But before the exhibition of the natural affinity gave birth to the first efforts at classification on the part of de l’Obel (Lobelius) and afterwards of Kaspar Bauhin, the Italian botanist Cesalpino (1583) had already attempted a system of the vegetable kingdom on a very different plan. He was led to distribute all vegetable forms into definite groups not by the fact of natural affinity, which impressed itself on the minds of the botanists of Germany and the Netherlands through involuntary association
"Move, Mister," Nef said. "Piacentelli has been in Stinkerville for fifty minutes. Let's get him out."
"Tell me, Stanley," Retief said, rising. "Are we quite private here?"
It was on a spring day, the twelfth of A-pril, 1861, that the first gun was fired in Charles-ton har-bor up-on the Un-ion flag on Fort Sum-ter. The call was sound-ed. The great heart of the North grew hot with shame and rage.
"No, no, Mrs. Covey, no one ever thought that for a minute," said Mr. Benthall, anxious to soothe the old woman's offended dignity, and really very much interested in the news she had given him. "No doubt you're quite correct, only, as I had never heard a hint of this before, I was rather startled at the suddenness of the announcement, Tell me now, had Mr. Ashurst any notion of what was going on?"
"Yet," responded Marian, "you do ape us wonderfully well. I have not seen many mercers' wives who looked the noble dame like you."
"Renkei is dead," Hartford told her.
of the battle for the trenches. “I was afraid the man above would prove to have the longer reach, but just at the last second the Kangaroo jumped into the air, just like the animal he’s named after does, and came at the Turk from a direction he hadn’t expected. And, Jack, the Turk went down like grass before the scythe.”
“The man who had a duplicate key, the man who ordered the lock, the man who has not been severely ill with bronchitis at his home in the country—enfin, that ‘stodgy’ old man, Mr. Shaw! There are criminals in high places sometimes, my friend. Ah, here we are. Mademoiselle, I have succeeded! You permit?”
It was quite true—though I had at first found it difficult to believe—that Delane must once have been a reader. He surprised me, one night, as we were walking home from a dinner where we had met, by apostrophizing the moon, as she rose, astonished, behind the steeple of the “Heavenly Rest,” with “She walks in beauty like the night”; and he was fond
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