firearms might afford him. These strained relations between the two men, each watching the other, continued for about a week. On June 30, 1833, Simpson went in his boat from Ford’s Ferry down to Cave-in-Rock and, upon his return, stopped at Cedar Point and walked up to the home of Shouse. Whether Simpson had gone there to kill Shouse or to attempt to bring about a reconciliation is an unsettled question. He had reached a point in Shouse’s yard when, without warning, some one, firing from the second story window of Shouse’s log house, shot him in the back, inflicting a wound of which he died next morning.
The eunuch, a creature of repulsive form and malignant countenance, stood just within the entrance. The noise of the struggle, brief and silent though it was, had reached his ears. With the stealth and agility of a panther he approached and leaped upon his prey as the latter entered. With dagger raised aloft he would have dealt a fatal blow had not Phædime with the strength of an Amazon, held his arm as it was about to descend.
“Upset?” said Constance over her bread and butter. “I should have thought you would have been immensely pleased. It is about Sir Thomas, I suppose?”
“Is that so?” asked he languidly.
“Well, if I were Delane,” I thought, “I’d pay a good deal to keep that old ruffian out of sight.”
Delane taught him to play patience, and he used to sit for hours by the library fire, puzzling over the cards, or talking to the children’s parrot, which he fed and tended with a touching regularity. He also devoted a good deal of time to collecting stamps for his youngest grandson, and his increasing gentleness and playful humour so endeared him to the servants that a trusted housemaid had to be dismissed for smuggling cocktails into his room. On fine days Delane, coming home earlier from the bank, would take him for a short stroll; and one day, happening to walk up Fifth Avenue behind them, I noticed that the younger man’s broad shoulders were beginning to stoop like the other’s, and that there was less lightness in his gait than in Bill Gracy’s jaunty shamble. They looked like two old men doing their daily mile on the sunny side of the street.
A chance came to go to Ga-le-na, in the State of Il-li-nois. There Grant was a clerk in a store where they sold hides. There he was when the war broke out, and the South and the North, which had been as one, were now two, and full of hate.
"He did mention it," Arthur admitted.
The Scythian Picts pour down on her cities, “killing, burning, and destroying.” The Irish land in swarms from their corrahs, and “with fiery outrage and cruelty, carry, harry, and make havoc of all.” Thus bandied between two insolent enemies, the English sent ambassadors to Rome “with their garments rent, and sand upon their heads,” bearing that most mournful appeal of an humbled people—“to Ætius, thrice Consul: the groans of the Britons. The barbarians drive us to the sea, the sea drives us back to the barbarians; thus, between two kinds of death, we are either slaughtered or drowned.”
The historians of botany have overlooked the real state of the case as here presented, or have not described it with sufficient emphasis; due attention has not been paid to the fact, that systematic botany, as it began to develope in the 17th century, contained within itself from the first two opposing elements; on the one hand the fact of a natural affinity indistinctly felt, which was brought out by the botanists of Germany and the Netherlands, and on the other the desire, to which Cesalpino first gave expression, of arriving by the path of clear perception at a classification of the vegetable kingdom which should satisfy the understanding. These two elements of systematic investigation were entirely incommensurable; it was not possible by the use of arbitrary principles of classification which satisfied the understanding to do justice at the same time to the instinctive feeling for natural affinity which would not be argued away. This incommensurability between natural affinity and a priori grounds of classification is everywhere expressed in the systems embracing the whole vegetable kingdom, which were proposed up to 1736, and which including those of Cesalpino and Linnaeus were not less in number than fifteen. It is the custom to describe these systems, of which those of Cesalpino, Morison, Ray, Bachmann (Rivinus), and Tournefort are the most important, by the one word ‘artificial’; but it was by no means the intention of those men to propose classifications of the vegetable kingdom which should be merely artificial, and do no more than offer an
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