Dalgliesh

“Startled once for all out of the early calm, the serene untroubled youthful life which lies behind her in the past, Menie feels the change very hard and sore as she realises it; — from doing nought for her own comfort — from the loving sweet dependence upon others, to which her child’s heart has been accustomed — suddenly, without pause or preparation, to learn that all must depend upon herself, — to have the ghost of strife and discord, where such full harmony was wont to be, — to feel the two great loves of her nature — the loves which heretofore, in her own innocent and unsuspicious apprehension, have but strengthened and deepened each the other — set forth in antagonism, love against love, and her own heart the battle-ground. Shrinking and failing one moment, longing vainly to flee away — away anywhere into the utmost desolation, if only it were out of this conflict, — the next resolving, with such strong throbs and beatings of her heart, to take up her burden cordially, to be ever awake and alert, to subdue this giant difficulty with the force of her own strong love and ceaseless tenderness”
― Mrs. Oliphant, The Works of Margaret Oliphant

“this morning — and you, Mary Jane — —” “Please, Miss, it was only for a young cabbage. Missis is fond of a bit of vegetable,” said the little maid. “I knew she’d not say nothing; — and just as I had told ’em all to have done and be good — and nobody knew as you was here,” said Mary Jane. There was something even in that small and humble testimony to Lucilla’s sovereignty which helped on the process which was operating in her mind. She regained bit by bit that serene self-consciousness which places the spirit above the passing vexations of the world. What did it matter what other people might be doing or saying? Was not she still Lucilla Marjoribanks? and when one had said that, one had said all.”
― Mrs. Oliphant, The Works of Margaret Oliphant

“ONE FYTTE OF Lucilla’s history is here ended, and another is to be told. We have recorded her beginning in all the fulness of youthful confidence and undaunted trust in her own resources; and have done our best to show that in the course of organising society Miss Marjoribanks, like all other benefactors of their kind, had many sacrifices to make, and had to undergo the mortification of finding out that many of her most able efforts turned to other people’s profit and went directly against herself. She began the second period of her career with, to some certain extent, that sense of failure which is inevitable to every high intelligence after a little intercourse with the world. She had succeeded in a great many things, but yet she had not succeeded in all; and she had found out that the”
― Mrs. Oliphant, The Works of Margaret Oliphant

“I don’t mean you individually; but Churchmen do. They treat us as if we were some strange kind of creatures, from the heart of Africa perhaps. They don’t think we are just like themselves: as well educated; meaning as well; with as much right to our own ideas.” Mr. May could scarcely restrain a laugh. “Just like themselves.” The idea of a Dissenter setting up to be as well educated, and as capable of forming an opinion, as a cultivated Anglican, an Oxford man, and a beneficed clergyman, was too novel and too foolish not to be somewhat startling as well. Mr. May was aware that human nature is strangely blind to its own deficiencies, but was it possible that any delusion could go so far as this? He did laugh a little — just the ghost of a laugh — at the idea. But what is the use of making any serious opposition to such a statement? The very fact of contesting the assumption seemed to give it a certain weight. “Whenever this is done,” said Phœbe, with serene philosophy, “I think you may expect a revulsion of feeling. The class to which papa belongs is very friendly to the Established Church, and wishes to do her every honour.” “Is it indeed? We ought to be much gratified,” said Mr. May. Phœbe gave him a quick glance, but he composed his face and met her look meekly. It actually diverted him from his pre-occupation, and that is a great deal to say. “We would willingly do her any honour; we would willingly be friends, even look up to her, if that would please her,” added Phœbe, very gravely, conscious of the importance of what she was saying; “but when we see clergymen, and common persons also, who have never had one rational thought on the subject, always setting us down as ignorant and uncultured, because we are Dissenters — —” “But no one does that,” said Ursula, soothingly,”
― Mrs. Oliphant, The Works of Margaret Oliphant