The Cass County Republican. [volume] (Dowagiac, Mich.) 18??-1880, 1859-07-28
NUMBER IA.

For Amy brought spirit and soul
to her homely work that would have
made the coarsest fabric bright with
the tint of Persian looms.
And when at length Maynard took
his leave, the refectionj "What hap
py fellow Wilford is - was a;compa-
MED with something very like q sigh.
HIS home was different far.
He breakfased alone the next morn
ing-his wife had been out late at
ball, ard seldom rose before eleven o.
clock. The coffee was cold and muddy
evenin the frosted silver urn the toast
was burned, and the steak sodden and
raw; the fire smothered away under
its accumulations of ashes, and he read
the morning paper alone, with no bright
face opposite to share his interest in
each paragraph. The button off his
wrist band, but no matter. Clara must
not be disturbed-he could just pin it
over for the day; his toes peeped
through his stockings, as he changed
slippers for boots, but never mind, he
would ask Clara tonight where the
Others were. Pashaw he could not
tie the cravat to suit him, and dragged
it into a limp 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 sweet "good bye"
following him like guardian angle on
his way-for Clara was fashionable
wife!
At dinner time he came home, half
hoping that there would be glance
and a smile like Amy's to greet him
a home influence around his luxurious
garments.
"Where's Clara p
She lounged on damask sofa, the
rings flashing OF her slender fingers,
and her delicate figure arrayed in folds
of lustrous silk; while the slippered foot
peeping from beneath seemed fit only
to tread the roses of life. She hardly
glanced up from the novel she was
reading as he entered-why should
she ?-he was only her husband.
He sat down and began drumming
carlessly on the table with his fingers.
"Isn't dinner nearly ready 2" -aa
"I don't know. It's the cooks bus
iness."
"But, she ought to be more regular"
said he.
"I can't help that. 1 wish you
wouldn't plague me about such little
things"
The tone was little pettish, as Clara
brushed away her brown curls, and re-
sumed her book, and Maynard relapsed
into silence again. s
Presently another idea struck him.
"Can't you play something tonight
Clara9 The epianohas not been opened
in an age. Come, sing me some of the
old ballads"
"I can't" she said listlessly I'm
out of practice entirely. Do let me
read"
"If you'll lay aside your book after
dinner, and have good old fashioned
evening of talk and music and gossip"
Impossible! 1 am engaged for
every moment after seven-the opera
first, and then the fancy ball."
"CouIdn't you let them 60 for one
evening ?"
go no! it Would never do! 20
He was silent-but there was dull
dead pain at his void which
art could never fill.
The silent dinner was over; she went
forth in her shining robes, with pearls
in her hair, and bsacelets clasping her
arms, to an evening of reckless dissipa-
ton and gaiety, with smiles for the
:. bean bonde, but none for home.
While Maynard, after long and
gloomy reverie by his lonely fireside,
took his hat and went away to the Club
that brilliant place of gaiety and mirth,
through whose chandeliered portals so
many foot has trod the broad path Of
destruction!
Poor mamie had no home.
M. BLoNDIN's LAST WALK.-Yes-
terday, Blondin walked his rope at Nj