The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1877-05-30
THE CHILD-ANGEL.
\ LEGEND OF DEVON.

Ull row streets SdlHeTtu lulu It's SudOOao.
IA moated castle, cold and cruel, a few
miserable huts clustered around it-these
were the towns and villages of England
in the days of this legend.
Many, in those hard times, lived in
the woods or caves. They were not more
comfortless there than in their dismal
dwellings. If the ruin dripped on them
from green boughs or rocks beneath
which they sheltered, it was at least
bright and clear as it fell from Heaven
and they had thus the soft sunshine and
the pure light, which never entered their
dark homes.
Soae sought refuge in tn. woods from
a love of peace and solitude, others
escaped thither in hatred, fear and def
ance. These last were the victims Of
the tyrannous times men fleeing from IN
Justice, defeat, disaster, AMI cruelty; and
from these there was no escape save ID the
Wilderness 1t was hard to lose an eye
or hand because a wicked lord was
angry, or sour priest offended f; it was
better to roam the woods a sound man
III IN to stay in the town MANNED or blind
ell.
50 the ranks Of the fugitives swelled,
place of outlaws and hermits. Around
these some glamour ard halo still llnger
down to these very times, like faint
light by which we can see the terror and
the awe investing them in the old days.
The woods held yet third victim of
bad laws and cruel church; but around
this outcast there grew no odor of sanctl-
ty, no halo of romance-a scapeg0at,
upon whose head was laid the sins Of
many. and for whom nor man nor wo-
wan had mercy. Scathed and SCARED
by sin and sorrow, marred and defence
less through age and weakness, this out
cast of the woods lived without the pale
of human charity, and died like viper
in a hole or cleft of the rock. If the
hermit met her he crossed himself and
turned his eyes away; while the outlaws
gave her only a ribald leer or cursed her
as she passed. But there is-One who has
said 81 will gather together my out
casts" and "even the beasts of the for
ests shall praise me" So let no human
soul think it is forgotten before God.
In a beautiful wood in Devonshire,
near enough to the sea to catch here and
there through the green vistas glimpse
of its shining waters, there once lived,
/ so our legend says, one of these outcasts.
She was a woman, weird and wild IN as
pect, fierce and gloomy in temper--a
woman So sul!en and hard that she never
askel for pity or sought companionship.
She lived in utter solitude, rs uncared
4 for as the dry leaves which died and fell
and were forgotten.
Her dwelling place she had made in a
natural cave or grotto, formed BY al
\ everhanging rock of dusky Devonshire
marble. A stream ran along at its base
1 ing among rocks and tangled bushes til
it passed out of sight in the wilds of the
woods, leaving a song in the air.
Its beauty never touched the hard eyes
of the woman. She never looked at il
or needed it, save when she was athirst
or needed water for her rough work. IL
the same hard way she thrust aside thl
1 honeysuckle and the wild roses which
clustered on the rock, giving them only
Il muttered curse for littering her dwell
ing or obstructing her path.
She had long hands, bony and uncan-
ny to look at; they never did kind Oh
gentle office for human being-those
hands. Every day, with her long finger.
and rusty nail or a j4gged stone sht
dug YEARLY into the lard ground fol
roots
All it was a terrible life she led, that
lone, sullen, fretful woman, growing very
aged among the boar rocks of the woods
and the countless shadows of leave
which fell quietly on her bent figure anC
! bor fap n fro haf
the trees and the sunshine.
In the spring time, when violets sprang
up by gnarled roots or clustered on shady
banks, the old woman knelt on then
often or trampled down their delicat
white and purple petals in her wear,
diggings into the stony ground; but sh,
never gathered one or felt her heart grow
tender at the sight of them,
1t was beautiful in the summer tim,
to wander in the wood when the air wa
filled with the summer whisperings anC
every leaf was futtering with life, ant
between the tall trees came glimpses o
the sea glittering in the sunshine or calm
ly blue in the shadow of the cloudles
sky.
In the winter tim e, when the Elende
grass was bent by the boar frost, or tn
boughs, snow laden, glistened and spark
led III the faint sun, and the sullen das
; of the angry sea, as it dashed the shore
/ mingled with the wistfnl rustic of dea
leaves as the wind scattered them in tn
) path-the wood was beautiful still.
= But this beauty was unfelt-was moth
2 ing to the outcast woman. Life was to
| hard and lonely and bitter for her to hee
: such things. The fresh green leave
e we're less lovely to her than the withere
r ones. fof these she gathered up to max
8 a dry bed for herself and dead Dir
e was better than living one, for the frs
a was food and the last was only littl
8 heeting music on the wing. She snare
e the birds when she could, and when the
/ escaped her she cursed them. With he
f long, bony hands she clutched at winte
r berries or summer fruits, or gathered brt
. ken sticks for her fire, or fresh boughs I
shade her dwelling She took all til
e wood gave. but never rendered it back
0 thankful woFd or happy look.
t There il why and wherefore for ever
t wickedness beneath the sun, bit it woul
!, be too long and sad to tell the story
e this woman's outraged life, which heApe
It upon her soul all this blindness. I'll
d sorrow God sends softens, but the miser
J, man makes hardens the human hear
e The mother from NhOm God has take
y little children cannot be wicked, for ST
) knows there are angels waiting for be
n in heaven. The daughter who has kne
l. at her mothers deathbed and hear
r her last prayer cannot be wicked, for 81
ie dares not grieye the spirit of the blesse,
. HHt Ibis NFetche9 HQmsn dad Eeg.
> known her mother or nOtsed child upc
her knee. Throughout her long, han