Читать книгу The Life of Sir William Quiller Orchardson - Hilda Orchardson Gray - Страница 11
Sweet day of rest from all save sin And that, too, of the deeper sort That prompts the yawn amid the preaching din Or warbles in the sleepers’ tuneful snort. Or stretched upon the sward looks on the sky And deems the bells sound better at a distance Though many in her few alone may sigh And pray the saints to come to your assistance. Bright day of dull repose or something worse When wings abroad the clergy’s tender curse Against all those who really know no better Than stay at home to sleep or write a letter.
ОглавлениеI have no clue of the date of this letter, except the writing and the early signature, beside the general youthfulness and liveliness of it:
Falkland,
Bruce Arms.
Dear Father,
I arrived here yesterday evening all safe and began my sketch to-day; it is a glorious bit, and will answer my purpose even better than I anticipated.
I astonished the natives of little [illegible] last night by making a forcible entry into the byres where they were milking by a well-remembered back way, overturning the candle, and alarming an indefinite number of cats. They—the Henrys not the cats—are all in excellent health, they have had a splendid harvest, and have a choked-up stack-yard.
They are very keen for you to come over for [a] time if you could manage it, which, I think, you might, seeing you are not very busy—try!
The weather has broken unfortunately, but it will likely clear up soon.
[1] Samuel Reid.
[2] W. Q. O.’s sister.
