Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1861-11-07
LOST AND FOUND.
A STRANGE STORY.

strange peryersity the moment my professional
duties were over. Its fierce, drcary, rescntlul
mood was more in harmony with my own
tempest-to spirit than the scene OF love and
Joy left. The sight of fair young mother, a
tender, anxious father, recalled too vividly the
first years of my own married life, with their
bitter ending. Nainly stroye to Danish the
humlliating memories fraught with shame and
sorrow. They were beyond my control.
Feeling that battling with the elements, un-
dergoing any personal inconvenience, was bet
ter for me than the solitude of my room, the
companionship of my owu,,houghts, trudged
fercely up and down the streaming pavement
seeking to find in the waiing, bowling Winds
the ceaseless patter, voice for the passions
that mastered me. At last the storm in some
measure abated, the tumult of my feelings sub
sided, and in earnest | turned my face home
ward, thinking OF the sweet face that would
watch for her fathers returning step, while
was strongly alive to the discomfort, no less
than the folly of my situation. As entered
the crescent shaped street ON which stood my
home, an unusual sound arrested me. 1t seem
ed the voice of a singer but must be mis-
taken, all was again still. No; list
"Like dew on the gowun lying,
Is the lf O. her fairy feet,
An like winds in summer signing,
Her voice is low aud sweet.
Her voice is low and sweet,
An she's all the world to me,
An for bonny Annie Laurie
ia lny me down and dee.'
A short, convulsve sob, which was now near
enough to hear, told what the tremulous, un-
steady tones had already betrayed, the hardly
restrained emotion of the singer. The voice
was one of rare compass and sweetness, yet
neither that nor the peculiar circumstances Of
the singer would account for the bewidering
thrill the first notes OF the familiar old ballard
sent through me. 1t was as if master key
had unlocked the chambers of my heart and
sent gushing through my startled frame pas
sions and feelings which had slumbered till |
believed them dead. Ihastened on few steps,
anxious to see what voice had power thus TO
move me, and what fate compelled any woman
to brave that dismal storm. There on my own
steps the singer stood--a slight figure dressed
in dripping, shabby black as the lamp that
hung over my door informed me. Poor crea-
ture, | thought; the old story-better days,
reduced circumstances, idle, drunken husband,
starving children. Ere had made up my mind
to address her the door opened, and | stood
back in the shade to see what would transpire.
In the door stood my daughter Ada, peering
curiously out into the darkness, and behind her
stood Miss Forbes. who had been her governess,
and still resided with her. When the woman
saw them she stepped hestatingly forward and
spoke, but in so low tone that | could not
distinguish her words.
"Come in come and get warmed and dried;
YOU sing so sweetly," Adas musical voice urged,
LAYING her hand on the strangers arm, but the
woman shrank from her touch and glided back
into the shade, while she seemed TO be refusing
the prohered invitation. Miss Forbes and Ada
consulted a moment, and then Ada sprang
lightly up the stairs
SIS this DR.. Morriss house," the singer
asked, in that hushed earnest voice which is so
audible
ayes, it is. DO you know him?" answered
Miss Forbes, startled out of her usual imper-
turbable calmness by the eagerness OF her ques-
toner.
A hurried "No' as Ada reappeared satisfied
Miss Forbes, and she did not notice how the
woman clutched her hands nervously and
groaned.
Ada held woolen shawl of her own and a
purse in her hand. She folded the shawl and
threw it around the slight shoulders. and placed
piece Of money into the now passive hand.
"Oh dear! such night to be OUT" shud-
dered my delicatcly reared child, shrinking back
from the cold. The woman still fingered gaz-
ing eagerly on her, then, ere Ada could pre-
vent, she took hold of her hand and uttered q
fervent
"God bless you, my child, and guard you
from sin and sorrow. Farewell"
In moment more she had gided down the
steps, passing me so closely that her dripping
garments brushed me, yet evidently unconscious
of my presence.
"Why, how very strange! Who can she
be ?" heard Ada exclaim as she shut in the
warmth and light.
1t was strange. Who indeed could it be !?
Why should my name move her? and why
should her voice have so moved mep A hor-
rible suspicion forced itself upon me. must
follow her and put it to rest or coliirm it. The
lamp at the corner of the crescent Just revealed
her for moment, gliding round the corner
With this clue pursued, and soon sighted her
Fearful of her suspecing that she was followed
and trying to elude, surmising the quarter O
the town she would be likely to occupy, tooi
a short cut through the back streets, and camC
out on Princess street Just as she passed. Sh,
walked slowly and YEARLY now. Icould scarce
without suspicion, keep pace with her, so
fingered at the cngrayers windows, which wer
instituted. Now passing and now allowing he
to pass, tried to see her face, but it was reso
lutely turned from the glaring shop-windoNs
could Just tell that it was pale, wasted, del
icatey outlined face, and could tell no more
Several times 1 almost gave up the chase a
a wild one, when step, movement, glimps
of the figure, would again stir me, and with re
newed earnestness | would again follow. On
on, on, up George the Fourth's Bridge I'm
scene is laid in Ednbnrgh,) down Candlemak
ers Row, l follow slowly that weary, shabby
I looking figure. Closely she had .gathere tn
? shawl my daughter had given her around he
] shoulders, yet could see that she shuddered
e Now she stopped, and hoarse, hollow, rackin
: cough rung her death-knell to my practice
: ear. Her days, be she who she may. wer
o numbered--numbered all the more surely an
# shortly | knew they must be from this night
= exposure. Now she had passed the Grossmal
ket, and paused before a bakers shop, whic
was already crowded 10 the door with haggarC
h hungry-looking men, women, and children.
If ! stood at the window, unmindful of the CT
h rious look cast from bleared, amine-sharpene
S eyes at my unwonted appearance on such
It night in such a place, at such an hour | sa
+. old age, which bore no crown Of glory, Ll
,f deep wrinkles traced by vice and wretchednes
i tottering on a staff; fierce, besotted, hardened
u looking men pinched sharp eyed, half-cla
e women; and children with only fragments
I clothing on them, old in vice thou young
}, years. alike jostle the little figure in faded blac
"She was none of them. What right had 81
a to be therep" was the thought their actor
" gave utterance to- 1t might be half an hou
z for many who came after her were served b
d fore her, ere she finally succeeded in getlr
her erand loaf of bread, Tor which she p