Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1872-01-17

OF Barb1c9n. l. stopped for momen
to still the heavy labor of my breath
and then creeping softly into misera
bly, furnished foon saw the beautiful
woman whom [ had loved, whom [ still
loved with the strength of an homes
man. She was sitting up in great oil,
char. In little bed under the win
dow was child, looking with wild
plaintiye eyes-a child so like he
mother that it needed no word to tel
me the relationship,
Only year after Alice's marriag
the old city tradesman, her father, ha,
died, and left his savings to her ant
her husband, for he had Wrought Iii
own way, and he little knew or caret
for such relations as he had known
when he was penniless boy working
for bread and lodgings in Londo1
bakehouse. That money had been th,
ruin of Richard, who, with a few
pounds, had sailed for Australia-the1
III the height Of the gold fever-whenct
16 was to send letter. or better still
to come home within two years with {
second fortune No word had reached
her since, though that was three years
ago.
She died [ have tried in vain tc
discover her relations, When I called
the fourth day the hired nurse was
weeping, and the poor, faithful Irish
servant was dropping wall over the
little girl as she hid her face in the
honest creatures lap. What was I to
do? Those who might have claimed
the precious gift Had not taken it.
thought Of how my own life might be
made more radiant by this child, the
child of her who should have been my
wife, and therefore mine by the love
bore her mother. I held out my hand
as she sprang up to greet ME, and, with
few whispering words to the nurse,
led her away, her soft, chubby fist,
clasplng my finger,
For fiftesn yeals or more her in
huence-the influence of one can love
as though she were my own child-in-
deed has blest me. The old hall, yes,
even the dark cloak room, so gloomy at
other times, became radiant within her,
quiet and gentle as she was, and her
voice made such music that the echoes
seemed to sing responses to her happy,
childish songs.
The quiet currents of cur lives lave
run on since, and here is my little
daughter grown into woman, so like
her mother sometimes in the turn of
her face and certain glance of the eye,
that [ begin to wonder that I have so
seldom noticed the resemblance
Did [ say she used to sing very
sweetly about the old place. I had
taught her, for / had knack with
both the flute and violin, and had been
a tolerable musician in ny tttHE. One
day-,t wanted but week to mid-sum-
mer-I was sitting in my own room,
makiug up my accounts for the next
board meeting, when I heard the full,
mellow notes on the stairs:
..The wind that blows,
THE slip thst goos,
And the lass that loves a sailor"
Where did you learn that song,
Allie 70 said, laughing.
A bright blush mantled to her fore
head.
"I heard-a-a gentleman sing it at
Mrs. Powers the other evening.
GA gentleman What, was there a
party there, childs [ thought Mr..
Power was TO be alone"
Yes, but Mr. Power brought a gen.
tleman with him.
cold or young?"
Young"
What was his name 2"
81 don't know. I think it was Al
Ian. Oh, he sang SO well 7 wish you
had been there, dadda; you know you
promised to fetch me home"
. Yes, but Mullinger came for you,
didn't he?'
"The gentleman-Mr. Allan, mean
came with us and wanted to see you y
was uneasy, and yet what was to be
done. In the disturbance of my spirits
I took up my hat and went out Al
most without any purpose, [ turned to-
ward Lower Thames street and into
Monument yard, where an old acquaint-
ance was sitting smoking the pipe OF
peace in his bower He was not alone,
however, for standing with his back
against the door-jam, was gaunt, wild
figure, poorly dressed in a coarse Hol.
land coat and shirt all open, where a
ragged, reddish beard, streaked with
gray, hung down upon his breast. He
had bag and two or three small
cages in his hands, and, as he made
way for me to enter, put bird that he
had held perched upon his finger into
one of them. "Ill just take turn
round while you speak to your friend, ,
he said in deep, bfeathless kind Of
voice, as he went out.
eyes, that is d strange character,
said my friend, knocking the ashes out
of his pipe. 81 see your trying to take
stock of him, but you wont find il
easy. Que of the best bird d-fanciers il
London, he is. He's been half over the
world almost. And how's pretty missy
Law, now, if l didn't promise he
another bird, and that chaps got tn,
very thing / want IF he'd only com,
back I'd send it to her with nv love
| bless her bright eyes
| We hadn't long to wait. The strang,
! figure Of the bird-fancier came befor,
the door, and my friend bargainec
with him for the purchase of the littl,
| songster that had perched on his hand
"But he won't do that for the youn,
lady unless [ introduce him to her ant
show her how to coax him, " he said
6 must carry him home for you"
[ bade my friend good evening an(
Went back again feeling more comfor
table in my mind The bird -fancie
strobe after me-
When we reached our hall he LOOKED
up curlously at the old porch, and, a
L thought, seemed to hang back little
There was little brass plate under th
pe1-handle, with the name of the hal
engraved upon it in church text. HI
looked at it and then looked at me.
:" You haven't relative by the nam
OF A Liam, perhaps?"
None to my knowledge" [ an
sWered. Where does he live 2"
"Ah, that's more than [ can tell Won
He was more like dying than livin
when L first made his acquaintance
but he had youth and health on HI
side, and so [ nursed him through: bu
you don't know him, see-and-yet-
how long may you have lived here {?
" Above forty years. -
All, then, I was mistaken; it can,
be: 80 this is the young lady 2" h
said quickly, as Alice, who had com
down to let us in, now stood in th
hall + wac