When I
was young these great matters, at least in our village, were not such
common property as they are now. A man, even if he was a scholar,
thought he had done his duty by living an honest and peaceable life. He
was justified if he was kind to his neighbours and amused himself with
his bees and flowers. He had no desire to be remembered for any
achievement, and was content to be buried with a few tears and then to
be forgotten. All Mrs. Lindsay's folk want to do something outside
their own houses or parishes which shall make their names immortal. . .
. I was interrupted by a tremendous thunderstorm and hail. That
wonderful rose-bush which, you will recollect, stood on the left-hand
side of the garden door, has been stripped just as if it had been
scourged with whips. If you have done, quite done with the Orelli you
borrowed about two years ago, please let me have it. Why could you not
bring it? Mrs. Lindsay was saying only the other day how glad she
should be if you would stay with her for a fortnight before you return
to town.
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