Charles Kingsley

Charles Kingsley
Charles Kingsley (1819-1875) was a prominent English clergyman, university professor, and writer, known for his works of fiction and his role in the Christian socialist movement. His notable works include the children's novel "The Water-Babies" (1863) and the historical novel "Westward Ho!" (1855). Kingsley's writings often reflected his social and religious views, advocating for social reform and emphasizing the importance of moral values.

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LECTURE I.WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Reverence for age, at least so it has long seemed to me, reverence for age, I say, is a fair test of the vigour of youth; and, conversely, insolence toward the old and the past, whether in individuals or in nations, is a sign rather of weakness than of strength.  And the cause, I think, is this.  The rich and strong young natures, which feel themselves capable of original... more...

PREFACE Never shall I forget the moment when for the last time I gazed upon the manly features of Charles Kingsley, features which Death had rendered calm, grand, sublime.  The constant struggle that in life seemed to allow no rest to his expression, the spirit, like a caged lion, shaking the bars of his prison, the mind striving for utterance, the soul wearying for loving response,—all that was... more...

THE FIRST DISCOVERY OF AMERICA Let me begin this lecture with a scene in the North Atlantic 863 years since. “Bjarne Grimolfson was blown with his ship into the Irish Ocean; and there came worms and the ship began to sink under them.  They had a boat which they had payed with seals’ blubber, for that the sea-worms will not hurt.  But when they got into the boat they saw that it would not hold... more...

PREFACE The rules of the Royal Institution forbid (and wisely) religious or political controversy.  It was therefore impossible for me in these Lectures, to say much which had to be said, in drawing a just and complete picture of the Ancien Régime in France.  The passages inserted between brackets, which bear on religious matters, were accordingly not spoken at the Royal Institution. But more.  It... more...

I.  OUT OF THE DEEP OF SUFFERING AND SORROW. Save me, O God, for the waters are come in even unto my soul: I am come into deep waters; so that the floods run over me.—Ps. lxix. 1, 2. I am brought into so great trouble and misery: that I go mourning all the day long.—Ps. xxxviii. 6. The sorrows of my heart are enlarged: Oh! bring Thou me out of my distress.—Ps. xxv. 17. The Lord hath heard the... more...

CHAPTER XV. THE CRUISE OF THE WATERWITCH. The middle of August is come at last; and with it the solemn day on which Frederick Viscount Scoutbush may be expected to revisit the home of his ancestors. Elsley has gradually made up his mind to the inevitable, with a stately sulkiness: and comforts himself, as the time draws near, with the thought that, after all, his brother-in-law is not a very formidable... more...

PRELUDE. The heroic deeds of Highlanders, both in these islands and elsewhere, have been told in verse and prose, and not more often, nor more loudly, than they deserve. But we must remember, now and then, that there have been heroes likewise in the lowland and in the fen. Why, however, poets have so seldom sung of them; why no historian, save Mr. Motley in his "Rise of the Dutch Republic," has... more...

January. Welcome, wild North-easter!   Shame it is to seeOdes to every zephyr:   Ne’er a verse to thee.. . . . .Tired we are of summer,   Tired of gaudy glare,Showers soft and steaming,   Hot and breathless air.Tired of listless dreaming   Through the lazy day:Jovial wind of winter   Turn us out to play!Sweep the golden reed-beds;   Crisp the lazy dyke;Hunger into madness   Every... more...

CHAPTER I—THE GLEN You find it dull walking up here upon Hartford Bridge Flat this sad November day?  Well, I do not deny that the moor looks somewhat dreary, though dull it need never be.  Though the fog is clinging to the fir-trees, and creeping among the heather, till you cannot see as far as Minley Corner, hardly as far as Bramshill woods—and all the Berkshire hills are as invisible as if it... more...

CHAPTER IHOW MR. OXENHAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD"The hollow oak our palace is,Our heritage the sea." All who have travelled through the delicious scenery of North Devon must needs know the little white town of Bideford, which slopes upwards from its broad tide-river paved with yellow sands, and many-arched old bridge where salmon wait for autumn floods, toward the pleasant upland on the west. Above... more...

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