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    Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 05
    Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 05
    Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 05
    Ebook88 pages1 hour

    Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 05

    By Edward Bulwer-Lytton

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 05
    Author

    Edward Bulwer-Lytton

    Edward Bulwer-Lytton, engl. Romanschriftsteller und Politiker, ist bekannt geworden durch seine populären historischen/metaphysischen und unvergleichlichen Romane wie „Zanoni“, „Rienzi“, „Die letzten Tage von Pompeji“ und „Das kommende Geschlecht“. Ihm wird die Mitgliedschaft in der sagenumwobenen Gemeinschaft der Rosenkreuzer nachgesagt. 1852 wurde er zum Kolonialminister von Großbritannien ernannt.

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      Book preview

      Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 05 - Edward Bulwer-Lytton

      Project Gutenberg EBook, Alice, or The Mysteries, by Lytton, Book V #207 in our series by Edward Bulwer Lytton

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      **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

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      *****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers*****

      Title: Alice, or The Mysteries, Book V

      Author: Edward Bulwer Lytton

      Release Date: January 2006 [EBook #9767] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on October 15, 2003]

      Edition: 10

      Language: English

      *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, ALICE, BY LYTTON, BOOK V ***

      Produced by Dagny, dagnypg@yahoo.com and David Widger, widger@cecomet.net

      BOOK V.

        "FOOLS blind to truth; nor know their erring soul

         How much the half is better than the whole."

              —HESIOD: Op. et Dies, 40.

      CHAPTER I.

        Do as the Heavens have done; forget your evil;

        With them, forgive yourself.—The Winter's Tale.

        . . . The sweet'st companion that e'er man

        Bred his hopes out of.—Ibid.

      THE curate of Brook-Green was sitting outside his door. The vicarage which he inhabited was a straggling, irregular, but picturesque building,—humble enough to suit the means of the curate, yet large enough to accommodate the vicar. It had been built in an age when the indigentes et pauperes for whom universities were founded supplied, more than they do now, the fountains of the Christian ministry, when pastor and flock were more on an equality.

      From under a rude and arched porch, with an oaken settle on either side for the poor visitor, the door opened at once upon the old-fashioned parlour,—a homely but pleasant room, with one wide but low cottage casement, beneath which stood the dark shining table that supported the large Bible in its green baize cover; the Concordance, and the last Sunday's sermon, in its jetty case. There by the fireplace stood the bachelor's round elbow-chair, with a needlework cushion at the back; a walnut-tree bureau, another table or two, half a dozen plain chairs, constituted the rest of the furniture, saving some two or three hundred volumes, ranged in neat shelves on the clean wainscoted walls. There was another room, to which you ascended by two steps, communicating with this parlour, smaller but finer, and inhabited only on festive days, when Lady Vargrave, or some other quiet neighbour, came to drink tea with the good curate.

      An old housekeeper and her grandson—a young fellow of about two and twenty, who tended the garden, milked the cow, and did in fact what he was wanted to do—composed the establishment of the humble minister.

      We have digressed from Mr. Aubrey himself.

      The curate was seated, then, one fine summer morning, on a bench at the left of his porch, screened from the sun by the cool boughs of a chestnut-tree, the shadow of which half covered the little lawn that separated the precincts of the house from those of silent Death and everlasting Hope; above the irregular and moss-grown paling rose the village church; and, through openings in the trees, beyond the burial-ground, partially gleamed the white walls of Lady Vargrave's cottage, and were seen at a distance the sails on the—

      Mighty waters, rolling evermore.

      The old man was calmly enjoying the beauty of the morning, the freshness of the air, the warmth of the dancing beam, and not least, perhaps, his own peaceful thoughts,—the spontaneous children of a contemplative spirit and a quiet conscience. His was the age when we most sensitively enjoy the mere sense of existence,—when the face of Nature and a passive conviction of the benevolence of our Great Father suffice to create a serene and ineffable happiness, which rarely visits us till we have done with the passions; till memories, if more alive than heretofore, are yet mellowed in the hues of time, and Faith softens into harmony all their asperities and harshness; till nothing within us remains to cast a shadow over the things without; and on the verge of life, the Angels are nearer to us than of yore. There is an old age which has more youth of heart than youth itself!

      As the old man thus sat, the little gate through which, on Sabbath days, he was wont to pass from the humble mansion to the house of God noiselessly opened, and Lady Vargrave appeared.

      The curate rose when he perceived her; and the lady's fair features were lighted up

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