Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood
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George MacDonald. Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood
CHAPTER I. DESPONDENCY AND CONSOLATION
CHAPTER II. MY FIRST SUNDAY AT MARSHMALLOWS
CHAPTER III. MY FIRST MONDAY AT MARSHMALLOWS
CHAPTER IV. THE COFFIN
CHAPTER V. VISITORS FROM THE HALL
CHAPTER VI. OLDCASTLE HALL
CHAPTER VII. THE BISHOP’S BASIN
CHAPTER VIII. WHAT I PREACHED
CHAPTER IX. THE ORGANIST
CHAPTER X. MY CHRISTMAS PARTY
CHAPTER XI. SERMON ON GOD AND MAMMON
CHAPTER XII. THE AVENUE
CHAPTER XIII. YOUNG WEIR
CHAPTER XIV. MY PUPIL
CHAPTER XV. DR DUNCAN’S STORY
CHAPTER XVI. THE ORGAN
CHAPTER XVII. THE CHURCH-RATE
CHAPTER XVIII. JUDY’S NEWS
CHAPTER XIX. THE INVALID
CHAPTER XX. MOOD AND WILL
CHAPTER XXI. THE DEVIL IN THOMAS WEIR
CHAPTER XXII. THE DEVIL IN CATHERINE WEIR
CHAPTER XXIII. THE DEVIL IN THE VICAR
CHAPTER XXIV. AN ANGEL UNAWARES
CHAPTER XXV. TWO PARISHIONERS
CHAPTER XXVI. SATAN CAST OUT
CHAPTER XXVII. THE MAN AND THE CHILD
CHAPTER XXVIII. OLD MRS TOMKINS
CHAPTER XXIX. CALM AND STORM
CHAPTER XXX. A SERMON TO MYSELF
CHAPTER XXXI. A COUNCIL OF FRIENDS
CHAPTER XXXII. THE NEXT THING
CHAPTER XXXIII. OLD ROGERS’S THANKSGIVING
CHAPTER XXXIV. TOM’S STORY
Отрывок из книги
These events fell on the Saturday night. On the Sunday morning, I read prayers and preached. Never before had I enjoyed so much the petitions of the Church, which Hooker calls “the sending of angels upward,” or the reading of the lessons, which he calls “the receiving of angels descended from above.” And whether from the newness of the parson, or the love of the service, certainly a congregation more intent, or more responsive, a clergyman will hardly find. But, as I had feared, it was different in the afternoon. The people had dined, and the usual somnolence had followed; nor could I find in my heart to blame men and women who worked hard all the week, for being drowsy on the day of rest. So I curtailed my sermon as much as I could, omitting page after page of my manuscript; and when I came to a close, was rewarded by perceiving an agreeable surprise upon many of the faces round me. I resolved that, in the afternoons at least, my sermons should be as short as heart could wish.
But that afternoon there was at least one man of the congregation who was neither drowsy nor inattentive. Repeatedly my eyes left the page off which I was reading and glanced towards him. Not once did I find his eyes turned away from me.
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“That’s not exactly what I mean, sir.”
“What do you mean then? I should like to know.”
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