Word: scientists
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...forever after discuss it. They did it to Gambetta. They have done it to Anatole France, the distinguished novelist who died last year (TIME, Oct. 20, BOOKS). The weight of his brain was 1,017 grams, whereas the average weight of the human brain is 1,390 grams. Some scientist declared that it is now established that the profundity of intellectual power is not dependent on physical size. Others contended that, in M. France's case, the lack of weight was more than counterbalanced by strange types of convolutions separated by deep sulci (grooves...
...adroit indirection, the author acquaints you with the sad end, on the scaffold, of Arthur Lomax. The colored glasses he bought in Egypt so marvelously altered the aspect of life that he married Miss Whitaker, murdered his yachtsman host, Bellamy, and left Bellamy's money to Artivale, the scientist of the cruise-all with the loftiest of motives. In court, bereft of the illusive spectacles, normal Arthur Lomax could quite understand the jury's incredulity. His was the tragedy of the man who made believe and had his dream come true...
THUS FAR-J. C. Snaifh-Appleton ($2.00). Rushing alongside the horny-hided thriller-reader, Writer Snaith delivers pointblank a tale about a scientist who grafted the fourth dimension upon the fetus of a high anthropoid. The offspring was nerveless, bloodless, sexless, deathless, supra-intelligent and psychic. Unforturfately, it was also sadistic and clawed out a number of people's carotid arteries, among them that of the scientist. Also unforunately, a very biological biologist and a very bemonocled amateur detective pile the book with slovenly heaps of "scientific" jargon, consisting chiefly of proper names that Writer Snaith looked...
...served France, spying upon the Prussian troops with his long telescope. An admirer, one M. Meret, presented him with a country place at Juvisy, where he built an observatory, passed his time peering at the planet Mars and collecting ghost stories. Never a great scientist, he was still mumbling about the probable inhabitability of Mars while his colleagues were concerned with the atomic structures of stars not yet named; but he exploited with marvelous eloquence the romance of the stars. Under the big tent top of heaven he, a circus barker, shouted the seductions of Venus, the deformities of Mercury...
Ernest W. Barries, the philosopher-scientist whose elevation to the bishopric of Birmingham inspired voluminous discussion last fall (TIME, Sept. 29), set himself again where the roads of opinion cross. He was preaching at Brighton, a watering place once more fashionable than it now is. Said he: "Human welfare is now menaced by human fecundity. The change from large to small families is not to be impatiently condemned. Victories in medicine and hygiene may be disastrous for public welfare unless the desire for many children, which is natural and until recently laudable, is held in check." The same evening...