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Updated: May 25, 2025
He rose with an air of triumph, and demanded, "having full regard for all the extenuating circumstances of the case, but also in consideration of the obstinate persistence of the accused in his offence," a punishment of nine months' imprisonment. Vogt turned as pale as death when he heard these words. This was impossible! It could not, it ought not to be!
Vogt and Klitzing were the last to leave Room IX. Klitzing went silently along by his wounded comrade and looked at him timidly. "Does it hurt, Franz?" he asked on the stairs. Vogt began hesitatingly: "Well, you know " but then when he saw his friend's sad eyes he continued: "Oh, no; it's not a bit bad." Tears stood in the clerk's eyes. "Franz, what a dear good fellow you are!" he said softly.
Franz Vogt was on his way home. He carried a neatly tied-up parcel containing the under-linen and the boots that he had been buying in the town. He had trodden this same road a countless number of times during his life; but now that he must bid good-bye to it so soon, the old familiar surroundings presented themselves to him in a new light.
And for the first time in his life he embraced his son, took the boy's head between his hands, and kissed him on the forehead. Franz Vogt felt the trembling of the old man's lips, and choked back his own tears. As the warder was taking him back down the long passage he looked round once more. His father was just going out of the door, and a ray of sunlight fell on the venerable white head.
The recruiting-sergeant had pointed out to him that he could claim his son if he could show that the lad was indispensable to his work. But August Vogt was too honourable for that. Certainly he was sixty years of age; but even had he been ninety he would have managed to keep things going. Still, it was hard.
Weise tried to make himself a favourite with all, but the others noticed that he kept a check upon himself and never showed himself as he really was. Moreover, even when he was alone with them, he evidently felt a certain constraint. One morning while washing there was almost a quarrel, when Vogt caught him by the arm and tried to examine the tattoo marks on his skin.
Publiee sur les Documents originaux; par le Comte Paul Vogt d'Hunolstein had excited a keen controversy, in which one party, led by Professor von Sybel, the historian of the Revolution, maintained that the letters were forgeries.
Tyndall, Carpenter, and Henry Thompson, teach that prayer is a superstitious absurdity; Herbert Spencer, whom they call their "great philosopher," i. e., the man who does their thinking, labors to prove that there cannot be a personal God, or human soul or self; that moral laws are mere "generalizations of utility," or, as Carl Vogt says, that self respect, and not the will of God, is the ground and rule of moral obligation.
Vogt considered it probable that the cranial structure of the Apostles was of a pronounced simian character; of the indecencies of Haeckel, that supreme incomprehender, there is no need to speak, nor yet of those of Büchner; even Virchow is not free from them. And others work with more subtilty.
Buchner, Vogt, Häckel, and others may assert to the contrary. In the first of my two instances, the popular idea has long been that the sacred record does say something about a direct and separate creative act; and this idea has been the origin and ground of all the supposed conflict between science and "religion."
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