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Updated: May 3, 2025
A good many of George Sand's people are thoroughly in love; and so are a good many of George Meredith's. Altogether, there is plenty to read on the subject.
Every little playful note to friends or kinsfolk he ever wrote was dear to those who received it; but he the most fastidious of men would have much disliked to see them all printed at length in Mr. Russell's indiscriminate volumes. He talked to me once of his wish to make a small volume "such a little one!" of George Sand's best letters. And that is just what he would have wished for himself.
Dick Sand jumped upon Harris, seized a dagger from the American's belt, and plunged it into his heart. "Curse you!" cried Harris, falling. Harris was dead. Dick Sand's action had been so rapid that no one could stop him. A few natives threw themselves upon him, and he would have been murdered had not Negoro appeared.
Now just guess what I did!" "I cannot possibly." "Ha! ha! ha! I had just been reading a number of George Sand's novels which exalt the man of the people, novels in which the workmen are sublime, and all the men of the world are criminals. In addition to this I had seen Ruy Blas the winter before, and it had struck me very much.
"She lies with a sharp list; sand's high up her starboard bilge. Engine-room doors jambed, but I found the stokehold grating and got some way down the ladder. Sand's washed down and buried the starboard bunkers. To clear out the stuff will be a long job." "Packed hard?" The diver nodded. "Like cement! I reckon the pump won't move it." Lister understood the captain's frown.
When, on the 26th of March, the news of Kotzebue's assassination came from Mannheim to Jena, the academic senate caused Sand's room to be opened, and found two letters one addressed to his friends of the Burschenschaft, in which he declared that he no longer belonged to their society, since he did not wish that their brotherhood should include a man about to die an the scaffold.
The chapel, chambers, balconies, and terraces were all being repaired; for, thanks to George Sand's grandmother, who owned the place in the time of the Revolution, it was spared out of respect to her, and is still a charming relic of the past.
She practiced this anarchy in the guise of religion, as the old crusaders out-heathened the barbarians, and raided civilisation in the name of the Cross. George Sand's gospel, summed up briefly by Ramann, is as follows: "'Love, says the authoress, 'is Christian compassion concentrated on a single being.
Weldon would not dream of returning to Kazounde. The point now was to anticipate Negoro. All Dick Sand's projects must tend toward that end. Dick Sand was now putting in practise the plan which he had long contemplated, of gaining the coast by utilizing the current of a river or a stream.
The Dent du Midi, with its untrodden solitude, its primeval silences and its hovering eagles, the Swiss landscape described in the "Fragment on the Ranz des Vaches," the summer moonlight on the Lake of Neufchatel these various pictures are the work of one of the most finished artists in words that literature has produced. But how true George Sand's criticism is!
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