The Days of My Life: An Autobiography

Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
Cover of the book The Days of My Life: An Autobiography by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant, Library of Alexandria
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
Author: Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant ISBN: 9781465615985
Publisher: Library of Alexandria Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint: Language: English
Author: Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
ISBN: 9781465615985
Publisher: Library of Alexandria
Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint:
Language: English
I WAS going home from the village, and it was an autumn evening, just after sunset, when every crop was cut and housed in our level country, and when the fields of stubble and browned grass had nothing on them, except here and there, a tree. They say our bare flats, in Cambridgeshire, are neither picturesque, nor beautiful. I cannot say for that—but I know no landscape has ever caught my eye like the long line of sunburnt, wiry grass, and the great, wide arch above, with all its shades of beautiful color. There were no hedgerows to skirt the path on which I was, and I saw nothing between me and the sky, save a solitary figure stalking along the highway, and in the other direction the clump of trees which surrounded Cottiswoode; the sky, in the west, was still full of the colors of the sunset, and from the horizon it rose upward in a multitude of tints and shades, the orange and red melting into a rosy flush which contrasted for a while, and then fell into the sweet, calm, peaceful tone of the full blue. In the time of the year, and the look of the night, there was alike that indescribable composure and satisfaction which are in the sunny evenings after harvest; the work was done, the day was fading, everything was going home; the rooks sailed over the sky, and the laborer trudged across the moor. Labor was over, and provision made, and the evening and the night, peace and refreshment, and rest were coming for every man. I do not suppose I noticed this at the time, but I have the strongest impression of it all in my remembrance now. And I was passing along, as I always did, quickly and, perhaps, with a firmer and a steadier step than was usual to girls of my years, swinging in my hand a bit of briony, which, for the sake of its beautiful berries, I was carrying home, but which stood a good chance of being destroyed before we got there—not taking leisure to look much about me, thinking of nothing particular, with a little air of the superior, the lady of the manor, in my independent carriage—a little pride of proprietorship in my firm footstep.
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
I WAS going home from the village, and it was an autumn evening, just after sunset, when every crop was cut and housed in our level country, and when the fields of stubble and browned grass had nothing on them, except here and there, a tree. They say our bare flats, in Cambridgeshire, are neither picturesque, nor beautiful. I cannot say for that—but I know no landscape has ever caught my eye like the long line of sunburnt, wiry grass, and the great, wide arch above, with all its shades of beautiful color. There were no hedgerows to skirt the path on which I was, and I saw nothing between me and the sky, save a solitary figure stalking along the highway, and in the other direction the clump of trees which surrounded Cottiswoode; the sky, in the west, was still full of the colors of the sunset, and from the horizon it rose upward in a multitude of tints and shades, the orange and red melting into a rosy flush which contrasted for a while, and then fell into the sweet, calm, peaceful tone of the full blue. In the time of the year, and the look of the night, there was alike that indescribable composure and satisfaction which are in the sunny evenings after harvest; the work was done, the day was fading, everything was going home; the rooks sailed over the sky, and the laborer trudged across the moor. Labor was over, and provision made, and the evening and the night, peace and refreshment, and rest were coming for every man. I do not suppose I noticed this at the time, but I have the strongest impression of it all in my remembrance now. And I was passing along, as I always did, quickly and, perhaps, with a firmer and a steadier step than was usual to girls of my years, swinging in my hand a bit of briony, which, for the sake of its beautiful berries, I was carrying home, but which stood a good chance of being destroyed before we got there—not taking leisure to look much about me, thinking of nothing particular, with a little air of the superior, the lady of the manor, in my independent carriage—a little pride of proprietorship in my firm footstep.

More books from Library of Alexandria

Cover of the book Stella Australis Poems: Verses and Prose Fragments by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book International Incidents for Discussion in Conversation Classes by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book Bygone Scotland: Historical and Social by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book My Double Life: The Memoirs of Sarah Bernhardt by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book A Dozen Ways of Love by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book Cripps, the Carrier: A Woodland Tale by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book Northern Georgia Sketches by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book Campmates: A Story of the Plains by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book Samuel Brohl and Company by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book Agincourt: A Romance by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book David Copperfield by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book The Pre-Columbian Discovery of America by the Northmen by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book The World as Will and Idea by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book The Pastor's Wife by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Cover of the book The Old Helmet (Complete) by Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
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