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"It is simple madness," said Father O'Rourke, when the tidings were announced in the General's tent at dinner—indeed, one of the last occasions when he had us all at his table, as he loved.
“What have you done with my piece of writing paper, you pilferer?”
The gypsies and the fellow who had escaped from prison began to talk among themselves, but in such a low tone of voice that those in the tree could not make out what was being said.
The writer of a philosophical treatise may, I imagine, at this advanced era of human intellect, be held excused from entering into a controversy with those reasoners, if such there are, who would claim an exemption from its decrees in favour of any one among those diversified systems of obscure opinion respecting morals, which, under the name of religions, have in various ages and countries prevailed among mankind. Besides that if, as these reasoners have pretended, eternal torture or happiness will ensue as the consequence of certain actions, we should be no nearer the possession of a standard to determine what actions were right and wrong, even if this pretended revelation, which is by no means the case, had furnished us with a complete catalogue of them. The character of actions as virtuous or vicious would by no means be determined alone by the personal advantage or disadvantage of each moral agent individually considered. Indeed, an action is often virtuous in proportion to the greatness of the personal calamity which the author willingly draws upon himself by daring to perform it. It is because an action produces an overbalance of pleasure or pain to the greatest number of sentient beings, and not merely because its consequences are beneficial or injurious to the author of that action, that it is good or evil. Nay, this latter consideration has a tendency to pollute the purity of virtue, inasmuch as it consists in the motive rather than in the consequences of an action. A person who should labour for the happiness of mankind lest he should be tormented eternally in Hell, would, with reference to that motive, possess as little claim to the epithet of virtuous, as he who should torture, imprison, and burn them alive, a more usual and natural consequence of such principles, for the sake of the enjoyments of Heaven.
“At one end of the barn, on a bed decorated with branches of green leaves, lay the corpse, an old woman of eighty, the mother of the man of the house. He stood by the head of the dead woman, while all the near relatives had seats round. Then the mourning women entered and sat down on the ground in a circle, one in the centre cloaked and hooded, who began the chant or funeral wail, all the rest joining in chorus. After an interval there would come a deep silence; then the chant began again, and when it was over the women rose up and went out, leaving the place free for the next comers, who acted a play full of ancient symbolic meaning. But, first, whisky was served round, and the pipers played; for every village had sent their best player and singer to honour the wake.
Again shall paint your summer bower;
“Isn’t that rather a rough way of working, Tom?” asked Grant, after his tour of inspection.
A year’s acclimatisation had by this time produced a wonderful effect on all the party; so that now, with our fresh supplies, most of us marched away from Ujiji in better condition than we had enjoyed since leaving the coast. The weather was very fine, the rainy season having ceased on the 15th May; we marched rapidly across the eastern horn of the mountains back to the ferry on the Malagarazi, but by a more northernly route than the one by which we came.
1."Do you enjoy it?"
2.1890 519,483 82,074 1,023,478 754,295 5,171,473 5,759,745 6,787,108 35,521,681 929,686 1,996,629 9,608 58,555,260>
“Early the following morning the pursuit was resumed, fording Pond River with ease, and riding on rapidly till an hour after sun up, when a couple of dead dogs were found in the trail, recognized as having belonged to the unfortunate Hutchins and Gillmore whom the Harpes had so wantonly murdered. From the fact that the bodies were not swollen in such hot August weather, it was inferred that the dogs had not
“They’re at me to build, too —‘Enry is. But I says no. This place is good enough for me. If ‘e’s goin’ to be ashamed of ‘ow ‘is father lives, ‘e’d better stop away. I’m an ol’ man now, an’ a poor one. What should I want with a fine noo ’ouse? An’ ‘oo should I build it for, even if I ‘ad the tin? For them two good-for-nothin’s in there? Not if I know it!”
Some one has written an amusing account of the behaviour of a man who is finishing a book. He takes his ideas everywhere with him and broods over them, even at dinner, in the pauses of conversation. But here was a lady who kindly contributed to my studies and offered me folklore and survivals in cultivated Kensington.