Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1861-11-07
Ghuitc Miseellang.
lFrom the New York independently
LOST AND FOUND.
A Strange Story.
BY A CANADIAN CORRESPONDENT.

Rain, rain, rain-patter, splash, patter
What dismal night 1t poured off the
roofs OF the aristoeratic mansions in the Row.
al Circus into the flooded areas below; il
streamed down the spouts in torrents il
blew In my face, blew at my back, stream.
ed down my macintosh, rained from my silk
umbrella. Such a night and such pro.
fession to necessitate my going out into it
calculated tretfully l was doctor, and
had been called out from my study fire. II
was only to the next square, and yet was
completely saturated ere | reached it, Dis.
NAL and uncomfortable as l had found the
storm, eagerly rushed again into it with q
strange perversity the moment my profes-
sional duties were over. Its fierce, dreary.
resenttul mood was more in harmony with
my own tempest-tOsse spirit than the scene
Of love and joy left. The sight ofa fair
young mother. tender, anxious father, re-
called too vividly the first years of my own
married life, with their bitter ending. =
Vainly | str0ve to Danish the huniliatine
memories traught with shame and sorrow,
They were beyond my control
Feeling that battling with the elements,
undergoing any personal inconvenience, was
better tor me than the solitude Of my room,
the compnnlonship OF my own thoughts,
trudgcd ferccly up and down the streaming
pavement, seeking to find in the wailing.
howling winds, the ceaseless patter, a voice
for the passions that mastered me. At last
the storm in some measure abated, the
tumult OF my feelings subsided, and in earn
est turned my face homeward, thinking of
the sweet face that would watch for her faith.
er's returning step, while was strongly
alive to the discomfort, no less than the folly,
of my situation. AS l entered the crescent
shaped street on hich stood my home. an
unusual sound arrested me. 1t seemed the
voice of singer but / must be mistaken.
all was again STILL No; list
Is The IA O. her fairy feet -
An like winds in summer signing,
Her voice is low and sweet
Her voice is low and sweet
An she's all the world 10 me,
All for bonnie Annie Laurie
't.. I'D lay me doun and dee"
A short, convulsive sob, which was now
near enough to hear, told what the tremu-
lous, unsteady tones had already BETRAYED,
the hardly restrained emotion of the singer.
The voice was one ofrare compass and sweet.
ness, yet neither that nor the peculiar cir.
cumstances Of the singer would account fol-
the bewildering thrill the first notes of the
familiar old ballad sent through me. Tt was
as If a master-key had unlocked the cham.
bers of my heart, and sent gushing through
my startled frame passions and feelings
which had slumbered till l believed them
dead. hastened on a few steps, axious 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
creature, l thought; the old story--better
days, reduced circumstances, idle, drunken
husband, starving children. Ere I 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, peer
ing curiously out into the darkness, and be-
hind her stood Miss Forbes, who had been
her governess, and still resided with her.
When the woman saw them she stepped hes.
itatingly forward and spoke, but in 50 low a
tone that could not distinguish her words.
Come in; come and get warmed and
dried your sing so sweehy,' Ada's musi-
cal 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 proffered
invitation. Miss Forbes and Ada consulted
1 moment, and then Ada sprans lightly up
che stairs. is fo~l - :