The rotation of crops was studied thoroughly, and beans and peas were then made one in a four-course rotation. But even earlier than 1844 it had been observed that leguminous plants, of which there are thousands distributed over this sphere, had a beneficial effect on the land for the succeeding crop. At Rothamsted the legumes, or such of them as beans, peas or red clover, were thoroughly tried, and it was invariably found as one in a rotation of four to produce the same results. In some way that they then could not explain, the land after a crop of legumes was very much richer in nitrogen, amounting in many instances to 300 pounds per acre. These worthy gentlemen kept on for years trying to account for the phenomenon and endeavored to discover the true source of nitrification. But to the French chemists Schlosing and Muntz belong the credit of establishing by experiment the true nature of nitrification. Their first paper on the subject appeared early in 1877, or only twenty-nine years ago. They wished to ascertain if the presence of humic matter was essential to the purification of sewage by soil, and for this purpose they conducted an experiment, in which sewage was passed slowly through a column of sand and limestone. Under these circumstances complete nitrification of the sewage took place. They then allowed a chloroform vapor to fall for some time on top of the column, the sewage passing as before. Nitrification now entirely ceased and was not renewed for seven weeks, though the supply of chloroform was suspended. A small quantity of nitrifying soil was shaken with the water and the turbid extracts poured on the top of the column. Nitrification at once recommenced, as strongly as before.
Light. White, flaring, Earthly light, that showed everything—even himself.
my confession plain and clear. I am, by a sort of predestination, a Socialist. I perceive, I cannot help talking and writing about Socialism, and shaping and forwarding Socialism. I am one of a succession—one of a growing multitude of witnesses, who will continue. It does not—in the larger sense—matter how many generations of us must toil and testify. It does not matter, except as our individual concern, how individually we succeed or fail, what blunders we make, what thwartings we encounter, what follies and inadequacies darken our private hopes and level our personal imaginations to the dust. We have the light. We know what we are for, and that the light that now glimmers so dimly through us must in the end prevail. To us Socialism is no piece of political strategy, no economic opposition of class to class; it is a plan for the reconstruction of human life, for the replacement of a disorder by order, for the making of a state in which mankind shall live bravely and beautifully beyond our present imagining.
While he was still sane. For there was a limit to how many phenomena he could store away in the back of his mind; sooner or later the contradictions, the puzzles, the fears would have to be faced.
of describing a victorious charge in a polo match by saying: “Tell you what, we came down on ’em like the Assyrian.” Nor had Byron been his only fare. There had evidently been a time when he had known the whole of “Gray’s Elegy” by heart, and I once heard him murmuring to himself, as we stood together one autumn evening on the terrace of his country-house:
"Dey brung de coffin in de parlor, an' sot it down on cheers. He look jes' like he did de mornin' he rid away, but bofe legs was broke. Nobody teched him but me an' Jake. He hed two letters in he pocket, an' one was a letter I had done got little missy ter write fur me, tellin' him to take keer o' hisself. Ole marse, he do mighty queer. Arter ev'ything was fixed, he come an' set down by de coffin, an' he never cry nor nuttin'—he jes' put he han' ev'y now an' den on little marse's head, an' say, 'My son, my son Marmaduke!' Missis she set by him, an' talk ter him, an' pray wid him, an' read de Bible to him, an' seem like she didn't think 'bout nuttin' but comfortin' old marse. Little missy she creep upsty'ars into little marse's room an' flung herself on de floor, an' lay like she was dead, 'twell I took her up in my arms, and settin' down in de rockin'-cheer, she see me cryin', an' she cry too.
The three horsemen pulled up in a churn of chaff and a clatter of pebbles. Georges coughed, batting a hand at the settling dust. Retief peeled the cigar unhurriedly, sniffed, at it and thumbed it alight. He drew at it, puffed out a cloud of smoke and glanced casually at the trio of Aga Kagan cavaliers.
Copyright © 2020