Montgomery County sentinel. [volume] (Rockville, Md.) 1855-1974, 1859-06-03
An Interesting Gale.
MY THREE WIVES.
by HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

"You have come at last o, Charles,
how could you be so late? | have been
frightened almost to death. imagining
all sorts of terrible accidents happening
to your
The pretty head nestled close to my
shoulder, in sort of thankful ecstacy,
and the rose-tipped fingers belonging
thereunto strove vainiy to undo the COM
plicated fastenings of my shawl, while
the deep, lustrous, hazel eyes and shi-
ming brown curls formed so charming a
contrast to the driving snow that / had
been battling with for the last half hour,
that | couldn't resist the temptation to
suspend all operations just long enough
for lover-like kiss on the pure low
forehead, even though in the action a
miniature drift of snow showered down
from my hat-brim all over the sunny,
struggling ringlets.
What foolish little pussy you are, -
said I, throwing off my cloak and gloves.
l am only ten minutes behind my time,
after ALL"
"Ten minutes ten whole minutes p
exclaimed the busy elf turning round
from the fire, where she was ostenta-
tiously warming pair of deliberately
embroidered slippers. GLOW can you
speak SO cooily, when I have been in
such agonies of suspense ?"
| sat down in the easy-chair, and
looked with a smile of very excusable
pride at the roseleaf beauty and pretty,
graceful ways of my First Wife, as she
futtered around the room, busted now liz
one corner, now in another. The blue
ribboned guitar lay among the cushions
Of the sofa, as she had just left it.; the
purple and gold edition Of "Tennyson's
Poems" was open on the table, at our
favorite lyric; the aristocratic spaniel,
silver collared, and fed ON the very fat
of the land, slumbered on his blue silk
cushion before the CRATE, and a spray of
pink geraniums tied up with bit Of
crimson-belled fuchsia, lay in the rose
WOOD workbox, with small gold thimble,
a strip of half finished embroidery, and
something that Lizzie solemnly declared
would be the prettiest silk purse in the
world p
What delightful reading of Shaks-
pere VIC had that evening before the fire.
When Lizzie came to sit beside my knee,
on that tiny footstool of hers, with the
purLe, as an excuse for delicious idle
ness, and | read the sweetest and most
musical morceaur, twisting one long shi-
ming tress round my finger as | turned
the leaves. And she would stop me at
her favorite passages, and make me read
them over again, with her soft liquid
eyes shining through dew, as she smiled
up into my face, while the crotchet-needle
cleaned idly through the meshes of
amethystine silk-and we both forgot
the arid world of real life, with its thorns
and briers, and hidden pitfalls, and passed
through the pearl-bright gates of Poesy
into the Eden cline Of Song and Ro-
nance.
Sentimental, did you say? OF course
it was sentimental, and excessively silly
also, if you choose to call it so. But we
had not been married long. and we're in
sane enough TO love one another better
than all the world besides. Even while
] was absent in the business avocations
Of daily life, knew that she was work
ing at the purse, with some sweet mem
DRY Of me weaving its invisible wool into
every stitch, or else practiciDg some IA
vorite song to sing TO mo wbeD came
home at night liked TO be 80 idolized