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The Water-Babies | Charles Kingsley | |
Chapter VI |
Page 1 of 12 |
"Thou little child, yet glorious in the night Of heaven-born freedom on thy Being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The Years to bring the inevitable yoke - Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life." WORDSWORTH. I come to the very saddest part of all my story. I know some people will only laugh at it, and call it much ado about nothing. But I know one man who would not; and he was an officer with a pair of gray moustaches as long as your arm, who said once in company that two of the most heart-rending sights in the world, which moved him most to tears, which he would do anything to prevent or remedy, were a child over a broken toy and a child stealing sweets. The company did not laugh at him; his moustaches were too long and too gray for that: but, after he was gone, they called him sentimental and so forth, all but one dear little old Quaker lady with a soul as white as her cap, who was not, of course, generally partial to soldiers; and she said very quietly, like a Quaker: "Friends, it is borne upon my mind that that is a truly brave man." |
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The Water-Babies Charles Kingsley |
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