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Updated: June 12, 2025
It is not Mr. Wells's fault if I do not abandon the steep and thorny track of austerity which I have hitherto pursued, invest all my spare cash either in whiskey or in whiskey shares, and go for my philosophy in future to the inspiring author of Musings without Method in "Blackwood." It is not quite clear why Mr.
It has a very well-grounded guess that whatever is done swiftly and systematically will mostly be done by a successful class and almost solely in their interests. It has therefore a vision of inhuman hybrids and half-human experiments much in the style of Mr. Wells's "Island of Dr. Moreau."
Wells's thinking apparatus is fitted with some such automatic appliance for soaring gaily over the snags that stud the ploughlands of theology. Mr. Though he does not mention the word "pragmatism," his standards are purely pragmatist. He offers no jot or tittle of evidence for the existence of the Invisible King, except that it is a hypothesis which he finds to work extremely well.
We are gin'rally fa'r-minded, peaceful men, but when an old man's heart is broken, and his gray hairs brought down in sorrow to the grave, so to speak, we're bound to attend the funeral sabe?" When Mr. Twiggs had departed again, accompanied by a partner to guide him past the dangerous shoals of Tomlinson's grocery, Rice clapped his hand on Wells's shoulder.
But the demand for a revelation is eminently reasonable and justified; and the only trouble about the historic revelations is that they have all been so shockingly ill-informed, and have revealed nothing to the purpose. Robert Louis Stevenson anticipated Mr. Wells's view of the matter when he wrote ironically:
Political philosophy, sociology and the common sense schools please me least. Hobbes, Locke, Bentham, Comte and Spencer I have never liked at all. Even their Utopias, which ought to be amusing, bore me profoundly, and this has been true from Plato's Republic to Kropotkin's Conquest of Bread and Wells's A Modern Utopia. Nor could I ever become interested in the pseudo-philosophy of anarchism.
One day as we were leaving the Executive offices at Trenton, the Governor said: "Tumulty, you have read Gideon Wells's 'Diary of the Civil War', have you not?" I told him that some months before he had generously presented me with those three interesting volumes that contained a most accurate and comprehensive inside view of Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet.
Orden here, you associate yourself with a traitorous breach of the law." Mr. Stenson made no immediate reply. He looked towards Julian, as though to hear what he had to say. "Mr. Hannaway Wells's advice is, without doubt, technically correct," Julian admitted, "but the whole subject is too great, and the issues involved too awful for etiquette or even propriety to count.
I could not help feeling as if one chapter of Wells's "War in the Air" had come to pass. It did make me realize how rapidly the aeroplane had developed into a real weapon of war. I remember so well, no longer ago than Exposition year, that was 1900, that I was standing, one day, in the old Galerie des Machines, with a young engineer from Boston. Over our heads was a huge model of a flying machine.
But the snarl is never very long absent from Mr. Wells's work; the background of it is disagreeable. Hence its complete lack of magic, of charm. And without some touch of these qualities, the a peu pres of journalism, of that necessarily hurried and improvised work which is the spendthrift of talent, can never become literature, as it once did under the golden pen of Denis Diderot.
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