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Updated: June 19, 2025
Kennedy nodded, and was about to ask another question, when there was a slight noise out in the hall. Thinking it might be Kato himself, I sprang to the door. Instead, I encountered a middle-aged man, who drew back in surprise at seeing me, a stranger. "Oh, good morning, Doctor Aitken!" greeted Miss Langdale, in quite the casual manner of a nurse accustomed to the daily visit at about this hour.
The very remembrance of these times warms my heart as I write; and though I do not know whether I am still young enough to enter into such things in the same way, yet I am sure that the manifest presence of the Lord, under any circumstances, would still stir and rejoice my spirit. My friend Mr. Aitken used to rise above it all most majestically, and shout as loud as the loudest.
Thomas Carlyle was born December 4, 1795, at Ecclesfechan, in the parish of Hoddam, Annandale, Dumfriesshire, a small Scottish market-town, the Entipfuhl of "Sartor Resartus," six miles inland from the Solway, and about sixteen by road from Carlisle. He was the second son of James Carlyle, stone-mason, but his first son by his second wife, Margaret Aitken.
Miss Langdale, in spite of the incident of the morning, was quite as solicitous as ever of her charges. We had not long to wait for Doctor Aitken. He arrived, inquiring anxiously what had happened, although Kennedy gave none of us any satisfaction immediately as to the cause of his quick action.
The rapid and stable growth of Robert I. Aitken, sculptor of the Fountain of Earth, is of particular interest to San Francisco, the city of his birth, and the site of several of his earlier efforts. Water Sprites Base of Column, Court of Ages The "Water Sprite Columns" in the Court of Ages bring the somber symbolism of this court back to the gay spirit of festival.
"I had a letter for him," he said, presently, looking again across the street at me and Madge, for the curious Miss Faringfield had walked down from her gateway to my side, that she might view the stranger better. And now she spoke, in her fearless, good-humoured, somewhat forward way: "If you will give the letter to me, my father will send it to Mr. Aitken in London."
In Bombay, during my wakeful moments in the hottest part of the day, I had passed the time and imbibed instruction by reading the three delightful books of the late E. H. Aitken, who called himself "Eha" "Behind the Bungalow," "The Tribes on My Frontier" and "A Naturalist on the Prowl."
"You told us that your name was Henry Aitken, and that you lived mostly in Italy at some place near Rome. We have made inquiries by telegraph of a number of people whom you have mentioned, but all their replies have been in the negative," said the police official. "Well, I am now entirely in possession of my full senses," I declared. "But how I got to France I have not the slightest knowledge.
"Did you come to visit in New York?" at once began the inquisitive Madge. "Yes, I I came to see Mr. Aitken," was the hesitating and dubious answer. "And so you'll have to go back home without seeing him?" "I don't very well see how I can go back," said the boy slowly. "Oh, then you will visit some one else, or stay at the tavern?" Madge went on.
Icarus, who was the first airman, appears upon her wings. Opposite, rests Earth, unconscious that her sons struggle with her. These remarkably expressive figures are the work of Robert Aitken. The youthful groups by Paul Manship upon the extremities of the balustrade, on either hand of the eastern and western stairways, represent Music and Poetry, Music by the dance, Poetry by the written scroll.
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