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"Perhaps so. Will you go in?"

From what has been said it is plain that the semen does not come from the whole of the body of the male in those animals which emit it, and that the contribution of the female to the generative product is not the same as that of the male, but the male contributes the principle of movement and the female the material. This is why the female does not produce offspring by herself, for she needs a principle, i.e. something to begin the movement in the embryo and to define the form it is to assume. Yet in some animals, as birds, the nature of the female unassisted can generate to a certain extent, for they do form something, only it is incomplete; I mean the so-called wind-eggs.

“Well, they bet enough at Chalk Farm, if that’s all.”

Emile Le Grande sat dozing in his private chamber late one evening, at the close of a severe day's duty, seated in a capacious arm-chair, with his head dropped upon his breast. The young man was dozing over the journal that he held in his unconscious grasp. Had one stolen beside him and looked down, he might have read the following entries, beginning many months previous to this evening.

"Aunt Effie is sick," Little Child was telling Mis' Toplady; "she is sick from her hair to her slippers."

However, the Englishman (let us call him Dennistoun) was soon too deep in his note-book and too busy with his camera to give more than an occasional glance to the sacristan. Whenever he did look at him, he found him at no great distance, either huddling himself back against the wall or crouching in one of the gorgeous stalls. Dennistoun became rather fidgety after a time. Mingled suspicions that he was keeping the old man from his déjeuner, that he was regarded as likely to make away with St Bertrand’s ivory crozier, or with the dusty stuffed crocodile that hangs over the font, began to torment him.

She had ever been strong and active, and years in that retreat had told upon her not at all. She would still walk to Liscannor, and thence round, when the tide was low, beneath the cliffs, and up by a path which the boys had made from the foot through the rocks to the summit, though the distance was over ten miles, and the ascent was very steep. She would remain for hours on the rocks, looking down upon the sea, when the weather was almost at its roughest. When the winds were still, and the sun was setting across the ocean, and the tame waves were only just audible as they rippled on the stones below, she would sit there with her child, holding the girl’s hand or just touching her arm, and would be content so to stay almost without a word; but when the winds blew, and the heavy spray came up in blinding volumes, and the white-headed sea-monsters were roaring in their fury against the rocks, she would be there alone with her hat in her hand, and her hair drenched. She would watch the gulls wheeling and floating beneath her, and would listen to their screams and try to read their voices. She would envy the birds as they seemed to be worked into madness by the winds which still were not strong enough to drive them from their purposes. To linger there among the rocks seemed to be the only delight left to her in life,—except that intense delight which a mother has in loving her child. She herself read but little, and never put a hand upon the piano. But she had a faculty of sitting and thinking, of brooding over her own past years and dreaming of her daughter’s future life, which never deserted her. With her the days were doubtless very sad, but it cannot truly be said that they were dull or tedious.

Just as she had formed this resolution, they turned out of the highway and entered the lane leading to Huntsdean. The road dipped suddenly; a sharp hill, overshadowed by trees, led into the village.

“Are you joking us?” he demanded from the doorway, but sufficiently convinced to turn back.

Or better — like a faithful wife.

“What?”

1.Of course, the passage had been long familiar to me, but not reading Boswell in the luxury of an annotated edition, I had always speculated vainly as to this “old Dr. Mounsey,” who appears on the great lantern show for a moment, sets Johnson and Percy by the ears, and then vanishes. It was only the other day that I found in an odd old book (published, strangely enough, at Louisville, Kentucky) the true history of Dr. Messenger Mounsey (or Monsey), Physician to Chelsea Hospital.

2.IX. The Roman Collar.—This being an entirely modern vestment, is properly outside our range. It is an embroidered imitation of the turndown shirt-collar of ordinary dress.

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  Hochmuller. "My Linda she goes troo a hole in de fence,but I guess you'd tear your dress if you was to dry.""I'll help you," said Mr. Ramy; and guided by Linda the pairwalked along the fence till they reached a narrow gap in itsboards. Through this they disappeared, watched curiously in theirdescent by the grinning Linda, while Mrs. Hochmuller and Ann Elizawere left alone in the summer-house.

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‘But it’s so bald,’ objected Mr. Thomson.

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“And you, Mis’ Fire Chief?” says I.

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In modern times it is with large states that we have mainly to deal. They are a necessary development where communication is sufficiently easy for the concentrated military pressure of the whole to be brought to bear on a single point. If states are so small that concentration on the border is too easy, the state will expand; if concentration is difficult owing to size, the state will tend to fall apart again. The size for states which is most successful is a function of the facility of internal communication. Let those who deplore the absorption of small states, and the growth of Imperialism in all countries, ponder the tale of the North American Indians, who resented the power of the white man, and considered how to rid themselves of him. Their great council was rejoiced, when one sage said that if they would do as he said, he would promise that no white man should remain. "If the white man is to go you must give up all that he brought, the horse, the gun, the blanket, the firewater; if you will do this you may be free." They thought—and then said, "No, he must stay." So, if we are67 willing to revert to nothing quicker than a cob, we might get back to a Heptarchy.

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