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Those aboard the destroyer had doubtless been on the watch for just such a sight as this for many weeks. Every seaman had been carefully drilled how to use his eyes in order to distinguish what the periscope of a submersible would look like if he ever had the luck to discover one sticking out of the water.
For these tensions in the disintegration of the old proprietary family no remedy offers itself to-day except the solutions that arise as essential portions of the Socialist scheme. The alternative is hypocrisy and disorder.
“Hold on, there!” bleated Shunk as the constable, overawed by the array of legal terms, took a truculent step toward him. “Hold on, there! The brat—she beat at me with both her fists, she did, an’—”
"I didn't hear—" he began, then shrugged. He sat down.
Some of the balconies were silent and deserted, others held shadowy shapes; one or two interiors were ablaze with light, and the sound of tinkling music floated from them. There came to his mind the recollection of the hideous story he had heard on the racquet court, now some weeks ago, and he glanced about him with aversion.
"Don't pass the buck, Magnan!" the Under-Secretary barked. "What the devil went on out there?"
"Well, it's no business of ours," said Captain Greaves, with masculine unconcern. "Kennard's a rascal, and the woman's an ass, as I've always told you; and if Coventry can't manage his wife it's his own fault. Anyway, you can do nothing to stop it, so you'd better not interfere."
1.Then he ordered all the grand servants to get supper for the excellent young man from Ireland, and to make him comfortable. So Shawn was mightily pleased, and ate and drank like a prince. Then he mounted his grey steed again, and just as midnight struck he found himself at his own door, but all alone; for the grey steed and the black horseman had both vanished. But there stood his wife crying her eyes out and in great trouble.
2.Kaintuck's eyes glistened. "You'll have an orphan asylum soon," he said, remembering that other boy the sergeant had told him he meant to provide for; at which the tall soldier felt his heart sink as with guilt and deception. Presently Kaintuck said:>
One day, the farmer who owned the land carried off this great grey stone to use as a drinking trough for his cattle. But not long after all the cattle grew sick, and then all the children sickened, so the farmer said there was ill luck in the business, and he carried back the stone to its old place, on which all the household recovered their health. Thereupon the farmer began to think there must be something wonderful and mysterious in the locality, so he had the marsh thoroughly drained, after which process they came upon an ancient stone circle, and in the midst was a well of beautiful fresh water. Some people said there was writing on the stones, and strange carvings; but it was generally believed to be a Druid temple and oracle, for there was a tradition that a woman called the Ban-na-Naomha (the nymph of the well) had once lived there—and that she had the gift of prophecy, and uttered oracles to those who sought her at the shrine by the well; and there was a little wooden image of her, also, that used to speak to the people—so it was said and believed. It is certain, however, that a pagan temple once existed there, for which reason St. Patrick cursed the land and turned it into a marsh, and the well was hidden for a thousand years, according to St. Patrick’s word.
“All German commerce has been driven from the sea routes,” said Amos; “and what vessels have escaped capture are hiding in different friendly ports. Why, over in New York, you remember, we saw nearly a dozen splendid big steamers that haven’t earned a dollar since July last. And they daren’t go outside the harbor either.”
in the direction of a sentimentalized naturalism, a Tolstoyan movement in the direction of a non-resisting pietism, which has not simply been confused with the Socialist movement, but has really affected and interwoven with it. It is not simply that wherever discussion and destructive criticism of the present conventional bases of society occur, both ways of thinking crop up together; they occur all too often as alternating phases in the same individual. Few of us are so clear-headed as to be free from profound self-contradictions. So that it is no great marvel, after all, if the presentation of Socialism has got mixed up with Return-to-Nature ideas, with proposals for living in a state of unregulated primitive virtue in purely hand-made houses, upon rain water and uncooked fruit. We Socialists have to disentangle it from these things now. We have to disavow, with all necessary emphasis, that gibing at science and the medical profession, at schools and books and the necessary apparatus for collective thinking,
“‘What in h—— are you Yanks doin’ down here, anyway?’ asked their leader, a big fellow with a Colonel’s gray uniform on. When the situation was explained to him he laughed like a big schoolboy. ‘Where is the stakeholder?’ he asked. When this gentleman was pointed out he hollered out: ‘Fetch them stakes over here, sonny, and tell the judges all bets are declared off on this race’! And the way the Johnnies laughed racked us more than being captured.