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by:
George MacDonald
"Na, na; I hae nae feelin's, I'm thankfu' to say. I never kent ony guid come o' them. They're a terrible sicht i' the gait." "Naebody ever thoucht o' layin' 't to yer chairge, mem." "'Deed, I aye had eneuch adu to du the thing I had to du, no to say the thing 'at naebody wad du but mysel'. I hae had nae leisur' for...
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by:
George MacDonald
CHAPTER I. ANOTHER SUNDAY EVENING. In the evening we met in Connie's room, as usual, to have our talk. And this is what came out of it. The window was open. The sun was in the west. We sat a little aside out of the course of his radiance, and let him look full into the room. Only Wynnie sat back in a dark corner, as if she would get out of his way. Below him the sea lay bluer than you could...
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by:
George MacDonald
There was a certain country where things used to go rather oddly. For instance, you could never tell whether it was going to rain or hail, or whether or not the milk was going to turn sour. It was impossible to say whether the next baby would be a boy, or a girl, or even, after he was a week old, whether he would wake sweet-tempered or cross. In strict accordance with the peculiar nature of this...
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by:
George MacDonald
As soon as supper was over in the housekeeper's room, Dorothy sped to the keep, where she found Caspar at work. 'My lord is not yet from supper, mistress,' he said. 'Will it please you wait while he comes?' Had it been till midnight, so long as there was a chance of his appearing, Dorothy would have waited. Caspar did his best to amuse her, and succeeded,—showing her one...
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by:
George MacDonald
CHAPTER I. MY UNCLE PETER.—CONTINUED. "It was resolved that on the same evening, Chrissy should tell my uncle her story. We went out for a walk together; and though she was not afraid to go, the least thing startled her. A voice behind her would make her turn pale and look hurriedly round. Then she would smile again, even before the colour had had time to come back to her cheeks, and...
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by:
George MacDonald
CHAPTER I. THE PARLOR. In the dusk of the old-fashioned best room of a farm-house, in the faint glow of the buried sun through the sods of his July grave, sat two elderly persons, dimly visible, breathing the odor which roses unseen sent through the twilight and open window. One of the two was scarcely conscious of the odor, for she did not believe in roses; she believed mainly in mahogany, linen, and...
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by:
George MacDonald
CHAPTER I. RACHEL AND HER UNCLE. It was nearly dark when they arrived again at the lodge. Rachel opened the gate for them. Without even a THANK YOU, they rode out. She stood for a moment gazing after them through the dusk, then turned with a sigh, and went into the kitchen, where her uncle sat by the fire with a book in his hand. "How I should like to be as well made as Miss Lingard!" she said,...
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by:
George MacDonald
I. INTRODUCTION. I have been requested to write some papers on our Lord's miracles. I venture the attempt in the belief that, seeing they are one of the modes in which his unseen life found expression, we are bound through them to arrive at some knowledge of that life. For he has come, The Word of God, that we may know God: every word of his then, as needful to the knowing of himself, is needful...
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by:
George MacDonald
CHAPTER I. SACRED LYRICS OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY. In the midst of wars and rumours of wars, the strife of king and barons, and persistent efforts to subdue neighbouring countries, the mere effervescence of the life of the nation, let us think for a moment of that to which the poems I am about to present bear good witnessвÐâthe true life of the people, growing quietly, slowly,...
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by:
George MacDonald
SALVATION FROM SIN. —and thou shalt call his name Jesus; for he shall save his people from their sins.—Matthew i. 21. I would help some to understand what Jesus came from the home of our Father to be to us and do for us. Everything in the world is more or less misunderstood at first: we have to learn what it is, and come at length to see that it must be so, that it could not be otherwise. Then we...
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