Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1856-11-27

: little matter of the music-master, the house
is Utterly destitute of every available means
of light, warmth, and food; that, more than
all, thesmonow is Christmas Eve, and tina,
perhaps with it may come their only earthly
friend-their darling niece their pretty Rose.
She is the only child Of dead brother, years
younger than themselves; and, having
brought her up and educated her. she is as
dear to them as though she were their own
daughter. So the invalid giving at length
her tardy consent. it is arranged that Mar
gsret shall set forth to the distant cathedral
town early in the morning, provided that no
fresh snow fall in the night, and thus render
the roads worse than they are.
"But you will ride, won't you. Msrgaret!"
asks Eleanor. ave can owe Broom, The
carrier, till we get our money. The old
man is very kind, and long our neighbor."
"Yes, but he is as poor as ourselves, and
talkative, too. No, / will keep our need
quiet, and walk the distance. shall get
on we'll if it is but fair overhead, and be
home earlier, too, than if | waited to re-
turn with Broom. So Mary Bradly's gil
must come in, and take care of you, dear
And you must keep your heart up whilst l
am gone"
She promises she will, and the sisters re-
tire to rest, when Margaret has made sundry
preparations, inclusive Of seeking for the
two precious volumes, bound in vellum, and
wrapping them carefully in paper. They
are almost the soie relics of once noble
library.
The morning breaks dull and gray. No
snow has fallen through the night, but the
clouds are laden with it; and, though there
has been a temporary thax, which must
have made the condition of the roads dread
fuI, the wind blows with arrowy keeEness.
Tie poor gentlewomap, Miss Margaret But
Ter, is up betimes. She effects her small
household work, carries up her sister her
breakfast, then helps her to rise, to dress to
come down stairs, and to take her place on
the sofa, where she has passed her days for
nearly fifteen years. She is great suffer-
er, but patient and gentle Withal. Not
thing for her comfort is forgotten by Mar
garet: the remnant of the beef-tea is set up
on the hob, her toast-and- water made. her
books and work put on small table beside
her; whilst soH the other hand, Eleanor's
anxiety with respect TO Margaret is extreme.
She knows the dreary road, the painful er-
rand at its end, and guesses that Margarets
scanty clothing can but i'll resist the bitter
cold. On this latter point the truth is worse
than she suspects.
With SO many things thus to do, it is be-
tween ten and eleven O'Clock before Mar
garet sets off. At about half a mile distant
from their lonely house lies rustic village.
Here she calls at a cottage, and asks the
mistress to spare her eldest girl while she
is gone, ts Miss Eleanor is quite alone
To this the mistress gladly assents; for not
only. is .'her little Snsy" pleased to 60, but
the Misses Butler have been the best OF
friends in maRy an hour of poverty and sick
ness, and she is anxious to oblige.
"But you be not surely going to walk all
the way, ma'am!" says the woman, anxious
ly. "My master says the roads be dreadful,
and deal more snow a-coming. I'm sure
old Broom would give thee lift, if only for
the sake O. tn years thou hast dWelt amongst
u.s.
81 know he would, Mary; but, as can
not afford tc pay, cannot think of trespas-
sing on his kindness. Now good-day. The
roads may be better than expect, and the
snow keep off. Please let Susy be atten-
tive to Miss Eleanor, and keep the fire up
with wood have put ready" Thus saying
she closes the cottage door, and plods on
her weary way.
Now, Susan" says the woman, abe
quickly off Take bundle O. tagots under !
thy arm, for know the wood be low E.
nough, and the coal spent three weeks ago.
Ay, it's right hard for ladies like them 10
know such deal O. poverty. & this through |
no fault of their"
1t is nearly eight miles to the cathedral
town by the somewhat heightened road
Margaret Butler takes, for the sake of avoid |
ing passers-by who NAV have known her in
more prosperous days. In summertime, this
is very picturesque, winding amidst hills,
crossed by pretty rivulets, and bordered by |
fields and healthy tracts; but now, these ma |
tural beauties add to its impassableness and |
desolation. With snow drifts, orerfowing |
water, and melted snow and mud, the road |
for the greater part is perfect quagnire
Yet the poor gentewoman plods on, care |
fully guarding her rusty silk dress from spo: |!
or blemish, though soon giving up the at
tempt to walk cleanly, or to save her feet |
from getting wet. They are soon soaked
through and through, and the wind rising
still higher, its snowy keenness sweeps be-
meath her scant and threadbare garments.
numbs her limbs, as we'll as chills the life
blood in her veins. Still she plods on.
thinking, if she does not thus strive, their
hearth this Eve will be desolate and chill,
and the morrow still more dear if Rose
should come.
Margaret is within two miles of the town,
when, the wind veering round, a mingled
| cloud of rain and snow comes down, so that
there being no shelter near at hand, and
her umbrella very old and frail, she is soon
wetted to the skin. Still it is no use re
pining; SO she guards the precious volumes,
saves her poor dress as we'll as she may land
plodding on wet, weary, depressed. and chill,
she prays low inward prayers to God that
He will lay His burden lightly on her, even
for the morrow's sake-so dear 10 all hu-
manity!
| Thus it is three o'clock or more before
she reaches the cathedral town. Though it
is such dismal day, and such storm yet
peurs down, the streets have many passers
to and fro, intent on Christmas needs. So,
unwilling to be recognized in such drench-
ed and wan condition, and being too poor to
seek the shelter of an inn, it occurs to her
to pass into the cathedral cloisters, as these
lie near the house of Canon Mosley. whom
she seeks. Here she will be able to rest
unobserved, to squeeze the rain from her
dripping garments, and compose her mind
to due fitness for the duty before it.
As she thinks, she does; she passes quiet
ly into the cloisters, feels at once soothed
| and comforted by the impression of their