"Well, little father," said I, still laughing, "if one wishes a picture of the dark side of Russian humanity, I know of no one so well fitted to give it as you."


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But onward still came the waves of human life, unceasing, unresting. Driven forth from Carthage, Spain, and Gaul, the ancient race fled to the limits of the coast, then surged back, fought and refought the battle, conquering and yielding by turns, till at length the Syrian and the Latin elements blended into a new compound, which laid the foundation of modern Europe. But some tribes, disdaining such a union, fled from Spain to Ireland, and thus a new race, but of the old kindred, was flung on our shores by destiny.

Zopyrus sprang to the side of the doomed man and clutching him by either shoulder cried, “Speak, traitor of Thermopylæ. What have you to say for yourself?”

It was delicious.

“What have I dun, Jane?” ses he reproatchfully.

“Leave that for another day,” advised Jack, preparing for bed.

He dropped her arm, and paced backwards and forwards among the furniture. Then he stopped by the table and picked up a book--the daintily bound little volume that had come for Rafella this morning. He looked at it with contempt.



The authors of the oldest herbals of the 16th century, Brunfels, Fuchs, Bock, Mattioli and others, regarded plants mainly as the vehicles of medicinal virtues; to them plants were the ingredients in compound medicines, and were therefore by preference termed ‘simplicia,’ simple constituents of medicaments. Their chief object was to discover the plants employed by the physicians of antiquity, the knowledge of which had been lost in later times. The corrupt texts of Theophrastus, Dioscorides, Pliny and Galen had been in many respects improved and illustrated by the critical labours of the Italian commentators of the 15th and of the early part of the 16th century; but there was one imperfection which no criticism could remove,—the highly unsatisfactory descriptions of the old authors or the entire absence of descriptions. It was moreover at first assumed that the plants described by the Greek physicians must grow wild in Germany also, and generally in the rest of Europe; each author identified a different native plant with some one mentioned by Dioscorides or Theophrastus or others, and thus there arose as early as the 16th century a confusion of nomenclature which it was scarcely possible to clear away. As compared with the efforts of the philological commentators, who knew little of plants from their own observation, a great advance was made by the first German composers of herbals, who went straight to nature, described the wild plants growing around them and had figures of them carefully executed in wood. Thus was made the first beginning of a really scientific examination of plants, though the aims pursued were not yet truly scientific, for no questions


At what passed among Hatcher's people for a viewing console an image was forming. Actually it was the assistant himself who formed it, not a cathode trace or projected shadow; but it showed what it was meant to show.

1.I wint down to me kitchen, whare I guv a peece of me mind to the grocer’s man. Shure he do be after charging the Wolleys the most oonherd of prices for the food, and whin I’m after making a complaint in the madam’s name, the raskill opp and offers me a boniss.









The communication which Mr. Benthall, in his bluff offhand manner, had made to Walter Joyce, had surprised the latter very much and embarrassed him not a little. Ever since the receipt of Marian Ashurst's letter announcing her intention of marrying Mr. Creswell--ever since the subsequent interview with Lady Caroline, in which she counselled him to discharge the subject from his mind, to encourage new hopes, and to cultivate aspirations of a different kind--Joyce had lived absolutely free from any influence of "the cruel madness of love, the poison of honey flowers, and all the measureless ill." All his thoughts had been given up to labour and ambition, and, with the exception of his deep-rooted and genuine regard for Lady Caroline, and his friendly liking for the Creswell girls, he entertained no feeling for any woman living, unless a suspicion of and an aversion to Marian Creswell might be so taken into account. Had he this special partiality for Maude Creswell, of which Benthall had spoken so plainly? He set to work to catechise himself, to look back through the events of the past few months, noting what he remembered of their relations to each other.


The die was cast. Slowly the student laid her down,——her, the once beloved,——on the cold floor. He called “Margareta!” and before his sister entered, went out into the open air.