were not for the labor Of my hands"
II know it mother. I've been thinking all
about it as sat here how lltle could do,
and how 10th | sometimes feel to do even
that little. Then thought if could work
AS that fire does, it makes us warm, and some
how it makes us happy in another way. |
love to sit here and watch it, it is just as
gool rs q picture-those bright Goals, can
make them look like anything please, as |
do the frost OH the windows. Don't you sup
pose, mother, some things are made purpusely
to look at!"
What strange qucStions-but come, you
mist learn to talk and work too
The little girl sighed, and once more resum
ed her knitting. She remained very quiet
for SOME time. At last a new thought broke
the silence.
Il say, mother, if you could only spin my
yarn little finer do so like pretty stock
ings, and would take such gond care Of
them, AS fear do not always now.
II am glad to hear You own your faults
my daughter. There is some hope Of you
yet-but you must allow me TO he the best
judge of ,our stocking yarn.
The glad, hopeful expression faded slowly
from the child's face. She stopped down to
pat the old house dog, one, Two, three bright
tears fill on his II, ok. just then the outer
door opened and the master Of the low cot
tage entered. lie was thoroughly wet. foril
was rainy evening, and he had walked
long mile from the village post office, where
he had been for the weekly paper. He took
Oft the we'll worn hat dipping with water,
hung it ON the end dofa long pole extending
nearly across the room, and apparently made
use offor various purposes: spread his great
coat OH the back of two chairs, calling upon
Henrietta for the boot. jack. he soon found
himself comfortably seated before the ample
fire, where he had fine opportunity ofw warm
ing and drying his ample dimensions. Hen
Iietta took her former place in the corner,
half hoping. aud yet not expecting to hear
some word Of cndrarlnent from the ncw-com-
or. a rE ..r.F "a
Mr. Bacon was person of ardent feelings,
but belonged to that mistaken class who think
it denotes weakness Of character to express
any warmth OF emotion. So they both sat
mute. father and daughter, each feeling that
nnsocial home circle lacked much TO make ii
happy one. Mrs. Bacon put back her
wheel, lit tall. tailow candle sunk deep in
its iron socket, pulled out the round table,
placed thereon three blue-edsed plates. lot
Of beans and some Geld biscut-a cup Of hot
tea being the only luxury INDUCED in. Hen
rietta took her accustomed place, The brau-
tiful and the useful, murmured she, half u
loud. 5E -.t. ~ .-....I .l ..-..
1s "What did you say2" interrupted her faith.
er. Did you spcak2" g.a ss. -.si
II say an, not hungry tonight. answer
ed the little girl, and pushed back her chair.
she kaecled down by the old house dog. who
looked pitifully into the face Of his young
80 L.. L. Z,
"You." said Mr.. Bacon, addressing his
wife, as he finished his supper. Neither had
spoken during the short meal. Il saw MIR.
Tompkins tc-night, the thIashers will Ic
here early III the morning"
early in the morning! repeated Mrs.
Bacon. "what shall have for breakfasl?"
'Oh, pick up something, you are good for
that" said he, bestowing one Of those salts
fed. happy expressions that so tell ON good
wife's heart The answered look told he had
nothing to fear, for il ever woman could
create victuals and clothing from apparently
panght. Mrs. Bacon was the one. .f-.,.
Perhaps our readers may concludcfrc the
above remarks that Mr.. Bacon wasa poor
man: in one respect he was, in another far
from tout Of debt. owning a lat &c farm of
two hundred acics should have made hun in
dependent. Mr.. Bacon laborcd hard, follow
ing in the footsteps Of the rcvcrcd parent from
whose hands it had passed into his own. He
had madcan honest livelihood, but nothing
rs vt had been laid ly against day Of letd;
modern improvements he looked upon as so
many hnnbugs, nor would he dispose Of
single acre, though twice the value Of it had
beGn repeatedly ot&rcd. Il can but barely
1--we now" lc would cften say 10 his wife:
what could do with mailer lalm'' OF