Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1856-12-04
exquisite anthems-one of those to which
the words are often varied.


= the words are often varied.
BIe.sed are they that give the tired wayfare
Blessed are ney that hold the cup thirsty lips"
The words are appropriate, and bear re
: sponse. For Margaret's hand is TOUCHED
and, lifting up her head, she sees an ol
verger beside her, carrying lantern.
sAre YOU tired, madam!-are you i'll,
think you are the lady who was in the clois
tiers early in the afternoon; if SO, clergy
man has been making great inquiries afte
you. If you please, madam, as you seer
i'll, step with me into the vergers' room.-
There is FIRE there
She mods rather than speaks assent--sucl
is her exhaustion-and follows the old mai
through divers narrow and arched passage
into a low vaulted chamber, hung round will
gergers' cloaks, slaves, ard other things ,anc
in the crate Of which burns cheerful fire
Here he bids her seat herself on an old oak
seat; and, whilst she warns her hands and
feet, he goes to a curious three-cornereG
cupboard. and brings forth coffee-pot, ant
warns what is therein, pours it out into a
cup, adds sugar, and places it in her hand
She takes it gratefully, stern and self-en.
during as she usuly IS in her pride.
Excuse my offering this to you, Miss Bu:-
ler,' says the old man; 'but you are i'll, and
it is the best have to give. know you,
ma'am. am glad to see you in the old
cathedral. hope you will come again
when the days are brighter
q will, thank you. | must always love
the old place. But you practise the pre-
cepts you listen to: you have given the cup
to the wayfarer.''
well, ma am, | think one deed worth
many words, in the church especially. To-
morrow is Christmas Day, and the poorest
amonst US may testify to our remembrance
of it on this eve, if SO we will
'We may! And Margaret, again warm.
ing her hands, prepares to 60. She feels
refreshed and strengthened for the 3ay be-
fore her. Again she thanks the old man.
sYou owe me none, Miss Butler. Your
father gave of his bread to many. |, amongst
the number on whom his charity fell, do
not forget the gift
So he leads the wsy to the door of exit.
The choir is singing some final music-loud
-resonant-bespeaking joy and hope
BE of good cheer! be of good cheer!-
Trust in me and i'll my laws, and all shall
come well in its time. Lo, when the night
is darkest, is not the dawn nighp
Full OF renewed strength, she passes on,
as swifuliy as she can, to the outskirts of
the town. The wind is very cold, nay keen
er than ever; the moon bas risen; it has
been freezing, SO that the ground is getting
hard, yet the snow comes down heavily
very heavily. Still she braves it, and gets
on. At little pu ,lic-house, placed just
where fields and hedge-rows begin, she in
quires about the carrier, and finds that he
has already gone onward, and that it is not
probable that she will overtake his cart, as
he has to dyerge from his road to 1eave
Christmas parcels. So she goes on as well
as she can, regretting, however, she can
have no help by the way, as, seeing its sdif-
icuities, she has. at last, resolved to humbles
her pride and ask old Broom for seat.
For mile or two, she progresses well
enough, though the snow comes down
heavily and not only eddies ground her, but
on, though slower BY degrees; she is SO very
tired; the snow 81 clings about her clothes,
and stavs her soddened feet. Her exhaus-
tion is renewed, her heart dies down again,
her faith grows dim. Five miles OF the
eight are gone, when she thinks she will
rest-she it SO very weary, and the stupor is
returning. So, feebly brushing off the
snow from a felled tree lying by the way
side, she sits down. She grows colder, more
lethrgic, more numb; minute by minute
goes by, yet still she sits She is just sink
ing into Inconsistencies, when a gig drives
up and stays.
'Halloa, Missis! WY be you sitting
therer
No answer--at least none that the strang-
er, rough, iarmer-like man, can hear--so
he jumps down, shakes Margaret rather
roughly, and repeats his question. She an
swers, very ieebly, that she is resting.
sWhat! amidst such a snow-storm, and
with such wind! Why, if you be here
another half hour, you'll rest forever, reck-
on. Come, where be you going to!'
Margaret feebr names .the village and
her home beyond it.
well, turn Gown lane hard by, go
I'll drive you as far. Come, rise and let me
lift you into the gig
This she cannot o without much assist
ance; but the stranger is very kind, lifts her
in, gives her little brandy from flask land
then, taking his seat by her side. drives on.
The brandy g. the motion of the gig togeth
er revive her presently, her numoness and
le.hargy subside; and, by the time the strang-
er stops to set her down, she is comparative
ly active. She thanks him, and turns her
face towards home, which she can just dim
ly see, now the snow-storm has ceased.
But now her heart dies down again; there
is no light of any kind in any windows
no candlelight in Eleanor's bedroom-no
cheerful blaze in the parlor. What can be
the matter! Nelly. if something were not
wrong, would surely have fire. There was
wood enough for that in the wood house.
What can have happened! Their their
poverty and desolation come back upon her
soul. She that set forth to seek succor has
brought none: penniless-as she went, she
returns!
As quickly as she can though every step
seems heightened into ten-she makes her
way along the snowy road, turns through the
gate, crosses the lawn. nears the house.
She thinks she sees dim fickering through
the parlor window; but the silence within
and around the house is profound as that of
death
Opening the porch door, all within is still
and cold; from thence into the parlor is but
u step, and there is Eleanor alone-the last
spark of the fire dying out--not comfort
or an appearance of nourishment! Desola-
ton cannot be more profound. In a mo-
ment, Margaret has flung herself upon her
knees, and her sister is in her arms, return
ing her embrace, though feebly.
Dear, dear Nell' says Margaret, foreget-