We carry with us the wonders we seek without us; there is all
Africa and her prodigies in us.
Sir Thomas Browne: Religio Medici.
We were talking about the persistence of race qualities--how you
might bury a strain for generations under fresh graftings but the
aboriginal sap would some day stir. The obvious instance was the
Jew, and Pugh had also something to say about the surprises of a
tincture of hill blood in the Behari. Peckwether, the historian,
was inclined to doubt. The old stock, he held, could disappear
absolutely as if by a chemical change, and the end be as remote
from the beginnings as--to use his phrase--a ripe Gorgonzola from a
bucket of new milk.
"I don't believe you're ever quite safe," said Sandy Arbuthnot.
"You mean that an eminent banker may get up one morning with a
strong wish to cut himself shaving in honour of Baal?"
"Maybe. But the tradition is more likely to be negative. There
are some things that for no particular reason he won't like, some
things that specially frighten him. Take my own case. I haven't a
scrap of real superstition in me, but I hate crossing a river at
night. I fancy a lot of my blackguard ancestors got scuppered at
moonlight fords. I believe we're all stuffed full of atavistic
fears, and you can't tell how or when a man will crack till you
know his breeding."
"I think that's about the truth of it," said Hannay, and after the
discussion had rambled on for a while he told us this tale.
Just after the Boer War (he said) I was on a prospecting job in the
north-eastern Transvaal. I was a mining engineer, with copper as
my speciality, and I had always a notion that copper might be found
in big quantities in the Zoutpansberg foothills. There was of
course Messina at the west end, but my thoughts turned rather to
the north-east corner, where the berg breaks down to the crook of
the Limpopo. I was a young man then, fresh from two years'
campaigning with the Imperial Light Horse, and I was thirsty for
better jobs than trying to drive elusive burghers up against barbed
wire and blockhouses. When I started out with my mules from
Pietersburg on the dusty road to the hills, I think I felt happier
than ever before in my life.
1002150926
Africa and her prodigies in us.
Sir Thomas Browne: Religio Medici.
We were talking about the persistence of race qualities--how you
might bury a strain for generations under fresh graftings but the
aboriginal sap would some day stir. The obvious instance was the
Jew, and Pugh had also something to say about the surprises of a
tincture of hill blood in the Behari. Peckwether, the historian,
was inclined to doubt. The old stock, he held, could disappear
absolutely as if by a chemical change, and the end be as remote
from the beginnings as--to use his phrase--a ripe Gorgonzola from a
bucket of new milk.
"I don't believe you're ever quite safe," said Sandy Arbuthnot.
"You mean that an eminent banker may get up one morning with a
strong wish to cut himself shaving in honour of Baal?"
"Maybe. But the tradition is more likely to be negative. There
are some things that for no particular reason he won't like, some
things that specially frighten him. Take my own case. I haven't a
scrap of real superstition in me, but I hate crossing a river at
night. I fancy a lot of my blackguard ancestors got scuppered at
moonlight fords. I believe we're all stuffed full of atavistic
fears, and you can't tell how or when a man will crack till you
know his breeding."
"I think that's about the truth of it," said Hannay, and after the
discussion had rambled on for a while he told us this tale.
Just after the Boer War (he said) I was on a prospecting job in the
north-eastern Transvaal. I was a mining engineer, with copper as
my speciality, and I had always a notion that copper might be found
in big quantities in the Zoutpansberg foothills. There was of
course Messina at the west end, but my thoughts turned rather to
the north-east corner, where the berg breaks down to the crook of
the Limpopo. I was a young man then, fresh from two years'
campaigning with the Imperial Light Horse, and I was thirsty for
better jobs than trying to drive elusive burghers up against barbed
wire and blockhouses. When I started out with my mules from
Pietersburg on the dusty road to the hills, I think I felt happier
than ever before in my life.
The Runagates Club
We carry with us the wonders we seek without us; there is all
Africa and her prodigies in us.
Sir Thomas Browne: Religio Medici.
We were talking about the persistence of race qualities--how you
might bury a strain for generations under fresh graftings but the
aboriginal sap would some day stir. The obvious instance was the
Jew, and Pugh had also something to say about the surprises of a
tincture of hill blood in the Behari. Peckwether, the historian,
was inclined to doubt. The old stock, he held, could disappear
absolutely as if by a chemical change, and the end be as remote
from the beginnings as--to use his phrase--a ripe Gorgonzola from a
bucket of new milk.
"I don't believe you're ever quite safe," said Sandy Arbuthnot.
"You mean that an eminent banker may get up one morning with a
strong wish to cut himself shaving in honour of Baal?"
"Maybe. But the tradition is more likely to be negative. There
are some things that for no particular reason he won't like, some
things that specially frighten him. Take my own case. I haven't a
scrap of real superstition in me, but I hate crossing a river at
night. I fancy a lot of my blackguard ancestors got scuppered at
moonlight fords. I believe we're all stuffed full of atavistic
fears, and you can't tell how or when a man will crack till you
know his breeding."
"I think that's about the truth of it," said Hannay, and after the
discussion had rambled on for a while he told us this tale.
Just after the Boer War (he said) I was on a prospecting job in the
north-eastern Transvaal. I was a mining engineer, with copper as
my speciality, and I had always a notion that copper might be found
in big quantities in the Zoutpansberg foothills. There was of
course Messina at the west end, but my thoughts turned rather to
the north-east corner, where the berg breaks down to the crook of
the Limpopo. I was a young man then, fresh from two years'
campaigning with the Imperial Light Horse, and I was thirsty for
better jobs than trying to drive elusive burghers up against barbed
wire and blockhouses. When I started out with my mules from
Pietersburg on the dusty road to the hills, I think I felt happier
than ever before in my life.
Africa and her prodigies in us.
Sir Thomas Browne: Religio Medici.
We were talking about the persistence of race qualities--how you
might bury a strain for generations under fresh graftings but the
aboriginal sap would some day stir. The obvious instance was the
Jew, and Pugh had also something to say about the surprises of a
tincture of hill blood in the Behari. Peckwether, the historian,
was inclined to doubt. The old stock, he held, could disappear
absolutely as if by a chemical change, and the end be as remote
from the beginnings as--to use his phrase--a ripe Gorgonzola from a
bucket of new milk.
"I don't believe you're ever quite safe," said Sandy Arbuthnot.
"You mean that an eminent banker may get up one morning with a
strong wish to cut himself shaving in honour of Baal?"
"Maybe. But the tradition is more likely to be negative. There
are some things that for no particular reason he won't like, some
things that specially frighten him. Take my own case. I haven't a
scrap of real superstition in me, but I hate crossing a river at
night. I fancy a lot of my blackguard ancestors got scuppered at
moonlight fords. I believe we're all stuffed full of atavistic
fears, and you can't tell how or when a man will crack till you
know his breeding."
"I think that's about the truth of it," said Hannay, and after the
discussion had rambled on for a while he told us this tale.
Just after the Boer War (he said) I was on a prospecting job in the
north-eastern Transvaal. I was a mining engineer, with copper as
my speciality, and I had always a notion that copper might be found
in big quantities in the Zoutpansberg foothills. There was of
course Messina at the west end, but my thoughts turned rather to
the north-east corner, where the berg breaks down to the crook of
the Limpopo. I was a young man then, fresh from two years'
campaigning with the Imperial Light Horse, and I was thirsty for
better jobs than trying to drive elusive burghers up against barbed
wire and blockhouses. When I started out with my mules from
Pietersburg on the dusty road to the hills, I think I felt happier
than ever before in my life.
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940013669208 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing |
| Publication date: | 01/20/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 209 KB |
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