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I am gratefully sensible of the honourable distinction implied in the determination of the Delegates of the Clarendon Press to have my History of Botany translated into the world-wide language of the British Empire. Fourteen years have elapsed since the first appearance of the work in Germany, from fifteen to eighteen years since it was composed,—a period of time usually long enough in our age of rapid progress for a scientific work to become obsolete. But if the preparation of an English translation shows that competent judges do not regard the book as obsolete, I should be inclined to refer this to two causes. First of all, no other work of a similar kind has appeared, as far as I know, since 1875, so that mine may still be considered to be, in spite of its age, the latest history of Botany; secondly, it has been my endeavour to ascertain the historical facts by careful and critical study of the older botanical literature in the original works, at the cost indeed of some years of working-power and of considerable detriment to my health, and facts never lose their value,—a truth which England especially has always recognised.
"Did Mr. Biscoe blush?"
“I have been given to understand,” he finally told them, “that there is one of our aviators who has found some place where he can drop down
I visited several other streets during my stay in Naples which were, if possible, in a worse condition than the one I have described. In a city where every one lives in the streets more than half the time, and where all the intimate business of life is carried on with a frankness and candour of which we in America have no conception, there is little difficulty in seeing how people live. I noted, for example, instances in which the whole family, to the number of six or seven, lived in a single room, on a dirt floor, without a single window. More than that, this one room, which was in the basement of a large tenement house, was not as large as the average one-room Negro cabin in the South. In one of these one-room homes I visited there was a blacksmith shop in one part of the room, while the family ate and slept in the other part. The room was so small that I took the trouble to measure it, and found it 8 × 13 feet in size.
On the Sunday, a respectable contingent was mustered for service in the castle chapel. The marquis complained of a cold, but was nevertheless present at both morning and evening service, by the side of Theodora, who had her poodle on the other side.
One would say a doom had been laid upon our people—the wandering Io of humanity—a destiny of weeping and unrest.
It was crazy and impossible. There simply was no way for him to get from a warm, bright navigator's cubicle on Starship Jodrell Bank to this damned, dark, dismal hole of a place where everything was out to hurt him and nothing explained what was going on. He cried aloud in exasperation: "If I could only see!"