The Rutland daily globe. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1873-1877, 1875-10-30

NO iOuB-lOutu dobCoo, hO'ihS WIN ososN
ly step among her nuns and novices-only
the daughter of o poor Cape Cod fisherman
was this "Mother Anita whose little story
am going to tell you, translatiDg it from
the rough phrase of the rude but kindly
people among whom l spent my last sum
rner's vacation, into few simple words of
my own. do not think that you will call
1t a sad story; it was not such to me, al
though / traced it backward from its clos
ing chapter written on marble in the little
graveyard:
MOTHER ASITA.
Ae. 90.
Not sad, since death, coming however
early, cannot mar the proportions of a
beautiful life. The power of the icono-
clast stops with outward form-the fair ideal
remains forevermore part of the worlds
incorruptlble treasure.
Anit&s sweet, foreign name suited her
well. Perhaps its choice had been guided
by some subtle mother instinct, springing,
arbutus-like, out of the rough soil and
amidst the stern SHOWS of circumstance.
Her features were rare study, combin-
ing the beauty and nameless grace for
which we do not often look among those
whose very lite seems continual war with
hootio NiShiShts' Dus hosNiSi q" eN'SHb
the face of her child to a marvellous per-
lection, had acted in tender obedience to
the great law of compensation traceable
through all the works and ways of God
for Anita was hopelessly hunchbacked.
Her deformity was the key to her life.
Doomed to a certain solitude and isolation
from the work and play of her sturdy BROTH
srs and sisters, debarred from active par
ticipation IN so many OF their interests, the
child was thoughtful and sensitive far be-
yond her years.
Some natures thus shut in by bodily IN
trinity have contracted upon themselves,
like the old torture-chamber OF the lnqui-
sitisn. l shudder even now to recollect
how once upen solitary journey. as our
stage-coach drove up to the lonely Inn
which marked q little country station, l
saw, standing in the roadside with averted
face, a small figure no taller than an or
binary child OF five or six years old, but
strangely broad-shouldered, L thought, for
one so young; and as still looked CURIOUS
| ly it turned about with slow, defiant move
ment, and womans face gazed up at me,
| dark, bitter, despairlng-the black eyes,
| under their heavy brows, full OF the herce
fire which marked the gradual starvation
of soul!
Anita's face expressed TAR dlferent MS
tory. The sorrowful mystery OF her lot
sometimes weighed very heavily upon her,
but could not shake her simple trust that
God who made her remembered and loved
her still. The rough fisherman, who often
looked after her with tender whispers as
she passed, felt perhaps that her brow grew
sanity under its crown of suffering, al
though they would hardly have put the
vague fancy in words.
The long, low reach of sandy coast, ex-
tending for many miles along the Cape, is
| always peculiarly dangerous for vessels
disabled by northwest gale; but the old
| est sailors could remember no more fatal
season than the fall and winter when Anita
| was eight years old. AS many as twenty
sail were known to 60 to pieces in single
dreadful day upon the bar outside the har-
Dor of the little fishing village. There
was no lack of brave hearts and willing
hands to give AID II possible; put 100 Of
ten human strength and sympathy stood
powerless on the shore ana saw the pitiless
surges engulf their victims, leaving no
trace behind.
| Sometimes an incoming wave, like some
huge feline creature, would toss Its helpless
prey, in cruel sport, far up the sandy beach
and so it happened that one night spar,
with the form OF woman lashed upon II
was dropped at the very ieet oil anna
father, sturdy John Grey. when the piece
of sailcloth fastened about her was UNIV round
a child was found tightly clasped IN the
arms OF the poor dead mother-a Little boy
perhaps OF year OLD. John Grey, ieenne
hastily for the little heart, thought he dis
cerhed some lingering thrill OF life, and SCI
OH for his cottage at a swinging run, ieav'
ing his companions to follow more slowly
with their sadder and heavier burden.
Anita, who had been standing at the win
dow, straining her eyes into the darkness
and listening in awe-struck silence to thu
boom of the breakers and the rush ant
roar of the storm outside, met him at the
door with outstretched arms, and look
which seemed to comprehend the situation
in moment. Scarce knowing why he die
so, the fisherman laid the child in he
arms. A wonderful light broke over he
eager face.
"Oh, mother mother! You can saw
him !" she cried.
The fisherman's wife, as was needful
was we'll versed in all the love of restora
tives, and before two hours had passed tn
poor little waif thus snatched out of tn
teeth of the sea slept p eacefully in Anita
arms. A royal child he was, strong liIube'
and beautiful, the blue network OF vein
showing with startling distinctness throug
the white, transparent skin of his temples
His little garments testified to the prou'
and tender care which had been taken o
him; but nothing found upon him or hi
poor mother gave any clew to their iden
> tity. The sea kept Its secret well, Tor
other token of the hapless wreck ever cam
to land.
swell. mother, said John Greys CRU
but not unkindly voice, one day, 1.-THE It'll
, un must go to the Asylum, sposer
81 don't know, was his wife's hesian
answer, the universal mother tenderness
looking through her eyes maybe we coui
keep 1t ourselves, JohnI
"No" was the decided reply. mo!
the childll be well took care OF there' an
you've got an extra par o hanas LOT oaoy
tendin', let alone It's Deih nara ehoug
sometimes to put bread into the mouths
: our own.' =,
ANITA rose up irotn nc, ~" sea- ~ -, W