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In this romance the King is not suffering from any special malady, but is the victim of extreme old age; not surprising, as he is Brons himself, who has survived from the dawn of Christianity to the days of King Arthur.
Sir Henry himself was not perhaps sensitive to romance, but he did all he could to aid me in my own quest of it, and until my time for quitting his roof came, one day followed another leaving behind it soothing or exciting memories, the colors of which even now have not lost their freshness. On my way homeward I went from Cyprus to Florence, to stay with some friends who had a villa there.
The following week, he attended the New York Conference, when six missionaries were appointed to labor in Nova Scotia. About three weeks after his return home, he went on a visit to Newfoundland, which was marked by a gracious revival, and the cause of Methodism in the ancient colony was saved. The story of Methodism in Newfoundland, reads like a bit of romance.
Yet it was not her pride that had kept her from making friends, but merely the incompatibility of mental temperament, which builds the barrier not so much between education and ignorance, as between refinement and materialism, between romance and commonplace.
While, however, this leading love affair is going on with a tranquillity quite inconsistent with the rules of romance, I cannot say that the under-plots are equally propitious. The "opening bud of love" between the general and Lady Lillycraft seems to have experienced some blight in the course of this genial season.
"But I would point out to you, Lucy and I do so because of my deep affection for you, dear child that Sir Frank is wealthy." "So is Archie in my love." "Nonsense! nonsense! That is mere foolish romance, He has no money." "You should not say that. Archie had money to the extent of one thousand pounds, which he gave you." "One thousand pounds: a mere nothing.
And so though this confession may somewhat lessen the romance of her character it was from no yearning after fame, no genius-led ambition, but from the mere desire of earning money, that Olive Rothesay first conceived the thought of becoming an artist. Very faint it was at first so faint that she did not even breathe it to her mother.
Theresa, and translating an Italian romance, and had nearly completed the education of a dozen canary birds, who would in a month's time have accompanied the harp so delightfully, as to overpower the sound of the instrument.
She would leave school with Sophy, and I waited on the corner near the McAlery house. Poor Sophy! She was always of those who piped while others danced. In those days she had two straw-coloured pigtails, and her plain, faithful face is before me as I write. She never betrayed to me the excitement that filled her at being the accomplice of our romance. Gossip raged, of course.
Now it has become fashionable, and a woman who has been to college stands better in a community than one who has not. Add to this the freedom and romance of "going to college" and it follows that many young women, with increasing economic freedom, are tempted to go up to the universities just as well-placed young Englishmen go to Cambridge or Oxford as passmen.
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