Dickson is a writer after our own heart. For preachers he is a great ally. There is nothing brilliant or profound; but everything is clear and well arranged, and the unction runs down like the oil from Aaron’s head. In this volume the observations are brief. – Summary by Charles Spurgeon Post Views: 6
Davy Crockett is one of the legendary heroes of the North American frontier, celebrated in song and story. This is a very accessible account of his life from boyhood through his time as a scout and of high popularity to his tragic death at the battle of the Alamo. (Summary by Larry Wilson) Post Views: • Read More »
Cynthia Erivo, the star of the new Wicked film, will be the prestigious drama school’s vice president. Post Views: 3
Sunday morning. Market-place of a large mining village in the Midlands. A man addressing a small gang of colliers from the foot of a stumpy memorial obelisk. Church bells heard. Churchgoers passing along the outer pavements. WILLIE HOUGHTON: What’s the matter with you folks, as I’ve told you before, and as I shall keep on • Read More »
A collier’s kitchen–not poor. Windsor chairs, deal table, dresser of painted wood, sofa covered with red cotton stuff. Time: About half-past two of a winter’s afternoon. A large, stoutish woman of sixty-five, with smooth black hair parted down the middle of her head: MRS GASCOIGNE. Enter a young man, about twenty-six, dark, good-looking; has his • Read More »
“THE BOTTOMS” succeeded to “Hell Row”. Hell Row was a block of thatched, bulging cottages that stood by the brookside on Greenhill Lane. There lived the colliers who worked in the little gin-pits two fields away. The brook ran under the alder trees, scarcely soiled by these small mines, whose coal was drawn to the • Read More »
He was working on the edge of the common, beyond the small brook that ran in the dip at the bottom of the garden, carrying the garden path in continuation from the plank bridge on to the common. He had cut the rough turf and bracken, leaving the grey, dryish soil bare. https://www.classicistranieri.com/au/ebooks/m00010.txt Post • Read More »
There was a peasant near Jerusalem who acquired a young gamecock which looked a shabby little thing, but which put on brave feathers as spring advanced, and was resplendent with arched and orange neck by the time the fig trees were letting out leaves from their end-tips. This peasant was poor, he lived in a • Read More »
She had thought that this marriage, of all marriages, would be an adventure. Not that the man himself was exactly magical to her. A little, wiry, twisted fellow, twenty years older than herself, with brown eyes and greying hair, who had come to America a scrap of a wastrel, from Holland, years ago, as a • Read More »
Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble • Read More »
Take a mining townlet like Woodhouse, with a population of ten thousand people, and three generations behind it. This space of three generations argues a certain well-established society. The old “County” has fled from the sight of so much disembowelled coal, to flourish on mineral rights in regions still idyllic. Remains one great and inaccessible • Read More »
I stood watching the shadowy fish slide through the gloom of the millpond. They were grey, descendants of the silvery things that had darted away from the monks, in the young days when the valley was lusty. The whole place was gathered in the musing of old age. The thick-piled trees on the far shore • Read More »