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"And while on that subject, Walter, let me drop my old cynical fun, and talk to you for a minute honestly and with all the affection of which my hard, warped, crabbed nature is capable. I can write to you what I couldn't say to you, my boy, and you won't think me gushing when I tell you that my heart had been tight locked and barred for years before I saw you, and that I don't think I've been any the worse since you found a key somehow--God knows how--to unlock it. Now, then, after that little bit of maudlin nonsense, to what I was going to say. The first time we were ever in my old room together talking over your future, I proposed to start you for Australia. You declined, saying that you couldn't possibly leave England; and when I pressed you about the ties that bound you here, and learned that you had no father or mother, you boggled, and hesitated, and broke down, and I was obliged to help you out of your sentence by changing the subject. Do you remember all that? And do you think I didn't know what it all meant? That marvellous stupidity of young men, which prevents them from thinking that any one has ever been young but themselves! I knew that it meant that you were in love, Walter, and that's what I want to ask you about. From that hour until the day we pressed hands in farewell at Euston Square, you never alluded to her again! In the long letter which you sent me, and which now lies before me, a letter treating fully of your present and your future life, there is no word of her Don't think I am surprised at a fine, generous, hearty, hopeful young fellow not giving his love-confidence to a withered, dried-up old skittle like myself; I never expected it; I should not mention it now, save that I fear that the state of affairs can be scarcely satisfactory between you, or you, who have placed your whole story unreservedly before me, would not have hidden this most important part of it. Nor do I want to ask you for a confidence which you have not volunteered. I only wish you to examine the matter calmly, quietly, and under the exercise of your common sense, of which you have plenty. And if it is unsatisfactory in any way---give it up! Yes, Walter, give it up! It sounds harshly, ridiculously, I know, but it is honest advice, and if I had had any one to say it to me years and years ago, and to enforce my adoption of it, I should have been a very different man. Believe in no woman's love, Walter; trust no woman's looks, or words, or vows. 'First of all would I fly from the cruel madness of love,' says Mr. Tennyson, and he is right. Cruel madness, indeed we laugh at the wretched lunatic who dons a paper crown, and holds a straw for a sceptre, while all the time we are hugging our own tinsel vanities, and exulting in our own sham state! That's where the swells have the pull, my boy! They have no nonsense about mutual love, and fitness, and congeniality, and all that stuff, which is fitted for nothing but valentine-mongers and penny-romancists; they are not very wise, but they know that the dominant passion in a man's heart is admiration of beauty, the dominant passion in a woman's is ambition, and they go quietly into the mart and arrange the affair, on the excellent principle of barter. When I was your age I could not believe in this, had high hopes and aspirations, and scouted the idea of woman's inconstancy--went on loving and hoping and trusting, from month to month, and from year to year, wore out my youth and my freshness and my hope, and was then flung aside and discarded, the victim of 'better opportunities' and 'improved position.' Oh, Lord! I never intended to open my mouth about this, but if you ever want to hear the whole story, I'll tell you some day. Meanwhile, think over these hints, my boy Life's too short and too hard as it is, and--verbum sap.




Gilpatrick and I took our old position under the wire, with many misgivings as to the fate of our combined fortunes, the that hung upon the result of this heat. For the first time Boston began to show the ugly side of his disposition by sulking. As they were led up to start he repeatedly refused to go, and when the drum was finally tapped, having the inside, he bolted toward the fence. Cornelius pulled him out, and then he ran diagonally across the track towards the outside. In the meantime Hartman was sending the dead game son of Hedgford, along, and by the time Cornelius got Boston straight and on his stride the magnificent brown had taken the track and was running smoothly more than fifty yards in front. These positions were maintained until they reached the head of the stretch. Here Boston showed another peculiar trait in his disposition, and one for which he afterwards became noted, the shouting of a crowd seemed to inspire him and make him run faster. As they turned into the stretch with Duane so far in advance his friends began to cheer. The sound no sooner reached Boston’s ears than he began of his own accord to make a run at Duane, and so rapidly did he run down the stretch that when they passed under the wire he was only two open lengths away. Going around the lower turn both riders eased up their horses, but on entering the back stretch Cornelius made a run with Boston at Duane and at the half mile had closed out all the daylight between them.




The End



?chapter 1

Having White, the Machine opened Pawn to King Four and Angler went into the Sicilian Defense. For the first twelve moves on each side both adversaries pushed their pieces and tapped their clocks at such lightning speed (Vanderhoef feeding in Angler's moves swiftly) that up in the stands Bill and Judy were still flipping pages madly in their hunt for the right column in MCO.


"Colonists from Earth, sir," Hartford said. "From Eurus, Tinkle, Westside, Unashamed, T'ang, Williams's World and Hope. From all the planets normal man has colonized."

??Unbecoming intrusion!??

For the attainment of this end it was above all things necessary for me to form a clear judgment respecting the influence of the views and principles enunciated by the different authors on the further development of botanical science. This is to the historian of science the central point round which all beside should be disposed, and without which the entire work breaks up into a collection of unmeaning details, and it is one which demands knowledge of the subject, and capacity and impartiality of judgment. On questions connected with times long gone by the decision of the experts has in most cases been already given, though I myself found to my surprise that older authors had for centuries been regarded as the founders of views which they had distinctly repudiated as absurd, showing how necessary it is that the works of our predecessors should from time to time be carefully read and compared together. But in the majority of cases there is no dispute at the present day respecting the historical value, that is the operative



Though I used frequently to go to Liverpool to hear Bantock conduct, I did not do so because I regarded him as a great artist with the baton. Of his ability in this direction, there is no doubt; but that he is an interpretative genius no qualified critic would assert. No: it was the personality of the man himself, and the new, modern works he used to include in his programmes that drew me to Liverpool. Bantock, at that period, was almost passionately modern. I remember with amusement how pettish he used sometimes to pretend to be when, perhaps in deference to public opinion (but perhaps he was overruled by a Committee?), he felt compelled to include a Beethoven symphony in one of his concerts.

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