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When he crossed Fleda Druse's pathway she stopped short. She knew that Jowett was Ingolby's true friend. First among those who crowded round her at Carillon that day were Jowett and Osterhaut, who had tried to warn her. "To see how he is and then to do other things," Jowett answered.
With these as a basis he ordered an elaborate campaign to "push" the paper in the districts where it was circulated least and to increase its hold where it was strong. "We do not reach one-third of the people who would like to take our paper," he told Jowett, the business manager. "Let us have an army of agents and let us take up our territory by districts."
"Six months," was the reply, "but she's working smooth as music. She's as good as anything 'twixt here and the Atlantic." "It ain't time for Winter fires. I wonder what set it going," said Jowett, shaking his head ominously. "Something wrong with the furnace, I s'pose," returned Osterhaut. "Probably trying the first heatup of the Fall." Osterhaut was right. No one had set the church on fire.
Their patient quarry work in archeology and in comparative philology laid the foundations for the new history-writing of Heeren and Mommsen; and their scholarship to-day is still of the digging kind. They seldom produce a Jebb, a Jowett, a Verrall, and never that type of scholar, wit and poet combined, a Lowell or an Arthur Hugh Clough.
"There wasn't much more. Old Barbazon, the landlord, come in and they quit talking about it; but they said enough to send 'em to gaol for ten years." Ingolby blinked at Jowett reflectively, and his mouth gave a twist that lent to his face an almost droll look. "What good would it do if they got ten years or one year, if the bridge was blown up?
Lady William Russell had three sons, each destined to play, if not great, yet important parts in the world. The eldest became the Duke of Bedford. Though he lived in many ways a sequestered, almost hermit-like, life, he was a man of singular ability. Of him Jowett was wont to record a curious piece of private history.
We did so, and never before had I seen on any one matutinal tablecloth provisions which weighed so much, or disappeared so rapidly. Not many days later I found myself at another breakfast table of a very different character, in the capacity not of host, but guest. The host on this occasion was Jowett, who asked me to breakfast with him in order that I might meet Browning.
Jowett preached his funeral sermon the only sermon which I ever, so far as my recollection serves me, heard preached in Balliol chapel by himself or by anybody else. Jowett, who on the occasion was obviously much moved, chose for his text the story of the woman taken in adultery, and of Christ's challenge to her judges, "Which of you will dare to assault with the first stone?"
I simply went to my room and cried, and Tim went in one direction and Johnston in another, and the maids looked too, and they found the dear doggie, and the Vet. a most obliging man called Davidson came back ... and dear Rover is at rest." Mrs. Jowett looked sadly round and found that the whole table had been listening to the recital.
"I have heard," said Miss Ramsbotham, who wrote the Letter to Clorinda that filled each week the last two pages of Good Humour, and that told Clorinda, who lived secluded in the country, the daily history of the highest class society, among whom Miss Ramsbotham appeared to live and have her being; who they were, and what they wore, the wise and otherwise things they did "I have heard," said Miss Ramsbotham one morning, Jowett being as usual the subject under debate, "that the old man is susceptible to female influence."
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