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Ten Reasons to Pray the Rosary. Relics and the Gritty Faith of the Early Church. Motivation is the key to carrying out any worthy enterprise. Great men and great women have clear goals and strong motivations. They know what they want and they have a clear plan before their eyes. Professional athletes have a determined determination to win. They study their opponents weak points, capitalize on their own strengths and play for victory.
Therefore, to attain to any goal there must be a clear plan and strong motivations. Even more important for the human person created in the image and likeness of God should be the goal and the motivation to attain that goal. Our goal is very clear—to get to heaven. One of the most efficacious means to attain eternal salvation with God in heaven is through prayer.
Prayer is the key to salvation. What oxygen is to our lungs so is prayer to the life of our soul. For that reason Saint Augustine asserted: Still there is a powerful means and intercessor before the throne of God who can help us to get to heaven and to help us in our prayer life and motivate us to focus our energies on God and God alone—the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Therefore, let us offer ten points to motivate us to pray the most Holy Rosary. Our Lady of Fatima. Our Lady of Fatima appeared in Fatima, Portugal six times to three little shepherd children: Jacinta, Francisco, and Lucia.
In every one of these six apparitions Our Lady said: Finally at the end of her apparitions Our Lady gave herself the title: This great modern saint, as well as spiritual giant, strongly encouraged the world to pray the most Holy Rosary. He himself said at the start of his pontificate that the Rosary was his favorite prayer.
For the Sake of the Family. In this same document Saint Pope John Paul II insisted that we pray the Rosary for the sake of the family which is under attack and in crisis. With the growing numbers of separations and divorces, with the legalization of same-sex unions, with so many children without the warmth of the family, now more than ever we must pray the most Holy Rosary.
Therefore, another reason to pray the Rosary now, more than ever, is for the sake of world peace. With the threat of ISIS, nuclear arsenals, and general tensions growing among nations, the Rosary can be our shield and safeguard. At the end of the First World War Our Lady of Fatima stated clearly that wars come as a result of sin; and if people did not stop sinning then a worse World War would erupt.
Within twenty years, the Second World War broke out. Venerable Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen states that world wars are the net result of many individual wars waging in the hearts of sinners, that spreads out to towns, cities, countries and continents, and then boom—the huge war explodes. Sin produces war; prayer produces peace of heart, mind and soul and harmony among peoples!
To Save our our Children. Never have we lived in a society with so many dangers, especially with respect to our children and teens. Of great importance is the virtue of purity.
The mass media, the modern electronics media, the modern school and teaching agenda, billboards and posters, modern movies and TV programs militate fiercely against the virtue of purity.
And to be honest, we live in a pornographic society! Devotion to Our Lady and the family Rosary can serve as a shield against this onslaught and deluge of filth that is descending upon the world, especially our children and young people.
In a word, we must shield our children in the most pure and Immaculate Heart of Mary; she is an oasis, a refuge, and ark of safety and protection! If you like Noah and his family as well as the animals sought refuge and protection from the deluge in the Ark.
To Order our Disorders. As a result of the Original Sin that we all inherit in the moment of our conception, our life is marked with disorder. Our thought process, our will, our emotional state of being, our soul, our intentions, our family and social life—all have a certain disorder. Saint Ignatius of Loyola suggests that we do the Spiritual Exercises so as to order the disordered in our lives.
Sin causes disorder; prayer brings order. By praying the most holy Rosary Our Lady can help to order the disordered in our lives. Another wonderful effect of praying the most Holy Rosary is peace of mind, heart and soul.
Saint Augustine defines peace as the tranquility of order. As the hymn reminds us: Therefore, by praying the Rosary fervently, we get to know Jesus and Mary better and better as presented from the Word of God, we fall in love with them and then we become their fiery and ardent Apostles in a world marked with so much coldness and indifference.
As Pope Francis reminded us in his Lenten message: There is a widespread globalization of indifference because there is a lack of love of God in the world. This love can be planted and ignited through love of Our Lady and the Holy Rosary—a summary of the Gospels and a true Biblically centered prayer. To Conquer our Adversities.
David had to fight against the ferocious and malicious giant Goliath. Strategically, there was no way that the smaller, inexperienced, unprepared shepherd boy could conquer the giant Goliath. It was like an ant against an elephant. However, the Bible teaches us a very certain truth: Nothing is impossible with God.
David went with a total trust in His God, the Lord of heaven and earth. We all know the ending! David shot a stone from his slingshot; the stone riveted itself in the brow of Goliath, who cascaded to the ground unconscious. David quickly drew the sword of Goliath and cut off his head!
Victory, due to the intervention of God! However, our help is in the name of the Lord who made heaven and earth. Let us turn to the Queen of Heaven and earth and pull out our spiritual slingshot which is the most Holy Rosary and win the battle.
Let us find sure refuge under her heavenly mantle! He blogs regularly at Fr. This post originally appeared at Catholic Exchange and it is reprinted with permission.
Take a second to support us on Patreon! Related Share on Facebook 0. Jesus blood sacrifice is the weapon against the devil and all evil. Praying to Mary is idolatry. The month of the Holy Rosary begins a week from now! Sorry, we didn't find anything. The Real Definition of Mercy. Ten Reasons to Pray the Rosary by Fr. Spiritual Goals And Objectives Even more important for the human person created in the image and likeness of God should be the goal and the motivation to attain that goal.
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The afternoon had waned during our talk; but I was very loth to part with my friend. Suddenly, I thought of asking where his home was. Generally, I eat my dinner as I go along the road, where there's lots of blackberries by way of pudding—which is grand! Supper when I do get it, I like best on this bark-heap, after the men are away, and the tan-yard's clear. Your father lets me stay. Where do you sleep? To sleep out-of-doors seemed to be the very lowest ebb of human misery: I get three shillings a week, which is about fivepence a day; out of that, I eat three pence—I'm a big, growing lad, and it's hard to be hungry.
There's two pence left to pay for lodging. I tried it once—twice—at the decentest place I could find, but—" here an expression of intolerable disgust came over the boy's face—"I don't intend to try that again.
I was never used to it. Better keep my own company and the open air. You don't know how comfortable it is to sleep out of doors; and so nice to wake in the middle of the night, and see the stars shining over your head. I scoop out a snug little nest in the bark, and curl up in it like a dormouse, wrapped in this rug, which one of the men gave me. Besides, every morning early I take a plunge and a swim in the stream, and that makes me warm all day.
Yet there, with all his hardships, he stood before me, the model of healthy boyhood. But this trying life, which he made so light of, could not go on. I suppose I shall manage somehow—like the sparrows," he answered, perceiving not how apposite his illustration was.
For truly he seemed as destitute as the birds of the air, whom ONE feedeth when they cry to Him. My question had evidently made him thoughtful; he remained silent a good while. At last I said—"John, do you remember the woman who spoke so sharply to you in the alley that day? I shall never forget anything which happened that day," he answered softly.
She is not such a bad woman, though trouble has sharpened her temper. Her biggest boy, Bill, who is gone off for a soldier, used to drive your cart, you know. Your two pence a night would help her; and I dare say, if you'll let me speak to her, you might have Bill's attic all to yourself. She has but one other lad at home; it's worth trying for. You are very kind, Phineas.
I got into my little carriage again, for I was most anxious not to lose a day in this matter. I persuaded John to go at once with me to Sally Watkins. My father was not to be seen; but I ventured to leave word for him that I was gone home, and had taken John Halifax with me; it was astonishing how bold I felt myself growing, now that there was another beside myself to think and act for.
We reached Widow Watkins' door. It was a poor place—poorer than I had imagined; but I remembered what agonies of cleanliness had been inflicted on me in nursery days, and took hope for John. Sally sat in her kitchen, tidy and subdued, mending an old jacket that had once been Bill's, until, being supplanted by the grand red coat, it descended upon Jem, the second lad. But Bill still engrossed the poor mother's heart—she could do nothing but weep over him, and curse "Bony-Party.
She consented at once to his lodging with her—though she looked up with an odd stare when I said he was "a friend" of mine. So we settled our business, first all together, then Sally and I alone, while John went up to look at his room. I knew I could trust Sally, whom I was glad enough to help, poor woman!
She promised to make him extra-comfortable, and keep my secret too. When John came down she was quite civil to him—even friendly. She said it would really be a comfort to her, that another fine, strapping lad should sleep in Bill's bed, and be coming in and out of her house just like her poor dear boy. I felt rather doubtful of the resemblance, and, indeed, half-angry, but John only smiled.
Before we left, I wanted to see his room; he carried me up, and we both sat down on the bed that had been poor Bill's. It was nothing to boast of, being a mere sacking stuffed with hay—a blanket below, and another at top; I had to beg from Jael the only pair of sheets John owned for a long time.
The attic was very low and small, hardly big enough "to whip a cat round," or even a kitten—yet John gazed about it with an air of proud possession. Only look out of the window. On one side,—the town, the Abbey, and beyond it a wide stretch of meadow and woodland as far as you could see; on the other, the broad Ham, the glittering curve of Severn, and the distant country, sloping up into "the blue hills far away.
And my heart likewise was very glad. Dear little attic room! How often have we both looked back upon it after days! It was to me a long, dreary season, worse even than my winters inevitably were. I never stirred from my room, and never saw anybody but my father, Dr. At last I took courage to say to the former, that I wished he would send John Halifax up some day.
Let him alone; he'll do well enough, if thee doesn't try to lift him out of his place. So, afraid of doing him harm, and feeling how much his future depended on his favor with his master, I did not discuss the matter. Only at every possible opportunity—and they were rare—I managed to send John a little note, written carefully in printed letters, for I know he could read that; also a book or two, out of which he might teach himself a little more.
Then I waited, eagerly but patiently, until spring came, when, without making any more fruitless efforts, I should be sure to see him. I knew enough of himself, and was too jealous over his dignity, to wish either to force him by entreaties, or bring him by stratagem, into a house where he was not welcome, even though it were the house of my own father.
One February day, when the frost had at last broken up, and soft, plentiful rain had half melted the great snow-drifts, which, Jael told me, lay about the country everywhere—I thought I would just put my head out of doors, to see how long the blessed spirit would be in coming. So I crawled down into the parlor, and out of the parlor into the garden; Jael scolding, my father roughly encouraging.
I felt very strong to-day. It was delicious to see again the green grass, which had been hidden for weeks; delicious to walk up and down in the sunshine, under the shelter of the yew hedge.
I amused myself watching a pale line of snow-drops which had come up one by one, like prisoners of war to their execution. But the next minute I felt ashamed of the heartless simile, for it reminded me of poor Bill Watkins, who, taken after the battle of Mentz, last December, had been shot by the French as a spy.
Poor, rosy, burly Bill! Ther's Jem and three little 'uns yet to feed, to say nought of another big lad as lives there, and eats a deal more than he pays, I'm sure.
This, together with a few other facts which lay between Sally and me, made me quite easy in the mind as to his being no burthen, but rather a help to the widow—so I let Jael have her say; it did no harm to me or anybody. She was even near pulling me down, as she stepped back in great hurry and consternation. I smiled—for in spite of his transformation, I, at least, had no difficulty in recognizing John Halifax. He had on new clothes—let me give the credit due to that wonderful civilizer, the tailor—clothes neat, decent, and plain, such as any 'prentice lad might wear.
They fitted well his figure, which had increased both in height, compactness, and grace. Round his neck was a coarse but white shirt frill; and over it fell, carefully arranged, the bright curls of his bonny hair. Easily might Jael or any one else have "mistaken" him, as she cuttingly said, for a young gentleman. She looked very indigant, though, when she found out the aforesaid "mistake. Thee bean't company for him, and his father don't choose it. John never spoke, but his cheek burnt furiously.
I took his hand, and told him how glad I was to see him—but, for a minute, I doubt if he heard me. Jael retired discomfited, and in her wrath again dropped half of her cabbages. John picked them up and restored them; but got for thanks only a parting thrust. It was, in truth, a great step forward.
He is very good to me, Phineas, and he gave me a special holiday, that I might go out with you. What fun we'll have! I almost think I could take a walk myself. The very sight of him was as good as the coming of spring. The river is rising still, I hear; at tan-yard they are busy making a dam against it.
How high are the floods here, generally, Phineas? But don't look so serious. Let us enjoy ourselves. The mere sunshine was delicious; delicious, too, to pause on the bridge at the other end of the town, and feel the breeze brought in by the rising waters, and hear the loud sound of them, as they poured in a cataract over the flood-gates hard by. What masses of white foam it makes, and what wreaths of spray, and see! How it sparkles in the sun.
Every morning the water seems to have made itself a fresh channel. Look at that one, by the willow-tree—how savagely it pours! Now, John, tell me what you have been doing all winter. It's astonishing what a lot of odd minutes one can catch during the day, if one really sets about it. That's fine isn't it? I have read it a good deal. I liked to hear him own, nor be ashamed to own—that he read "a good deal" in that rare book for a boy to read—the Bible. I overheard your father say you were very clever.
How much do you know? The list was short enough; I almost wished it were shorter, when I saw John's face. It's little I can teach; but, If you like, I'll teach you all I know. Thence he came back, in a minute or two, armed with the tallest, straightest of briar-rose shoots. Nay, stop till I've cut off the thorns. I was silent, too, but I stole a glance at his mouth, as seen in profile. I could almost always guess at his thoughts by that mouth, so flexible, sensitive, and, at times, so infinitely sweet.
It wore that expression now. I was satisfied, for I know the lad was happy. We reached the Mythe. It's lovely on the top of the Mythe,—look at the sunset. You cannot have seen a sunset for ever so long. I let John do as he would with me—he who brought into my pale life the only brightness it had ever known. Ere long, we stood on the top of the steep mound. I know not if it be a natural hill, or one of those old Roman or British remains, plentiful enough hereabouts, but it was always called the Mythe.
Close below it, at the foot of a precipitous slope, ran the Severn, there broad and deep enough, and gradually growing broader and deeper as it flowed on, through a wide plain of level country, towards the line of hills that bounded the horizon.
Severn looked beautiful here; neither grand nor striking, but certainly beautiful; a calm, gracious, generous river, bearing strength in its tide and plenty in its bosom, rolling on through the land slowly and surely, like a good man's life, and fertilizing wherever it flows. It was a mass of water, three or four feet high, which came surging along the mid-stream, upright as a wall.
Look what a creast of foam it has, like a wild boar's name. We often call it the river-boar. It was a breathless moment. The eger travelled slowly in its passage, changing the smooth, sparkling river to a whirl of conflicting currents, in which no boat could live—least of all, that light pleasure-boat, with its toppling sail. In it was a youth I knew by sight, Mr. Brithwood of the Mythe House, and another gentleman.
They both pulled hard—they got out of the mid-stream, but not close enough to land; and already there was but two oars' length between them and the "boar.
I shuddered to see him wade, knee-deep, in the stream—but he succeeded. Both gentlemen leaped safe on shore. The younger tried desperately to save his boat, but it was too late. Already the "water-boar" had clutched it—the rope broke like a gossamer-thread—the trim, white sail was dragged down—rose up once, broken and torn, like a butterfly caught in a mill-stream—then disappeared.
We might have lost our lives," sharply said the other, an older and sickly-looking gentleman, dressed in mourning, to whom life did not seem a particularly pleasant thing, though he appeared to value it so highly. They both scrambled up the Mythe, without noticing John Halifax: Was it you, my young friend?
He works in Fletcher the Quaker's tan-yard! March, who had stood looking at the boy with a kindly, even half-sad air. Young man, will you tell me to whom I am so much obliged? Brithwood knows me well enough. I work in the tan-yard. March turned away with a resumption of dignity, though evidently both surprised and disappointed. He stood, apparently struggling with conflicting intentions, and not very easy in his mind.
If I could do anything for you—and, meanwhile, if a trifle like this," and he slipped something into John's hand. John returned it with a bow, merely saying, "That he would rather not take any money. There was a little more of persistence on one side, and resistance on the other; and then Mr. March put the guineas irresolutely back into his pocket, looking the while lingeringly at the boy—at his tall figure, and flushed, proud face.
He turned away, and turned back again. March walked on, following young Brithwood; but at the stile he turned round once more, and glanced at John.
I sat wrapped in my cloak, and watched him making idle circles in the sandy path with the rose-switch he had cut. A thought struck me. He learned them very quickly—so quickly, that in a little while the simple copy-book that Mother Earth obliged us with, was covered in all directions with "J, O, H, N—John.
I have gained something to-day. The current was harmless enough, merely flooding a part of the Ham; but it awed us to see the fierce power of waters let loose. An old willow-tree, about whose roots I had often watched the king-cups growing, was now in the centre of a stream as broad as the Avon by our tan-yard, and thrice as rapid.
The torrent rushed round it—impatient of the divisions its great roots caused—eager to undermine and tear it up. Inevitably, if the flood did not abate, within a few hours more there would be nothing left of the fine old tree. Nothing clandestine, nothing obtrusive, was possible, even for friendship's sake, to John Halifax. My father came in late that evening; he looked tired and uneasy, and instead of going to bed, though it was after nine o'clock, sat down to his pipe in the chimney-corner.
Will it do any harm to the tan-yard? My father puffed away in silence till I came to bid him good-night. I think the sound of my crutches on the floor stirred him out of a long meditation, in which his ill-humour had ebbed away. He listened without reply. Remember, he is but my servant; thee'rt my son—my only son. In the middle of the night—or else to me, lying awake, it seemed so—there was a knocking at our hall-door. I slept on the ground-flat, in a little room opposite the parlor.
Ere I could well collect my thoughts, I saw my father pass, fully dressed, with a light in his hand. And, man of peace though he was, I was very sure I saw in the other—something which always lay near his strong box, at his bed's-head at night.
Because, ten years ago, a large sum had been stolen from him, and the burglar had gone free of punishment. The law refused to receive Abel Fletcher's testimony—he was "only a Quaker. A minute afterwards, I heard some one in my room.
That night, February 5, , was one long remembered at Norton Bury. Bridges were destroyed—boats carried away—houses inundated, or sapped at their foundations. The loss of life was small, but that of property was very great. Six hours did the work of ruin, and then the flood began to turn. It was a long waiting until they came home—my father and John. At daybreak, I saw them standing on the door-step. He did not repel me. Go back to the fire.
I, like many another in this town, am poorer by some thousands than I went to bed last night. I knew he loved his money, for it had been hardly earned. I had not thought he would have borne its loss so quietly. I should have lost everything I had in the world—save for—Where is the lad?
What art thee standing outside for? Come in, John, and shut the door. He was cold and wet. I wanted him to sit down by the fireside. I stood between the two—afraid to ask what they had undergone; but sure, from the old man's grave face, and the lad's bright one—flushed all over with that excitement of danger so delicious to the young—that the peril had not been small. But conscience or his will conquered. Bring another plate, and another mug of ale.
The fact made an ineffaceable impression on our household. After breakfast, as we sat by the fire, in the pale haze of that February morning, my father, contrary to his wont, explained to me all his losses; and how, but for the timely warning he had received, the flood might have nearly ruined him. But directly after it, some ill or suspicious thought seemed to come into Abel Fletcher's mind. It spoke ill for him with my father. I will not be hard upon thee—to-night, at least. I was in the tan-yard.
I was with the men—they were watching, and had a candle; and I wanted to sit up, and had no light. John hesitated, and again his painful, falsely-accusing blushes tried him sore. Though I am such a big fellow, I can't write; and your son was good enough to try and teach me. I was afraid of forgetting the letters; so I tried to make them all over again, with a bit of chalk, on the bark-shed wall.
It did nobody any harm, that I know of. At last, my father said, gently enough,— "Is that all, lad? We two lads talked softly to each other—afraid to interrupt. He smoked through a whole pipe—his great and almost his only luxury, and then again called out— "John Halifax. Good-day, sir—is there anything you want done? Any master might have been proud of such a servant—any father of such a son. My poor father—no, he did not once look from John Halifax to me.
He would not have owned for the world that half smothered sigh, or murmured because heaven had kept back from him—as, heaven knows why, it often does from us all!
What reward shall I give thee? It is quite enough reward that I have been useful to my master, and that he acknowledges it. I am very much obliged to thee, and I will not forget it. I had thought of something—something I had long desired, but which seemed then all but an impossibility. Even now, it was with some doubt and hesitation that I made the suggestion that he should spend every Sunday at our house. He would not care. He had rather lounge about all First-day at street-corners with his acquaintance.
He knows nobody—cares for nobody—but me. Do let him come. So after that, John Halifax came to us every Sunday: How things went in the outside world, I little knew or cared. My father lived his life, mechanical and steady as clockwork, and we two, John Halifax and Phineas Fletcher, lived our lives—the one so active and busy, the other so useless and dull.
Neither of us counted the days, nor looked backwards or forwards. One June morning, I woke to the consciousness that I was twenty years old, and that John Halifax was—a man; the difference between us being precisely as I have expressed it. Our birthdays fell within a week of each other, and it was in remembering his—the one which advanced him to the dignity of eighteen—that I called to mind my own. I say, "advanced him to the dignity"—but in truth that is an idle speech; for any dignity which the maturity of eighteen may be supposed to confer, he had already in possession.
Manhood had come to him, both in character and demeanor, not as it comes to most young lads, an eagerly-desired and presumptuously-asserted claim, but as a rightful inheritance, to be received humbly, and worn simply and naturally. So naturally, that I never seemed to think of him as anything but a boy, until this one June Sunday, when, as before stated, I myself became twenty years old. I was talking over that last fact, in a rather dreamy mood as he and I sat in our long-familiar summer seat, the clematis arbor by the garden wall.
John asked me what I was thinking of. Very patient he was, with it and with every ill mood of mine. And I was grateful, with that deep gratitude we feel to those who bear with us, and forgive us, and laugh at us and correct us;—all alike for love. Phineas, here goes for a catalogue of your qualities, internal and external. Big eyes, much given to observation, which means hard staring—Take them off me, Phineas, or I'll not lie on the grass a minute longer.
Imprimis and finis I'm grand at Latin now, you see —long hair, which, since the powder tax, has resumed its original blackness, and is—any young damsel would say, only we count not a single one among our acquaintance—exceedingly bewitching. I was, nevertheless, twenty years old; and although Jael and Sally were the only specimens of the other sex which had risen on my horizon, yet once or twice, since I had read Shakespeare, I had had a boy's lovely dreams of the divinity of womanhood.
They began, and ended—mere dreams. Soon dawned the bare, hard truth, that my character was too feeble and womanish to be likely to win any woman's reverence or love. Or, even had this been possible, one sickly as I was, stricken with hereditary disease, ought never seek to perpetuate it by marriage.
I therefore put from me at once and for ever, every feeling of that kind; and during my whole life—I thank God! Friendship was given me for love—duty for happiness. So best, and I was satisfied. This conviction, and the struggle succeeding it—for, though brief, it was but natural that it should have been a hard struggle—was the only secret that I had kept from John. It had happened some months now, and was quite over, and gone, so that I could smile at his fun, and shake at him my "bewitching" black locks, calling him a foolish boy.
And while I said it, the notion slowly dawning during the long gaze he had complained of, forced itself upon me clear as daylight, that he was not a "boy" any longer. But he was— I cannot describe what he was. I could not then. I only remember that when I looked at him, and began jocularly " Imprimis ," my heart came up into my throat and choked me. It was almost with sadness that I said, "Ah! David, you are quite a young man now. People would be slow to trust a clerk who looked a mere boy.
Still, your father trusts me. You need never have any doubt of that. It was only yesterday he said to me that now he was no longer dissatisfied with your working at all sorts of studies, in leisure hours, since it made you none the worse man of business.
It would not be doing my duty to myself any more than to my master, if I shirked his work for my own. I am glad he does not complain now, Phineas. I have a plan, John. Jael came to us in the garden, looking very serious. She had been summoned, I knew, to a long conference with her master the day before—the subject of which she would not tell me, though she acknowledged it concerned myself.
Ever since she had followed me about very softly, for her, and called me more than once, as when I was a child, "my dear. I caught her parting mutterings, as she marched behind me: From these, and from her strange fit of tenderness, I guessed what was looming in the distance—a future which my father constantly held in terrorem over me, though successive illnesses had kept it in abeyance. I knew that my poor father's hopes and plans were vain!
I went into his presence with a heavy heart. There is no need to detail that interview. Enough, that after it he set aside for ever his last lingering hope of having a son able to assist, and finally succeed him in his business, and that I set aside every dream of growing up to be a help and comfort to my father.
It cost something on both our parts; but after that day's discussion, we tacitly covered over the pain, and referred to it no more. I came back into the garden, and told John Halifax all. He listened, with his hand on my shoulder, and his grave, sweet look—dearer sympathy than any words!
Though he added thereto a few, in his own wise way, then he and I, also, drew the curtain over inevitable grief, and laid it in the peaceful chamber of silence. When my father, Dr. Jessop, John Halifax, and I met at dinner, the subject had passed into seeming oblivion, and was never afterwards revived. But dinner being over, and the chatty little doctor gone, while Abel Fletcher sat mutely smoking his pipe, and we two at the window maintained that respectful and decorous silence which in my young days was rigidly exacted by elders and superiors, I noticed my father's eyes frequently resting, with keen observance, upon John Halifax.
Could it be that there had recurred to him a hint of mine, given faintly that morning, as faintly as if it had only just entered my mind, instead of having for months for continually dwelt there, until a fitting moment should arrive? I hoped so—I earnestly prayed so. And to that end I took no notice, but let it silently grow.
The June evening came and went. The service-bell rang out and ceased. First, deep shadows, and then a bright star, appeared over the Abbey-tower.
We watched it from the garden, where, Sunday after Sunday, in fine weather we used to lounge, and talk over all manner of things in heaven and in earth, chiefly ending with the former, as on Sunday nights, with stars over our head, was natural and fit we should do.
Also, I wonder if we are ready for it. I'm not clear how far I could resist doing anything wrong, if it were pleasant. So many wrong things are pleasant—just now, instead of rising to-morrow, and going into the little dark counting-house, and scratching paper from eight till six, shouldn't I like to break away! I did not mean I ever should do such a wrong thing; but merely that I sometimes feel the wish to do it. I can't help it; it's my Apollyon that I have to fight with—everybody keeps a private Apollyon, I fancy.
Now, Phineas, be content; Apollyon is beaten down. He stretched his hand to help me up from the grass. We went into the house together, silently. After supper, when the chimes struck half-past nine, John prepared to leave as usual. He went to bid good-night to my father, who was sitting meditatively over the fireless hearth-place, sometimes poking the great bow-pot of fennel and asparagus, as in winter he did the coals: Halifax, what hast thee got to do to-morrow?
Therefore, take a day's holiday, if thee likes. The morning came, and we took our way thither, under the Abbey walls, and along a lane, shaded on one side by the "willows in the water-courses. The Vineyards had been a battle-field; and under the long wavy grass, and the roots of the wild apple trees, slept many a Yorkist and Lancastrian.
Sometimes an unusually deep furrow turned out a white bone—but more often the relics were undisturbed, and the meadows used as pastures or hay-fields.
John and I lay down on some wind-rows, and sunned ourselves in the warm and delicious air. How beautiful everything was! Often—as on this day—we sat for hours in a pleasant dreaminess, scarcely exchanging a word; nevertheless I could generally track John's thoughts, as they went wandering on, ay, as clearly as one might track a stream through a wood; sometimes—like to-day—I failed. In the afternoon, when we had finished our bread and cheese—eaten slowly and with graceful dignity, in order to make dinner a more important and lengthy affair—he said abruptly— "Phineas, don't you think this field is rather dull?
Shall we go somewhere else? But just as we were quitting the field, we met two rather odd-looking persons entering it, young-old persons they seemed, who might own to any age or any occupation. Their dress, especially that of the younger, amused us by its queer mixture of fashionableness and homeliness, such as gray ribbed stockings and shining paste shoe-buckles, rusty velvet small-clothes and a coatee of blue cloth.
But the wearer carried off this anomalous costume with an easy, condescending air, full of pleasantness, humor and grace. Young gentlemen, excuse our continuing our dessert, in fact, I may say our dinner.
Are you connoisseurs in turnips? I declined; but John, out of a deeper delicacy than I could boast, accepted it. But I am not the first remarkable person who has eaten turnips in your Norton Bury fields—ay, and turned field-preacher afterwards—the celebrated John Philip—" Here the elder and less agreeable of the two wayfarers interposed with a nudge, indicating silence. May I give you instead my own humble name?
It was a name wholly out of my sphere, both then and now; but I know it has since risen to note among the people of the world. I believe, too, its owner has carried up to the topmost height of celebrity, always the gay, gentlemanly spirit, and kindly heart, which he showed when sitting with us and eating swedes. Still, I will not mention his surname—I will only call him "Mr. William Shakespeare, young gentlemen?
You said the Coltham mail passed here in three hours? I have the honor of wishing you a very good day, Mr. But John, whose reading had latterly surpassed mine, and whom nothing ever puzzled, explained that I came from the same old stock as the brothers Phineas and Giles Fletcher. Charles, who till now had somewhat overlooked me, took off his hat, and congratulated me on my illustrious descent.
What business do you think that Mr. A clever man, anyhow; I should like to see him again. It was a sloping field, through the middle of which ran a little stream down to the meadow's end, where, fringed and hidden by a plantation of trees, the Avon flowed.
Here, too, in all directions, the hay-fields lay, either in green swathes, or tedded, or, in the luxuriously-scented quiles.
The lane was quite populous with wagons and hay-makers—the men in their corduroys and blue hose—the woman in their trim jackets and bright calamanco petticoats.
There were more women than men, by far, for the flower of the peasant youth of England had been drafted off to fight against "Bonyparty. There seems a crowd down in the meadow; and who is that man standing on the hay-cart, on the other side of the stream? How he is talking and gesticulating!
What can he be at? I followed less quickly. There, of a surety, stood our new friend, on one of the simple-fashioned hay-carts that we used about Norton Bury, a low frame-work on wheels, with a pole stuck at either of the four corners.
He was bare-headed, and his hair hung in graceful curls, well powdered. I only hope he had honestly paid the tax, which we were all then exclaiming against—so fondly does custom cling to deformity.
Despite the powder, the blue coat, and the shabby velvet breeches, Mr. Charles was a very handsome and striking-looking man. No wonder the poor hay-makers had collected from all parts to hear him harangue. What was he haranguing upon? Could it be, that like his friend, "John Philip," whoever that personage might be, his vocation was that of a field preacher?
It seemed like it, especially judging from the sanctified demeanor of the elder and inferior person, who accompanied him; and who sat in the front of the cart, and folded his hands and groaned, after the most approved fashion of a methodistical "revival. I must say this for Mr.
Charles, that in no way did he trespass the bounds of reverence and decorum. His harangue, though given as a sermon, was strictly and simply a moral essay, such as might have emanated from any professor's chair.
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. We of Norton Bury had never heard such eloquence. His whole attention was riveted on the speaker. A true friend, a protector when she needs it, loyalty i need only 1 woman , my attention, my devotion, my ear to listen and my shoulder to lean on.
My time - we can spend it in any way: You really sound like a wonderful guy. And someone will be lucky to be that one woman you need. I am new here and find when my few friends are offline I get lonesome. I'm not a wild thing that would. Go with just anyone. Not into sexual things with just anyone at anytime. I love to dance, cuddle. One can do in SL.
Hardly had he passed an angle of the wood before a stout gentleman in a beaver cap came riding toward him on a handsome raven-black horse, accompanied by two hunt servants. But instead of all that--here he was, the wealthy husband of an unfaithful wife, a retired gentleman-in-waiting , fond of eating and drinking and, as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, of abusing the government a bit, a member of the Moscow English Club, and a universal favorite in Moscow society.
As she looked and thought, the strangest fancies unexpectedly and disconnectedly passed through her mind: After some minutes, the gentleman-in-waiting who was on duty came into the great reception room and, bowing politely, asked Balashev to follow him.
The door opened, a gentleman-in-waiting , bending respectfully, handed the Emperor his hat and gloves; another brought him a pocket handkerchief. Petya decided to go straight to where the Emperor was and to explain frankly to some gentleman-in-waiting he imagined the Emperor to be always surrounded by gentlemen -in-waiting that he, Count Rostov, in spite of his youth wished to serve his country; that youth could be no hindrance to loyalty, and that he was ready to While dressing, Petya had prepared many fine things he meant to say to the gentleman-in - waiting.
Petya too would have run there, but the clerk who had taken the young gentleman under his protection stopped him. The men soon accepted Pierre into their family, adopted him, gave him a nickname "our gentleman " , and made kindly fun of him among themselves. An old gentleman wearing a star and another official, a German wearing a cross round his neck, approached the speaker.
I'll fetch a piece of cloth at once for such an honorable gentleman , or even two pieces with pleasure. On the third day after Kutuzov's report a country gentleman arrived from Moscow, and news of the surrender of Moscow to the French spread through the whole town. The Fred O'Connor Cyber Cafe was unplugged from electronic connection to the world at large, as the old gentleman was taking his sweet time moving his belongings downstairs. Ever the gentleman , Wynn cleared the table and returned with two drinks: He entered the House of Commons as Liberal member for Berwick-on-Tweed in , but he was best known as a country gentleman with a taste for sport, and as amateur champion tennis-player.
The remote descendant of a duke, even though he may chance to be heir presumptive to the dukedom, is in no way distinguished from any other gentleman ; it is even possible that he may not hold the social rank of gentleman. His father, Don Francisco de Valenzuela, a gentleman of Ronda, had been compelled to flee from Spain in consequence of a brawl, and had enlisted as a soldier in Naples, where he married Dona Leonora de Encisa. But Gibbon's friends in a few weeks discovered that the new tutor preferred the pleasures of London to the instruction of his pupils, and in this perplexity decided to send him prematurely to Oxford, where he was matriculated as a gentleman commoner of Magdalen College, 3rd April Under the tuition of Laurence Vaux, a priest, he became an able scholar.
His violent disposition now led him to quarrel with a country gentleman who had insulted his sister, and his semi-exile was changed by lettre de cachet into imprisonment in the Chateau d'If.
At a place where two roads crossed, they saw a tall gentleman coming to meet them. About an hour later, a well-dressed gentleman came into the hotel and said, "I wish to see Mr.
A Pure Lady for the Broken Duke Preview The gentleman carried only his walking stick and a hooded lantern to keep himself concealed. Helena went over and tried to tidy Jenny's hair after running her hands through it to shake out most of. After the funeral rites had heen faithfully performed, I sought the person who had still hound in the enduring chain of woman's pure and first pledged affection. Clara confided her purpose to Mrs. More and that lady sought to diuude her from it. as it never had been in the pure moral atmosphere of her home in Minden.