Although it was hard to see what might be of use in these most unprecedented and unpleasant circumstances.


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names of botanists and of their writings, no mere list of the dates of botanical discoveries and theories; such was not at all my plan when I designed it. On the contrary I purposed to present to the reader a picture of the way in which the first beginnings of scientific study of the vegetable world in the sixteenth century made their appearance in alliance with the culture prevailing at the time, and how gradually by the intellectual efforts of gifted men, who at first did not even bear the name of botanists, an ever deepening insight was obtained into the relationship of all plants one to another, into their outer form and inner organisation, and into the vital phenomena or physiological processes dependent on these conditions.

“What lies beyond the rose-garden?”

n’t father fight in the war?” My heart was beating so hard that I thought she must have seen my excitement and been shocked. But she raised an untroubled face from her embroidery.

The Warings at the worst of that genial climate had little occasion for fire; they had but to follow the centre of light when he{v1-12} glided out of one room to fling himself more abundantly into another. The Punto is always full in the cheerful rays. It commands everything—air and sea, and the mountains and all their thousand effects of light and shade; and the Palazzo stands boldly out upon this the most prominent point in the landscape, with the houses of the little town withdrawing on a dozen different levels behind. In the warlike days when no point of vantage which a pirate could seize upon was left undefended or assailable, it is probable that there was no loggia from which to watch the western illuminations. But peace has been so long on the Riviera that the loggia too was antique, the parapet crumbling and grey. It opened from a large room, very lofty, and with much faded decoration on the upper walls and roof, which was the salone or drawing-room, beyond which was an ante-room, then a sort of library, a dining-room, a succession of bed-chambers; much space, little furniture, sunshine and air unlimited, and a view from every window which it was worth living to be able to look out upon night and day. This, however, at the moment of which{v1-13} we write, was shut out all along the line, the green persiani being closed, and nothing open but the loggia, which was still cool and in the shade. The rooms lay in a soft green twilight, cool and fresh; the doors were open from one to another, affording a long vista of picturesque glimpses.

“Delia O’Malley” ses she “That yung Dudley fellow do be fresh as sour milk” ses she. “Its been on me conshunse iver sinse I came, mavourneen, to poonish him for his thricks. Its desaving the pretty Miss Claire hes after oop to. Trust an auld girl like Minnie Carnavan to see throo the thricks of a yung spalpeen like that.”

I was silent, and he shook hands, murmured: “This is confidential,” and made a motion of dismissal. I withdrew to my desk, feeling that the situation must indeed be grave if Mr. Broad could so emphasize it by consulting me.

[pg 205]

about John A. Murrell, but no writer connects him with Cave-in-Rock or Ford’s Ferry. The History of Virgil A. Stewart, a book on the life of Murrell, compiled by H. R. Howard and published in 1836, gives an incomplete list of Murrell’s associates. Among the four hundred and fifty names there recorded there is none familiar to persons now living near Cave-in-Rock. Tradition says that Shouse made a few trips between the Cave and Marked Tree, Arkansas, to meet Murrell or some of his representatives for the purpose of delivering and receiving messages pertaining to negro stealing and the disposition of counterfeit money. But whether or not the Ford’s Ferry band was ever part of the John A. Murrell clan will remain, in all probability, one of the Ford’s Ferry mysteries.40

“Art thou then here all alone, and in darkness, my Basil?”




my confession plain and clear. I am, by a sort of predestination, a Socialist. I perceive, I cannot help talking and writing about Socialism, and shaping and forwarding Socialism. I am one of a succession—one of a growing multitude of witnesses, who will continue. It does not—in the larger sense—matter how many generations of us must toil and testify. It does not matter, except as our individual concern, how individually we succeed or fail, what blunders we make, what thwartings we encounter, what follies and inadequacies darken our private hopes and level our personal imaginations to the dust. We have the light. We know what we are for, and that the light that now glimmers so dimly through us must in the end prevail. To us Socialism is no piece of political strategy, no economic opposition of class to class; it is a plan for the reconstruction of human life, for the replacement of a disorder by order, for the making of a state in which mankind shall live bravely and beautifully beyond our present imagining.


“Whitefoot was worth an easy 0 as he stood,” grunted Rance Venner, miserably; as his flashlight’s ray explored the hole under the fence. “Nearer 0, in the coat he’s carrying this fall. And Pitchdark isn’t more’n a couple of hundred dollars behind him. Two of the best we had. A hundred per cent loss; just as we’re getting started.”


“‘Indeed?’ said Jud.


threshold he paused to ask: “What was his name, by the way?”


I remember, one day in Palermo, seeing, for the first time in my life, boys, who were certainly not more than fourteen years of age, engaged in carrying on their backs earth from a cellar that was being excavated for a building. Men

. . .