Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 2, 2025
Wingfold looked up, and seeing who it was approaching them, said, "Oh! that is Mr. Polwarth, who keeps the park gate." "Nobody can well mistake him," returned Mrs. Ramshorn. "Everybody knows the creature." "Few people know him really," said Wingfold. "I HAVE heard that he is an oddity in mind as well as in body," said Mrs. Ramshorn. "He is a friend of mine," rejoined the curate.
After this, James Winter and the Lady Polwarth made a hole in the ground under a bed that drew out of a recess in the wall. They lifted the boards and took turns at digging out the earth, scratching it with their hands till they were all rough and bleeding, for only so could they prevent a noise being heard.
There was room in abundance, and wild places seemed to be held sacred for solitude. "I am only picking up a sentence here and there, as I hasten to the particular point," said Polwarth, looking down the page. "'But the flowers! and the birds! and above all the beauty of the people! And they dwelt in harmony.
She rose, got a little stool, and setting it down close by the chair on which her uncle was perched, seated herself at his feet, with her eyes on the ground, to listen. "About two years ago," said Polwarth, "a friend sent me Tauchnitz's edition of the English New Testament, which has the different readings of the three oldest known manuscripts translated at the foot of the page.
"Yes, much too good, if there be no living, self-willing Good," said Polwarth one evening, in answer to the phrase just dropped from his lips. "But if there be such a God as alone could be God, can anything be too good to be true? too good for such a God as contented Jesus Christ?"
A great solemnity came upon the spirit of Wingfold, and for a moment he felt as if he sat wrapt in a cloud of sacred marvel, beyond and around which lay a gulf of music too perfect to touch his sense. But presently Polwarth resumed: "My father was in appearance a remarkably fine man, tall and stately. Of him I have little to say. If he did not do well, my grandfather must be censured first.
"Yes, much too good, if there be no living, self-willing Good," said Polwarth one evening, in answer to the phrase just dropped from his lips. "But if there be such a God as alone could be God, can anything be too good to be true? too good for such a God as contented Jesus Christ?"
"Your obedient servant and well-wisher, "Joseph Polwarth." Wingfold sat staring at the letter, slightly stunned. The feeling which first grew recognizable in the chaos it had caused, was vexation at having so committed himself; the next, annoyance with his dead old uncle for having led him into such a scrape.
"The doctor says all immediate danger is over, and he requires nobody with him. I am going to look after my baby. And please, sir, nobody is to go in, for he says she must not be disturbed. The slightest noise might spoil every thing: she must sleep now all she can." "Very well," said Polwarth, and sat down again.
But, for myself, I would to the saints that I and my lass were home again, beneath the old thorn-tree at Polwarth on the green, where I have been merry lang syne." With that word he fell silent, thinking, I doubt not, of his home, as I did of mine, and of the house of Pitcullo and the ash-tree at the door, and the sea beyond the ploughed land of the plain.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking