Word: hermitization
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...carries away first honors. Then the final shot! Max aims at a white dove. "Don't shoot-I am the dovel" screams Agatha. Too late. She falls-into the arms of her bridesmaids. But she is protected by a magic funeral wreath, given to her by an aged hermit. Foiled is Zamiel, the evil "free-shooter," and in his rage he directs the wandering bullet into the heart of the villainous Kaspar. Max confesses and reforms, and all ends in holy rejoicing...
...process of evolution the hermit Japanese of the early cartographer became the "inscrutable Jap." of modern fiction. And lest the tradition of his baffling incomprehensibility be momentarily forgotten there arrives the news that Crown Prince Hirohito has be-stowed the high noble and hereditary title of count upon one Hasakura, dead these past three hundred years. By one command of the mighty Regent the mouldering ambassador" and his entombed descendants rise from their plebeian ashes to trail the clouds of their new nobility. The only parallel in the Western World is the tri-centennial crowning of Bacon with the laurels...
...well ask a cultivated Londoner if he has ever heard the name of James McNeil Whistler, or a Parisian if he is familiar with the works of Emile Zola. If there breathes a man who has been at Harvard for two years and still does not know of the hermit of Hollis Hall, he should be highly prized, for he is a rare growth. And yet it is difficult to describe Professor Copeland to newcomers; all that can be said is that he is a Harvard institution. To be appreciated he must be seen, and above all heard...
...writer is at his worst when he loses his grip on the pinnacle and goes tumbling down the mountain side to land with a dull and prosy thud in the world of his creation. As soon as he ceases to be the hermit of the high place; as soon as he begins to share the whims and fancies of mortality; as soon as he begins to take sides and see his characters as mouthpieces of his merely temporal cogitations, he ceases to be the climbing demigod, becomes the plodding propagandist. J.A.T...
...would allow him to devote himself wholly to his insect friends. At last, in 1879, he was able to buy some arid wasteland, called by the peasants harmas (worthless), at Serignan, a village in Provence. There in a small stucco cottage he lived till his death, a gentle, philosophical hermit, finding on his harmas a paradise of swarming insects. With tweezers, magnifying glass, tin box, he collected his living specimens, observed them in their diggings and dwellings, their battles, their search for food, their loves and hates, family life, births, deaths. "The scalpel of the experts," wrote Fabre, "has made...