But when the door had shut behind the retreating figure of the Mercury in plush, Walter Joyce threw down his pen and took up the letter, and pressed it to his lips. Then he opened it, not eagerly indeed, but with a bright light in his eyes, and a happy smile upon his lips. And then he read it.


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"I've covered all that sort of thing under a miscellaneous heading," Retief said. "We can fill it in at leisure when we get back."

"You know nothing about it," she told Guy severely. "How dare you quote gossip to me! And as to your insinuation about George's behaviour towards me, it only just proves how little you know him."

"Not yet. I'm sure Stanley wants to be agreeable."

“You still think that has something to do with it?”

The face that I see there is graver grown,

However, these remarks relate only to two famous writers on the subjects with which this History is concerned. If the work had been brought to a close with the year 1850 instead of 1860, I should hardly have found it necessary to give them so prominent a position in it. Their names are Charles Darwin and Karl Nägeli. I would desire that whoever reads what I have written on Charles Darwin in the present work should consider that it contains a large infusion of youthful enthusiasm still remaining from the year 1859, when the ‘Origin of Species’ delivered us from the unlucky dogma of constancy. Darwin’s later writings have not inspired me with the like feeling. So it has been with regard to Nägeli. He, like Hugo von Mohl, was one of the first among German botanists who introduced into the study that strict method of thought which had long prevailed in physics, chemistry, and astronomy; but the researches of the last ten or twelve years have unfortunately shown that Nägeli’s method has been applied to facts which, as facts, were inaccurately observed. Darwin collected innumerable facts from the literature in support of an idea, Nägeli applied his strict logic to observations which were in part untrustworthy. The services which each of these men rendered to the science are still


“Why will he?” challenged the Master, without stirring. “For all his noble rage, I noticed he took thought to grab up his cap and his overcoat from the hall, as he wafted himself away. And he still had his arctics on, from this afternoon. He won’t—”

of the oars. Besides, it may divert the attention of the watching gunners, who are always expecting a rush from these wide-awake Territorials.”

U-lys-ses S. Grant, though a West Point man who had fought in the war with Mex-i-co in 1843, had left the ar-my and gone to a small farm near St. Lou-is. He was poor, but he built a small house of hewn logs for his fam-i-ly, did his own work on the land, and lived a life of peace.

It was a-bout the mid-dle of A-pril, 1863, when the gun-boats passed the bat-ter-ies. The troops marched down the west bank of the riv-er, and then crossed in boats to the east side, at a point where they could reach the foe. On the first of May there was a fight near

1.Although he had lost a heat Boston’s friends asked and received no odds, but still covered Duane money, even up.

2.[Pg 107]


"Gommie is a cat," she said carelessly. "She thinks I am a sort of she-devil, and I am sure she was longing to tell you dreadful things about my frivolity, and want of heart, and my general wickedness."


Coventry threw the letter across the table to his wife; he half hoped she would read it with dismay, and show reluctance that he should accept the invitation. This, he felt, would give him just the excuse he wanted to refuse it, would put a definite obstacle in the way of acceptance instead of his being left at the mercy of conflicting inclinations.


The father rose from his seat, and went to the door, to look out into the night. The stars were in thousands,——and the full moon was risen. It was almost light as day, and the snow, that seemed incrusted with diamonds, was so hardened by the frost, that his daughter’s homeward feet would leave no mark on its surface. He had been toiling all day among the distant Castle-woods, and, stiff and wearied as he now was, he was almost tempted to go to meet his child; but his wife’s kind voice dissuaded him, and, returning to the fireside, they began to talk of her, whose image had been so long passing before them in their silence.




"Wait. He is as guiltless as you are." Dr. Forman paused a minute or two, and then took up the thread of his discourse where he had left off describing his sending Priscilla Thorburn home. "I brought her, with my man's help, into the house, and had her put in bed. It was plainly nothing but a faint; but she went from one fainting spell into another, and when I had finally brought her round, the fainting spell changed into convulsions. For hours I worked with her. At last I stopped them, and got her under the influence of an opiate. I was tired myself, and went to bed to get a few hours' sleep, leaving word for

. . .