Charlotte Mary Yonge

Charlotte Mary Yonge
Charlotte Mary Yonge (1823-1901) was an English novelist renowned for her extensive literary output, particularly her works for children and young adults. Influenced by the Oxford Movement, her writing often reflected strong Anglican religious themes and Victorian moral values. Among her most famous works is "The Heir of Redclyffe" (1853), which achieved great popularity in the 19th century.

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CHAPTER I. I write this by desire of my brothers and sisters, that if any reports of our strange family history should come down to after generations the thing may be properly understood. The old times at Trevorsham seem to me so remote, that I can hardly believe that we are the same who were so happy then. Nay, Jaquetta laughs, and declares that it is not possible to be happier than we have been... more...

CHAP. I.—OLYMPUS. am going to tell you the history of the most wonderful people who ever lived.  But I have to begin with a good deal that is not true; for the people who descended from Japhet’s son Javan, and lived in the beautiful islands and peninsulas called Greece, were not trained in the knowledge of God like the Israelites, but had to guess for themselves.  They made strange stories,... more...

CHAPTER I. One summer afternoon, Helen Woodbourne returned from her daily walk with her sisters, and immediately repaired to the school-room, in order to put the finishing touches to a drawing, with which she had been engaged during the greater part of the morning. She had not been long established there, before her sister Katherine came in, and, taking her favourite station, leaning against the window... more...

CHAPTER I Quand on veut dessecher un marais, on ne fait pas voter les grenouilles.—Mme. EMILE. DE GIRADIN 'Richard? That's right! Here's a tea-cup waiting for you,' as the almost thirty-year-old Incumbent of Cocksmoor, still looking like a young deacon, entered the room with his quiet step, and silent greeting to its four inmates. 'Thank you, Ethel. Is papa gone out?'... more...

Not many of us remember Otterbourne before the Railroad, the Church, or the Penny Post.  It may be pleasant to some of us to try to catch a few recollections before all those who can tell us anything about those times are quite gone. To begin with the first that is known about it, or rather that is guessed.  A part of a Roman road has been traced in Otterbourne Park, and near it was found a piece of... more...

CHAPTER I. One of the children brought me a photograph album, long ago finished and closed, and showed me a faded and blurred figure over which there had been a little dispute. Was it Hercules with club and lion-skin, or was it a gentleman I had known? Ah me! how soon a man's place knoweth him no more! What fresh recollections that majestic form awoke in me—the massive features, with the... more...

CHAPTER I THE BIRTHDAY GIFT 'O I've got a plum-cake, and a feast let us make, Come, school-fellows, come at my call; I assure you 'tis nice, and we'll all have a slice, Here's more than enough for us all.'                               JANE TAYLOR. 'It is come! Felix, it is come!' So cried, shouted, shrieked a chorus, as a street... more...

CHAPTER IThe Experiences Of Goody Madge “Dear Madam, think me not to blame;Invisible the fairy came.Your precious babe is hence conveyed,And in its place a changeling laid.Where are the father’s mouth and nose,The mother’s eyes as black as sloes?See here, a shocking awkward creature,That speaks a fool in every feature.” GAY. “He is an ugly ill-favoured boy—just like Riquet Гѓ  la... more...

CHAPTER I. Farewell rewards and fairies,Good housewives now may say,For now foul sluts in dairiesMay fare as well as they.             BP. CORBET. An ancient leafless stump of a horse-chesnut stood in the middle of a dusty field, bordered on the south side by a row of houses of some pretension. Against this stump, a pretty delicate fair girl of seventeen, whose short lilac sleeves revealed... more...

CHAPTER I. One single flash of glad surpriseJust glanced from Isabel's dark eyes,Then vanished in the blush of shameThat as its penance instant came—'O thought unworthy of my race!'                 The Lord of the Isles. As little recked Fitzjocelyn of the murmurs which he had provoked, as he guessed the true secret of his victory. In his eyes, it was the triumph of... more...

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