As regards the choice of topics, I have given prominence to discoveries of facts only when they could be shown to have promoted the development of the science; on the other hand, I have made it my chief object to discover the first dawning of scientific ideas and to follow them as they developed into comprehensive theories, for in this lies, to my mind, the true history of a science. But the task of the historian of Botany, as thus conceived, is a very difficult one, for it is only with great labour that he succeeds in picking the real thread of scientific thought out of an incredible chaos of empirical material.
“Oh no,” cried Frances, whose shyness was of the cordial kind. “Now you must come back and see mamma. She will want to hear all about Constance. Are they all well, Captain Gaunt? Of course you must have seen them constantly—and Constance. Mamma will want to hear everything.”
cause their admiration flattered her extreme desire to be thought “in.”
"It's much more difficult to shoot a snipe than a tiger," argued Coventry perversely.
Two women seated themselves at a tea-table just in front of her, and though she was absorbed in making up her mind whether to send home for one of the seductive blouses sketched on the advertisement page of the paper, she heard, unavoidably, scraps of their talk. First they discussed the ball that the bachelors of the station were giving next night in return for hospitality extended to them throughout the cold weather by the married members of the community. It was, they believed, to be an exceptionally brilliant affair; the supper was to include pomfrets from Bombay, and confections from Peliti's--the Buszard of India. From this they went on to the subject of their gowns for the ball.
The third direction is towards the developing conceptions of Socialism. And it must be confessed at once that these, as they emerge steadily and methodically from mere generalities and confusions, do present themselves as being in many aspects, novel and
Mrs. Tom Creswell afforded a living example of her husband's "luck." She was a mild, gentle, very silly, very self-denying, estimable woman, who laved the "ne'er-do-weal" so literally with all her heart that when he died she had not enough of that organ left to go on living with. She did not see why she should try, and she did not try, but quietly died in a few months, to the astonishment of rational people, who declared that Tom Creswell was a "good loss," and had never been of the least use either to himself or any other human being. What on earth was the woman about? Was she such an idiot as not to see his faults? Did she not know what a selfish, idle, extravagant, worthless fellow he was, and that he had left her to either pauperism or dependence on any one who would support her, quite complacently? If such a husband as he was--what she had seen in him beyond his handsome face and his pleasant manner, they could not tell--was to be honoured in this way, gone quite daft about, in fact, they really could not perceive the advantage to men in being active, industrious, saving, prudent, and domestic. Nothing could be more true, more reasonable, more unanswerable, or more ineffectual. Mrs. Tom Creswell did not dispute it; she patiently endured much bullying by strong-minded, tract-dropping females of the spinster persuasion; she was quite satisfied to be told she had proved herself unworthy of a better husband. She did not murmur as it was proved to her, in the fiercest forms of accurate arithmetic, that her Tom had squandered sums which might have provided for her and her children decently, and had not even practised the poor self-denial of paying for an insurance on his life. She contradicted no one, she rebuked no one, she asked forbearance and pity from no one; she merely wept and said she was sure her brother-in-law would be kind to the girls, and that she would not like to be a trouble to Mr. Creswell herself, and was sure her Tom would not have liked her to be a trouble to Mr. Creswell.
Lady Markham, calm as she was, grew red to her hair. “I don’t think Constance has abandoned me,” she cried hastily; “and if she has, the fault is—— But there is no discussion possible between people so hopelessly of different opinions as you and I,” she added, recovering her composure. “Mr Clarendon is well, I hope?”
“Oh, he’s all right,” said Sydney Grew. “Don’t worry about Mullings. But what do you mean when you say that I shall do valuable work?”
"I don't believe I have ever heard you laugh before to-day," was Arthur's answer.
He came in, and dropping a pale smile on him she drifted away, calling to her children.
Young men of San-ga-mon went out to fight, with A-bra-ham Lin-coln as cap-tain. They were not much more than an armed mob, poor at drill, and with not much will to mind or-ders or live up to camp rules. Their cap-tain had hard work to gov-ern them, for when he gave a com-mand they were as apt to jeer at it as to mind it. But in time they learned that he meant what he said, and that while it was not his way to be too strict a-bout small things, he would not let them do a grave wrong.详情 ➢
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