Two, however, were published: They are short and highly crafted texts, which give voice to a poetic sensibility that is still in an early stage of self-definition.
Writing Herself Out Emily Byrd Starr was alone in her room, in the old New Moon farmhouse at Blair Water, one stormy night in a February of the olden years before the world turned upside down. She was at that moment as perfectly happy as any human being is ever permitted to be.
Aunt Elizabeth, in consideration of the coldness of the night, had allowed her to have a fire in her little fireplace--a rare favour. It was burning brightly and showering a red-golden light over the small, immaculate room, with its old-time furniture and deep-set, wide-silled windows, to whose frosted, blue-white panes the snowflakes clung in little wreaths.
It lent depth and mystery to the mirror on the wall which reflected Emily as she sat coiled on the ottoman before the fire, writing, by the light of two tall, white candles--which were the only approved means of illumination at New Moon--in a brand-new, glossy, black "Jimmy-book" which Cousin Jimmy had given her that day.
Emily had been very glad to get it, for she had filled the one he had given her the preceding autumn, and for over a week she had suffered acute pangs of suppression because she could not write in a nonexistent "diary.
It had taken the place of certain "letters" she had written in her childhood to her dead father, in which she had been wont to "write out" her problems and worries--for even in the magic years when one is almost fourteen one has problems and worries, especially when one is under the strict and well-meant but not over-tender governance of an Aunt Elizabeth Murray.
Sometimes Emily felt that if it were not for her diary she would have flown into little bits by reason of consuming her own smoke. The fat, black "Jimmy-book" seemed to her like a personal friend and a safe confidant for certain matters which burned for expression and yet were too combustible to be trusted to the ears of any living being.
Now blank books of any sort were not easy to come by at New Moon, and if it had not been for Cousin Jimmy, Emily might never have had one. Certainly Aunt Elizabeth would not give her one--Aunt Elizabeth thought Emily wasted far too much time "over her scribbling nonsense" as it was--and Aunt Laura did not dare to go contrary to Aunt Elizabeth in this--more by token that Laura herself really thought Emily might be better employed.
Aunt Laura was a jewel of a woman, but certain things were holden from her eyes. He had gone to Shrewsbury that very day, in the teeth of the rising storm, for no other reason than to get it. Just where the biggest drift is making, behind the summer-house, we are going to have a bed of pink asters, and we are going to give the Golden Ones--who are dreaming under four feet of snow--a background of flowering almond.
I love to plan out summer days like this, in the midst of a storm. It makes me feel as if I were winning a victory over something ever so much bigger than myself, just because I have a brain and the storm is nothing but blind, white force--terrible, but blind.
I have the same feeling when I sit here cosily by my own dear fire, and hear it raging all around me, and laugh at it.
And that is just because over a hundred years ago great-great-grandfather Murray built this house and built it well. I wonder if, a hundred years from now, anybody will win a victory over anything because of something I left or did.
It is an inspiring thought. Carpenter says I use far too many italics. He says it is an Early Victorian obsession, and I must strive to cast it off.
There I go again: I love reading the dictionary. Yes, those italics are necessary, Mr. Words are such fascinating things.
I caught myself at the first syllable that time! But I have to italicize the flash. When it comes I feel as if a door had swung open in a wall before me and given me a glimpse of--yes, of heaven. Oh, I see why Mr, Carpenter scolds!
I must break myself of the habit. But I am wandering from my subject--also a bad habit of mine, according to Mr. He says I must the italics are his this time! I wish I could have a pair--just one pair--of silk stockings.
Her father gives her everything she wants, now that he has learned to love her.English Vocabulary Word List Alan Beale's Core Vocabulary Compiled from 3 Small ESL Dictionaries ( Words).
Download-Theses Mercredi 10 juin Sacred Harp Singing In Western Massachusetts (WMSHC) Sacred Harp, or more correctly shape-note singing, is a truly glorious sound, totally unlike anything else in music.
English vocabulary word lists and various games, puzzles and quizzes to help you study them. Name: Pete Fowler Email: at ntlworld' Years_at_school: 62 Date: 29 Apr Time: Comments.
Yesterday's Guardian carried an obituary notice for Fred Bilson, one of the English Department's star cast in the middle and late s. Russian Fleet Rushes To Arctic Over Fears US May Have Started War With Unknown Alien Species.