Wilfrid Cumbermede
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Beautiful story of redemption and Grace by a master storyteller. I have been reading through as many George MacDonald works as possible to get an idea of what many see in his writing. I loved the way he describes how he came to Faith at last, and that he never portrays himself as being perfect. He treats his subject matter with tenderness. I really enjoyed reading it, and look forward to reading many more of his books. Jun 08, Elsbeth added it. I definitely liked this book. It is written as an autobiography; we follow Wilfrid's experiences as he himself views them after so many years.
This sometimes reminded me of 'David Copperfield'. Wilfrid's friendship with Charley was a highlight; their discussions were very interesting if somewhat difficult at times.
The Tragedie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark: Chi ama i libri sceglie Kobo e inMondadori. He wrote over 50 books. An interesting insight into someone moving toward a Christian worldview. Like others also of whom I have read, who believed themselves in the presence of the dis- embodied, I could not speak.
An interesting insight into someone moving toward a Christian worldview. All without was bright with sunshine and clear air. But when you turned, all was dark, sombre, and rich, like an Autumn ten times faded. Through the open door of the next room on one side, you saw the shelves full of books, and from beyond, through the narrow uplifted door, came the glimmer of the weapons on the wall of the little armoury.
Two ancient tapestry-covered settees, in which the ravages of moth and worm had been met by a skilful repair of chisel and needle, a heavy table of oak, with carved sides as black as ebony, and a few old, straight-backed chairs, were the sole furniture. Sir Giles expressed much pleasure, and Lady Brotherton, beginning to enter a little into my plans, was more gracious than hitherto.
We resumed our work with fresh vigour, and got on faster. Both Clara and Mary were assiduous in their help. To go back for a little to my own old chest--we found it, as I said, full of musty papers. After turning over a few, seeming, to my uneducated eye, deeds and wills and such like, out of which it was evident I could gather no barest meaning without a labour I was not inclined to expend on them--for I had no pleasure in such details as involved nothing of the picturesque--I threw the one in my hand upon the heap already taken from the box, and to the indignation of Charley, who was absorbed in one of them, and had not spoken a word for at least a quarter of an hour, exclaimed I wonder what she's got in her head.
I am sure I have quite a sufficient regard for family history and all that.
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I opened the title-page rather eagerly. Could I believe my eyes? First of all on the top of it, in the neatest old hand, was written--'Guilfrid Combremead His Boke. I jumped to my feet, gave a shout that brought Charley to his feet also, and danced about the empty room hugging the folio. But you must love grannie, for she is a very good old lady.
- And Now Lets Move into a Time of Nonsense?
- Psalms Prayer Pockets.
- Memoirs of a Goldfish.
- Cat Tales!
And she died at last without ever having said it. But before she died came the terrible night in which Willie churned up the wind, a mere episode, having nothing in particular to do with the tale, but just such an episode as Mr. Macdonald's poetical heart delights in. Willie churns up the wind by setting-going a mysterious pendulum, and the trees near the house get awfully excited, and help him with might and main ; and in the middle of the row up rides a horseman, whom Willie takes for the Prince of the Power of the Air, come to buy him and make bagpipes of his skin.
Willie grows older and is sent to school some miles away, and while there he one day takes a long excursion with his school- fellows and steals an apple, and finds himself close to a grand old castle, which was also half an old English country seat, and covered a rock with a huge square of buildings, from various parts of which rose towers, mostly square, also of different heights. The lord of the castle forgives him the apple, and the housekeeper gives him some tea and sends him back to school in a dogcart.
As he is bowling along by the aide of the groom he gets a great surprise: It lay through trees all the way till we were out of the park. What great trees those are all about Yea; they're the finest elms in all the county, those,' he answered. Old Coningham knew what he was about when he got the last baronet to let him build his nest there. Here we are at the gate!
Start by marking “Wilfrid Cumbermede” as Want to Read: George MacDonald was a Scottish author, poet, and Christian minister. He wrote over 50 books. Wilfrid Cumbermede was born at the Moat, and the years of his childhood fill nearly the whole of the first volume, and are delight- fully given. He begins with a .
I offered James one of my apples, which he accepted. Our people has wanted to throw it into the park for hundreds of years.
WILFRID CUMBERMEDE.*
But they won't part with it for love or money. It ought by rights to be ours, you see, by the lie of the country.
Its all one grass with the park. But I suppose them as owns it ain't of the same mind. A rise in the ground hid all but an ancient, high-peaked roof. What was my astonishment to discover in it the roof of my own home.
I was certain it could be no other. It caused a groat sensation, to come upon it thus from the outside, as it were, when I thought myself miles and miles away from it. So his uncle had all his life kept from Wilfrid the very name and existence of Moldwarp Hall, though he might have seen it from the top of the Moat-house chimneys.
Of course, with the old castle all Wilfrid's past and present history is bound up. There he meets his loves, both false and true, and there his greatest enemy. There all sorts of mysterious things which never get fully cleared up happen to him, and there he goes through an admirably told adventure, he and a mischievous little girl getting shut out on the huge roof by night. We will not go into the plot, but will just quote one passage of singular power. Wilfrid's dearest friend, the son of an Evangelical clergyman, commits suicide. The tender fellow cannot believe that his friend's soul is shut out from the love and presence of God, and so, says he: But if there was any hearing, there was no answer.
Charley did not come ; the prayer seemed to vanish in the darkness ; and my more self- possessed meditations never justified the hope of any each being heard.