Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Golden Age
    The Golden Age
    The Golden Age
    Ebook167 pages2 hours

    The Golden Age

    By Kenneth Grahame

    ()

    Switch to audiobook
    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The Golden Age presents a series of childhood recollections written by Kenneth Grahame. It is a fascinating blend of the reminiscences of Kenneth Grahame's own childhood adventures, imagination, metaphor, and ancient Greek Legends. This style of casting his memories in imagery and metaphor rooted in the culture of Ancient Greece was famous in his era and culture. Rather than a single narrative, this work consists of a collection of short stories about the lives of five children, their mishaps, and other experiences. The children in the book called the adults Olympians and felt they no longer knew how to enjoy and have fun.

    Each chapter of the book depicts an adventure that the narrator and his friends got into. The author beautifully described the children's games, their view on life, their made-up stories, and their favorite fairytales that are a pleasure to read about.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGood Press
    Release dateMay 19, 2021
    ISBN4057664573971
    Author

    Kenneth Grahame

    Kenneth Grahame was born in Edinburgh in 1859. He was educated at St Edward's School, Oxford, but family circumstances prevented him from entering Oxford University. He joined the Bank of England as a gentleman clerk in 1879, rising to become the Bank's Secretary in 1898. He wrote a series of short stories, married Elspeth Thomson in 1899 and their only child, Alistair, was born a year later. He left the Bank in 1908, the year that The Wind in the Willows was published. Though not an immediate success, by the time of Grahame's death in 1932 it was recognised as a children's classic.

    Read more from Kenneth Grahame

    Related to The Golden Age

    Related ebooks

    General Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • UNLIMITED

      Wonderful Call Of The Wild

      Nov 26, 2020

      Wonderful Call Of The Wild
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Commonplace Book

      Sep 1, 2023

      In the popular belief, ghosts are a selecting tribe, avoiding millions, speaking to one. -Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Demonology,” North American Review, 1877 Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned in long grass. Let the stars appear and the moon disclose he

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      What Lies Beneath

      Jul 8, 2024

      What Lies Beneath
      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Forgive Us Our Trespasses

      Jun 3, 2021

      Forgive Us Our Trespasses
      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      A Literary Zoo

      Dec 9, 2021

      A Literary Zoo
      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Perfect Prose II

      May 15, 2020

      Perfect Prose II
      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      In Search Of Sanctuary

      Jan 5, 2024

      In Search Of Sanctuary
      16 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Fishermen’s Tails

      Nov 26, 2020

      IN 1638, THE ENGLISH travel writer and explorer John Josselyn heard that a merman had been sighted off New England. “There are many stranger things in the world,” he declared, “than there are to be seen between London and the Stanes [Staines].” Josse

      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Animal Planet

      May 3, 2020

      Animal Planet
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Starshift

      Sep 9, 2019

      Starshift
      16 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Letters

      Oct 7, 2021

      Nigel Watson reported on the suggestion that the ancient aliens thesis was inherently racist because it refused to acknowledge the ability of people of colour to construct impressive edifices [FT409:32]. Now, while I don’t deny that some aficionados

      9 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Spellcheck

      Jan 1, 2019

      Whose history I do not know. I do know I’ve been e-upbraided for my fast and loose spelling of Woden, the god whose last worshipper must have slipped under the sod during the medieval period, somewhere in the 10th century—imagine those bog-soaked des

      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Orlando Spirit Of The Age

      Jun 11, 2019

      Orlando Spirit Of The Age
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Books

      Sep 12, 2022

      Books
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Taz-mania

      Jan 18, 2021

      Taz-mania
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Days Of Shattered Faith

      Dec 3, 2024

      Welcome to Alkhalend, Jewel of the Waters, capital of Usmai and tomorrow’s frontline in the Palleseen’s relentless march to bring Perfection and Correctness to an imperfect world. On the ship, as it tacked in past the sea wall, she was in her coffin

      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Last Naturalist

      Mar 1, 2022

      The Last Naturalist
      21 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Commonplace Book

      Jun 1, 2023

      Soft, to your places, animals, Your legendary duty calls. —Thomas Kinsella, Another September, 1958 —Go—says he, one day at dinner, to an overgrown [fly] which had buzz'd about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time,— and which, after in

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Commonplace Book

      Jun 1, 2021

      The night of the year is approaching. What have we done with our talent? All nature prompts and reproves us. How early in the year it begins to be late! —Henry David Thoreau, Journal, August 18, 1853 I thought of Carthage, Baalbek, Jerusalem, Rome,

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Happily Ever After

      Jul 11, 2022

      Happily Ever After
      7 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      If The Wig Fits

      Dec 30, 2020

      If The Wig Fits
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Whale Who Will Come Soon

      Sep 8, 2021

      The beachfront narrows to an ocherous ribbon, belted by blue, above and below. After a while, a handful of shearwaters appear in the air above the Cat Balou. The birds flash around us; like knife-thrower tricks at a circus. Diving through the water,

      8 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Southern Stand

      Mar 16, 2020

      Southern Stand
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Desert Tails

      Jan 29, 2020

      Desert Tails
      8 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Hook, Line And Sinker

      Oct 18, 2018

      Hook, Line And Sinker
      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Spectacular P. T. Barnum

      Jul 19, 2019

      The Spectacular P. T. Barnum
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Two Poems

      Jul 1, 2022

      After centuries of deferralto the white sky cloud cover God, who kept me on orange alert,babbling for mercies that were batted away sloppilylike dustballs in the wake of a sock, I turned to the Divine Creatrix,who built the short night, I was convinc

      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Stop Hating on Adjectives!

      Jun 12, 2019

      A common admonition in creative writing pedagogy is, “Cut as many adjectives as possible.” I propose that this rule springs from mere prejudice. The post Stop Hating on Adjectives! appeared first on The Millions.

      7 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Stiperstones

      Jan 26, 2024

      The Stiperstones
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Lady In The Water

      Jun 17, 2020

      Lady In The Water
      7 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Golden Age

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      The Golden Age - Kenneth Grahame

      Kenneth Grahame

      The Golden Age

      Published by Good Press, 2022

      [email protected]

      EAN 4057664573971

      Table of Contents

      ILLUSTRATIONS

      PROLOGUE: THE OLYMPIANS

      A HOLIDAY

      A WHITE-WASHED UNCLE

      ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS

      THE FINDING OF THE PRINCESS

      SAWDUST AND SIN

      ‘YOUNG ADAM CUPID’

      THE BURGLARS

      A HARVESTING

      SNOWBOUND

      WHAT THEY TALKED ABOUT

      THE ARGONAUTS

      THE ROMAN ROAD

      THE SECRET DRAWER

      ‘EXIT TYRANNUS’

      THE BLUE ROOM

      A FALLING OUT

      ‘LUSISTI SATIS’

      BOOKS BY KENNETH GRAHAME

      ILLUSTRATIONS

      Table of Contents

      PROLOGUE: THE OLYMPIANS

      Table of Contents

      LOOKING back to those days of old, ere the gate shut to behind me, I can see now that to children with a proper equipment of parents these things would have worn a different aspect. But to those whose nearest were aunts and uncles, a special attitude of mind may be allowed. They treated us, indeed, with kindness enough as to the needs of the flesh, but after that with indifference (an indifference, as I recognise, the result of a certain stupidity), and therewith the commonplace conviction that your child is merely animal. At a very early age I remember realising in a quite impersonal and kindly way the existence of that stupidity, and its tremendous influence in the world; while there grew up in me, as in the parallel case of Caliban upon Setebos, a vague sense of a ruling power, wilful, and freakish, and prone to the practice of vagaries—‘just choosing so’: as, for instance, the giving of authority over us to these hopeless and incapable creatures, when it might far more reasonably have been given to ourselves over them. These elders, our betters by a trick of chance, commanded no respect, but only a certain blend of envy—of their good luck—and pity—for their inability to make use of it. Indeed, it was one of the most hopeless features in their character (when we troubled ourselves to waste a thought on them: which wasn’t often) that, having absolute licence to indulge in the pleasures of life, they could get no good of it. They might dabble in the pond all day, hunt the chickens, climb trees in the most uncompromising Sunday clothes; they were free to issue forth and buy gunpowder in the full eye of the sun—free to fire cannons and explode mines on the lawn: yet they never did any one of these things. No irresistible Energy haled them to church o’ Sundays; yet they went there regularly of their own accord, though they betrayed no greater delight in the experience than ourselves.

      On the whole, the existence of these Olympians seemed to be entirely void of interests, even as their movements were confined and slow, and their habits stereotyped and senseless. To anything but appearances they were blind. For them the orchard (a place elf-haunted, wonderful!) simply produced so many apples and cherries: or it didn’t—when the failures of Nature were not infrequently ascribed to us. They never set foot within fir-wood or hazel-copse, nor dreamt of the marvels hid therein. The mysterious sources, sources as of old Nile, that fed the duck-pond had no magic for them. They were unaware of Indians, nor recked they anything of bisons or of pirates (with pistols!), though the whole place swarmed with such portents. They cared not to explore for robbers’ caves, nor dig for hidden treasure. Perhaps, indeed, it was one of their best qualities that they spent the greater part of their time stuffily indoors.

      To be sure there was an exception in the curate, who would receive, unblenching, the information that the meadow beyond the orchard was a prairie studded with herds of buffalo, which it was our delight, moccasined and tomahawked, to ride down with those whoops that announce the scenting of blood. He neither laughed nor sneered, as the Olympians would have done; but, possessed of a serious idiosyncrasy, he would contribute such lots of valuable suggestion as to the pursuit of this particular sort of big game that, as it seemed to us, his mature age and eminent position could scarce have been attained without a practical knowledge of the creature in its native lair. Then, too, he was always ready to constitute himself a hostile army or a band of marauding Indians on the shortest possible notice: in brief, a distinctly able man, with talents, so far as we could judge, immensely above the majority. I trust he is a bishop by this time. He had all the necessary qualifications, as we knew.

      These strange folk had visitors sometimes—stiff and colourless Olympians like themselves, equally without vital interests and intelligent pursuits: emerging out of the clouds, and passing away again to drag on an aimless existence somewhere beyond our ken. Then brute force was pitilessly applied. We were captured, washed, and forced into clean collars: silently submitting as was our wont, with more contempt than anger. Anon, with unctuous hair and faces stiffened in a conventional grin, we sat and listened to the usual platitudes. How could reasonable people spend their precious time so? That was ever our wonder as we bounded forth at last: to the old clay-pit to make pots, or to hunt bears among the hazels.

      choldren hiding ih forest

      "... HE WAS ALWAYS READY TO CONSTITUTE HIMSELF

      A HOSTILE ARMY OR A BAND OF MARAUDING INDIANS"

      It was perennial matter for amazement how these Olympians would talk over our heads—during meals, for instance—of this or the other social or political inanity, under the delusion that these pale phantasms of reality were among the importances of life. We illuminati, eating silently, our heads full of plans and conspiracies, could have told them what real life was. We had just left it outside, and were all on fire to get back to it. Of course we didn’t waste the revelation on them, the futility of imparting our ideas had long been demonstrated. One in thought and purpose, linked by the necessity of combating one hostile fate, a power antagonistic ever—a power we lived to evade—we had no confidants save ourselves. This strange anæmic order of beings was further removed from us, in fact, than the kindly beasts who shared our natural existence in the sun. The estrangement was fortified by an abiding sense of injustice, arising from the refusal of the Olympians ever to defend, to retract, to admit themselves in the wrong, or to accept similar concessions on our part. For instance, when I flung the cat out of an upper window (though I did it from no ill-feeling, and it didn’t hurt the cat), I was ready, after a moment’s reflection, to own I was wrong, as a gentleman should. But was the matter allowed to end there? I trow not. Again, when Harold was locked up in his room all day, for assault and battery upon a neighbour’s pig—an action he would have scorned: being indeed on the friendliest terms with the porker in question—there was no handsome expression of regret on the discovery of the real culprit. What Harold had felt was not so much the imprisonment—indeed, he had very soon escaped by the window, with assistance from his allies, and had only gone back in time for his release—as the Olympian habit. A word would have set all right; but of course that word was never spoken.

      Well! The Olympians are all past and gone. Somehow the sun does not seem to shine so brightly as it used; the trackless meadows of old time have shrunk and dwindled away to a few poor acres. A saddening doubt, a dull suspicion, creeps over me. Et in Arcadia ego—I certainly did once inhabit Arcady. Can it be that I also have become an Olympian?

      three bandits

      A HOLIDAY

      Table of Contents

      THE masterful wind was up and out, shouting and chasing, the lord of the morning. Poplars swayed and tossed with a roaring swish; dead leaves sprang aloft, and whirled into space; and all the clear-swept heaven seemed to thrill with sound like a great harp. It was one of the first awakenings of the year. The earth stretched herself, smiling in her sleep; and everything leapt and pulsed to the stir of the giant’s movement. With us it was a whole holiday; the occasion a birthday—it matters not whose. Some one of us had had presents, and pretty conventional speeches, and had glowed with that sense of heroism which is no less sweet that nothing has been done to deserve it. But the holiday was for all, the rapture of awakening Nature for all, the various outdoor joys of puddles and sun and hedge-breaking for all. Colt-like I ran through the meadows, frisking happy heels in the face of Nature laughing responsive. Above, the sky was bluest of the blue; wide pools left by the winter’s floods flashed the colour back, true and brilliant; and the soft air thrilled with the germinating touch that seems to kindle something in my own small person as well as in the rash primrose

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1