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Updated: June 27, 2025
Then I turned to bid him talk fast as my time was limited, when who should it be but Manouvrier. I took him into my private office, gave him a chair and said: "I was just coming to see you." "You had somet'in' to git stoff'?" "No; I Oh, I didn't know but you might like to see me." "Yass? Well yass. I wish you come yesterday." "Indeed? Why so; to protect you from reporters and beggars?"
For readers, who, through travel in Europe and acquaintance with French literature and tastes, are enabled to understand the many nice allusions contained in this novel, it is a very entertaining book. Kraft und Stoff. By G. BÜCHNER. Fourth edition. 1857. Materie und Geist. By the same. 1857.
As I have previously insisted, not all of those who handled the theme knew the real character of the material with which they were dealing, while even among those who did know there were some who allowed themselves considerable latitude in their methods of composition; who did not scruple to introduce elements foreign to the original Stoff, but which would make an appeal to the public of the day.
"Oh, Mr. Stiffelkind," said I, "don't laugh at my misery: she has not left me a single shilling under heaven. And I shall starve: I do believe I shall starve." And I began to cry fit to break my heart. "Starf! stoff and nonsense! You vill never die of starfing you vill die of HANGING, I tink ho! ho! and it is moch easier vay too."
"Strange," said I, "how terms of what in another man I should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigor." "Yes," he answered, "there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of old Goethe, Schade dass die Natur nur EINEN Mensch aus Dir schuf, Denn zum wuerdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.
"'Dot's all ride, said he, 'but I can't get avay. I must stay hier. Ven cost'mers com in, somebody must be hier to vait on 'em. "'That's all right, said I, 'but all your clerks are idle now. There isn't a customer in the store. Things are quiet just now. Suppose you come on down with me. "'No, I can't do dot, said the old man. 'I'd like to but I can't. Von't you breeng op a leedle stoff?
"Naw; my wife she keep off all doze Peter an' John. Naw; one man bring me one wile cat to stoff. Ah! a so fine as I never see! Beautiful like da dev'l! Since two day' an' night' I can't make out if I want to fix dat wile cat stan'in' up aw sittin' down!" "Did you decide at last?" "Yass, I dis-ide. How you think I diside?" "Ah! you're too hard for me. But one thing I know." "Yass? What you know?"
The attacks that have been made by naturalism upon the independence and freedom of the spiritual are so familiar to every one—even from school days—through books of the type of Büchner’s “Kraft und Stoff,” and Haeckel’s “The Riddle of the Universe,” and other half or wholly materialistic popular dogmatics, that it is unnecessary to enter into any detail.
"Well, stuffing birds better than ever, I suppose." "Naw," he looked around upon his work, "I dawn't think. I dunno if I stoff him quite so good like biffo'." Another pause. Then, "I think I mek out what I do wid doze money now." "Indeed," said I, and noticed that his face was averted from his wife.
I think he don't stoff bird' no betteh." But the husband responded more than half to himself, "Yass, I think mebbe I stoff him lill' more betteh."
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