The Grand Haven news., 1859-10-12

charm here which was lacking at his own
lhearth-stone.
1t was genuine old fashioned tea,
hot biscuits, amber preserves, delicate
pink shavings of dried beef, and cake that
would make even dyspeptic smack his
lips. Maynard could not help compli-
menting the edibles. He didu't get any
such at the restaurant where he lunched,
and his wife's Irish kitchen crops had an
altogether different idea Of things.
"Oh," said Amy, laughing, /" / made
them myself"
add you?" He looked at her half
amused. IL did not know ladies ever
employed themselves now days."
d" am a capital cook" said Amy
awe are obliged 10 study economy some
what, and so l am my own housemaid."
"Then you don't belong TO the rose
leaf sort Of ladies who think it horrible
to touch their white fingers to cooking
utensil |"
"No, indeed" she said, opening her
blue eyes in astonishment. at keeps
me healthy and happy, and as Charles
has to work hard in the store, all day, il
is only fair that | should do my part"
"Many women are foolish enough TO
think such things below them," he said
almost with sigh.
~ DON'T" she said, smiling. 81 think
nothing below me that helps to make my
husband happier, or brighten my home" !"
1t was a simple little saying, but May
nard pondered upon it long. Was it the
secret of household bliss!
He looked at her little etdrge of we'll
selected books the guitar and the pile OF
music in the corner, the exquisite draw
ings on the wall, which Wilford told him
was Amy's own-the pine cone temples
and moss baskets and little womanly tri-
fes she had amused herself with-the
bits of embroidery-the stand of gerani-
ums and heliotrope-even the piled up
work basket-and thought within him
self how true woman graccs and glori-
fies everything on which hand may rest.
Finally she came in from the kitchen
beyond, the white apron changed for a
thinner one of black silk, aud sat down
by the table 10 work, every now and then
Joining in the conversation with zest and
spirit that seemed the life of the whole.
How proud MILFORD was of her. How
he appealed 60 her judgement on every
occasion, and how fondly his eyes rested
on her blooming face. She was not do
ing crochet work, she was not embroider-
ing web-like muslin, she was just darning
her husbands stockings, and rs the shin.
ing needle cleaned in and out among the
interlacing warp and woof, Maynard tho'I
he had never seen prcttier or more grace
full employment.
For Amy brought spirit and soul tc
her homely work that would have made
the coarscst fabric bright with the tint O
Persian looms.
And when at length Maynard took hi,
leave, the reflection, What happy fel
low Wilford is y was accompanied witt
something very much like sigh. Hi
home was different, far.
He breakfrsteG alone the next morn
ing-his wife had been out late at ball
and seldom rose until eleven o'clock. The
coffee was cold and muddy, even in th'
frosted silver urn, the toast was burned
and the steak sodden and raw, the fire
smouldered away under its accumulation
of ashes, and he read tho morning pape
alone, with no bright face opposite L
IL, ,,,ta in, nh
The button was off his wrstband, but n,
matter. Clara must not be disturbed
he could just pin it over for the day; hi
toes peeped through his stockings as h
changed slippers for boots, but never mind
he would ask Clara tonight where TIN
others were. Pshaw, he could not tic tn
cravat to suit him, and dragged it into I
limp knot; there was no little wife Il
stand on tip-toc and arrange it, and thel
get n kiss for her pains.
He went silently away, with no ligh
, footsteps tripping after him 10 the door
[ the shadow Of no sweet goodbye follow
| ing him like guardian angel Oh his wa.
a for Clara was a fashionable wife.
: At dinner time he camo home, bal
hoping that there would be glance an
@ smile like Amy's to greet him-a HON
, influence around hisluxurious apartment:
Where's Clara?"
}. She lounged on damask sofa, tn
I rings flashing on her slender fingers, an
S her delicate figure arrayed in folds of lu'
trous silk while the slippcred foot, peer
n ing from beneath, seemed fit only to trea
1 the roses of life, She hardly glanced u
# from the novel she was reading rs he er
S tercd-why should she he was only he
o husband.
= He sat down, and began drummin
Is carclessy on the table with his fingers.
o "Isn't dinner nearly readyT
n al don't know. It's the cooks bus
It ness"
"But she ought to be more regular
10 said he.
A. al can't help that. wish you wo'
1t not bother about such things"
;s The tone was little pettish, rs Cla