Memoirs and resolutions of Adam Graeme of Mossgray, including some chronicles of the borough of FendieOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
History
Memoirs and resolutions of Adam Graeme of Mossgray, including some chronicles of the borough of Fendie
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Bildungsromans; Scotland -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Youth -- Scotland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“Heavy wisdoms that come with years, dark experiences that close men’s
hearts, let us be thankful that they have not fallen on us--that we are
as we were; carrying young hearts with us, into the purer country.
“Lucy has had sorrows other than these. Long patience, the silent burden
of slow years and quietness such as only women bear; tending the
weakness of the stern old man who lived so long in his solitary pride,
and after some year or two of tranquil gladness--no longer, I
think--weeping the tears of a widow. We reverence her calmer peace, as
we reverenced her youthful gravity long ago, when we were boys, and when
the budding woman called us so, and was gentle to us in her young
wisdom. It is true her hair is white as the leaves of my lilies, and
that her cheek is colourless, and has something of the ashy hue of age;
but Lucy, like Hew, is unchanged. Graver, wiser, more serious still than
we are, smiling the old gentle composed smile at our boyish fancies,
speaking the old words of quiet counsel, directing us in the old calm
playful fashion. Isabell at Murrayshaugh, simple, kind heart, wept for
the broken romance, the fair, lost Miss Lucy: but I, who knew her better
than Isabell, cannot think thus, for she is still Lucy Murray, the same
as she ever was.
“It is some time since we married our children. He is a good youth this
Hew of ours, worthy of his mother and of my Lily. My good Lily! I miss
her, now that she has left me, perhaps more than if all her time of
dwelling here had been happy. I remember the long sad days in which my
poor child parted with all her hopes, almost with regret. It seems to me
sometimes that there was a blessing in this grief.
“I had fainted unless I had believed to see the ‘goodness of the Lord in
the land of the living.’ Great hope and glorious, which speaks of
another country--grand as it is, it does not fill up all the
requirements of this humanity. To live, we must have some hope for the
mortal life, some expectation warm with the human blood. It is only men
who divorce and separate the two--the wonderful grace of Heaven gives us
both.
“They are to come to us when the autumn comes, and it is coming apace. I
agree with them that it is right--that Hew while he is young is doing
well to work what work he can, and provide for days of home-dwelling;
but I feel that the absence of Lilias makes a great void, and I may
innocently wish that this needful work was done, and that we might keep
them here beside us.
“The other youthful people have begun their course pleasantly; fair fall
this sunny power of change: I felt that Mr Oswald’s resolution must come
to an untimely end, like mine, and it is very well that he has yielded
gracefully, before it was too late.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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