Lilith - George MacDonald (read my book .txt) 📗

Lilith

By George MacDonald.

Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint Epigraph Lilith I: The Library II: The Mirror III: The Raven IV: Somewhere or Nowhere? V: The Old Church VI: The Sexton’s Cottage VII: The Cemetery VIII: My Father’s Manuscript IX: I Repent X: The Bad Burrow XI: The Evil Wood XII: Friends and Foes XIII: The Little Ones XIV: A Crisis XV: A Strange Hostess XVI: A Gruesome Dance XVII: A Grotesque Tragedy XVIII: Dead or Alive? XIX: The White Leech XX: Gone!—But How? XXI: The Fugitive Mother XXII: Bulika XXIII: A Woman of Bulika XXIV: The White Leopardess XXV: The Princess XXVI: A Battle Royal XXVII: The Silent Fountain XXVIII: I Am Silenced XXIX: The Persian Cat XXX: Adam Explains XXXI: The Sexton’s Old Horse XXXII: The Lovers and the Bags XXXIII: Lona’s Narrative XXXIV: Preparation XXXV: The Little Ones in Bulika XXXVI: Mother and Daughter XXXVII: The Shadow XXXVIII: To the House of Bitterness XXXIX: That Night XL: The House of Death XLI: I Am Sent XLII: I Sleep the Sleep XLIII: The Dreams That Came XLIV: The Waking XLV: The Journey Home XLVI: The City XLVII: The “Endless Ending” Endnotes Colophon Uncopyright Imprint

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I took a walk on Spaulding’s Farm the other afternoon. I saw the setting sun lighting up the opposite side of a stately pine wood. Its golden rays straggled into the aisles of the wood as into some noble hall. I was impressed as if some ancient and altogether admirable and shining family had settled there in that part of the land called Concord, unknown to me⁠—to whom the sun was servant⁠—who had not gone into society in the village⁠—who had not been called on. I saw their park, their pleasure-ground, beyond through the wood, in Spaulding’s cranberry-meadow. The pines furnished them with gables as they grew. Their house was not obvious to vision; their trees grew through it. I do not know whether I heard the sounds of a suppressed hilarity or not. They seemed to recline on the sunbeams. They have sons and daughters. They are quite well. The farmer’s cart-path, which leads directly through their hall, does not in the least put them out⁠—as the muddy bottom of a pool is sometimes seen through the reflected skies. They never heard of Spaulding, and do not know that he is their neighbor⁠—notwithstanding I heard him whistle as he drove his team through the house. Nothing can equal the serenity of their lives. Their coat of arms is simply a lichen. I saw it painted on the pines and oaks. Their attics were in the tops of the trees. They are of no politics. There was no noise of labor. I did not perceive that they were weaving or spinning. Yet I did detect, when the wind lulled and hearing was done away, the finest imaginable sweet musical hum⁠—as of a distant hive in May, which perchance was the sound of their thinking. They had no idle thoughts, and no one without could see their work, for their industry was not as in knots and excrescences embayed.

But I find it difficult to remember them. They fade irrevocably out of my mind even now while I speak and endeavor to recall them, and recollect myself. It is only after a long and serious effort to recollect my best thoughts that I become again aware of their cohabitancy. If it were not for such families as this, I think I should move out of Concord.

Thoreau: Walking Lilith A Romance I The Library

I had just finished my studies at Oxford, and was taking a brief holiday from work before assuming definitely the management of the estate. My father died when I was yet a child; my mother followed him within a year; and I was nearly as much alone in the world as a man might find himself.

I had made little acquaintance with the history of my ancestors. Almost the only thing I knew concerning them was, that a notable number of them had been given to study. I had myself so far inherited the tendency as to devote a good deal of my time, though, I confess, after a somewhat desultory fashion, to the physical sciences. It was chiefly the wonder they woke that drew me. I was constantly seeing, and on the outlook to see, strange analogies, not only between the facts of different sciences of the same order, or between physical and metaphysical facts, but between physical hypotheses and suggestions glimmering out of the metaphysical dreams into which I was in the habit of falling. I was at the same time much given to a premature indulgence of the impulse to turn