The ruined abbeys of Yorkshire . wenty-five. Love had he seen in huts where poor men lie ;His daily teachers had been woods and rills,The silence that is in the starry sky—The sleep that is among the lonely hills.—Wordsworth. senters who afterwards peopled the remote hamletsand homesteads ; strangest perhaps of all, to recall—and who can help recalling? — Mrs. Gaskells de-scription of another Wharfedale group,—the six littleBronte children who used to walk out, hand in hand,towards the glorious wild moors which in after daysthey loved so passionately ; the elder ones takingthoughtful care for
The ruined abbeys of Yorkshire . wenty-five. Love had he seen in huts where poor men lie ;His daily teachers had been woods and rills,The silence that is in the starry sky—The sleep that is among the lonely hills.—Wordsworth. senters who afterwards peopled the remote hamletsand homesteads ; strangest perhaps of all, to recall—and who can help recalling? — Mrs. Gaskells de-scription of another Wharfedale group,—the six littleBronte children who used to walk out, hand in hand,towards the glorious wild moors which in after daysthey loved so passionately ; the elder ones takingthoughtful care for the toddling, wee things. Surelysomewhere on the misty moor they are wanderingnow,—still six, still hand in hand. s 66 XII. Whitby. IN our first chapter we turned away from thebusy streets of York, with all their crowd ofpresent interests and associations of the past, to encc of a long-dead past ; for here, almost on theedge of the dark laminated cliffs, rises the last butnot least famous of our Yorkshire abbeys. Two. linger among the ruins of St. Marys Abbey. Sincethen, as we have wandered in desert places broodingover an obscure but not unreal episode, in many abright pasture and solemn shade, our feet havebrushed the dew and our eyes and hearts foundrest, while even the half-scornful contemplation ofa purely spiritual conflict has soothed the fretfulnessof our souls. Not for to-day or to-morrow, but forever, did these monks design their buildings ormould their dispositions, confiding, with deliberatefaith, to future generations the completing of theone, and to God the perfecting of the other. At Whitby we once more enter a thronged andbusy town, and once more only to turn our backsupon its life. There is a climb, a sense of effort, afreshening breeze, strange prelude to the stalepedantry of archaeology, and the mouldering pres- centuries of wasting and destruction divide thehistory of this abbey as by a deluge ; we must casta glance on both sides of the flood. Ab
Size: 1783px × 1401px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublisherlondo, bookyear1883
