Summary

J. Ewing Ritchie Crying for the Light; Or, Fifty Years Ago…

It is well understood that when there is a farm to let no Dissenter need apply.
The old meeting-house yard was pleasant to the eye, with its grand trees guarding the gates. It was a warm night, and the doors were wide open, and from the pulpit the eye could range over trim cottage gardens all ablaze with sweet flowers, whose scent floated pleasantly along the summer air. From afar one could hear also the echoes of the distant sea. There is a wonderful stillness and beauty in a country village on a Sunday night, that is if it be at a decent distance from town.
Source: Gutenberg

J. Ewing Ritchie Crying for the Light; Or, Fifty Years Ago…

Men jeered at her, as she stood with the hot blood crimsoning her cheek, while the made-up women around seemed, to her, grinning over her impending fall. Was she to become one of them—to renounce all modesty and virtue, to drink of the wine-cup offered her on every side, in the delirium of the hour to enlist in the devil’s service, to put on his livery and to take his pay? Well, she was poor, but not so poor as all that—as long as she had the use of her senses. Better poverty itself than a life of shame.
Source: Gutenberg

J. Ewing Ritchie Crying for the Light; Or, Fifty Years Ago…

She always insisted on her daughter’s fitness for something higher. Love levels all distinctions of rank, and Rose herself was half a Radical—at any rate, much more of one than pretty women generally are. She was also ambitious. She had a charming voice, and danced well. Why should she not shine in society? Why should not she be the star of the ball-room and the theatre? Why should not she have a brougham and drive in the parks? Why should not the men fall down and worship at her shrine? Beauty had a magic power, and wonders were ever being performed daily by the sorcery of Love.
Source: Gutenberg

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