CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



her fingers; and 'twas thought they hung longer un- 

 faded round her neck or forehead than if they had 

 been left to drink the dew on their native bed. The 

 linnets ceased not their lays, though her garment 

 touched the broom-stalk on which they sang. The 

 cushat, as she thrid her way through the wood, con- 

 tinued to croon in her darksome tree — and the lark, 

 although just dropped from the cloud, was cheered by 

 her presence into a new passion of song, and mounted 

 over her head, as if it were his first matin hymn. All 

 the creatures of the earth and air manifestly loved the 

 Wanderer of the Wilderness — and as for human be- 

 ings, she was named, in their pity, their wonder, and 

 their delight, the Blind Beauty of the Moor! 



She was an only child, and her mother had died in 

 giving her birth. And now her father, stricken by one 

 of the many cruel diseases that shorten the lives of 

 shepherds on the hills, was bed -ridden — and he was 

 poor. Of all words ever syllabled by human lips, the 

 most blessed is — Charity. No manna now in the wil- 

 derness is rained from heaven — for the mouths of the 

 hungry need it not in this our Christian land. A few 

 goats feeding among the rocks gave them milk, and 

 there was bread for them in each neighbour's house 

 — neighbour though miles afar — as the sacred duty 

 came round — and the unrepining poor sent the grate- 

 ful child away with their prayers. 

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