e different kinds.
Naturally rosebugs were his special detestation.
Saving your presence, he said to President Felton's daughter, I will crush this insect; to which she aptly replied, I certainly would not have my presence save him.
When he heard of the Buffalo-bug he exclaimed: Are we going to have another pest to contend with?
I think it is a serious question whether the insect world is not going to get the better of us.
After his painful death at the Massachusetts Hospital in September, 1896, the president and fellows of the university voted to set apart little Holden Chapel, the oldest building on the college grounds, and yet one of the most dignified, for an English library dedicated to the memory of Francis J. Child.
Such an honor had never been decreed for president or professor before; and it gives him the distinction that we all feel he deserved.
It is much more appropriate to him, and satisfactory than a marble statue in Saunders Theatre would have been, or a stain
rious-looking bottles, with substances in them quite different from the medicines which were prescribed by the doctors in Farmington.
He tried experiments on their black water-spaniel and nearly killed him; and even descended to fishes and insects.
He would muse for hours by himself, and if she asked him what he was thinking of he gave her no explanation that she could understand.
Although he was so attractive and pleasing, he did not care much for human society.
McClure's magazine, September, 1896. He was kind and good to her, and with that she was content.
A more devoted wife, or faithful mother, has not been portrayed in poetry or romance.
These phenomena in Doctor Morton's early life remind one of certain processes in the budding of a flower.
They indicate a tendency to some object which perhaps was not at the time wholly clear to the man himself.
Impelled by the humanitarian spirit of the age, he moved forward with a clear eye and firm hand to grasp the opportunity whe