Tales From the Telling-House

Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
Cover of the book Tales From the Telling-House by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore, Library of Alexandria
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
Author: Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore ISBN: 9781465607768
Publisher: Library of Alexandria Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint: Language: English
Author: Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
ISBN: 9781465607768
Publisher: Library of Alexandria
Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint:
Language: English
Sometimes of a night, when the spirit of a dream flits away for a waltz with the shadow of a pen, over dreary moors and dark waters, I behold an old man, with a keen profile, under a parson’s shovel hat, riding a tall chestnut horse up the western slope of Exmoor, followed by his little grandson upon a shaggy and stuggy pony. In the hazy folds of lower hills, some four or five miles behind them, may be seen the ancient Parsonage, where the lawn is a russet sponge of moss, and a stream tinkles under the dining-room floor, and the pious rook, poised on the pulpit of his nest, reads a hoarse sermon to the chimney-pots below. There is the home not of rooks alone, and parson, and dogs that are scouring the moor; but also of the patches of hurry we can see, and the bevies of bleating haste, converging by force of men and dogs towards the final rendezvous, the autumnal muster of the clans of wool. For now the shrill piping of the northwest wind, and the browning of furze and heather, and a scollop of snow upon Oare-oak Hill, announce that the roving of soft green height, and the browsing of sunny hollow, must be changed for the durance of hurdled quads, and the monotonous munch of turnips. The joy of a scurry from the shadow of a cloud, the glory of a rally with a hundred heads in line, the pleasure of polishing a coign of rock, the bliss of beholding flat nose, brown eyes, and fringy forehead, approaching round a corner for a sheepish talk, these and every other jollity of freedom—what is now become of them? Gone! Like a midsummer dream, or the vision of a blue sky, pastured—to match the green hill—with white forms floating peacefully; a sky, where no dog can be, much less a man, only the fleeces of the gentle flock of heaven. Lackadaisy, and well-a-day! How many of you will be woolly ghosts like them, before you are two months older!
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
Sometimes of a night, when the spirit of a dream flits away for a waltz with the shadow of a pen, over dreary moors and dark waters, I behold an old man, with a keen profile, under a parson’s shovel hat, riding a tall chestnut horse up the western slope of Exmoor, followed by his little grandson upon a shaggy and stuggy pony. In the hazy folds of lower hills, some four or five miles behind them, may be seen the ancient Parsonage, where the lawn is a russet sponge of moss, and a stream tinkles under the dining-room floor, and the pious rook, poised on the pulpit of his nest, reads a hoarse sermon to the chimney-pots below. There is the home not of rooks alone, and parson, and dogs that are scouring the moor; but also of the patches of hurry we can see, and the bevies of bleating haste, converging by force of men and dogs towards the final rendezvous, the autumnal muster of the clans of wool. For now the shrill piping of the northwest wind, and the browning of furze and heather, and a scollop of snow upon Oare-oak Hill, announce that the roving of soft green height, and the browsing of sunny hollow, must be changed for the durance of hurdled quads, and the monotonous munch of turnips. The joy of a scurry from the shadow of a cloud, the glory of a rally with a hundred heads in line, the pleasure of polishing a coign of rock, the bliss of beholding flat nose, brown eyes, and fringy forehead, approaching round a corner for a sheepish talk, these and every other jollity of freedom—what is now become of them? Gone! Like a midsummer dream, or the vision of a blue sky, pastured—to match the green hill—with white forms floating peacefully; a sky, where no dog can be, much less a man, only the fleeces of the gentle flock of heaven. Lackadaisy, and well-a-day! How many of you will be woolly ghosts like them, before you are two months older!

More books from Library of Alexandria

Cover of the book A Primer of Mayan Hieroglyphics by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book Famous Americans of Recent Times by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book Ante-Nicene Fathers: Fathers of the Early Church (Complete) by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book Frank Merriwell's Alarm: Doing His Best by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book The Voice from the Void: The Great Wireless Mystery by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book History of the Revolt of the Netherlands (Complete) by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book Michael Penguyne: Fisher Life on the Cornish Coast by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book The Guards Came Through and Other Poems by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book Did Jesus Live 100 B.C.? by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book Aphorisms by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book The Modern Marriage Market by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book The Romance of The Colorado River: The Story of Its Discovery in 1840 With an Account of The Later Explorations and With Special Reference to The Voyages of Powell Through The Line of The Great Canyons by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book Much Darker Days by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book Hosiery Manufacture by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
Cover of the book Curiosities of Puritan Nomenclature by Sir Richard Doddridge Blackmore
We use our own "cookies" and third party cookies to improve services and to see statistical information. By using this website, you agree to our Privacy Policy