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Project Gutenberg's Olive, by Dinah Maria Craik, (AKA Dinah Maria Mulock) This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Olive A Novel Author: Dinah Maria Craik, (AKA Dinah Maria Mulock) Illustrator: G. Bowers Release Date: July 23, 2007 [EBook #22121] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLIVE *** Produced by David Widger OLIVE A NOVEL BY DINAH MARIA CRAIK, AKA: Dinah Maria Mulock "BY THE AUTHOR OF 'JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN'" WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY G. BOWERS 1875 FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1850. [Illustration: Frontispiece] [Illustration: Titlepage] OLIVE. CHAPTER I. "Puir wee lassie, ye hae a waesome welcome to a waesome warld!" Such was the first greeting ever received by my heroine, Olive Rothesay. However, she would be then entitled neither a heroine nor even "Olive Rothesay," being a small nameless concretion of humanity, in colour and consistency strongly resembling the "red earth," whence was taken the father of all nations. No foreshadowing of the coming life brightened her purple, pinched-up, withered face, which, as in all new-born children, bore such a ridiculous likeness to extreme old age. No tone of the all-expressive human voice thrilled through the unconscious wail that was her first utterance, and in her wide-open meaningless eyes had never dawned the beautiful human soul. There she lay, as you and I, reader, with all our compeers, lay once-a helpless lump of breathing flesh, faintly stirred by animal life, and scarce at all by that inner life which we call spirit. And, if we thus look back, half in compassion, half in humiliation, at our infantile likeness-may it not be that in the world to come some who in this world bore an outward image poor, mean, and degraded, will cast a glance of equal pity on their well-remembered olden selves, now transfigured into beautiful immortality? I seem to be wandering from my Olive Rothesay; but time will show the contrary. Poor little spirit! newly come to earth, who knows whether that "waesome welcome" may not be a prophecy? The old nurse seemed almost to dread this, even while she uttered it, for with superstition from wh
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