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Coming to more recent times, there was the son of John Lawrence of the Punjab, and of Alfred Tennyson the poet, Lord St. Aldwyn and Lord Balfour of Burleigh and Lord Lister, and Lords Rothschild, Aldenham, and Revelstoke.
Coal-dust covered rails and ropes; grimy drops from the rigging splashed on the trampled black mud on deck. The crew were not sober and their faces were black. Two or three draggled women called to them from the pierhead, their voices sounding melancholy and harsh. Barbara had not seen Lister and wondered where he was, until a man plunged out from the neighboring door of the engine-room.
Although he had studied her at Montreal, it was her effort to play a part that impressed him most. "She was young, and I think attractive," he replied. "She wore a knitted cap and a kind of jersey a girl might use for boating. I thought she came from a summer camp." Cartwright's face was inscrutable, but Lister saw the others' interest was keen. Mrs.
He did not know what office was being sung, but the jaded emigrants knew, for a child got up and stood with bent head, holding a greasy cap, and a ragged woman's face got gentle as she signed herself with the cross. It looked as if the birds of passage had found a landmark in a foreign land. Lister was moved, and gave the child a coin before he went off.
The cook, waiting some time in patience to be told, gently inquired what it was. "'Ere am I," said Mr. Lister, good-naturedly helping him to cut a cabbage, "at the age of sixty-two with a bank-book down below in my chest, with one hundered an' ninety pounds odd in it." "One 'undered and ninety pounds!" repeated the cook, with awe. "To say nothing of other things," continued Mr.
"What are you going to live on when you're past work then?" demanded the other. Mr. Lister took him gently by the sleeve, and his voice sank with the solemnity of his subject: "I'm not going to have no old age," he said, resignedly. "Not going to live!" repeated the cook, gazing uneasily at a knife by his side. "How do you know?" "I went to a orsepittle in London," said Mr. Lister.
Think what we owe to Goethe and Lessing, to Spinoza and Kant, to Heine and Mozart and Wagner and Beethoven, reiterates the Englishman; think what we owe to Shakespeare and Milton, to Byron and Shelley and Scott, to Lister and Newton, answers the German!
Blundel, not satisfied with the actuality of the phenomena, submitted his case to Dr. Lister, who, after careful examination, pronounced the globules metallic. Oils. Mauvezin tells of the ingestion of three drams of croton oil by a child of six, followed by vomiting and rapid recovery. There was no diarrhea in this case.
"Ay, and she's the finest lass i' Brunford, is Alice Lister," said Ezekiel contentedly; "and is she willing to wait for thee, Tom?" Tom laughed joyfully. "Maybe they will make an officer of thee," said Mrs. Pollard. "No," said Tom, "I shall never be an officer, I don't belong to that class; perhaps I will be a sergeant, or something like that, but that's as may be; anyhow, I'll do my bit."
"Then I suppose she stated her grounds for refusing?" "That is so," said Lister. "Perhaps Miss Hyslop will tell you what they are. I will not." Cartwright looked at him hard. "All the same, I imagine you did not agree?" "I did not agree. If I make good at the wreck, I will try again." "Barbara is pretty obstinate," Cartwright remarked with a smile, and then filled Lister's glass.
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