Charles Auchester by Elizabeth Sheppard

By Elizabeth Sheppard

Excerpt from Charles Auchester, Vol. 1 of 2

I understand how many notions grown individuals entertain in their early life as genuine, that are factitious, and based upon elder adventure, until eventually they turn into confounded with it yet I additionally believe that during nice half we forget our earliest impressions, as imprecise, which have been the truest and top we ever had. i feel none can keep in mind their baby ish estimate or essence with no opting for inside of their current intimate selves. In my very own case the analogy is ideal among my conceptions then and my optimistic life now. So each needs to think who's in any respect familiar with the liabilities of these who persist with art.

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Sample text

It was only Millicent, with tears in her good eyes. CHARLES AUCHESTER. " "I will be grateful to everybody," I answered. " " Dear Charles, do not say ' lte ' of such a man as Mr. " Now, Millicent was but seventeen; still, she had her ideas, girlishly chaste and charming, of what men ought to be. "I think he is lovely," I replied, dancing round and round her, till she seized my hands. "Yes, Mr. Davy is gone; but he is kindly coming to fetch you to-morrow, to drink tea with him, and mother has asked him to dine here on Sunday.

Nor would he suffer any violence to be done to the solemn brightness of the aria. It was not until we all arose that he raised his arm, and impetuously, almost imperiously, fixed upon us his eyes. He glanced not a moment at the score, he never turned a leaf, but he urged the time majestically, and his rapturous beauty brightened as the voices firmly, safely, swelled over the sustaining chords, launched in glory upon those waves of sound. I almost forgot the festival. I am not certain that I remember who I was, or where I was, but I seemed to be singing at every pore.

I remember our walk, when my hands were so cold and my heart was so hot, so happy. I remember the pale, pearly shade that was falling on street and factory, the shop-lit glare, the mail-coach thundering down High Street. I remember how I felt entering, from the dim evening, the chiaro-oscuro of the corridors, just uncertainly illustrated by a swinging lamp or two ; and I remember passing into the hall. Standing upon the orchestra, giddy, almost fearful to fall forwards into the great unlighted chaos, the windows looked like clouds themselves, and every pillar, tier, and cornice stood dilated in the unsubstantial space.

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