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Updated: May 10, 2025
Well, certainly, Miss Holladay had the right to choose any maid she pleased, and to discharge any or all of her servants; and yet it seemed strangely unlike her to show such seeming injustice to anyone. "You say she sent down word that she was ill?" said Mr. Royce, at last. "Was she ill when you dressed her?"
Royce and Taylor accept similar solutions, only they emphasize the irrationality of our finite universe less than Bradley does; and Royce in particular, being unusually 'thick' for an idealist, tries to bring the absolute's secret forms of relief more sympathetically home to our imagination. Well, what must we do in this tragic predicament?
The old man's right apt to be sore, Steve." "I shouldn't be surprised," agreed Steve. "Who are the Temples, Bill?" "Who tol' you about the Temples?" came the quick counter-question. "Nobody. I stayed at their place last night." Royce grunted. "Didn't take you all year to find her, did it?" he offered bluntly. "Who?" asked Packard in futile innocence. "Terry Temple.
But the scale of the evil actually in sight defies all human tolerance; and transcendental idealism, in the pages of a Bradley or a Royce, brings us no farther than the book of Job did God's ways are not our ways, so let us put our hands upon our mouth. A God who can relish such superfluities of horror is no God for human beings to appeal to. His animal spirits are too high.
Captain Royce could be stern enough when he let himself out. The emu-section of the dream being thus partly fulfilled, Bill clutched at a release in any form; and it happened that, simultaneously with the arrival of Captain Royce's mandate, came Tom Armstrong and his mate, Andrew Glover, from a job of ringing on the Yanko.
You have not been moping, I hope." "Moping! Not a bit of it," replied Kavanagh. "I am not going to cry `I take a licking! because Fortune has caught me a couple of facers without a return. I have been to the theatre, and enjoyed myself vastly, I assure you." "To the theatre! You; in that dress!" exclaimed Royce. "Oh, I went to the gallery. I have accepted the situation."
Hodder had known for many years that the writings of Josiah Royce and of William James had "been in the air," so to speak, and he had heard them mentioned at dinner parties by his more intellectual parishioners, such as Mrs. Constable and Martha Preston. Now he was able to smile at his former attitude toward these moderns, whose perusal he had deprecated as treason to the saints!
First, to prevent publication in the "Journal of Ethics" of the very reply he had publicly and defiantly challenged, and then to suppress all circulation of a few privately printed copies of it by means of legal threats: if Dr. Royce could afford to commit such blunders, why should I shield him from himself? "Whom the gods destroy, they first make mad."
Very cautiously he withdrew to the drive again, retracing his steps to the lane, and walking back to the spot where he had left the Rolls Royce, all the time peering about him to right and left. He was looking for a temporary garage for the car, but one from which, if necessary, he could depart in a hurry.
The wiser scepticism of our day concerning all hard-and-fast racial distinctions has been admirably summed up by Josiah Royce. "A race psychology," he declares, "is still a science for the future to discover.... We do not scientifically know what the true racial varieties of mental type really are. No doubt there are such varieties.
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