But this is not so with Hall Caine. His novels, as you know, do not err on the side of brevity, and though it is possible you may tire of his heroine, you may be absolutely certain that her creator never does. To this novelist the creatures of his imagination are, in one sense, more real than the material beings around him. He is wholly dominated by his imagination. His brain is peopled by creatures of his own fancy. His emotions are engaged on behalf of people who do not exist. His consciousness is confined to the little world he has created for himself and he is saturated with and submerged by fancies that his imagination has bred.
Every mile or two it seemed to me we met a wagon piled high with great bulging bags as large as bed ticks. In each case these wagons were driven by a little shrewd-faced Jew. These wagons, as I learned, had come that morning from Russia and the loads they carried were goose feathers.
Mason’s domestic life in the wilderness of the lower Ohio evidently was, in the beginning, up to the standard of the average early settler. But in the wild woods, far away from companionship and influence of law-abiding citizens, the best of men were subject to deterioration. Men of education, illiterates, and all other pioneers were alike exposed to this strong influence of frontier life. Many men who, by their inborn nature or by their own choice disregarded law and order, necessarily became, by one route or another, outcasts. Mason fell and fell fast, and became not only an outcast, but a notorious outlaw. The only argument that can be presented in his defense is that he was, to some extent, a peculiar product of his times—only more “highly developed” than contemporaneous outlaws who were products of the same influences and environment. It should be added in justice to Mason that, unlike the Harpes, he was out for booty and that he personally never shed blood unless it became absolutely necessary for his own safety.
course. For one thing, it was not confined merely to the poorest class—namely, those labourers who live in the villages and go out at certain seasons to assist in the work on the farms—but extended to the small proprietors also, and those who rented land. In many cases the large estates in Italy are not managed as in Hungary, by the proprietor, but by middlemen and overseers, who pay a certain amount of rent to the proprietor and then sublet to tenants. Sometimes, particularly in southern Italy, lands are sublet a second and third time.
Captain Coventry"s elephant brought up the rear of the little procession. He sat idly back in his howdah, his guns and his rifles stacked before him. His thoughts had wandered from river-beds, elephants, "kills," and tigers; for the tents of the camp, gleaming white in a grove of trees on the opposite bank, had attracted his eye, and he was hoping to find a letter from Trixie awaiting him there. His face was burnt by the sun to the hue of a brick, he looked lean and hard and in fine condition. The fortnight in camp had been all to his taste--congenial companions, capital sport, the arrangements as perfect as only a hunter such as his host could have made them.
Zopyrus took the vacant place and had not long to wait before the young people filled the waiting boat. In unison with his fellow oarsmen, Zopyrus assailed the task briskly, and soon the graceful little skiff was well out into the harbor. The first boat was a mere speck near the horizon to the south as the one in which Corinna was a passenger, emerged from the entrance of the harbor. Zopyrus was grateful for the opportunity for strenuous physical exercise. It took his mind off of his own sorrow. He realized presently that he was listening unconsciously to the conversation of two men.
"I--I hoped it would have been all right," Rafella faltered, gazing down at the keys of the piano.
"Shut up, everybody!" Dave ordered, clapping his hands to his face. When he dropped them a moment later his eyes gleamed. "I got it now! Angler figured they were using the latest edition of MCO to program the Machine on openings, he found an editorial error and then he deliberately played the Machine into that variation!"
The Hungarian was about the most restless "waiter" Sandra could imagine. He twisted his long legs constantly and writhed his shoulders and about every five seconds he ran his hands back through his unkempt tassle of hair.
"Ay, he would be that," Fergusson said. "There have been times when I have liked him very well myself; but I always had the feeling that there was something queer about him—a trifle uncanny, if you know what I mean."
The woman"s voice was at such close range that McCray"s suit radio made a useful RDF set. He located her direction easily enough, shielding the tiny built-in antenna with the tungsten-steel blade of the ax, while she begged him to hurry. Her voice was heavily accented, with some words in a language he did not recognize. She seemed to be in shock.
influence on posterity, of works written three hundred or even one hundred years ago.
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