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Article SAUNDERS FYFE, Page 1 of 4 →
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Saunders Fyfe,
SAUNDERS FYFE ,
OR , THE BROKEN FA mi Ell . 11 Y BROTHER G . TAIT , OP THE IIAODlNOTON ST . JOHN ' S KILWINNING- LODGE .
' * I . ike the dew on the mountain . Like tlie foam 0 : 1 the river ; Like the bubble on tlie fountain , tie is gone , and for ever . " —SCOTT . Lost as I am , nought ever grew Beneath my shade but perished too—My doom is like tlie Dead Sea air . Aiid nothing lives that enters there . "—MOOKK . AMIDST one of the most romantic scenes on the banks of the Tyne
, several miles distant from Fladdington , lie the rich and fertile fields of the small farm of Foxcroft , with its old-fashioned farm-house , or the " ha ' , " as it was designated by tbe rustics , somewhat more than half a century ago , about the time when the subject of our tale first made his appearance on the bustling stage of fife ' s drear uncertainty . Saunders Fyfe was born in the autumn of 1769 under rather auspicious circumstancesin so far as his father was a soberindustrious man—an
, , upright pious Christian—and was considered by his neighbours to be a " bien body , " that is , well to do in the world ; and Saunders being his only son , had the prospect of succeeding to a goodly , though not a very rich , inheritance . The old man ' s habits of industry , however , would not allow his son ' s time to be spent in idleness and folly ; but , on the contrary , he became , at an early period of his life , a most zealous and active assistant in the operations of the farm . AVhen the heart of an
old man becomes seared by the withering blasts of disappointment , injury and wrong , —when his " days are in the yellow leaf , " ancl the autumn of his life is fast closing in thick darkness around him , —when he wistfully looks for some faint ray of hope , to cheer for a moment the dark and gloomy prospect of his declining years , he is insensibly led back to the bright sunshine of his boyhood , and the happy hours of his gladsome youth , which , rainbow like , passeel away " amidst tears
ancl smiles together . " The reminiscences , therefore , of Saunders Fyfe , under such circumstances , must be more acceptable to our readers when told in his own words , than any other colouring in whicli we might he enabled or disposed to paint them ; and well do we remember with what painful feeling he dwelt upon the leading and more interesting features of his melancholy narrative . It was in one of my late fishing excursionsthatwearied with the
, , toils of my clay ' s sjjort , I threw myself down on a green bank near the margin of the stream , and sank into a long and deep reverie , out of which my mind was only recalled by the following emphatic address : — " AVhat for . do ye sit sidling there callant , and glowring about ye as if it were the first time ye bail ever lookit on the glad green yirth around , or the clear blue sky aboon your head ; ancl what maks ye listen to the blythe sweet sang o the mavis wi' a look as demure and sorrowfu ' , as if
ye were an ee witness to the first cauld clod that fa ' s frae the auld shool 0 ' the heartless bellman , intil a new houkit grave wi' an awsome rumble , on thc coffin lid o' ane whase very heart an saul had been like a pan
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Saunders Fyfe,
SAUNDERS FYFE ,
OR , THE BROKEN FA mi Ell . 11 Y BROTHER G . TAIT , OP THE IIAODlNOTON ST . JOHN ' S KILWINNING- LODGE .
' * I . ike the dew on the mountain . Like tlie foam 0 : 1 the river ; Like the bubble on tlie fountain , tie is gone , and for ever . " —SCOTT . Lost as I am , nought ever grew Beneath my shade but perished too—My doom is like tlie Dead Sea air . Aiid nothing lives that enters there . "—MOOKK . AMIDST one of the most romantic scenes on the banks of the Tyne
, several miles distant from Fladdington , lie the rich and fertile fields of the small farm of Foxcroft , with its old-fashioned farm-house , or the " ha ' , " as it was designated by tbe rustics , somewhat more than half a century ago , about the time when the subject of our tale first made his appearance on the bustling stage of fife ' s drear uncertainty . Saunders Fyfe was born in the autumn of 1769 under rather auspicious circumstancesin so far as his father was a soberindustrious man—an
, , upright pious Christian—and was considered by his neighbours to be a " bien body , " that is , well to do in the world ; and Saunders being his only son , had the prospect of succeeding to a goodly , though not a very rich , inheritance . The old man ' s habits of industry , however , would not allow his son ' s time to be spent in idleness and folly ; but , on the contrary , he became , at an early period of his life , a most zealous and active assistant in the operations of the farm . AVhen the heart of an
old man becomes seared by the withering blasts of disappointment , injury and wrong , —when his " days are in the yellow leaf , " ancl the autumn of his life is fast closing in thick darkness around him , —when he wistfully looks for some faint ray of hope , to cheer for a moment the dark and gloomy prospect of his declining years , he is insensibly led back to the bright sunshine of his boyhood , and the happy hours of his gladsome youth , which , rainbow like , passeel away " amidst tears
ancl smiles together . " The reminiscences , therefore , of Saunders Fyfe , under such circumstances , must be more acceptable to our readers when told in his own words , than any other colouring in whicli we might he enabled or disposed to paint them ; and well do we remember with what painful feeling he dwelt upon the leading and more interesting features of his melancholy narrative . It was in one of my late fishing excursionsthatwearied with the
, , toils of my clay ' s sjjort , I threw myself down on a green bank near the margin of the stream , and sank into a long and deep reverie , out of which my mind was only recalled by the following emphatic address : — " AVhat for . do ye sit sidling there callant , and glowring about ye as if it were the first time ye bail ever lookit on the glad green yirth around , or the clear blue sky aboon your head ; ancl what maks ye listen to the blythe sweet sang o the mavis wi' a look as demure and sorrowfu ' , as if
ye were an ee witness to the first cauld clod that fa ' s frae the auld shool 0 ' the heartless bellman , intil a new houkit grave wi' an awsome rumble , on thc coffin lid o' ane whase very heart an saul had been like a pan