The weekly Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1854-1861, 1859-08-24
RAVENNA, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST "a, 1859.

lne stanu Ol geIhnlums anu neHOUope-eNeuI
the piled up work-basket-and thought
within himself how true woman graces and
glorifes every thing on which her hand may
rest.
Finally, she came in from the kitchen be-
yond, the white apron changed for a timer
one Of black silk, and sat down by the table
to work, every now and then joining in the
conversation with zest and spirit that seemed
the life of the whole. How proud Wilford
was Of her. How he appealed to her judg-
ment on every occasion and how fondly his
eyes rested on her blooming face. She was
not doing crochet work; she was not embroi.
dering web like muslin; sho was just darning
her husbands stockings; and as the shining
needle cleaned in and out among the inter.
lacing warp and wool, Maynard thought he
had never seen o prettier or more graceful
employment.
For Amy brought spirit and a soul to her
homely work that would have made the
coarsest fabric bright with the tint Of Per-
sian looms.
And when at length Maynard took his
leave, the ref ection, what happy fellow
Wilford is = was accompanied with some.
thing very much like sigh. His home was
different, far.
He breakfasted alone the next morning
his wife had been out late at a ball, and
seldom rose until eleven clock. The cof-
fee was cold and muddy, even in the fros-
ted silver urn the tost was burned, and the
stake sodden and raw the fire smouldered
away under its uccumula tions OF ashes, and
be read the morning paper alone, with no
bright face opposite to share his interest in
each paragraph. The bottom was off his
wrisband, but no matter. Clara must not
be disturbed-he could just pin it over for
the day his toes peeped through his stock.
ings, as he changed slippers for boots, but
never mind her would ask Clara tonight
where the others were. Pshaw, he could
not tie the crayat to suit him, and dragged
it into limb knot; there was no little
wife to stand on tip.toe and arrange it, and
then get kiss for her pains
He went silently away, with no light
footsteps tripping after him to the door the
shadow of no sweeter good bye following
him like guardian angel on his way-for
Clara was a fashionable wife.
At dinner he came home, half.hoping that
there would be glance and smile like
Amy's to greet hm-a home influence
around his luxurious apartments.
where's Clara p
She lounged on dlmask sofa, the rings
Gashng on her slender fingers, and her deli.
cate figure arrayed in folds Of lustrous silk,
while the sIippered foot. peeping from be.
meath. seemed fit only to tread the rose Of
life. She hardly glanced up from the nov
ell she was reading as he entered-why
should she He was only her husband.
He sat down, and began drumming care
lessIy on the table with his fingers.
"Isn't dinner nearly ready 7"
81 don't know. It's the cooks business. !"
"But she ought to be more regular" said
he.
II cant help that. wish goo wouldn't
plague me about such things"
The tone was a little pe,tish, as Clara
brushed away her brown curls. and resumed
her book, and Maynurd relapsed into silence
again.
Presently another idea struck him.
"Can't you play something to night,
Clara 90
The piano has not been opened in an age.
Come, sing me some of the old ballads" )"
"I can't 5" she said listlessiy."I am Out
of practice entirely. Do let me read"
"Ifyou will lay aside your book after din
ner, and have an old fashioned evening talk.
and music and gossip"
"Impossible ! l am engaged for every mo-
ment after seven-the opera first, and then
the fancy ball"
"Couldn't you let them go for one even
ing"
"OD1 no II WOulu never 10 !!
He was silent-but there was dull
dead pain at his heart some void which ar
could never fill.
The silent dinner was over; she went
forth in her shining robes, with pearls il
her hair, and bracelets clasping her arms
to an evening Of dissipation and gaety, will
smiles for the beau monde but none fol
. home.
While Maynard, after long and gloomy
reverie by his lonely fireside, took his ha
and went away to the club, that brillian
place Of gaiety and mirth, through whose
chandeiered portals SO many foot ha'
trod the broad path Of destruction.
Poor mamie had no home.