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HOME > Chowhound > Los Angeles Area >
Mexican in/near West Hollywood (with tot)
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We are currently living in Calgary, Alberta, where there is NO good Mexican food, not a whit, and we are going to be in West Hollywood one night (a Sunday)--with our 19-month-old--and can think of nothing we'd like more than to indulge in a good Mexican meal. Where would you recommend?
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1. Will you have a car?
5 Replies
1. re: Servorg
Yes--we'll have a car.
1. re: javelina
My number one choice for you, Tere's Mexican Grill is unfortunately closed on Sunday's. If you don't mind coming west towards the beach then Lares on Pico Blvd. in Santa Monica would be a good selection. It won't be a bad drive on a Sunday.
Lares Restaurant
2909 Pico Blvd, Santa Monica, CA 90405
1. re: Servorg
uggh, Lares is awful. Try Gardens of Taxco in West Hollywood (I think near Sweetzer and Santa Monica Blvd.). The food at Taxco is not spectacular but it's a memorable experience and a tot would be fine.
1. re: kotter
After 20 years of dining there I admit there have been a few misses. But by and large they have almost always produced excellent food. YMMV
2. re: Servorg
Tere's has great soup.
If you'll drive just a bit, Guelaguetza is my pick.
2. If you don't feel like driving out to Santa Monica, Loteria Grill in the Farmer's Market at Third and Fairfax is close to West Hollywood and serves some nice modern-style Mexican food. Farmer's Market is an open marketplace that is very casual with lots of kids running around as well as a trolley that goes to the Grove that your baby might like. They have some good Mexican fruit drinks or you can get beer at the stand behind Loteria.
2 Replies
1. re: Chowpatty
Agree. If you're going to be in town for one day and are looking for a nice day to fill an afternoon with sunshine, the Farmer's Market is great all around rec.
Loteria Grill
6333 W 3rd St, Los Angeles, CA 90036
1. re: SauceSupreme
Farmer's Market is worth seeing for any tourist.
2. Thanks for all the recs--if we get in early we'll try to hit the farmer's market. If we don't and if we're willing to drive a bit (but not, say, to East L.A.) are there any other restaurants a little further afield you'd recommend?
3 Replies
1. re: javelina
The Acapulco chain is probably the most reliable of the taco-enchilada-tamale-plate school of inauthentic but traditional Mexican restaurants, definitely kid-friendly. There's also a branch on Sunset east of La Brea, near Hollywood High School.
1. re: maxzook
The Acapulco on Sunset is closed. There is one on La Cienega (maybe north of Melrose).
2. re: javelina
oops ... restaurants listed below
Acapulco Mexican Restaurant Y Cantina
385 N La Cienega Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90048
Acapulco Mexican Restaurant
4444 W Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90027
3. acapulco is pretty awful and while my suggestion may produce a few guffaws from this thread i'll offer it up anyway: Marix Tex-Mex at 1108 N Flores St, just north of Santa Monica Blvd...it's mostly an open patio with a closeable roof...fajitas started this place off in the mid 80s and it's been going strong ever since.
1. gardens of taxco is right in west hollywood and it's fine to have a tot there. it's a fun experience.
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HOME > Chowhound > San Francisco Bay Area >
Source for Spit-Roasting Whole Lamb? (Bay Area)
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Hey. Anyone out there know an SF Bay Area (and/or Davis area) caterer who's knowlegable and skilled at spit-roasting whole (stuffed?) lamb? Alternatively, anyone know where I might rent the proper equipment and what would be a reasonable price for such rental? Thanks!
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1. Marin Sun Farms has lamb. Suggestions for pig roasting rental may help.
3 Replies
1. re: wolfe
Thanks for the tip! And I recognize that ranchers may have suggestions/connections too (I will post any I hear of)
As there will be Muslim and Jewish guests, I'd greatly prefer a rig that's not touched pork.
I will, however, welcome any and all suggestions, as it might be possible to purify the rig (have to find out). I already did a chowhound search for "spit roast" but didn't find anything suitable in the Bay Area or Davis area. I'll double check in case I missed something.
1. re: chowwow
It can be done but it requires a blow torch.
1. re: chowwow
Then you might want to contact halal butchers and/or halal restaurants. Two I've liked recently are Eden's Turkish Food in SF and Sajj in San Bruno. It's my understanding that the halal lamb in this area is from Dixon, Stockton and Freno.
2. Dixon has a lamb festival, try googling it and maybe the festival people will provide contacts.
3 Replies
1. re: Alan408
Thanks much, Alan408. Didn't know that, and Dixon is actually a possible location for our event!
Any other tips are still welcome!....
1. re: Alan408
Still haven't heard back from the Dixon lamb festival folks (the festival is in early October and descriptions sound very tempting). Anyone out there know of local spit-rosting gurus? Or ever built a rig for spit-roasting larger meats over open fire? I've done some seraching on the web, but nothing helps like a real, live expert to show you how...!
1. re: chowwow
There is a supermarket in Dixon, Hometown, the manager (owner?) is often working a register, and there are Ace Hardware and Tractor Supply stores in town, I suspect senior employees in those stores would have some local knowledge.
2. Here's some third-hand information: a couple of years ago a friend was looking into a similar thing and she was talking with the guy at Zatar in Berkeley about it. Sorry, I don't remember and/or didn't know any more than that and she never went through with it.
1. The Carneros Wine Alliance is doing a Sonoma vs Napa chef lamb throwdown this weekend, might give you a few ideas.
1 Reply
1. re: Melanie Wong
Fantastic! Thank you Melanie (and all others!). I will try to get up there and, if I do so, I promise to report back.
2. Did you ever find a spit roast caterer? I'd like to do this and any tips would be welcome!
1 Reply
1. re: purpleceline
I think I saw a sign at Sunshine deli.
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HOME > Chowhound > San Francisco Bay Area >
Dungeness Crab Prices 2013/2014 Season
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The fishing fleet started hauling in their crab pots at 12:01a today for the season opener and sailing our favorite crustaceans into port to markets. Tell us where you're finding crab today and throughout the season and how much it costs.
CA Dungeness crab season (recreational) began 11/2, commercial starts 11/15, good catch expected
Dungeness Crab Prices 2012
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1. Woohoo! I have crab plans this weekend, but hopefully I'm not being overly enthusiastic.
Any thoughts on where one could buy a crab this weekend? I was going to head over to Chinatown, but unsure if the crab fisherman would sell their first load to another source instead...
To clarify: I'm looking for whole, raw crab to buy and cook myself. Thanks!
4 Replies
1. re: bobabear
KGO radio has been saying that the sea is rough today & crabbers may not go out. They are predicting crab will not be available until Sunday....
1. re: RWCFoodie
I'm skeptical about that. Wind at Half Moon Bay is 4 mph, Bodega Bay is calm.
1. re: Robert Lauriston
Bodega Bay buoy is 20+ knots this morning.
2. re: RWCFoodie
The Pillar Point fishfone says they don't expect to see any crab at the docks until tomorrow morning.
EDIT: Oops, sorry duplicate of Melanie's post.
2. I posted this in the earlier thread about the 2013 season:
Had dinner at Woodhouse Fish Co. (Church & Market location) last night and they said starting next Wednesday, 11/20, they will be having a crab special, $15 for a whole crab plus (if I recall correctly) potatoes and greens. Deal lasts until the 27th (day before Thanksgiving).
1. Pillar Point in San Mateo County: "Fresh-caught fish is sold retail "off-the-boat" directly to the public at Pillar Point Harbor, seven days a week. Call the fishfone 650-726-8724 for more information."
I called the fishfone and the recording says no crab sightings yet in harbor, probably not till tomorrow morning, but it will update if that changes.
11 Replies
1. re: Melanie Wong
As of now they have crab. Do you have to pay in cash?
What do you like to drink with Dungeness?
1. re: Robert Lauriston
I'm at Pillar Point Harbor. There's one boat, at E-6, selling for $6/lb. Another, across from e-6, now has 1.5-2 lb crabs for $7/lb. At least one of the other owners is displeased at the gouging, though, with a line 20-50 people long, they can all but do what they want. No other boats appear to be coming in for off-the-boat sales. Princeton Seafood at $7.50/lb live or $8.50 cooked.
Morningstar Fisheries at the end of the pier has some day-old crab in a bin but may be getting more. $6/lb.
1. re: dpifko
Alioto-Lazio has them lively and enthusiastic for $5 lb. Why bother with the drive? Also they're never dicks.
1. re: little big al
Not a bad idea, though I like getting them directly from the ocean, normally like supporting the fishing boats directly, and enjoy the scenery on the drive down.
1. re: dpifko
I agree, but the price should be somewhere between wholesale and retail. That way the fishers and the customers both benefit.
1. re: little big al
I expect it to drop after the wind calms down. Wouldn't be surprised by 4.50-5/lb
2. re: little big al
If you'd posted that an hour earlier, I would have gone to Alioto-Lazio, but I got all the crabs I wanted for $6 a pound.
It was a fun scene and I hadn't been over the new Bay Bridge in daytime or through the Devil's Slide tunnel before. I can't believe that gross parking lot campground with people having picnics.
1. re: little big al
Thanks for the pointer to Alioto-Lazio. Looks really good. It's not at all in my area, but I'll drop by next time I'm nearby.
1. re: little big al
Stopped by Alioto-Lazio, which is where we usually get all our crab, Tuesday morning for our first local dungeness of the season. Amazing as usual. $5/lb and the three I got were all 2+lbs. My last meal would be local dungeness and sweet baguette from acme paired with a montrachet.
1. re: little big al
Price is now $7.50 for live. They say they're having a a harder time sourcing now that many boats have stopped going out and the crabs are moving on. If you want more than a few you have to preorder.
2. re: Robert Lauriston
Probably depends on the boat. Some are tech savvy, some aren't. Best to assume cash.
2. It seems there should be a twitter hashtag for crab reports, prices, dockings, etc. from Half Moon Bay. Maybe #hmbcrab ? Pillar Point Harbor should be using it so they can get better coverage than with one phone line.
12 Replies
1. re: dpifko
There's an App for that: https://play.google.com/store/apps/de...
1. re: Ruth Lafler
I downloaded Fishline this morning. It's available for Android and iPhone.
It can also be viewed on the web,
The current service area extends up to Half Moon Bay and there's a section called Crabline (screenshot below). Most of these boats are in the HMB area. I called Reelization http://freshfishandcrab.com/ and the guy said to check back on Sunday, maybe crab then.
1. re: Melanie Wong
Where is it feeding data from? Does this include general information or live info as of the day you're looking?
1. re: dpifko
The Crabline is more of a contact directory with links and/or phone for text/call to check availability.
1. re: Melanie Wong
That's what I thought. What I'm more thinking about is a replacement for and improvement over the Fishfone.
1. re: dpifko
Some have links to webpages, FB, twitter, etc. that could have current info. Not all require a phone call if they take the time to update.
2. re: dpifko
It's hard to tell from their site, but it looks like the fisherman are feeding live info into it:
"FishLine is the first app to provide a real-time list of seafood available from local fishing boats, fish markets and restaurants.
The original FishLine concept came about in response to the recovery of the Pacific salmon season in 2012. Fishing boats arrived in Pillar Point Harbor, Half Moon Bay with loads of salmon, but there were no customers. FishLine allowed fishermen to tell consumers directly, and immediately, when they had fish to sell off their boats at the harbor."
1. re: Ruth Lafler
Allowing them to do it doesn't mean they do it. The first boat on the list has a Twitter account that has had no tweets since 2012.
3. re: Melanie Wong
Fishline appears to be working well. Thanks. Prices are holding steady at $6/lb at Pillar Point Harbor vs. ~$5 at the supermarkets. Is that premium about the same from previous years? I've never seen a direct comparison with live prices from HMB before.
1. re: dpifko
$6/lb at Pillar Point Harbor is high compared to the past couple of years when it was $4. But there were also a lot more crabs the past 2 years, and the number of crabs per pot are quite low right now.
I went out on Sunday for a crab/rockfish trip and the average was 8-12 crab per pot, but only a few of them would have made the minimum commercial width of 6.25 inches. Thus, some boats have packed up and moved out of the local waters.
1. re: baron45
FishLine is crowd-sourced app like Gas Buddy - anyone can enter a listing via either the App or the Website.
CrabLine is a directory of crabbers & fishermen that will take orders over the phone, via text or via email.
4. re: Ruth Lafler
Link on iTunes to FishLine: https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/fishl...
2. Hmm... Time to hit 'Sotto Mare' and get some crab cioppino... ^_-
1. Crabs are being pulled in further south in Monterey Bay where the waters are calmer today. See my post on the California board for where to buy a crab today between Santa Cruz and Monterey. Maybe some will make it to SF markets.
Calling the usual suspects in Sonoma County who source their Dungeness from Bodega Bay confirmed reports of rough seas and strong winds today. Mike at Santa Rosa Seafood said his two boats started to go out this morning then turned back.
G&G, Lucas Wharf, and Santa Rosa Seafood said they expect to have live crabs by late afternoon tomorrow (Saturday). Paisano Brothers said for sure by Monday, maybe Sunday.
Monterey Fish in Berkeley tweeted:
"CRAB SEASON UPDATE Season opens today and due to weather concerns crab is only available for preexisting orders for Saturday."
1. Nothing here in Santa Cruz.A freind called me from the harbor no crab yet.
1. More boats in. $7/lb, over 2 lbs.
1. Tokyo Fish Market
$5.99. Live
$6.99. Cooked
3 Replies
1. re: FishTanks
Really -- they weren't there yesterday!
1. re: FishTanks
I've had two cooked crabs from Tokyo Fish recently. 6.99 last week and 7.99 yesterday. Not cheap, but nice 2 pounders, local, sweet, great texture. Better than any I had last year.
1. re: FishTanks
Price is $6.99 now for live and they're from Eureka.
2. I got to Oakland Chinatown around noon and the tanks at Lucky Seafood were basically empty except for some really small crabs. Price was $4.69/lb. Prices likely wont' drop until after Thanksgiving.
2 Replies
1. re: ML8000
Yesterday, I scored 4 crabs at Lucky Seafood on 12th @ 12th. The tank was already low at noon. But I got 3 that were over 2 # and one that was a tad smaller. So I was happy.
All were amazingly sweet -- thanks to Melanie's urging, I finally steamed instead of boiling. The difference in flavor was extraordinary. Thanks, MW!
1. re: escargot3
Good on you for giving it a try! Here are the instructions for steaming, hard to believe I've been linking this every year for more than 12 seasons,
Now you understand why I flinch when I hear people say they have to heavily salt and add seasonings to the boiling water for Dungeness to have any flavor. If anything, a steamed crab is a tad too salty sometimes from the natural flavor that doesn't get leached out from boiling.
2. $4.99 @ Sun Fat, live looked like a good selection around noon.
1. I stood behind a lady at the checkout @ Ranch 99 in Daly City. She bought about 6 of them @ "$5.00/lb". They look like they were about 2 lbs each.
1. Went to HMB. Ate a crab there. Going word coming off the dock was overheard at $7/lb, but did not go down myself to check.
Any comments on where serves a simple cracked cleaned steamed best? Is there any difference?
I ended up at Princeton Seafood, paid about $22 for a pretty danged big crab, and it was SWEEEEEET.
1. $4.99 / lb at the Richmond 99 Ranch ..... they have 3 tanks brimming with crab. do all the 99 Ranch stores tend to have the same price ?
1 Reply
1. re: gordon wing
$4.99 yesterday (12/15) at Richmond R99. They had a lot BUT, out of the 20 we got probably half were not lively, some barely hanging on. I think that can be a problem with the huge tanks, it's hard to keep on top of the sea life. Mostly 2 lbers however. In the future I think I will only buy at R99 if I have no other options (hard to source crab on Sundays). Last week I bought some at Tokyo Fish Market which were much better for 5.99/lb (same price as Ranch 99 on Monday, 12/9). Big 2+ lb lively crabs and very delicious!
2. Just got some for tonight in Sunnyvale; $3.99/lb limit of 5 crabs at King's Seafood Center
425 E El Camino Real
Sunnyvale, CA 94087
1. Yayyy!
1. Didn't buy one, but wanted to report that live crabs were $4.99/lb and dead ones, $2.99/lb at New Lien Hing on Clement St. today.
1. Costco near SFO has cooked crab for $4.99/lb. Each package has 2 crabs.
8 Replies
1. re: baron45
I've been curious about those Costco crabs up here in Reno. They always say "previously frozen." Do they say that in SF? And previously frozen doesn't sound real appetizing.
1. re: c oliver
They had both fresh & previously frozen at this location.....however, the frozen ones were actually more expensive at $6.99/lb.
1. re: baron45
Anyone have an opinion about what that's all about. I've never bought any because of the "previously frozen" label.
1. re: c oliver
Actually previously frozen is often desirable because it is flash frozen at sea...Crab that is still alive ends up being stressed and the meat can taste off.
Im not suggesting ANY frozen is always better, it all lies in the skill of the processor
A similar thing is the case for fish, fresh fish out of the water should sit (properly cared for) for several days before cooking. Better fish markets keep tabs on this to make sure its not "too fresh". The reason is you want the fish to go through rigor mortis to add flavor an texture
1. re: jpaschel
Live crab the day it was pulled from the ocean is better than any frozen crab. After that, it all depends.
1. re: Robert Lauriston
That had always been my thought, RL. But I do wonder if "fresh" at Costco in Reno is better than "previously frozen." For that reason I've not bought either and wait til we're in the Bay Area.
1. re: c oliver
If it's not alive, it's not fresh.
1. re: Robert Lauriston
Well, there's "cooked when fresh" -- presumably you eat your crab cooked, and therefore not alive and not fresh by your definition.
2. Woodhouse is offering 1/2 for $12 and a whole for $23 this week. I got it with garlic and white wine and then regretted I hadn't stuck to cold with cocktail sauce.
I asked how big they were and he said: a whole crab. I thought they were big, but someone else can estimate for me. I had two big meals from one whole.
I noticed cooked crabs were $4.99 at Potrero Safeway but didn't get one.
13 Replies
1. re: Windy
I just had dinner at Woodhouse tonight, (on Fillmore) had to start with their hot, delicious clam chowder. The deal going on now lasts thru next Wed. Nov 27. It's only $16 for a whole steamed crab, melted butter, small thing of cubed potatoes and cooked greens, garlic toast. For $5 more you can get either cup of chowder or what they call louie salad .. no shrimp or crab on it, just crispy iceberg, cherry tomatoes, cubed beets, louie dressing.
My friend and I had to share some fried clams because they are perfect there and we were so full. I could only eat half a crab and they wrapped up the other half for him to take home.
It's a fantastic deal .. they don't close between lunch and dinner and the deal is from lunch thru dinner. No reservations.
1. re: walker
That's a much better deal than what they had in the Castro/Upper Market! (I've always thought Fillmore was better as a restaurant, Castro as a raw bar.)
1. re: walker
Here's the thread with reports on this deal at Woodhouse,
1. re: Melanie Wong
Yeah, the $16 deal applies at the Market Street location too, in case there's any confusion. Walked by last night and the place was full, but not overflowing. I'm going to have to go back this weekend.
1. re: Frosty Melon
Any recommendations on where to park on either of these locations?
1. re: Mul
Parking around the Market Street location isn't difficult during the day. Harder at night.
1. re: Mul
I think Market is worse and I just like the Fillmore place better; I had to park 5 1/2 blocks away at Post/Scott .. there's often so much traffic on Fillmore that it's difficult to tie up traffic to park there. That area of Post St at night is pretty easy.
2. re: walker
Update on the Woodhouse deal: Yesterday (Sunday) the price was up to $18.
3. re: Windy
We purchased cooked crabs at the Menlo Park Safeway today for $4.99 (with the Safeway club card). Yesterday, crab was $6.99 at the Whole Foods in Redwood City.
Just ate the crab and it was soooo good. Very fresh, and so succulent. It was just the right amount of saltiness (from the boiling liquid, and not the sea, I think?). The first crab of the season is always such a treat!
1. re: goodeatsgal
I was at Safeway today picking up some things and decided to give their 4.99 crab a try. They were small, the one I got was just over 1 lb., not a lot of meat and kind of mushy.
I will look elsewhere for some better ones this weekend.
1. re: pamf
I wonder if it depends on the Safeway you went to. We got 2 crabs and each was almost 2 pounds. The meat was not mushy at all.
1. re: goodeatsgal
Yes, it does probably depend on the store. I don't expect much from my local store for seafood, or other fresh items for that matter.
But they had a big case of it and I thought I would take a $6 gamble.
As I said there are other options.
Glad you enjoyed yours.
2. re: goodeatsgal
Dungeness crabs don't need additional salt. They're perfect when steamed.
2. Lucky Seafood, 8th St. Chinatown (oaktown), with two full tanks the large today were 4.39 # (my purchase was 2.5#), the medium 3.99.
crabs were available early enough this season that they overlap the last of the local tomatoes, so we're having it with a light white wine and fresh tomato sauce.
1. anyone see/ buy in San Jose or surrounding South Bay communities?
1 Reply
1. re: rhonegal63
Bought one this weekend at the Nob HIll in Mountain View - $5.99 for 1#+ crab. I'm sure the Ranch 99 and Lion have them as well.
2. I just paid 11.00 a pound in Naperville, Illinois. Ouch
2 Replies
1. re: JayB12
At least you found Dungeness in Naperville. In my many years in that area, never saw them.
1. re: wally
You can buy them at "Super H Mart". You can Goggle it. It's right off Ogden Ave.
2. Sunset Super (Irving St in San Francisco)
$3.99/lb for small crabs (<2 lbs), potential for missing legs. Mine had all legs and was 1.7 lbs.
$4.99/lb for larger crabs
1. Ranch 99 in El Cerrito had many tanks full of lively, kicking crabs for $5.99/lb. I asked for 2 large, came out to 5lbs.
3 Replies
1. re: bobabear
Will Ranch 99 cut it up into segments for their customers?
1. re: free sample addict aka Tracy L
Yup, the options I overheard while in line were clean and various ways to cut it up.
1. re: bobabear
Awesome, I have been wanting to make chili or garlic crab. Thanks
2. $4.99 lb. fresh/cooked at Costco San Leandro today.
2 Replies
1. re: jillyju
And so disappointing. Mild flavor but the mushiness made them inedible. I specifically asked if the crabs had been previously frozen and was that they were not. I'm annoyed enough that I'm thinking of requesting a refund.
1. re: jillyju
Unless a place has a tank with live crabs and is cooking them while you watch, "fresh cooked" seems like false advertising.
2. We bought a Dungeness crab advertised as "fresh" in Stockton today at Safeway Country Club. $4.99 and was awful. No flavor, mushy and tasted previously frozen.
2 Replies
1. re: CeePrompt
These reports are saddening because the actual fresh stuff is so good. Dispiriting that ANY of these crabs are mushy seemingly-frozen inedibility.
1. re: CeePrompt
I looked around online and there is an Asian market that sells live Dungeness and also will steam it for the customer. Lions Supermarket 7924 N El Dorado. I am heading there this week end to check out the crab. Will post IF I survive the neighborhood:)
2. I bought some yesterday for $4.39 lbs. at Me Kong Supermarket in Milpitas.
1. Picked up 10 crab this afternoon from Clipper II @ Moss Landing Harbor. $6/lb for crabs that avg 2 lb. Captain says fishing is slow. Gardena (the closer in boat with the line of people) also selling off the boat for $6.75/lb. Seafood boil tomorrow.
7 Replies
1. re: Bleacher Dave
Does anyone have a more recent price for the crabs off of the boat?
1. re: rubadubgdub
$6 per lb yesterday in Half Moon Bay
1. re: rubadubgdub
Get the Fishline app for iOS or Android. It's crowdsourced and relatively up to date. Last I checked it was $6/lb, pretty much the same as every day this season except for the opening weekend.
1. re: dpifko
Thanks. Dang, that's pricey for the boats. I can't remember it ever being that high.
1. re: rubadubgdub
I agree. I like the people out there, and I like buying directly from them, but it could have a long term impact on their ability to sell out if they leave a lasting impression in customers' minds that HMB is more expensive than the local supermarket despite not having to pay for distribution and retail markup.
I'd like for this message to get to the fishing boats as a constructive comment, but don't have the channels to do so.
1. re: dpifko
I have to agree. I've bought from the boats many, many times in past years, always when I want 12 or more crabs. I've been waiting for a better price but it seems as if they are trying out a new price point this year. $6 is same price as what I can get at a very good fish market up here so there's no reason for me to travel.
1. re: dpifko
Yes, very interesting. I think word has gotten out that it's a fun afternoon in the weekend, so why should they drop prices? I did go out on the first weekend just for the fun of it, but certainly haven't been back at that price.
2. Cooke's Seafood in MP, day before thanksgiving: $8.95/lb (!)
but the crab was excellently sweet
1. Let me know! I know that market! Thx
1. $5.69/lb at the 99Ranch in DC.
1. Commercial crab season opens north of Mendocino tomorrow, so that should increase supply.
1. Lucky Seafood - 376 8th Street, Oakland Chinatown $4.69/lb Large size. I bought 3 live on 11/30, avg weight 2.5# each! Cooked up Singapore Chili Style.... GF and I pigged happily on sweet, tender and fresh crab that night and her mom and nieces got the leftovers and raved! Best fresh Dungies in years!
4 Replies
1. re: MicVelo
The smaller sized ones were also going for $3.99 /#.
1. re: MicVelo
Follow up 12/5/13 - Lucky Seafood - crab price down to $4.39/lb for large size (2.0+ lb) BUT.... weather conditions are preventing pots from being pulled up so stock is low (less than half tank whereas a few days ago, had two FULL tanks) and undetermined next shipment in will be higher priced.
Also, Ranch 99 - El Cerrito $5.99/lb - they had pretty good sized ones.
1. re: MicVelo
Anyone seen the supply at Lucky Seafood recently? planning to go Christmas eve...
1. re: sfeater
I was by the other day for other fish, under 2lb was $4.39/lb, over 2lbs (or larger) was $4.69/lb.
I think that's going to be the price this season given the new rules (fewer pots) but the season should also be longer.
2. The crabbers up north will be holding out for higher prices:
1. $4.99 today at Country Square Market in Vacaville. Looking for Melanie's crab steaming thread.
This will work
1. New May Wah had three tanks of crabs 2 days ago, $4.50/$4.99/$5.99. I got a 2.5 lber from the $5.99 tank. Very tasty.
1 Reply
1. re: DezzerSF
2. Saw the post about New May Wah... any other suggestions in SF city proper would be appreciated.
1 Reply
1. re: sfchris
2. $5.49 at country square in Vacaville today. That's a lot in these parts....but I bought 5 crabs, 11.8 pounds.
1. $4.99 a lb at Costco today
1 Reply
1. re: RBCal
Costco doesn't sell them in the tanks though, right? They're already cooked?
2. Richmond 99 Ranch: $5.99/lb. for 2+ lb. live crabs - full tanks this a.m. & a line of buyers
1. Cooked Dungeness Crab at Raley's/Nob Hill at 3.99/lb. Sale ends Tues next week.
Granted the critters were not alive and kicking, but they were not bad at all! Sure beats the hour long drive to R99!
1. $5.99/lb live at the 99Ranch in Daly City. Tanks were well-stocked.
1. Prevailing price on Stockton St in SF Chinatown yesterday for live crabs was $4.99/lb.
1. $6.99/lb cooked at Costco SF yesterday.
4 Replies
1. re: DezzerSF
I was at Costco in San Bruno a week ago, and their cooked Dungeness crabs had the label saying they were previously frozen. But why?!
1. re: vincentlo
I spoke with one commercial crabber who told me that live crab sometimes comes into wholesalers in such huge batches that there is not enough retail demand for them. Cost to keep them live is also a factor, as well as the limited time they can be live. So they are frozen and sold later in the season when there are fewer live crabs available.
1. re: baron45
The live crab market is only a tiny fraction of total Dungeness sales though I've heard that it has been growing in recent years.
2. re: vincentlo
A lot of big commercial operations freeze their crab right after it's caught and sell it year-round.
2. $6.99/lb at Lucky Seafood in Oakland.
1. Does anyone know current New May Wah live crab prices? They wouldn't quote the price over the phone. THX!
1. $6.99 per pound at Santa Rosa Seafood on Saturday. http://www.santarosaseafood.com/
I almost had a heart attack when I walked in that morning seeing the signs that there was no crab and no more orders being taken due to low catch rates in Bodega Bay. Luckily, I had reserved mine on Thursday and got my order. Not sure of the exact weights, as my other purchases were all added together in the total, but one was definitely 2+ lbs. and the other two might have been a little under. They were all super lively and we couldn't believe the amount of fat that came out of those shells.
I made the finest cioppino in a lifetime of cooking Dungeness with those babies. I had a 1/2 cup of softened Clover organic salted butter ready to make a compound butter. Unbelievably after adding the crab fat/crab mustard from this trio, I had 3+ cups worth for the dinner guests to enrich the cioppino, slather on garlic bread, eat with a spoon, etc. Some of my friends had never touched crab fat before, and this was a life-altering taste sensation for them. I had thought this would be butter flavored with crab fat, and instead it turned out to be copious amount of crab fat bound together with a little butter.
1. Prices jumped to $7.99/lb live at the 99Ranch in Daly City.
2 Replies
1. re: baron45
Yup, and I had to eat the increase today to the tune of 5 crabs. Wonder if it was just a temporary jump to account for extra Super Bowl demand.
1. re: bigwheel042
Or maybe the weather kept boats from going out.
2. As a crab fisherman I just sold to local processor in Westport, WA whole live dungeness at $5.50/lb. My understanding is those crab are being flown live to China via Vancouver, BC. It is a very low production year for Washington State coastal dungeness fishing. My friends fishing in CA and OR are having low catch rates also.
2 Replies
1. re: wolverinefish
Aw, man. (sad face).
1. re: wolverinefish
I want those crab, too. Can you contact me on [email protected]. thx. Lia
2. Prices up to $8.99/lb today at the Daly City 99R.
4 Replies
1. re: baron45
Has the California season ended?
I was told it has.
1. re: Agrippa
Not sure. I've been told the season runs until June.
Prices were $7.69 two days ago at San Pablo Supermarket in Richmond/San Pablo.
1. re: Agrippa
Depends on what you mean by season. It will be legal to fish for Dungeness for a few more months. However, supply was low this year and many local boats have stopped going out, effectively ending the "season".
1. re: Melanie Wong
Got it, that clarifies what a seafood monger told me.
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HOME > Chowhound > Cookware >
Why won't Bosch sell the MUM5 Styline Mixer without its attachments?
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I'm looking to buy the Bosch compact mixer, one of the MUM5 styline series, but everywhere I go to buy it, it comes with all kinds of attachments that I don't want (all I want is the mixer). I'm assuming this also hikes the price up, which I'm not happy about. However, the other Bosch compacts are sold alone with the attachments sold separately. It's a long shot, but can anyone explain this frustrating phenomenon?
Thanks :)
1. Click to Upload a photo (10 MB limit)
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1. I'm looking for the same but with all the accessories and can't find it anywhere in the US. Where did you see it listed?
I know the MUM 8 comes w/o any extras.
3 Replies
1. re: Ruthiecat
Hey Ruthiecat-
I live in South Africa! So I'm not sure about the U.S. market, but it seems to be that the U.S. never gets a lot of European electrical appliances because they're made to be powered with a 220v plug, while U.S. plugs are 120v. Maybe the Styline is particularly powerful and can't be powered with a 120v...? Or maybe they just haven't engineered Stylines so they fit 120v yet :/
1. re: spriley1
Guess you are right. But I saw a documentary about bringing European electric kitchen appliances to the US. They said that because of all the lawsuits here a lot of appliances would have to be changed to make them guess you could call it 'foolproof', like making the feeding tube on a processor small enough that you can't stick your hand in it. :-)
1. re: Ruthiecat
Sigh. That's so frustrating!! I'm sorry but if you can't figure out that you shouldn't stick your hand into a running food processor bowl, there's no hope for you.
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Sunday, 9 August 2009
Was speaking the other night to Mikey, the deputy editor of Men’s Health (thanks JT for the introduction) and he said something that relieved me… a lot: there’s a dearth of specialist health journalists with the right contacts, going to the right conferences, and all that jazz. Fitness and nutrition journos, sorted; health hacks – harder to find. They almost-but-not-quite poached one off a broadsheet. While this is not good news for Mikey, it is music to my nascent science journalist ears.
Especially because I have been working on an assignment for the course which involved answering the question: “What are the challenges facing science journalism?” Where do I even start?
Easy: scepticism. Ben Goldacre graciously obliged over email with a polemic viewpoint – Thanks! Self-sacrificing of him, who relies on science journalist blunders for 90% of his material, to posit that we should just get rid of science reporters all together:
We need fewer science writers, and more editors. Radio 4 is the best place for interesting, challenging popular science, and there are some fascinating structural issues here. 70% of the words in a Radio 4 documentary come directly from the mouth of the scientist who has done the work. This makes for better clarity, better diversions, better nuancing, greater accuracy, and so on.
You're in very big trouble, when academics and other bloggers can do it better themselves. I think the mainstream has talked itself out of a role in popular science, except for wacky dumbed down stories about miracle vegetables. It won't be missed.
I have a few of problems with this (except what he says on science blogging, on which more later). You might say that’s because I am about to join the ranks of evil science journalists (shudder, shudder, gnash teeth) myself, but it’s not only that. Here’s why:
Editors sometimes make bad decisions too. Think MMR. Whose choice was it to commission generalist and lifestyle journalists to write about this complex and incendiary issue?
Also see this shocking example of hypocritical editorial stances from the Mail. [VIA] In Britain the Daily Mail ran a series of anti-vaccine stories while in Ireland their campaign urged: “Roll out the Vaccine now”. Which stance reflects the bulk of scientific evidence? Do the editors care as long as they stir up a bit of controversy and sell some papers?
Goldacre uses the example of Radio 4 as what he sees as best practice science editing. The BBC, while they’re not disinterested in ratings, are relatively freer to act out of public service, whereas the news factory clearly has to sell, sell, sell. I don’t know how he proposes to change this, beyond, like a white knight coming down from the clouds riding a unicorn, buying up the MSM and turning it back to it’s less commercialised roots.
Also, there is another issue at work here, and it’s not purely semantics. Editors and producers are, essentially journalists. They package the words of the scientists into tiny soundbitey portions. I chatted to Alok Jha, the Guardian’s science correspondent who makes the Guardian’s Science Weekly podcasts. He says: “Someone will have spoken for half an hour and only 90 seconds gets used in the final programme. Their words are juxtaposed against other people's, advancing a wider argument that they themselves may not be making.”
Who has the control? Ultimately, not the scientists, still the journalists, so it’s not really the panacea that Goldacre suggests.
Besides which, historically, publicity-shy or perhaps slightly arrogant scientists may have impeded the progression of science. For example, back in the day there was a bloke called Slipher that worked as an astronomer and made loads of important discoveries. But it was left to others, including Hubble, about 15 years later, to shout about things like ‘the universe is expanding’. Why? Because, as Michael Brooks writes in his book 13 Things that don’t Make Sense: “Slipher had a habit of not really communicating his discoveries”. It follows that specialist communicators are a boon, to tell the public what they deserve to know about taxpayer-funded research.
Sometimes what you need is a straight report of what’s happened and then you can discuss it after that.” Says Jha, “Frankly, if we didn’t exist, neither would the blogs, because they wouldn’t have anything to complain about or link to.”
Jha tells me he’s had this debate in the office before with (probably) Goldacre. He says scientists that wanted to communicate their stories would end up basically being reporters, because that's the way the industry works: “It’s no accident that newsrooms work in the way that they do, however messy they are… this is the best way that you get news into newspapers.” I don’t know about this. But it would be an interesting experiment to get a scientist to work in a newsroom and give feedback on their experiences. Any volunteers?
“Get rid of a whole swathe of journalists?” Steve Connor, the Indy’s science ed, tells me, “We need more good science journalists, not less.” He explains that not many people have time or inclinations to pore over hundreds of science papers in journals in the same way journalists do. (Looking forward to it, already.)
Chomping at the bit to find out more about the (crisis?) state of science journalism, I asked my interviewees three questions (or rather more if you’re poor Alok Jha who I had on the phone for almost 25 minutes). These were:
• Is science journalism a danger to public health (Goldacre thinks it is)?
• Can humanities graduates write good science journalism (Goldacre thinks major prob with media is humanities grads “wearing ignorance like a badge of honour” – from Bad Science)?
• What’s the future of science journalism? (Please let there be one).
As well as Jha and Connor I also spoke to and Rowan Hooper, the news editor of the New Scientist, and even Nick Davies. I’ll blog my scintillating findings in instalments this week. Will tweet as I publish.
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Who the hell is Kony?
Who the hell is Kony?
Joseph Kony is not famous yet...
With rumours flying across the internet about the Apple Media Event taking place in less than 2 hours from now, there is something zooming through cyberspace at an even greater velocity and surely for a much worthier cause than the launch of a thousand iPad 3's.
With almost 4 million global views in one day since its posting by Invisible Children on 5th March, YouTube video KONY 2012 is Jason Russel's benevolent social media campaign executed with the sheer persistance and mastermind intelligence to save the people of Uganda from the ruthless leader of the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA) who have abducted more than 30,000 children from their families, forcing young boys to murder their parents and become child soldiers and the girls to work as sex slaves.
But, wait now, wind forward another 24 hours and things, as they say, aren't always as they seem.
While initially thought to be one of the good'uns, the KONY 2012 campaign is not looking so rosey anymore. With questionable status among their financial accountability, rumours over whether Kony is even still active and plenty of political war debating for which we, as a non-political movies, gaming and tech website, aren't the people to comment on. So, as such, even though Invisible children did manage to meet their goal of making Kony famous we leave it up to you to decide whether it's a worthy cause or not. We just suggest you read a few other articles around the subject and form your own opinion before donating any money.
In conclusion, we don't know what the hell to think anymore! But the one thing we do know is that it's a damn impressive example of a viral video, enough to rival and beat trending around Apple's super secretive Media Event which took place last night at 6pm (10am in San Francisco). Oh right, you forgot about that didn't you? What's that you say, "Enough with the politics ClickOnline! Show me the iPad 3 dammit!"
Well then, here you go...
For more techey delights, check out Peter's article HERE on the facts about the iPad 3.
Who the hell is Kony? on ClickOnline.com
About this author
Staff Reporter
Recent Articles by this author
20 December, 2012
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17 December, 2012
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69459
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Label: jabber
Content with label jabber in TeamCity 6.0.x Documentation (See content from all spaces)
Related Labels: e-mail, notifier, email, smtp, gmail, google, guest, user, server, url, mail, admin, gtalk, authentication, configuration, settings, talk
Page: Jabber Notifier Tab
tab allows you view and edit the current settings of the TeamCity Jabber notifier. Option Description \\ Jabber server \\ Specify the name of the Jabber server, through which TeamCity sends messages. \\ Server port \\ Specify the port number. \\ Server user ...
Other labels: notifier, server, configuration, settings
Page: Server Configuration
Administration > Server Configuration Server Configuration Page General Tab Option Description \\ TeamCity Configuration \\ Data directory A readonly field that displays the default directory where TeamCity will save data and settings information. Please refer to TeamCity Data Directory ...
Other labels: server, configuration, guest, user, notifier, e-mail, url, authentication
Page: Setting up Google Mail and Google Talk as Notification Servers
section covers how to set up the Google Mail and Google Talk as notification servers when configuring the TeamCity server. Google Mail On the Administration Server Configuration EMail Notifier tab set the options as described below: Property Value SMTP ...
Other labels: gmail, server, google, mail, smtp, gtalk, talk
Page: TeamCity Configuration and Maintenance
Server configuration is only available to the System Administrators Role and Permission#enterpriseSysAdmin. To edit the server configuration: # In the Administration Administrationpage, click the Edit Server Configuration link. # In the Edit Server Configuration page Server Configuration, you can: # View <TeamCity data ...
Other labels: server, admin, configuration, e-mail, authentication
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Tuesday, July 28, 2009
My Cousin Kim's Fajita Seasoning
I was talking to my friend Cindy this morning, and she mentioned she had read on here about my cousin's fajita seasoning mix and wondered if I could send her the recipe. Then someone left me a comment about wanting to find a taco mix that didn't have MSG. So I assumed since two people were interested, that must naturally mean that EVERYONE would like to see this recipe. I haven't used it, but my aunt gave it rave reviews, and she's a pretty picky eater. So I figure if she liked it, it must be good!
My Cousin Kim's Fajita Seasoning
3 Tbsp. cornstarch
2 Tbsp. chili powder
1 Tbsp. salt
1 Tbsp. paprika
1 Tbsp. sugar
2-1/2 tsp. crushed chicken bouillon cube
1-1/2 tsp. onion powder
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 tsp. cumin
Note from Kim: I separated it into 3 zip lock baggies and kept it in the freezer until ready to use (not sure why I put it in the freezer, but it seemed to work).
There you have it! Sounds super easy and tasty. I'll have to make it sometime soon!
1 comment:
Scrapingirl said...
Thank you!! I'll be picking up the ingredients this week.
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A more serious look at video games
Posts tagged architecture
7 notes
Architecture in The Witness
It seems Jonathan Blow is collaborating with architecture firms in designing and laying out structures in The Witness’s game world. This is a good read regardless if you care about the game. Sounds like he is taking environmentally embedded narrative seriously and to the extreme.
The island reminds me a lot of Lost’s island, and how the successive inhabitants—through time—created, destroyed and modified portions of it to suit their needs and reflect their thinking. Now, if Blow can somehow make this consciously embedded narrative more than a fancy ingredient to spice up the experience—make it consistent and mesh with the other elements and themes of the game—then he will have truly achieved something here.
Filed under narrative architecture game design game development the witness jonathan blow lost
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69482
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package Dancer2::Template::Tiny; # ABSTRACT: Template::Tiny engine for Dancer2 $Dancer2::Template::Tiny::VERSION = '0.143000'; use Moo; use Carp qw/croak/; use Dancer2::Core::Types; use Dancer2::Template::Implementation::ForkedTiny; use Dancer2::FileUtils 'read_file_content'; with 'Dancer2::Core::Role::Template'; has '+engine' => ( isa => InstanceOf ['Dancer2::Template::Implementation::ForkedTiny'] ); sub _build_engine { Dancer2::Template::Implementation::ForkedTiny->new( %{ $_[0]->config } ); } sub render { my ( $self, $template, $tokens ) = @_; ( ref $template || -f $template ) or croak "$template is not a regular file or reference"; my $template_data = ref $template ? ${$template} : read_file_content($template); my $content; $self->engine->process( \$template_data, $tokens, \$content, ) or die "Could not process template file '$template'"; return $content; } 1; __END__ =pod =head1 NAME Dancer2::Template::Tiny - Template::Tiny engine for Dancer2 =head1 VERSION version 0.143000 =head1 SYNOPSIS This template engine allows you to use L in L. L is an implementation of a subset of L (the major parts) which takes much less memory and is faster. If you're only using the main functions of Template::Toolkit, you could use Template::Tiny. You can also seamlessly move back to Template::Toolkit whenever you want. However, Dancer2 uses a modified version of L, which is L. It adds 2 features : =over =item * opening and closing tag are now configurable =item * CodeRefs are evaluated and their results is inserted in the result. =back You can read more on L. To use this engine, all you need to configure in your L's C: template: "tiny" Of course, you can also set this B working using C: # code code code set template => 'tiny'; Since L has internal support for a wrapper-like option with the C configuration option, you can have a L-like WRAPPER even though L doesn't really support it. =head1 METHODS =head2 render($template, \%tokens) Renders the template. The first arg is a filename for the template file or a reference to a string that contains the template. The second arg is a hashref for the tokens that you wish to pass to L for rendering. =head1 SEE ALSO L, L, L, L. =head1 AUTHOR Dancer Core Developers =head1 COPYRIGHT AND LICENSE This software is copyright (c) 2014 by Alexis Sukrieh. This is free software; you can redistribute it and/or modify it under the same terms as the Perl 5 programming language system itself. =cut
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1. Technology
Programming Challenge 25a - Fit tetris shapes in a Box
Tetris Shapes
This challenge is about taking a file of Tetris shapes and fitting them into a box. Ie it's just like playing the game Tetris. You are provided with a text file of shapes in one of 4 rotations. You must write a program that reads the input file and places each piece in the box at the bottom.
The game
You can read more about Tetris in this Wikipedia article. The 7 pieces (shown) are referred to by their letter I, J, L, O, S, T and Z. In the input file there is one piece per line starting with an identification letter, then the piece and it is followed by optional digit 1,2 or 3. This indicates it is rotated clockwise by 90 degrees, once, twice or three times. I can only be rotated once, O never at all, S and Z by 1 or 2, and J, L and Z by 1-3.
The identifying letters are a-Z,A-Z and the digits 1-4. There are 56 pieces, 8 of each letter. The order of the pieces is random.
aI unrotated I piece ****
bL3 Rotated 3 **
The box This is 15 x 15 box with the top row being numbered 0-14, the 2nd row 15-29 etc and the last row 210-224. In theory as each piece occupies 4 squares and there are 56 pieces (X 4 = 224) so all should fit in the 225 square grid.
Your Entry
Download the input file.
Your program must fit all the pieces into the 15 x 15 grid or fill as many rows as it can. Unlike the Tetris game where pieces are dropped in, you are free to place pieces anywhere, and can rotate them. You get 1 point for each solid line.
If however you can fill the grid by dropping them in you get 2 points per line.
The Output
Output a text file showing the 15 x 15 grid with the pieces identifying characters. This is the top corner of one possible grid
Z y y 1 1 1 1.
Z X y y H P...
Z X X H H P...
Z X S S H P...
K K S U U U...
K K S L L L...
If you have placed the pieces there then you should also output a list of placed pieces. This should be one line saying Placed followed by 56 lines in the following format:
Identifying letter Location Number(0-224) (Optional) Orientation(1-3)
Z 0 - Piece Z at location 0 with no orientation
K 60 - Piece K at location 60 with no orientation.
B 1
H 18 3 Piece H at location 18 (See below) orientation 3.
Note. The location is the top left square of a piece even if that piece in an orientation has no part there. Consider a T piece in orientation 0. There is no * in the top left corner.
Dropped Pieces
As with placed pieces, output the grid. The text file should also have one line saying Dropped followed by 56 lines the same as the Placed version except the location is just 0-14. Also the order of dropped pieces must be the order your program dropped them. so when I run a check program it will put the pieces in the right place and fill the grid.
Tie Breaker
to avoid the situation that two or more entrees have the same top score, generate the solution in a loop a few hundred or thousand times so that it takes roughly under 5 sec total time and write out the average time for solving it once. Something like
Time to solve (once): 0.0476 seconds.
This is the code that you can use for timing.
The results
Thank you to all who entered this which was on reflection quite a complicated programming challenge.
Congrats to Zufolek with a very fast half second result. Francis Rammeloo submitted both a console and a a colorful graphical version that actually showed it solving the solution so gets a mention for a great entry. There was a 3rd entry but I never managed to build it.
1. Zufolek (USA) - C Time = 0.517974
2. Francis Rammeloo - C++ Time = Unknown
Please submit your source code and the output file to the [email protected]?subject=Programming Challenge 25a email address with the subject line Programming Challenge 25a.
It must compile with Open Watcom, Microsoft Visual C++ 2005/2008 Express Edition/Microsoft Visual Studio 2003/2005/2008 or Borland Turbo C++ Explorer, Microsoft Visual C# 2005/2008 Express Edition or GCC/G++. If it doesn't compile, it can't be run so is automatically disqualified
Please include your name, age (optional), blog/website url (optional) and country. Your email address will not be kept, used or displayed except to acknowledge your challenge entry. You can submit as many entries as you like before the deadline which is July 31 2009.
The top ten entries will be listed, judged purely on points. A condition of entry is that you allow your source code to be published on this website, with full credits to you as the author.
Have fun!
More Programming Challenges
1. About.com
2. Technology
3. C / C++ / C#
4. Programming Challenge List
5. Programming Challenge 25a - Fit Tetris Shapes in a box - Deadline July 31 2009
©2014 About.com. All rights reserved.
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1 reputation
bio website khojy.com
location New Delhi, India
age 24
visits member for 2 years, 6 months
seen Jan 22 '12 at 18:35
I am a member of the Homo Sapiens species on earth and genuinely believe in helping fellow Homo Sapiens. In the process I question my existence and grow myself.
Software Engineer for fun and profit.
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Lecture 7: The Invisible Web and Specialized Search Engines
Required reading
"Accessibility of information on the Web" by Steve Lawrence and C. Lee Giles, Nature vol.400, July 8, 1999, pp. 107-109. (class handout) Invisible Web: Information that can be read with a web browser, but will not be found by a standard crawler for various reasons.
Specialized Search Engines
Advantages to specialized seach engine derive from Advantages include:
Used-book sites send updates (? or maybe entire database?) to search engine; engine collates, orders by price, presents uniform interface.
Collects CS research papers; structures by citation.
Single document processing
Converts Postscript, PDF to plain text. Translate to various formats
Extracts index terms.
Identifies bibliography and references.
Identifies citations in text.
Locate author home pages.
Cross-document processing
Identify common references to external document (i.e. not online)
Textual similarity between documents.
Co-citation similariy between documents.
Query answer
Query results
Quotation from document with snippet.
Order by decreasing number of citations.
Finding specialized search engine
1. Search (in Google etc.) under "X search" or (less successful) "X database". X is often a supercategory of what you're actually looking for.
2. Search engine for search engines: e,g, www.invisibleweb.com, and BrightPlanet.com 3. List of 31 search engines for search engines. Guides to Specialized Search Engines (with Descriptions)
Automatic search engine selection
SavvySearch by Daniel Dreilinger and Adele Howe. Index search engine by search term. Do search on set of search engines. Add points for finding a page that user clicks on. Deduct points for not finding any pages.
Experiment: January 1996
20 search engines
46,568 word stems
211,887 incoming queries
1,091,630 outgoing queries
437,243 visit events
154,962 no result events
Crawling the Hidden Web
(Sriram Raghavan, Hector Garcia-Molina)
Task-specific, human assisted.
2 parts: Resource discovery -- not dealt with here.
Content extraction.
Sample tasks
"Articles relating to semiconductor industry in the last ten years" "Information about movies by Oscar-winning directors in the last 30 years"
HiWE: Hidden Web Exposer
Analyze form into form elements.
Form element = type, label, domain
Response analyzer saves responses (excluding failures), adjusts weights on relation of value for label. (If value gives failure, reduce its value)
Evaluation metrics Metric 1: number of successful submissions (answer gotten) / number of total submissions.
Metric 2: number of semantically correct submissions (meaningful query in form) / number of total submission. Requires manual evaluation.
Categorization of Web
"Accessibility of information on the Web" by Steve Lawrence and C. Lee Giles. (Ironically enough, not accessible on the Web).
Characterizes "publically indexable web" (i.e. Web data findable with simple path URL) as of February 1999.
Number of web servers: 2.8 million.
Experimental technique: Generate random IP addresses, find the occupied fraction of IP space (= 2564), exclude bogus addresses and repetitions (= 82.5% of IP addresses).
Average number of indexable web pages per server: 289.
Experimental technique: Crawl all pages on first 2500 servers.
Mean size of page: 18.7 Kbytes (median: 3.9)
Mean textual content (after remobing HTML, white space): 7.3 KBytes (median 0.98 KBytes)
62 images per server, avg 15.2 Kbytes per image.
Total on web: (Multiply).
800 million pages, 15 Tbytes, 6 Tbytes text, 180 million images, 3 Tbytes image data. May be an underestimate, because of a small number of very large servers (e.g. Geocities has 34 million pages).
Coverage of web search engines. Number of pages indexed.
Technique: Northern Light and AltaVista report (query "NOT qqqhdfwxiwngol")
Estimate for other search engines as follows: submit 1050 queries, compare number of responses, count number of documents containing all query words. Compare count to Northern Light and AltaVista, extrapolate size of index.
Combined coverage: estimated to be 42% of entire web.
Delay in indexing Submit queries every day, collect new documents, compare to date when page added or modified. Average delay: 186 days. (Ranges from 141 for Northern Light to 235 for Yahoo, 240 for Snap).
Categories of servers Commercial: 83%
Scientific/educational: 6%
Pornography: 1.5%
Government: 1%
Health: 2.8%
Personal: 2.2%
Community: 1.5%
Religion: 0.8%
Societies: 2%
(Numbers eyeballed from bar chart; aware that they don't add up.)
Categorization of Invisible Web
Note: Many of the techniques used are proprietary and not adequately described. The whole paper must be consider as an advertisement for BrightPlanet.com, and therefore should be taken with a grain of salt. Nonetheless, this is by far the deepest and most extensive analysis that I have seen.
Number of deep web sites:
Compile ten lists of deep web sites. Total: 43,348.
Automatically filter search sites. Total: 17,579 search sites
Estimating total number of deep web sites.
Technique: Overlap analysis.
Suppose A and B are randomly chosen subsets of O.
Let AB=A intersect B.
Total size of Invisible Web
There are two truly enormous Web sites:
National Climactic Data Center (NOAA) is 366 Tbytes.
NASA EOSDIS is 219 TBytes.
Sixty largest known (to the BrightPlanet folks) deep Web sites total 750 TBytes.
There may be others. An analysis of 700 randomly selected turned up 3 that weren't on the original list; if this proportion applies to the set of 200,000, there would be 840 more "really big sites". Seems unlikely.
Quality Some evidence that quality, as measured by vector model, is higher for deep sites than for standard Web sites. Not very convincing argument.
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I needed 3 more flag returns for [Persistent Defender], the last of the “be faster to click on things than your teammates” achievements for Battlemaster.
I got 8. Eight. I was on FIRE.
We went down 0-2 early on and I switched tactics from pursuit to ambush. I’d spent a long and frustrating fight against a blood DK and 2 healers (which I did well in, took out a healer and almost soloed the DK) without any real success.
So, instead of trying to stop them as they came across midfield and chasing them into their base, I would lay in wait for the EFC to pick up the flag and then nuke the hell out of them before they got away. As they approached the flag I would pop CDs and unleash a Chaos Bolt. As they ran away I would Conflag snare them and Fel Flame them down the hall.
It was just me and them, and they were focused on escape. They couldn’t kill me - I’d outlasted their EFC with healers - and I was careful to stack suns and snares and fears intermixed with nukes so that the five seconds after picking up the flag were the worst of the game.
After three, I got Persistent Defender. That was pretty damn cool.
After five, I got [Frenzied Defender] (5 caps in one game), which I’d had on my DK Cynwulf but never thought I’d get on Cynwise.
After seven, I remarked to Zable that I was way past my personal best.
At eight, I was pretty sure I needed to go have a workout after running up that score so much.
I knew I would have to change my playstyle up a bit to get these achievements, and I wish I’d had more time to experiment with different ways to do it on a warlock. I think this is probably the best way to go about defending, though - have one strong defender to counter snatchers, focus the rest on offense. If I’d done it earlier, we might have won.
Remaining Battlemaster tasks: 8 WSG wins, 25 Strand wins, 40 EotS wins. I can do this.
1. cynwise posted this
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69509
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May 3, 2006
Lovely, Who's The Father? Could It Be...Satan??
kid_from_the_omen.jpgI don't know about you, but for all my eschatological questions, I turn to the Biblical translation historians at Gawker Media's tabloid news site,
That's where we learn that some pregnant Christian ladies are worried about having their babies on June 6th, because the date, 06/06/06, is mentioned in Revelations as The Sign Of The Beast. Sploid says this is crazy superstition of course, and that there's nothing to worry about.
Because the REAL day to worry about is June 1st. Turns out the original SOTB was 616, but St. Irenaeus of France changed it in the 2nd century because he "liked the sound of '666' better." [really? six cents soixante six. OR six cents seize. I dunno, pal, sounds like half dozen of one to me...]
Of course, France and the rest of those godless Europeans are already screwed, since for them, 06/01/06 came and went four months ago. [Wow, could the anti-Christ's surrogate dad be reading this site right now? If you're suspicious, I'd love to hear from you. And that goes double for anyone who can cite chapter and verse for some helpful tips in identifying whether your newborn child is actually, you know, the spawn of Satan.]
No dads are mentioned in this story, of course, either because the presumed father of all these 6/6/6 babies, Beelzebub, didn't return Sploid's calls, or because dads know better, and are too busy worrying about the real SOTB, which involves some unholy combination of barcodes, RFID-equipped microchip implants, and the Shopper's Club card from Safeway.
Moms-to-be fear 06/06/06 babies [sploid via dt reader paul]
related: sign of the beast way of thinking [Rapture-Ready]
Revelation 13:18, NIV
But the English Standard Version has a footnote: "Some manuscripts read 616." Huh. I never fail to learn something from you, Daddytypes.
"for it is the number of a man"
No sweat if you're having a girl then. Better check that ultrasound.
Dude, our area code growing up was totally 616. Now I understand why watching people fall is so damn funny to me. Thanks for the enlightenment. Keep up the good work!
My wife and I are expecting on June 5, so I've been hoping the kid will come a day late. Maybe I should get a big cork or something so I can insure I'll have a devil baby. If it's a girl, we'll name her Lucy Fer Tobey, and if it's a boy, Bill Zebub Tobey.
Should I worry if my birthday is 06/20/66?
I am due 06/06/06, and I, for one, am totally amped about it. People keep reassuring me, "Oh, dear, they are never born on their due dates, so you'll be fine." I just smile and nod. I'm hoping and praying (haaa) that I make it til then. That would be the coolest birthday ever.
Google DT
Contact DT
greg [at] daddytypes [dot] com
Join the [eventual] Daddy Types mailing list!
copyright 2014 daddy types, llc.
no unauthorized commercial reuse.
privacy and terms of use
published using movable type
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69519
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F# Interactive (FSI)
Having provided a basic introduction to F#, a discussion over its primitive types, and an in-depth look at units of measure I thought now would be a good time to take a step back and look at one of the helpful tools used when developing F# applications – F# Interactive, or FSI. FSI is a REPL-like (read-evaluate-print loop) utility that’s especially useful for experimenting with the language.
FSI is considered REPL-like because although it fills the same role as a traditional REPL tool it actually compiles the code rather than interpreting it. This distinction is important because it impacts the tool’s behavior. Types and values are commonly redefined in REPL tools but because FSI is compiling the code into new assemblies it only offers an illusion of redefinition. Everything already defined is still available and instances defined against previous definitions aren’t affected as long as they were defined in the same session. FSI does enforce that if a type changes any new instances are created against the new definition but it’s important to be aware that those changes will not be reflected in any instances created before the change.
FSI is available as both a window within Visual Studio or as a console application. If you’re actively developing an application in Visual Studio you’ll probably find the F# Interactive window more helpful because you can select snippets of code and send them to the window for execution by pressing ALT + ENTER. The console version is especially well suited for running F# scripts (.fsx files).
You can open the F# Interactive window in Visual Studio by pressing CTRL + ALT + F or through the View/Other Windows menu.
Whether running under Visual Studio or the console, operation is the same. Expressions are entered at the prompt and terminated with double semicolons (;;). FSI then attempts compilation and, if successful, prints the result of the expression evaluation.
For every new name introduced by the input, the FSI output will include a val entry. Anything that returns a value but does not have a name are represented as “it.”
FSI Example
Example of the FSI window in Visual Studio 2010.
You can easily reset an FSI session in Visual Studio by right-clicking the window and selecting the Reset Session option.
Common FSI Directives
FSI includes some directives that aren’t available with the compiler. A few of these are especially useful for scripting.
#r References an assembly
#I Adds the path to the assembly search path list
#load Loads, compiles, and executes one or more source files
#time Toggles inclusion of performance information (real time, CPU time, garbage collection, etc…) with the output
#quit Terminates the current session
More Reading
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About Dave Fancher
Posted on November 18, 2012, in .NET, F#, Languages, Software Development and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69522
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Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Tomorrow is the Day!
Tomorrow is the 3rd International Weblogger's Day. I hope to have a worthy post for you - I've been working on something near and dear to my heart that I will share - it's a bit more serious than my usual fare, so I hope you'll be understanding.
If you haven't heard of this event you can click on the link at the end of this post and read about it (if you didn't already click on the link in the paragraph above), sign up for it and be registered as a participant.
In other news, my daughter is here! Yay! She has a number of friends that want her attention this week but we've booked a shopping extravaganza day and I'm also hoping for a lounge around in the sun like sloths afternoon as well. I got to test drive my new patio furniture on Sunday and have a nice rosy glow which should fade to a barely noticable tan later this week. Acheiving a somewhat less than glow-in-the-dark white skin tone and losing 10 lbs. are my pre-Convention goals. Thank goodness I have 71 days to go!
I hope you are all checking out the "Blogosphere Project: AWChain" blogs. The first round is at full circle (if not now, soon) and all the posts have been wonderful!
Jill said...
Just saying hi, that I'm lurking and missing but I'm also hoping that the summer will be bringing me around more. Graham Greene and The End of the Affair - a quote about how just because we don't see one another doesn't mean I don't love ya. :)
Dawno said...
Thanks, Jill! I lurk around your blog, too - not as often as I wish I could. I'll stop by soon and leave you wave and a hug!
normaltrouble said...
Thanks for the link about the int'l blog day.
Have a wonderful week with the AEL, hope you enjoy three times the EL/AEL fun time than you expect!!
I'll stop by tomorrow.
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Shadows Over Baker Street
Shadows Over Baker Street
für 11,99$
11.99 Shadows Over Baker Street
Verlag: Del Rey (30. September 2003)
Format: EPUB
Dateigröße: 516 KB
Schutz: DRM
Sprache: Englisch
Listen (1 Liste)
After Conan Doyle
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's characters, Sherlock Holmes and faithful companion Dr. Watson, have so fascinated generations of readers that they continue...
Siehe auch
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69527
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suche ein beliebiges Wort, wie blumpkin:
A viking fellow who has the infinitely useful ability to summon giant gnomes, who specialize in smushing oversized peas from outerspace. He apparently is a friend of Blode, Food, Hairy, and the Crab of Ineffable Wisdom.
Foodvik van Bloodersen summoned the giant gnome to defeat the Uber-Pea in Blode - Episode Six: Attack of the Uber-Pea!
von kaiser wilhem I 9. November 2003
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69550
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Welcome to the amiando developer zone
From Amiando Developer Wiki
(Redirected from Main Page)
Jump to: navigation, search
The amiando API is the best way to connect your website, software, applications, CRM, ERP and tracking with amiando and your events.
There are endless possibilities how to use the amiando API. Here are some examples:
Integrate ticket shops and registration forms into your website:
You do not need a programmer to do this, as it is as easy as click-click-click. Take a look at our wide range of widgets (ticket shop, registration forms, calendars, photos, and many more).
Connect your application with amiando:
Let your application connect to amiando and use data from events and participants. Take a look at the amiando Event Management API. Take a look at the amiando App Showcase to see what others are using the API for.
Synchronize your CRM or ERP with amiando:
Retrieve data from events, participants and payments to have your CRM and ERP systems synced automatically. Take a look at the amiando Event Management API.
Integrate your analytics and e-commerce tracking:
Using simple tracking pages it takes only 3 lines of code to connect your e-commerce tracking to your events. Take a look at amiando Tracking Webhooks.
These are only a few typical examples, but it does not stop here. Take a look at our API documentation overview and our app showcase to find the right API for you.
How to get started
The amiando API comes in a variety of flavours and is available free of charge. Read on to get your project started
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69551
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Forgot your password?
GNU is Not Unix
Nick Moffitt Interview 146
Posted by michael
from the give-the-monkey-another-hit dept.
Nick Moffitt Interview
Comments Filter:
• knowledgeable buyers (Score:2, Interesting)
by SuperDuG (134989) <(be) (at) (eclec.tk)> on Friday July 19, 2002 @01:49PM (#3917882) Homepage Journal
Who here doesn't know what they're buying? And if you don't know and you don't like it, you can return it to where you bought it from (most of the time). If you own something, can you destroy it? Yes. If you own something is it anyone elses responsibility to make it better or fix it when it's broke? No. This is why we have consumer awareness groups, so you know what you're actually buying. You can't buy a car and whine because it's not a convertable, but you want to easily make it a convertable.
Basically this is a whiner article if you ask me.
• Amen! (Score:3, Interesting)
by ajs (35943) <ajs@@@ajs...com> on Friday July 19, 2002 @01:55PM (#3917926) Homepage Journal
You know, I think we need to start thinking of the hackers of years gone by. This sort of clear, concrete idea of what's at stake will really help get through to the baby-boomer engineering crowd and explain, "You know that radio you took apart when you were a kid? For the next generation, it will come with an EULA and be protected from tampering by at least 4 fedral laws that carry fines and prison terms."
There is a generation out there, most of whom have no idea what this generation think, but who will feel compelled to action if they think future engineers and tinkerers will be disuaded from early experimentation.
How can we get that message out? Where do we tell that story? Certainly there are media outlets like Popular Science, Scientific American, etc.
Anyone out there a well credited sociologist and want to take on the comparison of 1950s/60s egineering boomers with the early 2000s hackers and the threats to their future that boomers never had to worry about?
• by Digitalia (127982) on Friday July 19, 2002 @01:59PM (#3917965) Homepage
I missed his point at first, as I believe you have. he does not care about the ability to destroy his property, nor does he desire the manufactures to make it easier for him to hack his property. His desire, I believe, is to protect that very right to hack, which is so quickly disappearing. Some may scoff, but the trend in software--of protecting intellectual property so greatly as to render any consumers impotent to hack--can very easily be caried over into the "physical" world. These laws, such as the DMCA, pose a serious threat to the hacking of other, non-computer items. This is the threat which hackers must take seriously.
• by bons (119581) on Friday July 19, 2002 @02:17PM (#3918094) Homepage Journal
"I want to see a future where when I buy something, I own it."
As nice and simple as this sounds, I find that I end up not really understanding it. If I buy the toaster and the alarm clock and take them both apart and put them together in a new way, I should also be able to sell my creation.
Ok. I'm fine with that. And I can see where licenses, patents, and other legal entities get in the way of this.
Hmmmm. This has just gotten a lot more complicated. Do I want other people tearing apart my work and distributing the new creations as theirs? Do I want to tear apart other people's work and distribute the new creation as mine?
I think that's a question we need to ask ourselves. Do we want everyone to have these freedoms and are we willing to accept how these freedoms can be abused by corporations and individuals?
• by nickm (1468) on Friday July 19, 2002 @02:26PM (#3918167) Homepage
Actually, no. We were, however, neighbors for at least a year and didn't even know it. I'm actually in his new home town right now, and may drop by to see him this weekend.
• by mwigmani (558450) on Friday July 19, 2002 @03:56PM (#3918804)
This? [www.sip.fi]
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69568
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verb (used with object), disengaged, disengaging.
Military. to break off action with (an enemy).
verb (used without object), disengaged, disengaging.
to become disengaged; free oneself.
disengagedness [dis-en-gey-jid-nis, -geyjd-] , noun
self-disengaging, adjective
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Cite This Source Link To disengage
World English Dictionary
disengage (ˌdɪsɪnˈɡeɪdʒ)
1. to release or become released from a connection, obligation, etc: press the clutch to disengage the gears
2. military to withdraw (forces) from close action
Collins English Dictionary - Complete & Unabridged 10th Edition
Cite This Source
Word Origin & History
c.1600 in figurative sense; 1660s in lit. sense of "detach," from dis- "do the opposite of" (see dis-) + engage (q.v.). Related: Disengaged.
Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2010 Douglas Harper
Cite This Source
Example sentences
Then pivot the hinge to disengage the roller from the track.
The hardest lesson for students to learn is to disengage themselves from the
data and theories in social sciences.
After removing the nails from the siding, press downward to disengage its lower
edge from the siding below.
The sudden imbalance of power, with only one engine operating, caused the
autopilot to disengage and the plane to begin to fall.
Related Words
Copyright © 2014 Dictionary.com, LLC. All rights reserved.
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69575
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Sort By:
+9 Rank Up Rank Down
Aug 14, 2012
This cartoon reminds me of the scene in the Godfather series when one of the Corleone family's hit men responds to a question from a senator by saying, "...buffas, yeah we gotta lotta buffas.." It also appears that the interviewee has just found a useful method of dealing with guys like the PHB with waterboarding....
Aug 14, 2012
@Wize, you can have fun with them, but you definitely don't want to work for them.
BTW, you all realize the applicant is making fun of PHB, don't you?
Aug 14, 2012
That's a trick answer, all right. Everyone knows it's a bucket of trichloroethane.
+44 Rank Up Rank Down
Aug 14, 2012
This guy is CEO material.
Aug 14, 2012
I have been interviewed by team leads who had all their programming outsourced years ago. They couldn't comprehend any of my answers or find anyone in the headquarters who ever worked with the programming language in question.
Instead they just stare at me, googly-eyed, and whisper: "Can you explain why object-oriented programming is good?"
p.s. Every rookie can easily answer this without really comprehending it or having any experience with it.
Get the new Dilbert app!
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69593
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DocLite Docs
DocLite is a tool to generate multi-page html documentation from a single, simple XML source document. The documents produced are intended to be similar in style to the Linux HOWTO documentation (or other DocBook generated documents).
DocLite is a single Python script, which should run anywhere Python 2.0 or greater is available
The XML format is extremely simple consisting of a handful of page/contents formatting tags, in addition to the XHTML used to create the document.
The idea is that anyone with a passing knowledge of HTML and an XML aware editor should be able to produce reasonable documentation, complete with contents page and navigation links, with the minimum of effort.
The documentation for this project was written using DocLite, and the source XML for the documentation is included in the download as an example.
DocLite is Copyright (c) murlen 2003, and released under the Gnu Public License.
Contact me if you have specific licensing needs that cannot be met within the GPL as I may be willing to amend the licensing for specific projects.
The latest version of DocLite may be downloaded as a gzipped tar file, containing source and documentation from
SourceForge Logo
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69594
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Administration Console Online Help
Previous Next Open TOC in new window
Content starts here
View the SOAP message handlers of a Web service
Before you begin
You must install a Web service before you can view any associated SOAP message handlers. See Install a Web service.
A Web service uses SOAP message handlers to intercept the request and response SOAP messages generated when the Web service is invoked by a client application. A Web service can have zero or more SOAP message handlers configured.
To view the SOAP message handlers configured for a Web service, follow these steps:
2. In the right pane, navigate within the Deployments table until you find the Web service whose configured SOAP message handlers you want to view.
4. Select Configuration > Handlers. The table lists the SOAP message handlers configured for your Web service, along with the handler Java class that implements the handler, the Web service port to which it applies, and whether the handler processes and SOAP headers.
Back to Top
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69595
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Skip Headers
Oracle GlassFish Server Reference Manual
Release 3.1.2
Part Number E24938-01
Go to Documentation Home
Go to Book List
Book List
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View PDF
Instructs GlassFish Server, when secure admin is enabled, to accept admin requests from clients identified by the specified SSL certificate.
--alias aliasname | DN
The enable-secure-admin-principal subcommand instructs GlassFish Server to accept admin requests when accompanied by an SSL certificate with the specified distinguished name (DN). If you use the "--alias aliasname" form, then GlassFish Server looks in its truststore for a certificate with the specified alias and uses the DN associated with that certificate. Otherwise, GlassFish Server records the value you specify as the DN.
You must specify either the --alias option, or the DN.
You can run enable-secure-admin-principal multiple times so that GlassFish Server accepts admin requests from a client sending a certificate with any of the DNs you specify.
When you run enable-secure-admin, GlassFish Server automatically records the DNs for the admin alias and the instance alias, whether you specify those values or use the defaults. You do not need to run enable-secure-admin-principal yourself for those certificates. Other than these certificates, you must run enable-secure-admin-principal for any other DN that GlassFish Server should authorize to send admin requests. This includes DNs corresponding to trusted certificates (those with a certificate chain to a trusted authority.)
Displays the help text for the subcommand.
The alias name of the certificate in the trust store. GlassFish Server looks up certificate in the trust store using that alias and, if found, stores the corresponding DN as being valid for secure administration. Because alias-name must be an alias associated with a certificate currently in the trust store, you may find it most useful for self-signed certificates.
The distinguished name of the certificate, specified as a comma-separated list in quotes. For example, ",OU=GlassFish,O=Oracle Corporation,L=Santa Clara,ST=California,C=US".
Example 1 Trusting a DN for secure administration
The following example shows how to specify a DN for authorizing access in secure administration.
asadmin> enable-secure-admin-principal
Command enable-secure-admin-principal executed successfully.
Exit Status
subcommand executed successfully
error in executing the subcommand
See Also
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69602
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I can't run VMM and I am an admin
by Donovan Brown 15. June 2011 17:52
When I run VMM I am given the error I don't have permissions to run VMM on localhost.
You have to have a current VMM administrator to add you to the Administrator role in VMM under Administration tab.
1. Start VMM
2. Click the Administration tab
3. Select User Roles
4. Double Click Administrator under Profile Type
5. Click the Members tab
6. Click Add… and add the user
Tags: , ,
About the author
Month List
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69635
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Publication # 205
D. A. B. Miller, "Rationale and Challenges for Optical Interconnects to Electronic Chips," Proc. IEEE 88, 728-749 (2000)
The various arguments for introducing optical interconnections to silicon CMOS chips are summarized, and the challenges for optical, optoelectronic, and integration technologies are discussed. Optics could solve many physical problems of interconnects, including precise clock distribution, system synchronization (allowing larger synchronous zones, both on-chip and between chips), bandwidth and density of long interconnections, and reduction of power dissipation. Optics may relieve a broad range of design problems, such as cross-talk, voltage isolation, wave reflection, impedance matching, and pin inductance. It may allow continued scaling of existing architectures, and enable novel highly-interconnected or high-bandwidth architectures. No physical breakthrough is required to implement dense optical interconnects to silicon chips, though substantial technological work remains. Cost is a significant barrier to practical introduction, though revolutionary approaches exist that might achieve economies of scale. An appendix analyses scaling of on-chip global electrical interconnects, including line inductance and the skin effect, both of which impose significant additional constraints on future interconnects.
pdf.gif (917 bytes)Full text available for download
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69647
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Memory Alpha
37,230pages on
this wiki
Revision as of 10:15, September 18, 2012 by Tinwe (Talk | contribs)
Class: Template:ShipType
Registry: NCC-501
Owner: United Federation of Planets
Operator: Starfleet
Status: Destroyed (2266)
Assignment patch
This article refers to the Federation starship. For other meanings, please see Antares (disambiguation).
The Antares (NCC-501) was a Federation Template:ShipType freighter that was in service with Starfleet in the mid-23rd century. In the 2260s, the Antares was commanded by Captain Ramart, under whom served his first officer and navigator Tom Nellis. Antares had a crew of twenty.
In 2266, the crew of the Antares transferred a young man, Charles Evans, who had been stranded on the planet Thasus for fourteen years, to the USS Enterprise, so he could be transported to Earth Colony Alpha V to be reunited with his closest living relatives.
On Stardate 1535.8, the Antares was destroyed when young Charlie used his psychokinetic powers to make a baffle plate on the shield of the ship's energy pile "go away." Charlie did not seem to understand the seriousness of his actions, saying simply that the baffle plate was warped, and that the Antares would have blown up anyway. (TOS: "Charlie X")
Antares personnel
According to the Star Trek Encyclopedia, the Antares was named after Antares, one of the brightest stars in the northern night sky.
In the episode, the ship was given four different descriptions: 1) cargo vessel, 2) transport ship, 3) science-probe vessel, and 4) survey ship.
The crew of the Antares wore old-style Starfleet uniforms left over from the original pilot episodes. One of these uniforms was worn by an individual appearing in "The Trouble with Tribbles".
The second edition of the Star Trek Concordance, by Bjo Trimble, had an original design illustration from Brian Pimenta of the Antares with registry number NCC-717.
In the Encyclopedia, a registry number of NCC-501 was given to the Antares based on conjecture by Michael Okuda. Okuda later used this registry number in the remastered version of "Charlie X." In this remastering, the Antares was essentially seen as a CGI model of the robot grain ships seen in TAS: "More Tribbles, More Troubles", with an addition of a "crew module." The prefix "USS" was never mentioned in dialog nor appears on the ship's hull. [1]
Additionally, in the second edition of the Encyclopedia, the Antares was listed in the list of Federation starships as the prototype ship of the Antares-class starship, with the USS Hermes also stated to be of this class. listed this ship as USS Antares.
An Oberth-class science vessel, also named USS Antares, was part of the Star Trek: Orion Rendezvous planetarium show, produced in 1992 and authorized by Paramount Pictures in conjunction with the Star Trek: Federation Science exhibit. The ship was commanded by Captain Katryana DiChario, and left Neptune Station on a mission to explore a recently discovered, artificially-constructed wormhole interstellar transit system that had "jump points" throughout the Milky Way Galaxy at real-life scientific phenomena, such as the Orion Nebula, the Crab Nebula, a flare star, etc. Geordi La Forge was a temporary crewmember during the expedition, along with a group of Starfleet cadets (the audience).
External links
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69648
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Memory Alpha
Target discriminator
37,230pages on
this wiki
Target discriminators are components of ship's weapons systems designed to isolate a target from nearby objects, thereby preventing unwanted impacts.
In 2152, Malcolm Reed, chief tactical officer of the Enterprise NX-01, issued an order to keep the ship's target discriminators aligned, as he didn't want one of their torpedoes "mistaking one of [Enterprise's] nacelles for an enemy vessel." (ENT: "Singularity")
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69649
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Memory Alpha
The Barrier
37,225pages on
this wiki
Real World article
(written from a Production point of view)
Cover image
Writer(s): Michael Jan Friedman
Artist(s): Peter Krause and Pablo Marcos
Publisher: DC Comics
Editor(s): Robert Greenberger
Series: DC TNG volume 2 #23
Published: September 1991
Pages: 24
Stardate: Unknown (2367)
Friend or foe?
Background InformationEdit
• This issue was the fourth of a mini-series which was later collected in The Star Lost.
Jean-Luc Picard
USS Enterprise-D captain.
William T. Riker
Enterprise-D exec.
Beverly Crusher
Enterprise-D surgeon.
Android Enterprise-D operations officer.
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Klingon Enterprise-D security chief.
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Find Employment/Interview Questions
From Wikibooks, open books for an open world
< Find Employment
Jump to: navigation, search
Interview Questions you might be asked[edit]
This is a list of common questions that you are likely to be asked. You should prepare answers to these questions, or at least be prepared to answer them in case they arise.
About Your Qualifications
• Tell me about yourself.
• What do you think is your greatest weakness?
• What accomplishment has given you the most satisfaction?
• Tell me about your experiences at school.
• What has been the most rewarding college experience?
• Tell me about your most significant work experience.
• How would those who have worked with you describe you?
• Why are you the best candidate for this position?
• Have you ever supervised anyone?
About Your Ability to Work in the Environment
• Why are you interested in this job?
• What do you know about us?
• In what kind of work environment are you most comfortable?
• Are you a team player?
• How do you work under pressure?
• How do you handle conflict?
• How competitive are you?
• What do you expect from your supervisor?
• What qualities should a successful manager possess?
About Your Career and Personal Choices
• What do you do in your spare time?
• What kind of salary are you looking for?
Welcome to the Real World
• Why did you choose [school]?
• What led you to major in_______?
• What course have you liked the least? The most?
• Do you think your grades adequately represent your abilities?
• Have you ever had difficulties getting along with others?
Hard Questions
• How would someone who dislikes you describe you?
• What motivates you?
• Give a one sentence positioning statement of yourself.
• Can you work under pressure?
• What did you like/dislike about your last job?
The Stress Interview
• Would you like to have your boss's job?
• See this pen I'm holding? Sell it to me.
• Why were you out of work for so long?
For Career Changers
• Why would you be interested in this kind of work?
And, the Most Dreaded Question, "Tell Us about Yourself". This is also your greatest opportunity. You are likely to be asked this, so plan to use the open-ended nature of the question to your advantage. It is not necessary to answer autobiographically. You may choose to organize your thoughts around your interest in the job and why you are prepared to do it.
Questions you might ask[edit]
"Do You Have Any Questions for Us?" The right answer is always yes, or you risk appearing uninterested. Prepare some questions in advance, but, above all, ask questions that show a response to what you have learned from the interviewers, and that are lively, rather than formulaic. Some examples include:
• What skills would I need to be successful in this position?
• How do you encourage your employees to keep current with professional developments in the field?
• Could you tell me about your training program? What are some of the typical career paths followed by others who have been in this position? What would be a realistic timeframe for advancement?
• What are the opportunities for personal growth?
• What is the retention rate of people in the position for which I am interviewing?
• Is it organizational policy to promote from within? What is the work history of your top management?
• Tell me about a typical day in this job.
• Who would I work with most closely on a day-to-day basis?
• How often can I expect to relocate during the initial years of employment with your organization?
Being New on the Job
• What do you consider the most challenging aspect of this position for someone who is new to your organization?
• What does the new [job title] need to accomplished in the next 6-12 months?
• What qualities are you looking for in your new hires?
• What are your expectations for new hires?
• Could you describe a typical first assignment?
• What are the most challenging facets of the position?
More about the Organization
• Why is this position available?
• What are your department's major projects in the coming year?
• What do you think are your organization's greatest competitive strengths with clients?
• What is the work environment like?
• What makes your organization different from its competitors?
• What are your organizations strengths and weaknesses?
• How would you describe your corporation's personality and management style?
• Why did you join the organization? Why have you stayed with the organization?
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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
Agrocybe praecox.jpg
Agrocybe praecox
Scientific classification
Kingdom: Fungi
Division: Basidiomycota
Class: Agaricomycetes
Order: Agaricales
Family: Strophariaceae (formerly Bolbitiaceae)
Genus: Agrocybe
Type species
Agrocybe praecox
(Pers.) Fayod
See text:
Agrocybe is a genus of mushrooms in the family Bolbitiaceae. Some species are poisonous. The genus has a widespread distribution, and contains about 100 species.[1]
Agrocybe aegerita growing on a poplar stump in Girona, Catalonia, Spain.
Mushroom cultivation began with the Romans and Greeks, who grew the small Agrocybe aegerita. The Romans, who wrote that fungi were thought to arise when lightning struck, collected truffles.[2] In Europe, toxic forms are not normally found, but the Agrocybe molesta is easily confused with Agaricus (white mushrooms) or with seriously poisonous forms of Amanita.
The edible southern species Agrocybe aegerita, also called Agrocybe cylindracea or Pholiota aegerita,[3] is commonly known as Poplar mushroom,[3] Chestnut mushroom or Velvet pioppino (Chinese: 茶樹菇). It belongs to the white rot fungi and is a medium-sized agaric having a very open and convex cap, almost flat, of 3 to 10 cm in diameter. Underneath, it has numerous whitish radial plates adherent to the foot, later turning to a brownish-gray color, and light elliptic spores of 8-11 by 5-7 micrometres. The white fiber foot is generally curved, having a membraneous ring on the top part which promptly turns to tobacco color due to the falling spores.[3] When very young, its color may be reddish-brown and later turn to a light brown color, more ocher toward the center and whiter around its border. It grows in tufts on logs and holes in the poplars, and other trees of large leaves[3] It is cultivated and sold in Japan, Korea, Australia and China. It is an important valuable source possessing varieties of bioactive secondary metabolites such as indole derivatives with free radical scavenging activity, cylindan with anticancer activity, and also agrocybenine with antifungal activity.[4]
Agrocybe farinacea of Japan, whose species is closely related to Agrocybe putaminum,[5] has been reported to contain the hallucinogen psilocybin,[6] however there has been no recent chemical analysis carried out on this mushroom, nor any modern reports of psychoactivity.
Selected list of species[edit]
Agrocybe pediades spores
See also[edit]
1. ^ Kirk PM, Cannon PF, Minter DW, Stalpers JA. (2008). Dictionary of the Fungi. (10th ed.). Wallingford: CABI. p. 14. ISBN 978-0-85199-826-8.
2. ^ Clifford A. Wright, Mediterranean vegetables: a cook's ABC of vegetables and their preparation, pg. 229, Harvard Common Press (2001), ISBN 1-55832-196-9
3. ^ a b c d Mariano García Rollán, Cultivo de setas y trufas, pg. 167, MUNDI-PRENSA (2007), ISBN 84-8476-316-1 (Spanish)
4. ^ Jian-Jiang Zhong, Feng-Wu Bai, Wei Zhang, Biotechnology in China I: From Bioreaction to Bioseparation and Bioremediation, vol. 1, pag. 102, Springer (2009), ISBN 3-540-88414-9
5. ^ Rijksherbarium, Blumea: Supplement, vol. 4, pg. 142, Journal of Plant Taxonomy and Geography, Netherlands (1952)
6. ^ Jonathan Ott, Albert Hofmann, Pharmacotheon: Entheogenic Drugs, Their Plant Sources and History, pg. 313, Natural Products Company (1993), ISBN 0-9614234-9-8
External links[edit]
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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
Alemtuzumab ?
Alemtuzumab Fab 1CE1.png
Monoclonal antibody
Type Whole antibody
Source Humanized (from rat)
Target CD52
Clinical data
Trade names Campath, MabCampath, Lemtrada
AHFS/ monograph
MedlinePlus a608053
Pregnancy cat. B2 (AU) C (US)
Legal status -only (US)
Routes Intravenous infusion
Pharmacokinetic data
Half-life ~288 hrs
CAS number 216503-57-0 YesY
ATC code L01XC04
DrugBank DB00087
UNII 3A189DH42V YesY
Chemical data
Formula C6468H10066N1732O2005S40
Mol. mass 145453.8 g/mol
N (what is this?) (verify)
Alemtuzumab is a drug used in the treatment of chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL), cutaneous T-cell lymphoma (CTCL) and T-cell lymphoma under the trade names Campath, MabCampath and Campath-1H, and in the treatment of multiple sclerosis as Lemtrada. It is also used in some conditioning regimens for bone marrow transplantation, kidney transplantation and islet cell transplantation.
It is a monoclonal antibody that binds to CD52, a protein present on the surface of mature lymphocytes, but not on the stem cells from which these lymphocytes are derived. After treatment with alemtuzumab, these CD52-bearing lymphocytes are targeted for destruction.
Medical uses[edit]
Chronic lymphocytic leukemia[edit]
Multiple sclerosis[edit]
In 2008 early tests at Cambridge University suggest that alemtuzumab might be useful in treating and even reversing the effects of multiple sclerosis.[3] Promising results were reported in 2011 from a phase III trial against interferon beta 1a. A combination trial with glatiramer acetate (Copaxone) is being considered, and is expected to work synergistically.[4]
Alemtuzumab is contraindicated in patients who have active systemic infections, underlying immunodeficiency (e.g., seropositive for HIV), or known Type I hypersensitivity or anaphylactic reactions to the substance.
Adverse effects[edit]
Alemtuzumab has been associated with infusion-related events including hypotension, rigors, fever, shortness of breath, bronchospasm, chills, and/or rash. In post-marketing reports, the following serious infusion-related events were reported: syncope, pulmonary infiltrates, ARDS, respiratory arrest, cardiac arrhythmias, myocardial infarction and cardiac arrest. The cardiac adverse events have resulted in death in some cases.[7]
It can also precipitate autoimmune disease through the suppression of suppressor T cell populations and/or the emergence of autoreactive B-cells.[8][9]
Biochemical properties[edit]
Alemtuzumab is a recombinant DNA-derived humanized IgG1 kappa monoclonal antibody that is directed against the 21–28 kDa cell surface glycoprotein CD52.[10]
The origins of alemtuzumab date back to Campath-1 which was derived from the rat antibodies raised against human lymphocyte proteins by Herman Waldmann and colleagues in 1983.[11] The name "Campath" derives from the pathology department of Cambridge University.
Initially, Campath-1 was not ideal for therapy because patients could, in theory, react against the foreign rat protein determinants of the antibody. To circumvent this problem, Greg Winter and his colleagues humanised Campath-1, by extracting the hypervariable loops that had specificity for CD52 and grafting them onto a human antibody framework. This became known as Campath-1H and serves as the basis for alemtuzumab.[12]
While alemtuzumab started life as a laboratory tool for understanding the immune system, within a short time it was clinically investigated for use to improve the success of bone marrow transplants and as a treatment for leukaemia, lymphoma, vasculitis, organ transplants, rheumatoid arthritis and multiple sclerosis.[13]
Campath as medication was first approved for B-cell chronic lymphocytic leukemia in 2001. It is marketed by Genzyme, which acquired the world-wide rights from Bayer AG in 2009. Genzyme was bought by Sanofi in 2011. In August/September 2012 Campath was withdrawn from the markets in the US and Europe. This was done to prevent off-label use of the drug to treat multiple sclerosis and to prepare for a relaunch under the trade name Lemtrada, with a different dosage aimed at multiple sclerosis treatment, this is expected to be much higher-priced.[1]
Bayer reserves the right to co promote Lemtrada for 5 years, with the option to renew for an additional five years.
Sanofi acquisition and change of license controversy[edit]
In February 2011, Sanofi-Aventis, since renamed Sanofi, acquired Genzyme, the manufacturer of alemtuzumab.[14] The acquisition was delayed by a dispute between the two companies regarding the value of alemtuzumab. The dispute was settled by the issuance of Contingent Value Rights, a type of stock warrant which pays a dividend only if alemtuzumab reaches certain sales targets. The contingent value rights (CVR) trade on the NASDAQ-GM market with the ticker symbol GCVRZ.
In August 2012, Genzyme surrendered the licence for all presentations of alemtuzumab,[15] pending regulatory approval to re-introduce it as a treatment for multiple sclerosis. Concerns[16] that Genzyme would later bring to market the same product at a much higher price proved correct.
Research and off-label use[edit]
Graft-versus-host disease[edit]
A 2009 study of alemtuzumab in 20 patients with severe steroid-resistant acute intestinal graft-versus-host disease after allogeneic hematopoietic stem cell transplantation (HSCT) demonstrated improvement. Overall response rate was 70%, with complete response in 35%. In this study, the median survival was 280 days. Important complications following this treatment included cytomegalovirus reactivation, bacterial infection, and invasive aspergillosis infection.[17]
1. ^ a b McKee, Selina (21 August 2012). "Sanofi withdraws Campath in US and EU". Pharma Times Online (Pharma Times).
2. ^ "About Campath". Genzyme.
3. ^ Andy Coghlan (23 October 2008). Drug reboots immune system to reverse MS. New Scientist News Service.
4. ^ "Sanofi and Genzyme Report New Positive Data from First Phase III Study with MS Drug". 24 October 2011.
5. ^ "Alemtuzumab (BLA 103948\5139) Background Package" (PDF). Advisory Committees. United States: Center for Drug Evaluation and Research. 13 November 2013.
6. ^ "Genzyme Receives Complete Response Letter from FDA on Lemtrada (alemtuzumab) Application". BusinessWire. 30 December 2013.
7. ^ Heuser, Stephen (17 September 2005). "Genzyme Halts Drug Test After Death - Three MS Patients in Campath Trial Get Blood Disorder". The Boston Globe.
8. ^ Costelloe, L; Jones J; Coles A (March 2012). "Secondary autoimmune diseases following alemtuzumab therapy for multiple sclerosis". Expert Rev Neurother 12 (3): 335–41. doi:10.1586/ern.12.5. PMID 22364332.
9. ^ Aranha, AA; Amer S; Reda ES; Broadley SA; Davoren PM (Jun 11, 2013). "Autoimmune Thyroid Disease in the Use of Alemtuzumab for Multiple Sclerosis: A Review". Endocrine Practice. Epub ahead of print: 1–25. doi:10.4158/EP13020.RA. PMID 23757618.
10. ^ A. Klement (7 January 2014). "Multiple-Sklerose-Behandlung". Österreichische Apothekerzeitung (in German) (1/2014): 24f.
11. ^ "Removal of T cells from bone marrow for transplantation: a monoclonal antilymphocyte antibody that fixes human complement". Blood 62 (4): 873–82. October 1983. PMID 6349718.
12. ^ Riechmann, Lutz; Clark, Michael; Waldmann, Herman; Winter, Greg (1988). "Reshaping human antibodies for therapy". Nature 332 (6162): 323–327. doi:10.1038/332323a0. ISSN 0028-0836.
13. ^ "The life story of a biotechnology drug: Alemtuzumab". What is Biotechnology?.
14. ^ Whalen, Jeanne; Spencer, Mimosa (17 February 2011). "Sanofi Buys Genzyme for over $20 billion". The Wall Street Journal. (subscription required)
15. ^ Hussein, Jasmin (Genzyme) (9 August 2012). "Discontinuation of licensed supplies of alemtuzumab (Mabcampath)" (pdf). United Kingdom: National Institute for Health and Care Excellence.
16. ^ "Multiple sclerosis: New drug 'most effective'". BBC News. 1 November 2012. Retrieved 1 November 2012.
17. ^ Schnitzler, Marc; Hasskarl, Jens; Egger, Matthias et al. (August 2009). "Successful treatment of severe acute intestinal graft-versus-host resistant to systemic and topical steroids with alemtuzumab". Bio. Blood Marrow Transplant. 15 (8): 910–8. doi:10.1016/j.bbmt.2009.04.002. open access publication - free to read
External links[edit]
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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
It Amelân
Satellite image of Ameland
Satellite image of Ameland
Flag of Ameland
Coat of arms of Ameland
Coat of arms
Highlighted position of Ameland in a municipal map of Friesland
Location in Friesland
Country Netherlands
Province Friesland
• Body Municipal council
• Mayor Albert de Hoop (D66)
• Total 268.50 km2 (103.67 sq mi)
• Land 58.83 km2 (22.71 sq mi)
• Water 209.67 km2 (80.95 sq mi)
Elevation[3] 4 m (13 ft)
Population (May 2014)[4]
• Total 3,591
• Density 61/km2 (160/sq mi)
Demonym Amelander
Time zone CET (UTC+1)
• Summer (DST) CEST (UTC+2)
Postcode 9160–9164
Area code 0519
Topographic map of Ameland, July 2013
Aerial photograph of Ameland
Ameland (About this sound pronunciation , West Frisian: It Amelân) is a municipality and one of the West Frisian Islands off the north coast of the Netherlands. It consists mostly of sand dunes. It is the third major island of the West Frisians. It neighbours islands Terschelling to the West and Schiermonnikoog to the East. This includes the small Engelsmanplaat and Rif islands to the East.
In former days, there were two other villages: Oerd and Sier, but these were drowned and now lie in the sea. The name of these villages live on in MS Oerd and MS Sier, which are the names of the ferries to the island. From west to east:
The population of each village of the island as of 2008:
Hollum 1400
Nes 1200
Buren 670
Ballum 370
First mentioned as Ambla in the 8th century, it paid tribute to the county of Holland until in 1424 its lord Ritske Jelmera declared it a 'free lordship' (vrijheerschap).
Although Holland, Friesland and the Holy Roman Emperor contested this quasi-independent status, it remained a free lordship until the ruling family, Cammingha, died out in 1708. After that, the Frisian stadtholder Johan Willem Friso of Orange-Nassau became lord of Ameland and after him, his son the stadtholder of all the Netherlands William IV of Orange and his grandson William V of Orange.
Only in the constitution of 1813 was the island finally integrated into the Netherlands (into the province of Friesland). The kings and queens of the Netherlands still maintain the title Vrijheer van Ameland today.
Notable people[edit]
The following people were born on Ameland:
5. ^ "Burgemeester Waldaschool". BWS Ameland.
External links[edit]
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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
(Redirected from Aperture stop)
Jump to: navigation, search
For other uses, see Aperture (disambiguation).
A large (1) and a small (2) aperture
Aperture mechanism of Canon 50mm f/1.8 II lens, with 5 blades
Definitions of Aperture in the 1707 Glossographia Anglicana Nova[1]
The biological pupil of the eye is its aperture in optics nomenclature; the iris is the diaphragm that serves as the aperture stop. Refraction in the cornea causes the effective aperture (the entrance pupil in optics parlance) to differ slightly from the physical pupil diameter. The entrance pupil is typically about 4 mm in diameter, although it can range from 2 mm (f/8.3) in a brightly lit place to 8 mm (f/2.1) in the dark.
Apertures are also used in laser energy control, focusing, diffractions/patterns, and beam cleaning. Laser applications include spatial filters, Q-switching, high intensity x-ray control.
In light microscopy, the word aperture may be used with reference to either the condenser (changes angle of light onto specimen field), field iris (changes area of illumination) or possibly objective lens (forms primary image). See Optical microscope.
In photography[edit]
The aperture stop of a photographic lens can be adjusted to control the amount of light reaching the film or image sensor. In combination with variation of shutter speed, the aperture size will regulate the film's or image sensor's degree of exposure to light. Typically, a fast shutter will require a larger aperture to ensure sufficient light exposure, and a slow shutter will require a smaller aperture to avoid excessive exposure.
Aperture priority is a semi-automatic shooting mode used in cameras. It allows the photographer to choose an aperture setting and allow the camera to decide the shutter speed and sometimes ISO sensitivity for the correct exposure. This is sometimes referred to as Aperture Priority Auto Exposure, A mode, Av mode (aperture-value mode), or semi-auto mode.[4]
Typical ranges of apertures used in photography are about f/2.8–f/22 or f/2–f/16,[5] covering 6 stops, which may be divided into wide, middle, and narrow of 2 stops each, roughly (using round numbers) f/2–f/4, f/4–f/8, and f/8–f/16 or (for a slower lens) f/2.8–f/5.6, f/5.6–f/11, and f/11–f/22. These are not sharp divisions, and ranges for specific lenses vary.
Maximum and minimum apertures[edit]
Further information: Lens speed
The specifications for a given lens typically include the maximum and minimum aperture sizes, for example, f/1.4–f/22. In this case f/1.4 is the maximum aperture (the widest opening), and f/22 is the minimum aperture (the smallest opening). The maximum aperture opening tends to be of most interest, and is always included when describing a lens. This value is also known as the lens "speed", because it affects the exposure time. The aperture is proportional to the square root of the light admitted, and thus inversely proportional to the square root of required exposure time, such that an aperture of f/2 allows for exposure times one quarter that of f/4.
The aperture range of a 50mm Minolta lens, f/1.4–f/16
Lenses with apertures opening f/2.8 or wider are referred to as "fast" lenses, although the specific point has changed over time (for example, in the 1911 Encyclopaedia Britannica aperture openings wider than f/6 were considered fast). The fastest lenses in general production have apertures of f/1.2 or f/1.4, with more at f/1.8 and f/2.0, and many at f/2.8 or slower; f/1.0 is unusual, though sees some use.
In exceptional circumstances lenses can have even wider apertures with f-numbers smaller than 1.0; see lens speed: fast lenses for a detailed list. For instance, in photography, both the current Leica Noctilux-M 50mm ASPH and a 1960s-era Canon 50mm rangefinder lens have a maximum aperture of f/0.95. Such lenses tend to be optically exotic and very expensive; at launch, in September 2008, the Leica Noctilux retailed for $11,000.[6] However, significantly more affordable examples have appeared in recent years, such as the Voigtlander 17.5mm f/0.95, 25mm f/0.95 and 42.5mm f/0.95 manual focus lenses for the Micro Four Thirds System, each of which retails for approximately US$1,000. [7] [8] [9]
Professional lenses for some movie cameras have f-numbers as small as f/0.75. Stanley Kubrick's film Barry Lyndon has scenes shot with a NASA/Zeiss 50mm f/0.7,[10] the fastest lens in film history. Beyond the expense, these lenses have limited application due to the correspondingly shallower depth of field – the scene must either be shallow, shot from a distance, or will be significantly defocused, though this may be a desired effect.
By contrast, the minimum aperture does not depend on the focal length – it is limited by how narrowly the aperture closes, not the lens design – and is instead generally chosen based on practicality: very small apertures have lower sharpness due to diffraction, while the added depth of field is not generally useful, and thus there is generally little benefit in using such apertures. Accordingly, DSLR lens typically have minimum aperture of f/16, f/22, or f/32, while large format may go down to f/64, as reflected in the name of Group f/64. Depth of field is a significant concern in macro photography, however, and there one sees smaller apertures. For example, the Canon MP-E 65mm can have effective aperture (due to magnification) as small as f/96. The pinhole optic for Lensbaby creative lenses has an aperture of just f/177.[11]
Aperture area[edit]
\mathrm{Area} = \pi \left({D \over 2}\right)^2 = \pi \left({f \over 2N}\right)^2
If two cameras of different format sizes and focal lengths have the same angle of view, and the same aperture area, they gather the same amount of light from the scene. In that case, the relative focal-plane illuminance, however, would depend only on the f-number N, so it is less in the camera with the larger format, longer focal length, and higher f-number. This assumes both lenses have identical transmissivity.
Aperture control[edit]
The first SLR cameras with internal (“through-the-lens” or “TTL”) meters (e.g., the Pentax Spotmatic) required that the lens be stopped down to the working aperture when taking a meter reading. With a small aperture, this darkened the viewfinder, making viewing, focusing, and composition difficult.[13] Subsequent models soon incorporated mechanical coupling between the lens and the camera body, indicating the working aperture to the camera while allowing the lens to be at its maximum aperture for composition and focusing;[12] this feature became known as automatic aperture control or automatic diaphragm control.
Canon EF lenses, introduced in 1987,[15] have electromagnetic diaphragms,[16] eliminating the need for a mechanical linkage between the camera and the lens, and allowing automatic aperture control with the Canon TS-E tilt/shift lenses. Nikon PC-E perspective-control lenses,[17] introduced in 2008, also have electromagnetic diaphragms.[18] Automatic aperture control is provided with the newer Nikon digital SLR cameras; with some earlier cameras, the lenses offer preset aperture control by means of a pushbutton that controls the electromagnetic diaphragm.
Optimal aperture[edit]
Optimal aperture depends both on optics (the depth of the scene versus diffraction), and on the performance of the lens.
Optically, as a lens is stopped down, the defocus blur at the Depth of Field (DOF) limits decreases but diffraction blur increases. The presence of these two opposing factors implies a point at which the combined blur spot is minimized (Gibson 1975, 64); at that point, the f-number is optimal for image sharpness, for this given depth of field[19] – a wider aperture (lower f-number) causes more defocus, while a narrower aperture (higher f-number) causes more diffraction.
As a matter of performance, lenses often do not perform optimally when fully opened, and thus generally have better sharpness when stopped down some – note that this is sharpness in the plane of critical focus, setting aside issues of depth of field. Beyond a certain point there is no further sharpness benefit to stopping down, and the diffraction begins to become significant. There is accordingly a sweet spot, generally in the f/4 – f/8 range, depending on lens, where sharpness is optimal, though some lenses are designed to perform optimally when wide open. How significant this is varies between lenses, and opinions differ on how much practical impact this has.
Equivalent aperture range[edit]
In digital photography, the 35mm-equivalent aperture range is sometimes considered to be more important than the actual f-number. Equivalent aperture is the f-number adjusted to correspond to the f-number of the same size absolute aperture diameter on a lens with a 35mm equivalent focal length. Smaller equivalent f-numbers are expected to lead to higher image quality based on more total light from the subject, as well as lead to reduced depth of field. For example, a Sony Cyber-shot DSC-RX10 uses a 1" sensor, 24–200 mm with maximum aperture constant along the zoom range; f/2.8 has equivalent aperture range f/7.6, which is a lower equivalent f-number than some other f/2.8 cameras with smaller sensors.[20]
In scanning or sampling[edit]
See also[edit]
2. ^ "What is Aperture?". Wicked Sago. Retrieved 3 March 2013.
3. ^ Nicholas Eaton, Peter W. Draper & Alasdair Allan, Techniques of aperture photometry in PHOTOM -- A Photometry Package, 20 August 2002
4. ^ "Aperture and shutter speed in digital cameras". elite-cameras.com. Archived from the original on 2006-06-20. Retrieved 2006-06-20. (original link no longer works, but page was saved by archive.org)
5. ^ What is... Aperture?
6. ^ Gizmodo: "Leica's $11,000 Noctilux 50mm f/0.95 Lens Is a Nightvision Owl Eye For Your Camera", September 2008
7. ^ The Voigtlander 17.5mm f/0.95 at B&H Photo
8. ^ The Voigtlander 25mm f/0.95 at B&H Photo
9. ^ The Voigtlander 42.5mm f/0.95 at B&H Photo
10. ^ Ed DiGiulio (President, Cinema Products Corporation). "Two Special Lenses for Barry Lyndon"
11. ^ "Pinhole and Zone Plate Photography for SLR Cameras". Lensbaby Pinhole optic.
13. ^ Shipman, Carl (1977). SLR Photographers Handbook. Tucson, AZ: HP Books. p. 53. ISBN 0-912656-59-X.
14. ^ B. "Moose" Peterson. Nikon System Handbook. New York: Images Press, 1997, pp. 42–43. ISBN 0-929667-03-4
15. ^ Canon Camera Museum. Accessed 12 December 2008.
17. ^ Nikon USA web site. Accessed 12 December 2008.
19. ^ http://www.bobatkins.com/photography/technical/diffraction.html
20. ^ R Butler. "Sony Cyber-shot DSC RX10 First Impressions Review". Retrieved January 19, 2014.
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Ashley Benson
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
Ashley Benson
Ashley Benson, Spring Breakers 2013.jpg
Benson at a screening for Spring Breakers in February 2013
Born Ashley Victoria Benson
(1989-12-18) December 18, 1989 (age 24)
Anaheim Hills, Anaheim, California, U.S.
Occupation Actress, model
Years active 1999–present
Ashley Victoria Benson (born December 18, 1989)[1] is an American actress and model, known for playing Abigail Deveraux on the NBC soap opera Days of our Lives (2004–2007), Mia Torcoletti on the supernatural television series Eastwick (2009–2010), Hanna Marin on the mystery-thriller television series Pretty Little Liars (2010–present) and Brit in the crime thriller film Spring Breakers (2012).
Early life[edit]
Ashley Victoria Benson was born and raised in Anaheim Hills, Anaheim, California,[2] the daughter of Shannon (née Harte) and Jeff Benson. She has an older sister, Shaylene. She started dancing competitively in ballet, jazz, hip hop, and lyrical at age four. She also enjoys singing, and has appeared in several musicals. At age four, she was asked to audition to sing solo at four Christmas services at her church.[3] At five, she modeled in dance catalogs, and at age eight, she began modeling under The Ford Modeling Agency in print advertisements. She also appeared in a Lil' Romeo music video as a Schoolgirl in 2002. She made a brief appearance in the Zoey 101 episode "Quinn's Date" in March 2005. She has also appeared in the music videos for NLT's "That Girl", One Call's "BlackLight", and Hot Chelle Rae's "Honestly".
1999–2008: Career beginnings and Days of our Lives[edit]
In 1999, Benson started pursuing an acting career. She began working and appearing in a number of commercials, but quickly made the transition into film and television acting. In 2004, Benson signed a three-year contract with the NBC daytime soap opera Days of our Lives, and on November 12, 2004 began her role as Abigail "Abby" Deveraux, the oldest child of supercouple Jack Deveraux and Jennifer Horton, until May 2, 2007. She explained that, because of the number of episodes filmed a day, "you can't really mess up; you have to know all of your lines", and that she did not get a break from work.[4]
She played a witch disguised as a cheerleader in a 2008 episode of the CW series Supernatural. In films, she was one of the Six Chicks in 13 Going on 30 (2004), and appeared as Carson in Bring It On: In It to Win It (2007), the fourth installment of the Bring It On franchise. To land the lead role, she had to end her contract with Days of our Lives:
I got off it, I mean I had talked with the producers about doing this film, and they weren't going to let me do it... I had just passed up so many opportunities where I could have done a film. So this big thing just came up, and I ended up getting to do this. I'm happier that I got off the soap though. I mean I give all my credit to them, because I have learned so much from being on soap operas and working with amazing actors who've been on there for like thirty, forty years. It was an honor to work with them. It's definitely given me all my background. But getting off the soap opera helped me a lot too, because I can move on to bigger and better things. So I am definitely thankful I got to be on a soap opera though.[4]
She recalled working on a movie set instead of a soap opera set "definitely weird", because she would spend days working on one or two scenes, whereas on the Days of our Lives set, she filmed two or three episodes a day.[5] For Bring It On: In It to Win It, she had to attend cheerleading practice, which was "hard for [her], because [she is] afraid of heights."[5] Nonetheless, she was "glad" to do her own stunts, even though she "wasn't expecting for it to be so hard."[6]
In 2008, she appeared in the Lifetime original film Fab Five: The Texas Cheerleader Scandal, where she played head cheerleader Brooke of the Fab Five, which is based on a true story which took place at McKinney North High School in Texas. She "loved" working with her onscreen mother Tatum O'Neal, from whom she learned about acting.[7] Furthermore, she was excited to land a supporting role in Bart Got a Room, which aired mainly on film festivals in 2008 before having a limited release in 2009, because it allowed her to work with William H. Macy.[5]
2009–present: Eastwick and Pretty Little Liars[edit]
Benson at the 38th People's Choice Awards red carpet on January 11, 2012
Benson starred in ABC's 2009 television series Eastwick.[8][9] The show was based on John Updike's novel, The Witches of Eastwick, and the 1987 film adaption of the same name. Her character, Mia, was the teen-aged daughter of Roxie Torcoletti (Rebecca Romijn). The series was short-lived and only lasted thirteen episodes before ABC cancelled the series due to low ratings but has since gained a cult following.
In December 2009, Benson was cast as Hanna Marin in the ABC Family mystery-thriller teen drama series Pretty Little Liars, based on the novel series by Sara Shepard. She is the "diva" and it-girl of the group, having taken Alison's place as the most popular girl at Rosewood High in Alison's absence. Prior to Alison's death, Hanna was a bulimic girl who Alison frequently mocked due to being overweight. Her parents divorced, Hanna lives with her mother. The series premiered to 2.47 million viewers with Benson's performance being praised by critics. In 2010, Benson starred in the television film Christmas Cupid with Christina Milian and Chad Michael Murray, which also aired on ABC Family.[10]
In January 2012, Benson was cast in the film Spring Breakers, after Emma Roberts dropped out due to creative reasons.[11] The film centers on four college students who are arrested and bailed out by a drug and arms dealer, who sends them out to do some dirty work on spring break.[12] The film co-starred Selena Gomez, Vanessa Hudgens, and James Franco. Filming took place in March and April 2012, and Spring Breakers was released in March 2013.[13]
Benson became the face of evening-wear designer Faviana in January 2013.[14]
In the January 21, 2013 episode of CBS' How I Met Your Mother, Benson appeared as Carly Whittaker, Barney Stinson's half-sister who dated Ted Mosby.
Year Title Role Notes
2004 13 Going on 30 Six Chick
2005 Neighbors Mindy Short film
2007 Bring It On: In It to Win It Carson Direct-to-video
2008 Bart Got a Room Alice
2008 Fab Five: The Texas Cheerleader Scandal Brooke Tippit Television film
2010 Christmas Cupid Caitlin Quinn Television film
2012 Spring Breakers Brit
2013 Time Warrior Stephanie
2014 Ratter Emma Post-Production
2015 Pixels Lady Lisa Filming
Year Title Role Notes
2002 Nikki Dancer Episode: "Working Girl"
2002 District, TheThe District Melissa Howell Episode: "Explicit Activities"
2002 West Wing, TheThe West Wing Girl Episode: "Game On"
2004 Strong Medicine April Episode: "Cape Cancer"
2004–2007 Days of our Lives Abigail Deveraux Role held: November 12, 2004 – May 2, 2007
2005 7th Heaven Margot 2 episodes
2005 Zoey 101 Candice Episode: "Quinn's Date"
2006 O.C., TheThe O.C. Riley Episode: "The Summer Bummer"
2008 CSI: Miami Amy Beck Episode: "Bombshell"
2008 Supernatural Tracy Davis Episode: "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester"
2009–2010 Eastwick Mia Torcoletti Main cast
2010–present Pretty Little Liars Hanna Marin Main cast
2011 When I Was 17 Herself Episode: "Brittany Snow, Ashley Benson & Lala Anthony"
2012 Punk'd Herself Episode: "Heather Morris"
2013 How I Met Your Mother Carly Whittaker Episode: "Ring Up!"
2013–2014 Ravenswood Hanna Marin 2 episodes
2014 Family Guy Dakota Voice; episode: "Brian's a Bad Father"
Year Title Role Notes
2011 Secret Girl Language Ashley CollegeHumor Originals short
Music videos
Year Title Artist Role
2002 "True Love" Lil' Romeo Schoolgirl
2007 "That Girl" NLT
2010 "BlackLight" One Call
2012 "Honestly" Hot Chelle Rae Ryan Follesé's love interest
Awards and nominations[edit]
Year Award Category Work Result
2011 Young Hollywood Awards Cast to Watch (with Troian Bellisario, Lucy Hale and Shay Mitchell) Pretty Little Liars Won
2013 Alliance of Women Film Journalists Awards Actress Most in Need of a New Agent (with Rachel Korine, Selena Gomez and Vanessa Hudgens) Spring Breakers Nominated
2014 MTV Movie Awards Best Kiss (with James Franco and Vanessa Hudgens) Spring Breakers Nominated
2014 Teen Choice Awards Choice Summer TV Star: Female Pretty Little Liars Pending
2014 Teen Choice Awards Candie's Choice Style Icon Herself Pending
1. ^ "Ashley Victoria Benson, Born 12/18/1989". California Birth Index. Retrieved 6 May 2014.
2. ^ Townsend, Adam (December 17, 2007). "Anaheim Hills teen stars in cheerleading movie". The Orange County Register. Retrieved January 31, 2012.
3. ^ "Ashley Benson: Biography". TV Guide. CBS Interactive. Retrieved April 25, 2013.
4. ^ a b Emma (December 10, 2007). "Interview: Ashley Benson from Bring It On: In It To Win It – Page 3". FanBolt. Retrieved September 4, 2010.
5. ^ a b c "Interview with Ashley Benson, October 2007". October 2007. Archived from the original on 15 August 2010. Retrieved 2010-09-04.
6. ^ Emma (December 10, 2007). "Interview: Ashley Benson from Bring It On: In It To Win It – Page 1". FanBolt. Retrieved September 4, 2010.
7. ^ "Ashley Benson: Learning New Things". Archived from the original on 31 July 2010. Retrieved 2010-09-04.
8. ^ Eastwick cast PopTower
9. ^ Eastwick bios, Mia[dead link]
10. ^ "ABC Family Announces Additional Casting for its Upcoming Pilots "Melissa & Joey," "Untitled Michael Jacobs Project" and "Pretty Little Liars."". ABC Family Press Release. December 7, 2009. Retrieved December 30, 2009.
11. ^ Peel, Sarah (January 31, 2012). "Ashley Benson Replaces Emma Roberts in Spring Breakers With Selena Gomez". BSCkids. Retrieved February 7, 2013.
12. ^ Sartor, Ryan (November 14, 2011). "Rachel Korine (Yes, Harmony's Wife) Joins 'Spring Breakers'". IndieWire. Retrieved February 7, 2013.
13. ^ Durbin, Jonathan (May 7, 2012). "Girls Gone Wild". Interview. Retrieved February 7, 2013.
14. ^ Stone, Rachel (January 7, 2013). "Ashley Benson is The New Face Of Faviana". BWW Fashion World. Retrieved January 7, 2013.
External links[edit]
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Battle of Santo Tomas
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
This article is about the battle during the Philippine-American War in Pampanga. For the battle in Manila during World War II, see Battle of Manila (1945).
Battle of Santo Tomas
Part of the Philippine-American War
1st Nebraskan Volunteers advancing on Santo Tomas.jpg
1st Nebraskan Volunteers advancing during the Battle of Santo Tomas
Date May 4, 1899
Location Santo Tomas, Pampanga, Philippines
Result U.S. victory
United States Philippines First Philippine Republic
Commanders and leaders
United States Loyd Wheaton
United States Irving Hale
United States Frederick Funston
Philippines Antonio Luna
Philippines Venacio Concepción
20th Kansas Volunteers
1st Montana Volunteers
1st Nebraska Volunteers
51st Iowa Volunteers
around 2,500 excluding around 1,600 reinforcements from San Fernando
Casualties and losses
2 killed in action[1] unknown[1]
The Battle of Santo Tomas was fought on May 4, 1899, in Santo Tomas, Pampanga, during the Philippine-American War. During this battle, General Antonio Luna, the commander of the Filipino forces, was wounded.[1] The Battle of Santo Tomas followed the Battle of Calumpit,[1] wherein Luna's main force had fought that of General Arthur MacArthur, Jr. The battle resulted in a defeat of the Filipino forces around Santo Tomas and their withdrawal from the town.
After the fall of Calumpit and the march through the Calumpit–Apalit Line, the Americans' next objective was to capture San Fernando, Pampanga, which was immediately fronted by the Angeles–Magalang Line, the last of the three-tiered defense line Luna had made.[2] Emilio Aguinaldo had transferred his capital to the nearby town of San Isidro, Nueva Ecija, before the Capture of Malolos on March 31. Luna's main force, which had been fighting the Americans since the fighting around Malolos, retreated to the nearby town of Santo Tomas by April 28.[3] Therefore, the Americans decided that they had to capture Santo Tomas before taking San Fernando.[2] As General Arthur MacArthur, Jr.'s main force rested in Malolos, Brigadier Generals Loyd Wheaton and Irving Hale's forces were committed to the advance, with Colonel Frederick Funston, their immediate deputy, spearheading the initial American attack.[2]
The battle featured an easy rout of the Filipino forces under Luna, numbering around 2,500, by Americans in Santo Tomas.[2] In Funston's own account, he states that as soon as the Filipinos abandoned their trenches on the opposite bank of the lagoon, he sent two companies across to examine the vacated trenches and repair the railroad track that had been destroyed by the retreating Filipinos.[4] However, when Lieutenant Colonel Cavestany brought up reinforcements consisting of about 1,600 men organized into eight companies, and crossed the bridge leading to San Fernando, Luna saw that the American advance could still be halted.[2]
Mounted on his horse, Luna then charged into the battlefield leading his main force in a counterattack. As they advanced, the American forces began firing upon them. Amidst the fire, Luna's horse was hit and he fell to the ground. As he recovered, Luna realized that he had been shot in the stomach. Seeing the Americans coming towards him and deciding that he must not let himself be captured, he attempted to kill himself with his revolver.[2] He was saved, though, by the actions of a Filipino colonel named Alejandro Avecilla who, having seen Luna fall, rode towards the general to save him. Despite being heavily wounded in one of his legs and an arm, with his remaining strength Avecilla carried Luna away from battle to the Filipino rear. Upon reaching safety, Luna realized that his wound was not very deep as most of the impact of the bullet had been taken by a silk belt full of gold coins that his parents had given him, which he had been wearing.[2] As he left the field to have his wounds tended, Luna turned over the command to General Venacio Concepción, the Filipino commander of the nearby town of Angeles.[1]
Upon seeing Luna fall, the Americans responded with jubiliation. As the Philippine Republic's Chief of War Operations in Central Luzon, Luna had been one of their most stubborn enemies in resisting their efforts to occupy the archipelago.[5] Luna's death a month later would result in more celebrations by the Americans, who believed that the war would come to a swift conclusion with Luna's physical extinction.[2]
American losses during the battle were two killed, while Filipino casualties are unknown.[1] For his part in the battle, Luna was presented with the Medal of the Republic by Aguinaldo. On the back of the medal, Luna's heroic battles were inscribed with their corresponding dates. Later, he was promoted to lieutenant general.[2]
On May 8, 1899, MacArthur captured San Fernando, and he stayed there to rest and improve his lines of communication. On May 12, Luna handed over command of the Angeles–Magalang Line to General Concepcion. Later that same month, Luna withdrew his staff and 3,000 men to Tarlac. On May 16, the Americans captured San Isidro, Nueva Ecija, but Aguinaldo yet again evaded his enemies by transferring the capital to Bamban, Tarlac.[2]
1. ^ a b c d e f Dumindin, Arnaldo. "Battle of Calumpit, April 25–27, 1899". Retrieved July 2, 2012.
2. ^ a b c d e f g h i j Jose, Vicencio (1972). The Rise and Fall of Antonio Luna. Solar Pub. Corporation. pp. 314–317.
3. ^ Agoncillo, Teodoro (1960). Malolos: The Crisis of the Republic.
4. ^ Funston, Frederick (1911). Memories of Two Wars. New York.
5. ^ "Filipinos flee, The Seattle Star". Retrieved September 6, 2012.
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Epic Pinball
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
Epic Pinball
Android table screenshot
Developer(s) Digital Extremes
Publisher(s) Epic MegaGames
Designer(s) James Schmalz, Joe Hitchens, Terry Cumming
Artist(s) Robert G. Depew, Joe Hitchens, Mikko Iho, James Schmalz
Composer(s) Robert A. Allen, Joshua Jensen
Platform(s) MS-DOS
Release date(s) NA 199311November 1993
PAL 19931106November 6, 1993
Genre(s) Pinball
Mode(s) Single player or 2-4 players (hotseat)
Distribution Floppy disk
The game was originally distributed on floppy disks in 3 separate packs of 4 tables each. The original shareware version (and an early retail version) included only the original "Android" table. Later shareware versions and retail versions contained an updated version called "Super Android" (although it's still referred to as "Android" in the game, the table was changed to say "Super Android")
Pack 1: Pack 2: Pack 3:
• "Android"
• "Pot of Gold" [1]
• "Excalibur"
• "Crash and Burn"
• "Magic"
• "Jungle Pinball" [2]
• "Deep Sea"
• "Enigma"
• "Cyborgirl" [3]
• "Pangaea"
• "Space Journey" [4]
• "Toy Factory"
[1] Designed by Terry Cumming.
[2] A tribute to Epic's earlier game Jill of the Jungle.
[3] Designed by Joe Hitchens.
[4] This and the following table were designed and illustrated by Pixel of Future Crew.
Another table, "African Safari", was included in the "Full Edition" (the CD-ROM version), in addition to the tables from the three packs above.
In 2011, the game was partially re-made by Fuse Powered Inc. for Apple's iPhone, iPod Touch and iPad platforms. The game, re-titled as "Retro Pinball", features updated versions of the Super Android, Crash and Burn and Pangaea tables.[2]
See also[edit]
1. ^ "Company: History of Digital Extremes". Digital Extremes. Archived from the original on 2009-04-03. Retrieved 2009-05-22.
2. ^ "Retro Pinball". Fuse Powered Inc. Retrieved 2011-06-27.
External links[edit]
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Esperanza Spalding
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
(Redirected from Esparanza Spalding)
Jump to: navigation, search
Esperanza Spalding
Esperanza spalding.jpg
Spalding performing at the Newport Jazz Festival on August 10, 2008
Background information
Born (1984-10-18) October 18, 1984 (age 29)
Portland, Oregon
United States
Genres Jazz, jazz fusion, bossa nova, neo soul
Occupations Musician, composer, educator, bandleader
Instruments Vocals, upright bass, bass guitar, violin
Years active 2000–present[1]
Labels Heads Up International, Hush Records, Merge Records
Associated acts Stanley Clarke, Patti Austin, Joe Lovano
Esperanza Spalding (born October 18, 1984)[2] is an American jazz bassist, cellist and singer, who draws upon many genres in her own compositions.
She has won four Grammy Awards, including the Grammy Award for Best New Artist at the 53rd Grammy Awards,[3] making her the first jazz artist to win the award.[4][5]
Early life and early education[edit]
Spalding grew up in the King neighborhood of Portland, Oregon,[6] a neighborhood she has described as "ghetto" and "pretty scary".[7] Her mother raised her and her brother as a single parent.[8]
Her father is African American and her mother is of Welsh, Native American, and Hispanic descent.[7][9][10] Spalding also has an interest in the music of other cultures, including that of Brazil,[11] commenting: "With Portuguese songs, the phrasing of the melody is intrinsically linked with the language, and it's beautiful."[12]
Spalding's mother shares her interest in music, having nearly become a touring singer herself.[8][13] But while Spalding cites her mother as a powerful influence who encouraged her musical expansion, she attributes her inspiration for pursuing a life in music to watching classical cellist Yo-Yo Ma perform on an episode of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood when she was four.[8]
By the time Spalding was five, she had taught herself to play the violin and was playing with the Chamber Music Society of Oregon.[8] Spalding stayed with the group until she was 15 and left as concertmaster.[8] Due to a lengthy illness when she was a child, Spalding spent much of her elementary school years being homeschooled,[8] but also attended King Elementary School in northeast Portland.[6] During this time, she also found the opportunity to pick up instruction in music by listening to her mother's college teacher instruct her mother in guitar.[12] According to Spalding, when she was about 8, her mother briefly studied jazz guitar in college; Spalding says: "Going with her to her class, I would sit under the piano. Then I would come home and I would be playing her stuff that her teacher had been playing".[12] Spalding also played oboe and clarinet before discovering the double bass in high school.[8][14] She is able to sing in English, Spanish and Portuguese.[15]
Spalding had begun performing live in clubs in Portland, Oregon as a teenager,[11] securing her first gig at 15 in a blues club, when she could play only one line on bass.[16] One of the seasoned musicians with which she played that first night invited her to join the band's rehearsals "so she could actually learn something", and her rehearsals soon grew into regular performances spanning almost a year.[16] According to Spalding, it was a chance for her to stretch as a musician, reaching and growing beyond her experience.[12] Her early contact with these "phenomenal resources", as she calls the musicians who played with her,[12] fostered her sense of rhythm and helped nurture her interest in her instrument.[16]
She does not consider herself a musical prodigy;[17] "I am surrounded by prodigies everywhere I go, but because they are a little older than me, or not a female, or not on a major label, they are not acknowledged as such", said Spalding.[17]
Spalding had intended to play cello,[12] but discovered the bass during a one-year stint at age 14 at the performing arts high school, The Northwest Academy, to which she had won a scholarship.[16][18] The school was not a good fit, but the bass was.[16] Spalding found high school "easy – and boring" and dropped out. When she was 15 or 16 years old, Spalding started writing lyrics for music for the local indie rock/pop group Noise for Pretend, touching on any topic that came to mind.[17] Although she had taken a few private voice lessons, which taught her how to project her voice, her primary singing experience had come from "singing in the shower", she said,[17] before she started performing vocals for Noise for Pretend.[12] Her desire to perform live evolved naturally out of the compositional process, when she would sing and play simultaneously to see how melody and voice fit together, but she acknowledges that performing both roles can be challenging.[12][19] In a 2008 interview, she said, "[W]hat can be difficult is being a singer, in the sense that you are engaged with the audience, and really responsible for emoting, and getting into the lyrics, melody, etc., and being an effective bassist/band leader".[19]
Spalding left high school at 16 and, after completing her GED, enrolled on a music scholarship in the music program at Portland State University, where she remembers being "the youngest bass player in the program".[8] Although she lacked the training of her fellow students, she feels that her teachers nevertheless recognized her talent.[8] She decided to apply to Berklee College of Music on the encouragement of her bass teacher, and did well enough in her audition to receive a full scholarship.[13][16] In spite of the scholarship, Spalding found meeting living expenses a challenge, so her friends arranged a benefit concert that paid her airfare and a little extra.[12][16]
Spalding's savings did not last long. Broke and exhausted,[20] she considered leaving music and entering political science,[13] a move jazz guitarist and composer Pat Metheny discouraged, telling Spalding she had "the 'X Factor'" and could make it if she applied herself.[13] During her time at Berklee, her primary bass instructor was John Lockwood.[citation needed]
2004–07: Musical beginnings, teaching and Junjo[edit]
Spalding performing at the Umbria Jazz Festival in Perugia, Italy on July 12, 2007
Gary Burton, Executive Vice President at Berklee, said in 2004 that Spalding had "a great time feel, she can confidently read the most complicated compositions, and she communicates her upbeat personality in everything she plays".[16]
Ben Ratliff wrote in The New York Times on July 9, 2006, that Spalding's voice is "light and high, up in Blossom Dearie's pitch range, and [that] she can sing quietly, almost in a daydream" and that Spalding "invents her own feminine space, a different sound from top to bottom."[21] Spalding was the 2005 recipient of the Boston Jazz Society scholarship for outstanding musicianship.[8] Almost immediately after graduation from college later the same year, Spalding was hired by Berklee College of Music, becoming one of the youngest instructors in the institution's history,[12] at age 20.[22] As a teacher, Spalding tries to help her students focus their practice through a practice journal, which can help them recognize their strengths and what they need to pursue.[12]
Her debut album, Junjo, was released on April 18, 2006, on the Ayva Music label.[23][24] It was created to display the dynamic that she felt among her trio.[17] Though Junjo was released solely under her name, Spalding considers it "a collaborative effort".[12]
2008–10: Esperanza[edit]
Spalding performing on December 10, 2009 at the Nobel Peace Prize Concert of 2009
When asked in 2008 why she plays the bass instead of some other instrument, Spalding said that it was not a choice, but the bass "had its own arc" and resonated with her.[17] Spalding has said that, for her, discovering the bass was like "waking up one day and realizing you're in love with a co-worker."[12] By the time she randomly picked up the bass in music class and began experimenting with it, she had grown bored with her other instruments.[16][25] Her band teacher showed her a blues line for the bass that she later used to secure her first gig.[16] After that, she went in to play the bass daily and gradually fell in love.[12]
Ratliff wrote in The New York Times again, two years later, on May 26, 2008, that one of Spalding's central gifts is "a light, fizzy, optimistic drive that's in her melodic bass playing and her elastic, small-voiced singing," but that "the music is missing a crucial measure of modesty."[26] He added: "It's an attempt at bringing this crisscrossing [of Stevie Wonder and Wayne Shorter] to a new level of definition and power, but its vamps and grooves are a little obvious, and it pushes her first as a singer-songwriter, which isn't her primary strength."[26]
Pat Metheny said in 2008 it was immediately obvious "that she had a lot to say and was also unlike any musician I had ever run across before. Her unique quality is something that goes beyond her pretty amazing musical skills; she has that rare 'x' factor of being able to transmit a certain personal kind of vision and energy that is all her own."[20] Andrés Quinteros wrote in the Argentinian periodical, 26Noticias on October 28, 2008, that Spalding is one of the greatest new talents on the jazz scene today.[27] Patti Austin hired Spalding to tour with her internationally after Spalding's first semester at Berklee,[16] where Spalding supported the singer on the Ella Fitzgerald tribute tour "For Ella."[12]
In 2008, Spalding recalled the tour as educational, helping her learn to accompany a vocalist and also how to sustain energy and interest playing the same material nightly.[12] She continued to perform with Austin periodically for three years.[12] During the same period, while at Berklee, Spalding studied under saxophonist Joe Lovano, before eventually touring with him.[12] They began as a trio, expanding into a quartet before joining quintet US5 and traveling across the United States from New York to California.[12] As of 2008, she was also in the process of developing several courses for students at Berklee, including one that focuses "on transcribing as a tool for learning harmony and theory."[12] Due to touring commitments, Spalding stopped giving classes at Berklee. She lives in New York and Austin, Texas.
Spalding performing at the Northsea Jazz Festival, 2009
Esperanza is Spalding's second studio album. Being exposed to many different cultural impressions while growing up, Spalding sings in three languages: English, Spanish and Portuguese.[28]
After Spalding's Grammy win in February 2011, the album entered the Billboard 200 at 138. With Esperanza, Spalding's material was meant to be more reflective of herself as an artist, with musicians selected to best present that material.[17] Ed Morales wrote in PopMatters on June 23, 2008, that Esperanza is "a sprawling collage of jazz fusion, Brazilian, and even a touch of hip-hop."[29] Siddhartha Mitter wrote in The Boston Globe on May 23, 2008, that "the big change" in Esperanza "is the singing.... This makes it a much more accessible album, and in some ways more conventional."[30]
On December 10, at the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize ceremonies, Spalding performed at Oslo City Hall in honor of the 2009 Laureate U.S. President Barack Obama and again at the Nobel Peace Prize Concert the following day. She was personally selected by Obama, as per the tradition of one laureate-invited-artist to perform.[31]
Spalding also was the featured final act for the opening night of the 2009 Park City Jazz Festival in Park City, Utah. She closed the show with a number along with bass artists Brian Bromberg and Sean O'Bryan Smith, who also performed earlier that day.[32]
As a tribute to Prince, Spalding was invited to sing along with Patti LaBelle, Alicia Keys and Janelle Monáe. Spalding performed the 1987 hit single "If I Was Your Girlfriend."[31][33]
On February 7, 2010, Spalding became the most searched person and second most searched item on Google Search as a result of her appearance the previous evening on the PBS television program Austin City Limits.[34][35]
Since 2011: Chamber Music Society and Radio Music Society[edit]
In November 2011, Spalding won "Jazz Artist of the Year" at the Boston Music Awards.[36]
She also collaborated with Terri Lyne Carrington on the album The Mosaic Project, where she features on the track "Crayola".[38]
Spalding sings a duet with Nicholas Payton on the track "Freesia" from the 2011 album Bitches of Renaissance.[39][40]
In the 53rd 2011 Grammy Awards, she won the Grammy Award for Best New Artist, defeating teen pop recording artist Justin Bieber, indie rock band Florence and the Machine, folk band Mumford and Sons and hip-hop rapper Drake.[41][42] Bieber's fans targeted Spalding on the Internet and her Wikipedia page, stating that she was not as popular as Bieber and that he should have won the award. They also incorrectly edited her Wikipedia page.[43]
Chamber Music Society is the third album by Spalding. After her surprise Grammy win, the album re-entered the Billboard 200 at number 34 with sales of 18,000.[44] A video was made for the song "Little Fly".[45] The song is a poem by William Blake set to music by Spalding. A vinyl version of the album was released in February 2011. This version of the album included a bonus track, "Morning", that is to be included in the tracklist of her upcoming Radio Music Society album.[46] Commenting on the album, NPR Music's Patrick Jarenwattananon wrote that, "the finished product certainly exudes a level of sophisticated intimacy, as if best experienced with a small gathering in a quiet, wood-paneled room."[47]
Spalding was the best-selling contemporary jazz artist of 2011, and her album Chamber Music Society was the best-selling contemporary jazz album.[48]
On February 26, 2012, Spalding performed at the 84th Academy Awards, singing the Louis Armstrong standard "What a Wonderful World", alongside the Southern California Children's Chorus to accompany the video montage that celebrated the film industry greats who died in 2011 and early 2012.[49]
Radio Music Society is Spalding's fourth studio album, released by record label Heads Up International on March 20, 2012.[50][51][52] Spalding hoped this album would showcase jazz musicians in an accessible manner suitable for mainstream radio,[41] while incorporating her own musical compositions with covers of such artists as the Beach Boys and Wayne Shorter.
She also plans to record an album with Milton Nascimento in the future.[53]
Spalding appeared on Later... with Jools Holland.[54]
Spalding was featured on Janelle Monáe's album, The Electric Lady, on the track "Dorothy Dandridge Eyes." The album was released on September 10, 2013. She also sang a jazz duet on Bruno Mars' album, Unorthodox Jukebox), called "Old & Crazy".
In November 2013, Spalding released a protest/action single "We Are America" to protest the Guantánamo prison camps, with cameo performances by Stevie Wonder and Harry Belafonte.[55]
Influences and attitude toward music and jazz[edit]
Spalding was mentored by Thara Memory.
She has cited jazz bassists Ron Carter and Dave Holland as important influences on her music; Carter for the "orchestration" of his playing and Holland for the way his compositional method complements his personal style.[56] She has described the saxophone player Wayne Shorter,[13] and singer-songwriter Milton Nascimento, as heroes.[57] She has also noted her preference for the music of Brazil.[13]
Spalding has said she loves fusion music and was influenced by a "wonderful arc that started 40 years ago where people kept incorporating modern sounds into their music".[29] She has expressed concerns that jazz has wandered from its roots, suggesting that jazz has lost its street value and its relevance to "the Black experience to the Black Diaspora and beyond" now that has been co-opted by the "seasoned 'art' community".[7] She has noted that, in its early days, jazz was "popular dance music" and "the music of young people who considered themselves awfully hip", and believes "hip-hop, or neo-soul [...] is our 'jazz' now as far as the role these genres play in the music genre lineage".[7] Spalding, who has expressed a desire to be judged for her musicianship rather than her sex appeal, believes that female musicians must take responsibility to avoid oversexualizing themselves.[13][29] And, in order to write original music, one must read and stay informed about the world.[13] She has said she models her career on those of Madonna and Ornette Coleman.[12]
Spalding alternates between upright bass and bass guitar in her performances.
Electric bass[edit]
• Fender Jaco Pastorius Jazz Bass (fretless)[58]
• Godin A5 (semi-acoustic, 5-string, fretless)[58]
Upright bass[edit]
• 7/8 double bass (manufacturer unknown)[58]
• Standard model S1 Czech-Ease acoustic road bass[59]
During her 2012 tour, Spalding donated a portion of proceeds from merchandise sales to the non-profit organization Free the Slaves.[60] The organization, based in Washington, D.C., works to combat human trafficking around the world.
Solo albums[edit]
List of albums, with selected chart positions
Title Album details Peak chart positions Sales
• Released: May 20, 2008
• Label: Heads Up International
• Formats: CD, digital download
138 3 12 37
Chamber Music Society
• Released: August 17, 2010
• Label: Heads Up International
• Formats: CD, LP, digital download
34 1 81 92 50 13
Radio Music Society
• Released: March 20, 2012
• Label: Heads Up International
• Formats: CD, digital download
10 1 41 54 59 33 75
Music videos[edit]
List of music videos date released
Song Year
"Little Fly" July 15, 2011
"Black Gold" January 31, 2012
"Radio Song" March 19, 2012
"Crowned & Kissed" June 29, 2012
"I Can't Help It" July 3, 2012
"We Are America" November 18, 2013
Collaborative albums[edit]
List of albums, with selected chart positions
Title Album details Peak chart positions Sales
Blanket Music
(with Noise For Pretend)
Happy You Near
(with Noise For Pretend)
Transfiguration of Vincent
(with M. Ward)
(with Nando Michelin)
The Toys of Men
(with Stanley Clarke)
Big Neighborhood
(with Mike Stern)
(with Nando Michelin)
• Release date: January 4, 2010
• Label: Blue Music Group
Awards and nominations[edit]
Year Event Work Award Result
2011 Grammy Awards N/A Best New Artist Won
Boston Music Awards N/A Jazz Artist of the Year Won
2012 Soul Train Music Awards N/A Best Contemporary Jazz Artist/ Group Won
2013 Grammy Awards "Radio Music Society" Best Jazz Vocal Album Won
"Radio Music Society" Best Long Form Music Video Nominated
"City Of Roses" Best Instrumental Arrangement Accompanying Vocalist(s) Won
2014 Grammy Awards "Swing Low" Best Instrumental Arrangement Accompanying Vocalist(s) Won
1. ^ Balkin, Nicholas (July 14, 2003). "Press Release: Jazz at the Fort". Berklee College of Music. Archived from the original on August 2, 2003. Retrieved March 28, 2013.
2. ^ "Esperanza Spalding: 10 Things You Didn't Know". CNN-IBN. February 14, 2011. Retrieved May 1, 2011.
3. ^ "Nominees and Winners". Retrieved August 17, 2011.
4. ^ Allen, Floyd (February 14, 2011). "Spalding Has Made History for Winning Best New Artist Award". International Business Times. Retrieved February 15, 2011.
5. ^ Esperanza Spalding has won the GRAMMY® Award for Best New Artist. Smooth Jazz Buzz. February 14, 2011. Retrieved February 15, 2011.
6. ^ a b Bancud, Michaela (December 14, 2001). "Esperanza in the Wings". Portland Tribune. Retrieved February 14, 2011.
7. ^ a b c d Symister-Masterson, Cheryl K. (September 2006). "Esperanza Spalding: It's Natural" (Archived April 14, 2009 at the Wayback Machine). Jazz Review.
8. ^ a b c d e f g h i j "Biography". Esperanza Spalding.
9. ^ Ramírez, Deborah (August 14, 2008). "Touching Bass – Jazz Phenom Sings, Plays and Talks Norah Jones". South Florida Sun-Sentinel.
10. ^ Peña, Tomas (May 28, 2008). "In Conversation With Esperanza Spalding". Retrieved February 27, 2012.
11. ^ a b Carpenter, Ellen (July 27, 2008). "Up to Her Ears: A Night Out with Esperanza Spalding". The New York Times.
12. ^ a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u Booth, Philip (May 2008). "At Only 24, Jazz Phenom Esperanza Spalding Has the Ultimate 'X-Factor'". Bass Player. Archived from the original on January 25, 2009. Retrieved June 13, 2008.
13. ^ a b c d e f g h Peña, Tomas; Spalding, Esperanza (May 28, 2008). "In Conversation with Esperanza Spalding". Jazz Magazine (c/o Retrieved June 13, 2008.
14. ^ Leggett, Steve. "Biography". Allmusic. All Media Guide. Retrieved June 13, 2008.
15. ^ Dickens, Tad (February 4, 2009). "Pop, Funk and All That Jazz". The Roanoke Times.
16. ^ a b c d e f g h i j k Murphy, Sarah (April 2004). "Esperanza Spalding" (Archived June 6, 2011 at the Wayback Machine). Berklee College of Music.
17. ^ a b c d e f g Knight, Nokware (July 30, 2008). "Esperanza Spalding Interview". Nu-Soul Magazine.
18. ^ De Barros, Paul (January 15, 2008). "A Hopeful Outlook for Jazz – Esperanza Spalding". The Seattle Times.
19. ^ a b Billyjam (June 27, 2008). "Amoeblog Interview with Esperanza Spalding". Amoeblog.
20. ^ a b Humphries, Stephen (May 30, 2008). "Jazz prodigy Esperanza Spalding, still eager to teach – and learn". The Christian Science Monitor.
21. ^ Ratliff, Ben (July 9, 2006). "Suite for Gas Pump and Coffin Lid". The New York Times.
22. ^ "Esperanza Spalding, "Grooves"". The Early Show's "The Second Cup Café" television programme. August 23, 2008. Retrieved June 28, 2010.
23. ^ Esperanza Spalding – Junjo
24. ^ Junjo – Review. Allmusic.
25. ^ Norris, Michele (May 15, 2008). "Esperanza Spalding: Voice of the Bass" (radio). All Things Considered (National Public Radio). Retrieved June 13, 2008.
26. ^ a b Ratliff, Ben (May 26, 2008). "Critics' Choice; That Ladies' Man With Some New Lines". The New York Times.
27. ^ Quinteros, Andrés (October 28, 2008). "Esperanza Spalding y su jazz en Buenos Aires" (in Spanish). 26Noticias.
28. ^ Esperanza Spalding
29. ^ a b c Morales, Ed (June 23, 2008). "Esperanza Spalding's debut picks up where jazz fusion of the 1970s left off". Newsday (c/o PopMatters
30. ^ Mitter, Siddhartha (May 23, 2008). "Making a statement: Bassist Spalding adds lyrics to her many jazz talents". The Boston Globe.
31. ^ a b Chinen, Nate (February 15, 2011). "Critic's Notebook: Esperanza Spalding Is a Surprise Winner at the Grammys". The New York Times. Retrieved February 15, 2011.
32. ^ "Notes from PCTV: PC Jazz Fest Announces Lineup". Park City TV. May 4, 2009. Retrieved February 15, 2011.
33. ^ "Patti Labelle, Janelle Monae & Esperanza Spalding Honor Lifetime Achievement Award Winner Prince with Tribute Performances at the 2010 BET Awards". June 28, 2010. Retrieved February 15, 2011.
34. ^ "InsideLux: Esperanza Spalding: The Trendiest Artist According to Google". February 7, 2010.
35. ^ "Austin City Limits: Esperanza Spalding / Madeleine Peyroux (Full Episode)". Austin City Limits. PBS. February 5, 2010.
36. ^ "Esperanza Spalding Wins Jazz Artist of the Year at Boston Music Awards". November 22, 2011. Retrieved January 28, 2011.
37. ^ Challenge Records (March 2011). "Tineke Postma – The Dawn Of Light".
38. ^ The Mosaic Project (Media notes). Carrington, Terri Lyne. Concord Jazz. 2011. CJA-33016-02.
39. ^ Bitches (Media notes). Payton, Nicholas. In+Out Records. 2011. IOR CD 77111-2.
40. ^ Allmusic.
41. ^ a b Vozick-Levinson, Simon (February 14, 2011). "Esperanza Spalding: Who Is the Surprise Best New Artist?". Entertainment Weekly. Retrieved February 15, 2011.
42. ^ [1] "Esperanza Spalding Grammy Best New Artist 2011".
43. ^ "Esperanza Spalding Wins Grammy and New Middle Name". Perez Hilton.
44. ^ "The Week in Music Sales: Justin Bieber Scores Second No. 1 Album". The Hollywood Reporter.
45. ^ "Littly Fly Music Video on Concord Records". (via YouTube).
46. ^ Gerson, Robbie (June 8, 2011). "Grammy Award Winning Artist Releases Breakthrough Album on Vinyl". Audiophile Audition. Retrieved July 3, 2011.
47. ^ Jarenwattananon, Patrick (August 8, 2010). "First Listen: Esperanza Spalding, 'Chamber Music Society'". NPR Music. Retrieved February 16, 2011.
48. ^ [better source needed](December 14, 2011). "Billboard's Year Music". Esperanza Spalding. Retrieved February 27, 2012.
49. ^ Burlingame, Jon (February 27, 2012). "The Artist and The Muppets Score Oscar Music Gold". The Film Music Society.
50. ^ Esperanza Spalding to Release ‘Radio Music Society’ on March 20
51. ^ Esperanza Spalding to Record 'Radio Music Society' Album in May.
52. ^ Esperanza Spalding Releasing New Album – Radio Music Society
53. ^ Graff, Gary (March 1, 2011). "Esperanza Spalding to Record 'Radio Music Society' Album in May". Billboard. Retrieved April 28, 2011.
54. ^ Esperanza on Later... with Jools Holland.
55. ^ Rosenberg, Carol (November 18, 2013). "'Let 'em out,' Esperanza Spalding sings in Guantánamo protest video". Miami Herald. Retrieved June 30, 2014.
56. ^ Booth, Philip (December 2006). "Esperanza Spalding". Bass Player. Archived from the original on July 7, 2011. Retrieved June 13, 2008.
57. ^ "Chamber Music Society: The Making Of". (via YouTube). Retrieved August 17, 2011.
58. ^ a b c Rotondi, James (March 9, 2012). "Girl Gone Bad: Esperanza Spalding". Premier Guitar. Retrieved July 31, 2013.
59. ^ "The Czech-Ease Acoustic Road Bass". David Gage String Instruments. Retrieved June 17, 2014.
60. ^ Free the Slaves blog.
61. ^ "Esperanza Spalding Album & Song Chart History". Billboard 200 for Esperanza Spalding. Prometheus Global Media. Retrieved June 22, 2014.
62. ^ "Esperanza Spalding Album & Song Chart History". Billboard Top Jazz Albums for Esperanza Spalding. Prometheus Global Media. Retrieved June 22, 2014.
63. ^ "Discographie Esperanza Spalding". Hung Medien. Retrieved June 22, 2014.
64. ^ "Discografie Esperanza Spalding". Hung Medien. Retrieved June 22, 2014.
65. ^ "Discography Esperanza Spalding". Hung Medien. Retrieved June 22, 2014.
68. ^ [2].[not in citation given]
69. ^
Further reading[edit]
External links[edit]
Awards and achievements
Preceded by
Zac Brown Band
Grammy Award for Best New Artist
Succeeded by
Bon Iver
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Eve Myles
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
Eve Myles
Eve Myles at the Bafta Cymru award ceremony in 2007.
Born Eve Myles
(1978-07-26) 26 July 1978 (age 36)
Ystradgynlais, Wales, United Kingdom
Occupation Actress
Years active 1999–present
Spouse(s) Bradley Freegard (m. 2013)
Children 2
Official Website
Eve Myles (born 26 July 1978) is a Welsh actress. She portrayed Gwen Cooper in the Doctor Who television spin-off show Torchwood, Ceri Owen in the BBC Wales drama Belonging and Lady Helen of Mora in the BBC fantasy drama series Merlin.
Early life and training[edit]
Eve Myles was born on 26 July 1978, at Ystradgynlais. She attended Ysgol Maes Y Dderwen, where she was in the same class as fellow actor Richard Corgan, and the year below Steve Meo. She grew up with a strong interest in boxing, although she gave up the sport after breaking her knuckle by punching a wet sand bag.[1] After training as an actress and gaining a Bachelor of Arts degree in acting at the Royal Welsh College of Music & Drama in Cardiff in 2000,[2] Myles moved to London.
In 2000 Myles took on the central role of Ceri Owen (Née Lewis) in the BBC Wales drama Belonging. Her longest role to date, Myles played Ceri from the series' first episode through to its final series in 2008; returning for a one off special in 2009.[3] In 2001, Myles undertook a role in the television film Score and the TV mini-series Tales from Pleasure Beach. From 2003, Myles based herself in Stratford upon Avon, initially playing Lavinia in the Royal Shakespeare Company production of Titus Andronicus, for which she received the Sunday Times Ian Charleson award in 2004.[4] She has also played Bianca in The Taming of The Shrew[5] and in 2005, appeared opposite Michael Gambon in Henry IV, Part I and II at the National Theatre.[3] Myles appeared in the ITV drama Colditz in 2005.
She took a supporting role in the Doctor Who episode "The Unquiet Dead", playing servant girl Gwyneth. This brought her to the attention of Lead Writer Russell T Davies, who would progress to create and produce Torchwood. Considering her to be "one of Wales' best-kept secrets",[6] Davies wrote the role of Gwen Cooper in Torchwood specifically for Myles.[7] Speaking on her casting, Myles stated that having the part written for her was like having her "own personal Oscar."[8] An audience surrogate[9] Myles characterises Gwen as Torchwood's "Social Worker" who "can run and fight and stand in her own corner and win." Her role in Torchwood also led to Myles making a second appearance in Doctor Who, for its Fourth series' finale, alongside Torchwood co-stars John Barrowman and Gareth David-Lloyd.[10] Myles has appeared in every episode of Torchwood to date and returned for Torchwood's Fourth series; Torchwood: Miracle Day airing on BBC One and US premium television network Starz.[11][12]
Myles also appeared in the premiere episode of Merlin, called "The Dragon's Call" where she played Lady Helen of Mora and Mary Collins, a witch who impersonated her. Her performance in this role was described positively by Anthony Head, who said that 'she did it dead straight and very scarily. There was one moment she was delivering a speech to me in full prosthetic make-up... The French background artists didn’t speak English but burst into applause at the end because they were moved by the emotion of it.'[13]
She portrayed the character of Maggy Plornish in Andrew Davies' 2008 adaptation of Little Dorrit, which later went on to win seven Emmy awards.[14] Early 2008 also saw the actress host a radio show centred around Welsh boxer Joe Calzaghe[1] and narrate a short story, Sorry for the Loss by Bridget Keehan, both airing on BBC Radio Wales.[15]
2009 saw her star in the award winning independent Welsh film A Bit of Tom Jones as well as the one-off Drama, Framed, for BBC Wales, alongside Trevor Eve. In July 2010, Myles announced she would appear in an original BBC Cymru Wales TV series, Baker Boys, co-written by Helen Raynor and Gary Owen and airing in early 2011.[16][17] 2011 also saw Myles provide the voice of the Dalish elf Merrill in the Bioware video game Dragon Age 2.[18] In July 2011, to coincide with Torchwood's fourth series Myles presented part of a BBC Wales Documentary entitled Wales and Hollywood, which featured the actress travelling to the Hollywood Walk of Fame to find the Welsh talent honoured there.[19][20]
In 2012 Myles returned to the stage in Zach Braff's play All New People, ran for ten consecutive weeks at the West End's Duke of York's Theatre following runs at the Manchester Opera House (8–11 February 2012) and the King's Theatre in Glasgow (14–18 February).[21] In 2013 she took the title role in the BBC1 drama Frankie, filmed in Bristol, which follows the life of a district nurse who cares more about her patients than her own life.[22]
It has also been confirmed that Myles will take on a role in the 2nd series Broadchurch , alongside former Doctor David Tennant , whom Myles had worked with in the 4th series of Doctor Who
Awards and recognition[edit]
Eve was among many others nominated for Wales online Dafftas best actress and Won for her Role as Frankie with almost 45% of the votes Eve was nominated and Won Wales Sexiest woman in 2013 Myles has been nominated for a total of six BAFTA Cymru awards, winning one. In 2002,[23] 2003,[24] and 2009,[25] Myles was nominated for Best Actress in the BAFTA Cymru Awards for her role as Ceri on the BBC Wales drama Belonging. In 2007, Eve Myles won the BAFTA Cymru Best Actress award for her portrayal of Gwen Cooper in Torchwood's first series,[26] a role she also received Best Actress BAFTA Cymru nominations for in 2008[27] and 2010.[28] In 2010, Myles won the Best Actress award in the SFX Reader's awards poll,[29] and was crowned best actress in the 11th annual Airlock Alpha Portal Awards.[30] For her role as Gwen Cooper in Torchwood: Miracle Day, Myles was nominated for a Satellite Awards in the Best Television Actress category.[31] and reached the shortlist for the 2012 UK National Television Awards.[32]
In 2006, Wales on Sunday named Myles as its "Bachelorette of the Year".[33] Myles also regularly ranks highly in The Western Mail's annual list of the 50 sexiest women in Wales. In 2005, The Western Mail ranked Myles seventh[34] whilst she ranked fifth in 2008,[35] 7th in 2009,[36] 8th in 2010[37] and 10th in 2011.[38]
In June 2010, Myles was honoured with a fellowship from the Royal Welsh College of Music & Drama.[39]
Personal life[edit]
Myles currently resides with her long-time partner Bradley Freegard, whom she met at the National Youth Theatre in 1994.[40] On 10 November 2009, Myles gave birth to the couple's first daughter, Matilda Myles Freegard,[41] after being in labour for 33 hours.[42][43] Filming Torchwood's fourth series in 2011 saw Myles relocate with her family to the United States of America and Hollywood Hills, living "literally underneath the Hollywood sign".[44] Myles has described California as the "land of dreams", and her experience filming the fourth series of Torchwood as the best year of her life, adding that she would love to spend more time there as an actress if possible.[43] On the 18th of May 2013, Eve married long term partner Bradley Freegard in Italy, and on the 11th of February 2014 Eve gave birth to the couple's second child Siena Myles Freegard.
Film & television[edit]
Year Title Role Notes
1999 Hang the DJ Tracy
2000 Nuts and Bolts Carys Williams
2000–2009 Belonging Ceri
2001 Tales from Pleasure Beach Angie
Score Paula
2003 EastEnders: Dot's Story Young Gwen
2005 Doctor Who Gwyneth Episode: "The Unquiet Dead"
Colditz Jill
2006 Soundproof DC Sarah McGowan
These Foolish Things Dolly Nightingale
2006–2011 Torchwood Gwen Cooper Nominated-Satellite Award for Best Actress - Television Series Drama
Nominated-Saturn Award for Best Actress on Television
2006-2008 Torchwood Declassified Herself
2008 Merlin Lady Helen Episode: "The Dragon's Call"
2008 Little Dorrit Maggy Plornish
2008 Doctor Who Gwen Cooper Episodes: "The Stolen Earth"/"Journey's End"
2009 A Bit of Tom Jones Sally
Framed Angharad Stannard[45]
2011 Wales and Hollywood Presenter Documentary
Baker Boys Sarah
2013 Frankie Frankie Maddox Title character
2013 You, Me & Them Lauren Grey
2014 Under Milk Wood Lilly Smalls
2014 Broadchurch
Year Title Role Notes
2007 Border Princes Narrator
2008 Calzaghe Fight Night[1] Presenter BBC Radio Wales show
Sorry for the Loss Narrator
Lost Souls Gwen Cooper
2009 The Dead Line
Golden Age
In the Shadows Narrator
2011 Submission[46] Gwen Cooper
House of the Dead[46]
The Lost Files[46]
Year Title Role Notes
2003 The Taming of the Shrew Bianca Won – Ian Charleson Award
Titus Andronicus Lavinia
2005 Henry IV - Part I & II Lady Mortimer/Doll Tearsheet
2012 All New People Emma
Audio Book Narrator[edit]
Title Author Notes
Border Princes Dan Abnett
In the Shadows Joseph Lidster
Video games[edit]
Year Title Role Notes
2011 Dragon Age 2 Merrill Voice only
1. ^ a b c "Torchwood star gets set for the big fight night on Radio Wales". BBC Press Office. 2008-04-17. Retrieved 2011-03-29.
2. ^ "Graduation and Honorary Fellows 2007". Royal Welsh College of Music & Drama. 2007-07-06. Retrieved 2008-01-22.
3. ^ a b "BBC Arts: Eve Myles". BBC Wales. 29 September 2009. Retrieved 2010-01-02.
4. ^ Paddock, Terri (2004-03-29). "Dillon Wins Ian Charleson Award for Master Builder". Whats On Stage. Retrieved 2011-03-21.
5. ^ Loveridge, Lizzie. "A CurtainUp London Review: The Taming of the Shrew". Curtain Up. Retrieved 2011-03-21.
6. ^ "Eve Myles - Welsh Icon".
7. ^ "Eve Myles". BBC Wales. Archived from the original on 2006-11-03. Retrieved 2006-09-06.
8. ^ "Eve Myles: Torchwood". SuicideGirls.com. 15 July 2009. Retrieved 2009-05-15.
9. ^ Russell T Davies (2006-10-15). "Who dares and wins". The Times (London). Retrieved 2010-08-08.
10. ^ Interview with Eve Myles
11. ^ "Torchwood: The New World is Coming". IGN. 2010-07-08. Retrieved 2010-09-24.
12. ^ "Torchwood: The New World". GallifreyNewsBase. 2010-08-18. Retrieved 2010-09-24.
13. ^ "Anthony Head: Why I’m happy Eve Myles is my ‘girlfriend’". Metro newspaper. 30 Oct 2013. Retrieved 30 Oct 2013.
14. ^ "Little Dorrit steals the show with seven Emmys". London Evening Standard. 2009-09-21. Retrieved 2011-03-15.
15. ^ "Rhys Davies Stories to be Broadcast on Radio Wales". Literature Wales. Retrieved 2001-05-03.
18. ^ A, Greg (2011-03-12). "Review: Dragon Age II". thesixthaxis.com. Retrieved 2011-03-12.
19. ^ Chamberlain, Laura (20 July 2011). "Wales and Hollywood on BBC One Wales". BBC Arts Blog. Retrieved 26 July 2011.
20. ^ Wales in Hollywood programme listing
21. ^ "Cast: Myles & Fielding in Braff's People, Gillett in Country". What's On Stage. 11 January 2012. Retrieved 14 February 2012.
22. ^ BBC Press Office (6 September 2012). "Eve Myles to star in new BBC One drama series, Frankie". BBC. Retrieved 7 September 2012.
23. ^ "BBC Wales scores Bafta success" (Press release). BBC Press Office. 26 April 2002.
24. ^ "BBC Wales seeks Bafta success" (Press release). BBC Press Office. 4 April 2003.
25. ^ "Doctor dominates Bafta Cymru list". BBC News. 2009-04-16. Retrieved 2011-03-29.
26. ^ "Dr Who sweeps Bafta Cymru board". BBC News. 2007-04-28.
27. ^ "Doctor Who's Bafta Cymru triumph". BBC News. 2008-04-27.
28. ^ "Bafta Cymru Nominations".
29. ^ "'Torchwood's' Myles named Best Actress". Digital Spy. 2010-02-16. Retrieved 2010-08-08.
30. ^ "'Doctor Who' Dominates 2010 Portal Awards". Airlock Alpha. 2010-08-01. Retrieved 2010-08-08.
31. ^ 2011 Satellite Award Nominations
32. ^ "National Television Awards: Street leads shortlist". BBC. 2012-01-02. Retrieved 2012-01-02.
33. ^ Rachel Mainwaring (2006-03-19). "Sexy Eve our Bachelorette of the year". Wales on Sunday. Retrieved 2006-03-20.
34. ^ "Wales' 50 sexiest men and women". The Western Mail. 2005-10-14. Retrieved 2006-02-20.
35. ^ Simpson, Rin (2008-09-06). "The 50 sexiest women in Wales". WalesOnline. Retrieved 2011-03-15.
36. ^ Price, Karen (2011-03-23). "The 50 sexiest women in Wales". WalesOnline. Retrieved 2009-11-07.
37. ^ "Wales' 50 sexiest women". Wales Online. 2010-11-27. Retrieved 2011-03-23.
38. ^ Woodrow, Emily (2011-10-20). "The 50 sexiest women in Wales 2011". WalesOnline. Retrieved 2011-11-30.
39. ^ Evans, Gareth (26 June 2010). "Actress Eve Myles honoured". Western Mail. Retrieved 14 February 2012.
40. ^ "All About Eve and me". WalesOnline. 2010-02-21.
41. ^ Torchwood star Eve Myles’ joy at new arrival
42. ^ "Wikipedia Files: Torchwoods Eve Myles". WBEZ Chicago.
43. ^ a b Duralde, Alfonso (2011-07-09). "On the Set of "Torchwood: Miracle Day" With Eve Myles, Kai Owen and Bill Pullman". After Elton. Retrieved 2011-07-10.
44. ^ "Eve Myles: From Torchwood to Hollywood". WalesOnline. 2010-11-28.
45. ^ "BBC - BBC One Programmes - Framed". www.bbc.co.uk. Retrieved 2009-08-31.
46. ^ a b c Doctor Who Magazine (435). June 2011.
47. ^ "Eve Myles narrated Audio Books". Simply Audiobooks. Retrieved 2013-10-01.
External links[edit]
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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
(Redirected from Gartner Group)
Jump to: navigation, search
Gartner, Inc.
Type Public company
Traded as NYSEIT
Industry Research
Founded 1979
Headquarters Stamford, Connecticut
United States
Key people Gene Hall (CEO)
Craig Safian (CFO)
Darko Hrelic (CIO)
Products Research
Revenue $1.784 billion (2013)
Net income $182.8 million (2013)
Employees 5,300 (2013)
Gartner headquarters in Stamford
Gartner, Inc. is an American information technology research and advisory firm headquartered in Stamford, Connecticut, United States. It was known as Gartner Group, Inc until 2001.[1]
Gartner is an information technology research and advisory company providing technology related insight. Research provided by Gartner is targeted at CIOs and senior IT leaders in industries that include government agencies, high-tech and telecom enterprises, professional services firms, and technology investors. Gartner clients include large corporations, government agencies, technology companies and the investment community. The company consists of Research, Executive Programs, Consulting and Events. Founded in 1979, Gartner has over 5,300 employees,[2] including 1,280 in R&D, [3]located in 85 countries.
Gartner uses hype cycles and magic quadrants for visualization of its market analysis results.
The company was founded in 1979 by Gideon Gartner. Originally a private company, the Gartner Group was launched publicly in the 1980s, then acquired by Saatchi & Saatchi, a London-based advertising agency, and then acquired in 1990 by some of its executives, with funding from Bain Capital and Dun & Bradstreet. In 2001 the name was simplified to Gartner.
In the course of its growth, Gartner has acquired numerous companies providing related services, including Real Decisions (which became Gartner Measurement, now part of Gartner's consulting division), and Gartner Dataquest (Gartner's market research firm). It has also acquired a number of direct competitors, including NewScience in the late 1990s, Meta Group in 2005 and AMR Research and Burton Group in early 2010.
The CEO is Gene Hall (since August 2004 Business performance under Hall's management has continued to grow since taking over from his predecessor Michael Fleisher (Michael D. Fleisher) who moved on to Warner Music Group in 2005.[4]
Press coverage[edit]
Gartner research has been mentioned by many news institutions, including the Financial Times,[5] Wall Street Journal,[6] and the New York Times.[7] Gartner CIO Darko Hrelic has been interviewed by many IT-related publications, most recently CIO magazine.[8]
See also[edit]
1. ^ "EDGAR Form 10-Q". Securities and Exchange Commission. February 14, 2001. Retrieved 2006-12-16.
2. ^ "Gartner, Inc." (company profile). Hoover's. Retrieved 2010-12-05.
3. ^ "About". Gartner. Retrieved 2010-12-05.
4. ^ "Executive Bios". Management. Warner Music Group. Retrieved 2012-02-11.
5. ^ Stafford, Philip (May 30, 2008). "You can believe the Hype Cycle's take on technology".
6. ^ Worthen, Ben (April 11, 2008). "Windows (Slowly) Collapsing Under Own Weight". Wall Street Journal: Business Technology Blog.
7. ^ Holson, Laura M. (June 10, 2008). "Smartphones Now Ringing for Women". New York Times.
8. ^ "An expert among experts: Gartner CIO and senior vice-president". CIO. 2011-04-23. Retrieved 2012-02-11.
External links[edit]
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Gregor Vorbarra
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
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Gregor Vorbarra is the Emperor of the Barrayaran Imperium in the sci-fi series the Vorkosigan Saga by Lois McMaster Bujold.
As of CryoBurn, Gregor Vorbarra is the current Emperor of Barrayar. He consequently rules over Barrayar, Komarr, and Sergyar, the three planetary bodies of the Barrayaran Empire.
His father was the late Crown Prince Serg, and his grandfather was Emperor Ezar Vorbarra. They had both died by the time Gregor was five, therefore, Admiral Lord Vorkosigan ruled as Regent until Gregor reached the age of majority. This was not the last of Gregor's woes as a child, as he became a pawn in a power struggle between the Regent and the usurper Count Vordarian, a struggle that cost the life of his mother, Princess Kareen Vorbarra.
Gregor's name is an apparent inconsistency in the world-building of the Vorkosigan Saga. Vor tradition provides that the first-born son has the paternal grandfather's first name, which in this case is Ezar.
Gregor is a fairly progressive and liberal emperor, but must remain even-handed in order to rule effectively. He is also Count Vorbarra, and technically has a vote in the Council of Counts. By tradition, he does not exercise that vote except to break a tied ballot, much like the vote of the Vice President of the United States in the United States Senate. Psychologically, Gregor lives in fear that he carries the madness that afflicted his relatives, particularly his sadistic father Crown Prince Serg, but also the mad Yuri Vorbarra and his relations in the Vorrutyer clan, best (or worst) exemplified by Serg's companion in depravity, Ges Vorrutyer. While capable of great personal warmth, he maintains iron control in most situations, projecting an air of deep calm.
When he came of age, Gregor discovered the truth about the depravities committed by his father, and was so upset he eluded his bodyguards while on a state visit to another planet in the Nexus, and went missing for a time before Miles Vorkosigan found him (The Vor Game).
He is married to Laisa Toscane, a Komarran scion of one of the richest and most powerful families on the planet. The marriage was a critical move (though they were genuinely in love, so the marriage was not merely political) as it served to show a unity between Barrayar and its conquered world of Komarr. (Though some feared it would just be an eternal symbol of Komarr "getting screwed" by Barrayar.)
For many Vor, the marriage was important because it meant Gregor would start producing Imperial Heirs and thus relieve tensions that, should something happen to Gregor, there would be a civil war, as every Vor with a claim to the Imperium would come forth. For Gregor the marriage meant a chance to have children with a woman who was not Vor, and therefore free of the genetic taint that curses the high aristocracy.
Laisa Toscane[edit]
The daughter of prominent Komarran oligarchs, often referred to as those Toscanes, Laisa become the Empress of Barrayar upon her marriage to Gregor Vorbarra.
Initially introduced to the bachelor Emperor when she accompanied her date, Duv Galeni, to a dinner party at the Imperial Residence, Laisa impressed Gregor with her bold and succinct attempt to lobby him directly for trade concessions during the course of the meal. Gregor later invited her to an intimate luncheon in which he thrilled her by arranging her first horseback ride, on a beautiful white mare, which could be construed as the beginning of their courtship.
Laisa is also described as "maternal", short, and a little plump, unlike the fashionably tall, willowy Vor women Gregor was introduced to by Lady Alys Vorpatril, his social secretary. Laisa's eyes are described as being beautiful, a shade that is not quite blue, nor quite green. Despite her lack of svelte proportions, she is still described as classy and stylish, although generally attired in Komarran-style garments. Lady Alys would ruefully note after her betrothal to Gregor, that it should have been obvious that a man who lost his mother at the age of four would be attracted to maternal-looking women; but more importantly, Gregor wanted to ensure that his children would not be insane like one of his ancestors (Mad Emperor Yuri), and he welcomed genes from outside the Vor gene pool.
Laisa is highly intelligent, and has an advanced education in financial and business affairs. Prior to her marriage, she served as a lobbyist and representative in Vorbarr Sultana for her family's business interests. It was stipulated in their marriage contract that any children of the union were to be gestated in uterine replicators, and not by the method preferred by the more conservative among the Vor caste of "body births".
Many Komarrans (and many Barrayarans, for that matter) view the marriage as shrewd politics on the part of Gregor, symbolizing a union of two of the slightly antagonistic component societies of the Barrayaran Imperium. To further strum political sensibilities, Gregor decreed that the reconstructed and enlarged Komarr Soletta, a large orbital array of mirrors augmenting the solar light reaching the planet's surface, which is necessary in Komarr's long-term terraforming project, be deemed a wedding present to his wife, and symbolically to the planet Komarr from Barrayar.
Gregor and Laisa have several children together, who are described as "scarily smart" by Armsman Roic. (CryoBurn).
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Populous (company)
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
(Redirected from Populous (architects))
Jump to: navigation, search
Industry Architecture
Founded 1983
Number of locations Kansas City (USA)
London, (UK)
Brisbane (Australia)
New York, San Francisco, Denver, Boston, Knoxville (USA)
Rio de Janeiro (Brazil)
New Delhi (India)
Bhubaneswar (India)
Hong Kong (Hong Kong)
Area served World
• Sports, events, conference and exhibition centre architecture
• Interior design
• Environmental Branding
• Wayfinding
• Events planning
• Overlay
• Masterplanning
• Landscape Architecture
• Sustainable design consulting
• Facilities operations analysis
Website Populous
The firm enjoys a dominant role in the design of sporting stadiums and arenas, including such globally prominent facilities as the new Yankee Stadium in New York, Wembley Stadium in London, Stadium Australia in Sydney, Wimbledon Centre Court, Minneapolis' Target Field, San Francisco's AT&T Park, Chicago's United Center arena, Busch Stadium in St. Louis, Great American Ball Park in Cincinnati, Pittsburgh's Heinz Field, Houston's Reliant Stadium, Arsenal's Emirates Stadium, Philippine Arena in Manila, the renovation of Chicago's Wrigley Field, University of Phoenix Stadium, the renovation of Soccer City Stadium in Johannesburg for the 2010 World Cup, London's 2012 Olympic Stadium, Miami's Sun Life Stadium, Ascot Racecourse, New York's Citi Field, Benfica's Estádio da Luz in Lisbon, the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff,the O2 Arenas in London, Berlin, and Dublin, the renovation of Kyle Field on the campus of Texas A&M University in College Station, Texas and Orioles Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore.
Populous formerly operated as HOK Sport Venue Event, which was part of the HOK Group. In January 2009, Populous was created through a management buyout, becoming independently owned and operated. It is reported to be one of the largest architecture firms in the world.[1][2][3]
Logo of the former HOK Sports
HOK under Jerry Sincoff created its sports group in 1983 (initially called the Sports Facilities Group and later changed to HOK Sport Venue Event). The firm initially consisted of eight architects in Kansas City, and grew to employ 185 people by 1996.[4]
On several projects, HOK Sport had teamed with international design practice LOBB Partnership, which maintained offices in London, England, and Brisbane, Australia. On HOK Sport's 15th anniversary in November 1998, the firm merged with LOBB. The new practice retained headquarters in all three cities.
The Kansas City, Missouri, office was first based in the city's Garment District in the Lucas Place office building.[5] In 2005, it moved into its current headquarters at 300 Wyandotte in the River Market neighborhood in a new building it designed, on land developed as an urban renewal project through tax incentives from the city's Planned Industrial Expansion Authority. It was the first major company to relocate to the neighborhood in several decades.[6]
The company is one of several Kansas City-based sports design firms that trace their roots to Kivett and Myers which designed the Truman Sports Complex which was one of the first modern large single purpose sports stadiums (previously, stadiums were designed for multipurpose use). Other firms with sports design presence in Kansas City that trace their roots to Kivett include Ellerbe Becket Inc. and HNTB Corp.. 360 Architecture is also based in Kansas City.[7]
"Retro" era of baseball parks[edit]
The red brick facade of Camden yards was designed by Populous to blend in to the surrounding neighborhood of downtown Baltimore, especially the nearby B&O Warehouse.
Populous is credited for spearheading a new era of baseball park design in the 1990s, beginning with Oriole Park at Camden Yards.[8] At Camden Yards, and in other stadiums built by Populous soon thereafter like Coors Field and Progressive Field, the ballpark was designed to incorporate aesthetic elements of the city's history and older "classic ballparks." Camden Yards's red brick facade emulates the massive B&O Warehouse that dominates the right field view behind Eutaw Street,[9] whereas Progressive Field's glass and steel exterior "call to mind the drawbridges and train trestles that crisscross the nearby Cuyahoga River."[10] Starting with the Great American Ball Park in Cincinnati in 2003, a number of Populous Sport's stadiums featured more contemporary and even futuristic designs. Subsequent stadium exteriors featuring this motif opened in Washington and Minnesota.[8]
In addition to moving away from the concrete exteriors of the "cookie-cutter" multi-purpose stadiums that preceded the new parks, Populous incorporated other innovative touches: natural grass playing surfaces (instead of artificial turf), asymmetrical field dimensions, various park-specific idiosyncrasies (like Tal's Hill), and less foul territory that would keep fans farther from the diamond.[11][12][13] And because the stadiums were designed for baseball instead of several sports, the sightlines were "uniformly excellent."[14]
Camden Yards was not only hugely popular with baseball fans. The success of a new ballpark in downtown Baltimore convinced many cities to invest public funds in their own new ballparks to help revitalize struggling urban neighborhoods.[13] From 1992 to 2012, HOK Sport/Populous were the lead architects on 14 Major League Baseball stadiums and helped renovate four existing stadiums.[15]
Populous's designs across Major League Baseball have become so prevalent that some critics have asserted that the distinctiveness that was originally found in early "retro" ballparks is impossible to maintain: "There are nearly 20 [new ballparks] around the league, [so] their heterogeneity has come to seem altogether homogenous." Whereas "classic" ballparks like Fenway Park were given strange dimensions simply because of the limitations provided by the plots of land on which the parks were built, new stadiums do not feature such restrictions. One sportswriter said the attempt emulate the old parks in this way is "contrived."[14]
In addition, a number of commentators have criticized what they see as a tendency to cater new ballparks toward wealthier ticket buyers, such as with expanded use of luxury suites instead of cheaper, conventional seating.[14][16][17][18] Several writers have noted that upper deck seating at new ballparks may actually be farther away from the field than in the older parks, partly as a result of these new upper decks being pushed higher by rows of luxury suites.[19]
One writer in The New Yorker said it is "not quite right to credit or blame Populous" for trends in their new stadiums—as it is ultimately team owners that plan what they want in future stadiums—but they "certainly enabled" such changes.[20]
Headquarters of Populous, in Kansas City, MO, USA.
Sports projects[edit]
Association football[edit]
Australian football[edit]
American football[edit]
NFL and College football[edit]
Arena Football League[edit]
Major League Baseball[edit]
Minor league baseball[edit]
College baseball[edit]
College Basketball[edit]
Ice hockey[edit]
Rugby League[edit]
Venue projects[edit]
Convention and Civic centers[edit]
Event projects[edit]
National Football League[edit]
(selected events)
Major League Baseball[edit]
Major League Baseball All-Star Game
• 1993 – Baltimore, Maryland
• 1997 – Cleveland, Ohio
• 1999 – Boston, Massachusetts
• 2000 – Atlanta, Georgia
• 2001 – Seattle, Washington
• 2002 – Milwaukee, Wisconsin
• 2003 – Chicago, Illinois
• 2004 – Houston, Texas
• 2005 – Detroit, Michigan
• 2006 – Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
• 2007 – San Francisco, California
• 2009 – St. Louis, Missouri
• 2013 – Queens, New York City, New York
• 2014 – Minneapolis, Minnesota
Football events[edit]
(Selected Events)
Other events[edit]
(Selected Events)
1. ^ Kevin Collison, "HOK Sport Venue now stands alone", The Kansas City Star, January 5, 2009.[dead link]
2. ^ Populous official website
3. ^ Kevin Collison, "Sports architecture firm changes name", The Kansas City Star, March 31, 2009 (access date March 31, 2009).
4. ^ International Directory of Company Histories, Vol.59. St. James Press, 2004
5. ^ HOK Sport Venue Event changes name to Populous – Kansas City Business Journal – March 31, 2009
6. ^ Thanks. Now Scram – The Pitch – Kansas City – February 1, 2007
7. ^ New Game Plan – Kansas City Business Journal –- June 20, 2003
8. ^ a b Byrnes, Mark (March 30, 2012). "Is the Retro Ballpark Movement Officially Over?". The Atlantic. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
9. ^ Santelli, Robert; Santelli, Jenna (2010). The Baseball Fan's Bucket List: 162 Things You Must Do, See, Get, and Experience Before You Die. Running Press. p. 73. ISBN 9780762440313. Retrieved 12 November 2013.
10. ^ Mock, Joe (June 18, 2013). "Indians' Progressive Field sustains splendor". USA Today. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
11. ^ "Camden Yards History". MLB.com. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
12. ^ Ward, Geoffrey C.; Ken Burns. "Fields and Dreams". PBS. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
13. ^ a b Rosensweig, Daniel (2005). Retro Ball Parks: Instant History, Baseball, and the New American City. Univ. of Tennessee Press. ISBN 9781572333512. Retrieved 12 November 2013.
14. ^ a b c Lamster, Mark (July 2009). "Play Ball". Metropolis Magazine. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
15. ^ "About the Architect". MLB.com. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
16. ^ DeMause, Neil; Cagan, Joanna (2008). Field of Schemes: How the Great Stadium Swindle Turns Public Money Into Private Profit. U of Nebraska Press. ISBN 9780803228481. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
17. ^ Lupica, Mike (May 23, 2011). "Subway Series: Only affordable aspect of Yankee Stadium experience is the 4 train fare". Daily News. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
18. ^ deMause, Neil (April 2, 2009). "New Yankee Stadium Opens Its Vast, Expensive Gates". The Village Voice. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
19. ^ Levin, Josh (Oct 7–13, 2005). "Rich Fan, Poor Fan". Washington City Paper. Retrieved November 12, 2013.
20. ^ "The End of the Retro Ballpark". Retrieved November 12, 2013.
21. ^ Schlueb, Mark. "Architects, Dyer and Lions to brainstorm ideas for MLS stadium design". Orlandosentinel.com. Orlando Sentinel. Retrieved 7 January 2014.
22. ^ Comfort Zone – Boston Globe – November 19, 2001
23. ^ [1]
External links[edit]
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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
(Redirected from QlikTech)
Jump to: navigation, search
Type Public (NASDAQQLIK)
Industry Business Intelligence, Business Discovery, Business Analysis, Software Company
Founded 1993
Headquarters Radnor, Pennsylvania
Key people Lars Björk, CEO
Tim MacCarrick, CFO
Les Bonney, COO
Anthony Deighton, CTO/SVP Products
Diane Adams, Chief People Officer
Products QlikView 11
Website http://qlik.com
Qlik is a software company based in Radnor, Pennsylvania. Qlik is the provider of QlikView, business intelligence software.
Qlik (previously known as QlikTech) was founded in Lund, Sweden in 1993 as a software company in business intelligence (BI).[1] Its PC-based desktop tool was called QuikView. "Quik" stood for "Quality, Understanding, Interaction, Knowledge." Initially the software was sold only in Sweden.[2]
Måns Hultman became CEO in 2000 and Lars Björk became CFO. The company grew from 35 employees in 1999 to 70 in 2003. In 2003, Qlik raised $12.5 million in capital.[3] In 2005, the single-user desktop tool was replaced with a server-based web tool. In 2004, Accel and Jerusalem Venture Partners, an Israeli venture capital fund founded by Erel Margalit, invested in Qlik, turning it into an international software house.[4] Qlik established partnerships with Intel and HP, and incorporated charts and colors in their UI. Qlik customers include DB Schenker, Dendrite, Ericsson, and the Swedish Post.
In 2007, Lars Björk became Qlik’s CEO. In 2009 and the company employs over 650 people in 24 countries[citation needed]. Its user base has expanded to 22,000 customers in 100 countries.[5] The company held an initial public offering in July 2010. In 2010, Qlik debuted on Wall Street.
As of April 2011, the company had a market capitalization over $2 billion.[6]
In 2013, the company opened an office in Western Australia.[7]
See also[edit]
External links[edit]
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Scarface (rapper)
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
Scarface (rapper).jpg
Scarface in 2013.
Background information
Birth name Brad Terrence Jordan[1]
Also known as Mr. Scarface, Face Mob, Akshen[2]
Born (1970-11-09) November 9, 1970 (age 43)
Origin Houston, Texas, United States
Genres Hip hop, gangsta rap, mafioso rap
Occupations Rapper
Years active 1987–present
Labels Rap-a-Lot, Asylum, Atlantic Records
Associated acts Geto Boys, Ice Cube, Trick Daddy, Devin the Dude, DJ Muggs, UGK, Z-Ro
Brad Terrence Jordan (born November 9, 1970), better known by his stage name Scarface, is an American rapper. He hails from Houston, Texas and is a member of the Geto Boys.[2] He is originally from the city's South Park neighborhood.[3] In 2012, The Source ranked him #16 on their list of the Top 50 Lyricists of All Time,[4] while ranked him #10 on its list of the 50 Greatest MCs of Our Time (1987-2007).[5]
Early life and education[edit]
Scarface attended Woodson Middle School in Houston, Texas.[6] He was brought up as a Christian, but converted to Islam some time around 2007.[7]
He began his career as DJ Akshun (pronounced Action) recording solo for Lil' Troy's Short Stop Records, a local label in Houston. After releasing the 12" single "Scarface/Another Head Put To Rest" (1989), he would go on to sign with Rap-A-Lot Records and join a group who were collectively known as Geto Boys replacing one member who left, and released the group's second album Grip It! On That Other Level (1989), a highly successful album that garnered the group a large fanbase, in spite of their violent lyrics keeping them from radio and MTV. He took his stage name from the 1983 film Scarface. / In 1992, Scarface appeared (along with Ice Cube and Bushwick Bill) on the Kool G Rap & DJ Polo album: Live and Let Die.
The album Mr. Scarface Is Back was a success, and Scarface's popularity soon overshadowed the other Geto Boys. Scarface remained in the group while releasing a series of solo albums that kept him in the public view with increasing sales, making him the only Geto Boys member that has always remained with the group since the group personnel was revamped in 1989. This peaked with The Diary and The Last of a Dying Breed, which received overwhelmingly positive reviews and sales, and earned him Lyricist of the Year at the 2001 Source Awards.[2]
In 2002, he released The Fix, the follow-up to The Last of a Dying Breed and returned to the studio with the Geto Boys for their album, The Foundation. He was also featured on The Biggie Duets alongside Big Gee and Akon. He guested on Ray Cash's debut single "Bumpin' My Music".
In addition to his career as a rapper, Scarface has also been the coordinator and president of Def Jam South since 2000, where he has fostered the career of popular rapper Ludacris, whom he originally signed to the label.[2]
Scarface has appeared on Freeway's album Free at Last and on Beanie Sigel's album, The Solution. Scarface is currently planning production; he has produced three tracks on UGK's Underground Kingz including "Life in 2009," "Still Ridin' Dirty," and "Candy."
Some of Scarface's early music videos ("A Minute to Pray and a Second to Die") featured community activist Quanell X in supporting roles.
In 2008, Scarface collaborated with rapper Tech N9ne on his album Killer on the song "Pillow Talkin'".
Despite limited commercial appeal, he remains out of the norm and uniquely popular amongst those in the industry, and has been described as "your favorite rapper's favorite rapper".[8] On August 6, 2009 Scarface performed at the 2009 Gathering of the Juggalos. In 2005, comedian Chris Rock praised Scarface as one of the best three rappers of all time on his list of the Top-25 Hip-Hop Albums ever. "[9]
On June 30, 2010, Scarface announced that he is working on a new album entitled The Habit which will include features from John Legend and Drake that is scheduled for release this Fall.[10] For one production on the album, Scarface co-hosted a worldwide producer showcase with iStandard from which thousands of producers were considered and after a selection of the top 8, Alex Kresovich was named winner.[11][12] The album is also said to feature production from Eminem.[13] In February 2011, news came that he has been held in jail without bail since September 2010 for failure to pay child support in four different cases.[14] As of August 2011, Scarface has been released from jail and is currently working on a new solo album. In 2012, Scarface collaborated with Ice Cube on an Insane Clown Posse remix called "Chris Benoit" on The Mighty Death Pop!'s bonus album Mike E. Clark's Extra Pop Emporium.[15]
Media appearances[edit]
Scarface appeared in the Mike Judge film Idiocracy as a pimp named Upgrayedd. Judge also used the Scarface track "No Tears" and Geto Boys tracks "Still" and "Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta" in his 1999 movie Office Space.[citation needed] Scarface's track "On my Block" is also featured in the movie "My Baby's Daddy".[citation needed]
He has appeared in two video games: Def Jam Vendetta and its sequel Def Jam: Fight For NY.[citation needed]
Scarface was accused of anti-Semitism in an interview he gave for a music website in 2013.[16] Scarface later responded to the accusations saying his feud was with record label executives who are “so old and so white they don’t care about the craft or the culture of it, it’s only the money that matters.”[17]
Personal life[edit]
Scarface has a son, Brandon Jordan, with Melissa Lollis.[18] He claims to be a cousin of singer Johnny Nash.[19]
In 2008, Scarface supported Barack Obama's presidency, but stated that he is a fiscal conservative.[20]
Main article: Scarface discography
Studio albums
1. ^ "Texas Births 1926–1995". "Family Tree Networks".
2. ^ a b c d allmusic ((( Scarface > Biography )))
3. ^ Rodriguez, Lori. "SHIFTING DEMOGRAPHICS / Latinos bringing change to black neighborhoods / Newcomers are finding acceptance comes gradually." Houston Chronicle. Monday May 2, 2005. A1. Retrieved on February 4, 2009.
4. ^
5. ^
6. ^ Lomax, John Nova. "South Park Monster." Houston Press. Thursday June 6, 2002. 3. Retrieved on February 6, 2011.
7. ^ Arnold, Paul W. (2007-11-18) Scarface interview – Retrieved on 2011-10-25.
8. ^ Reid, Shaheem. (2002-08-16) Scarface Keeps Eye On Future – News Story | Music, Celebrity, Artist News | MTV News. Retrieved on 2011-10-25.
9. ^ Chris Rock's Top 25 Hip Hop Albums. Rate Your Music. Retrieved on 2011-10-25.
10. ^ Harper, Rosario. (2010-06-30) Scarface Defends Return From Retirement, "I'm Stepping Back In On My Terms". Sohh.Com. Retrieved on 2011-10-25.
11. ^ iStandard Texas Time – Help Decide Scarface’s Next Track / iStandard In Dallas @ TUMS This Week « Blog. (2010-08-05). Retrieved on 2011-10-25.
12. ^ iStandard Producers – Battles. Retrieved on 2011-10-25.
13. ^ Album Review: Scarface – The Habit | Prefix. (2010-04-28). Retrieved on 2011-10-25.
14. ^ (2011-02-04). Retrieved on 2011-10-25.
15. ^
16. ^ Leibovitz, Liel (May 3, 2013). "Requiem for a Racist Rapper". Tablet.
17. ^ Leibovitz, Liel (May 7, 2013). "Scarface Responds to Tablet". Tablet.
18. ^
19. ^
20. ^ YouTube
External links[edit]
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The Subjection of Women
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
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The Subjection of Women is the title of an essay written by John Stuart Mill in 1869,[1] possibly jointly with his wife Harriet Taylor Mill, stating an argument in favour of equality between the sexes. At the time it was published in 1869, this essay was an affront to European conventional norms for the status of men and women.
John Stuart Mill credited his wife, Harriet Taylor Mill, with co-writing the essay. While some scholars agreed by 2009 that John Stuart Mill was the sole author,[2] it is also noted that some of the arguments are similar to Harriet Taylor Mill's essay The Enfranchisement of Women which was published in 1851.[2][3]
Mill was convinced that the moral and intellectual advancement of humankind would result in greater happiness for everybody. He asserted that the higher pleasures of the intellect yielded far greater happiness than the lower pleasure of the senses. He conceived of human beings as morally and intellectually capable of being educated and civilised. Mill believed everyone should have the right to vote, with the only exceptions being barbarians and uneducated people.
Mill argues that people should be able to vote to defend their own rights and to learn to stand on their two feet, morally and intellectually. This argument is applied to both men and women. Mill often used his position as a member of Parliament to demand the vote for women, a controversial position for the time.
In Mill's time a woman was generally subject to the whims of her husband and/or father due to social norms which said women were both physically and mentally less able than (citation needed), and therefore needed to be "taken care of." Contributing to this view were social theories, i.e. survival of the fittest and biological determinism, based on a now considered incorrect understanding of the biological theory of evolution and also religious views supporting a hierarchical view of men and women within the family(citation needed). The archetype of the ideal woman as mother, wife and homemaker was a powerful idea in 19th century society(citation needed).
At the time of writing, Mill recognised that he was going against the common views of society and was aware that he would be forced to back up his claims persistently. Mill argued that the inequality of women was a relic from the past, when "might was right,"[4] but it had no place in the modern world.[5] Mill saw that having effectively half the human race unable to contribute to society outside of the home as a hindrance to human development.
Mill attacks the argument that women are naturally worse at some things than men, and should, therefore, be discouraged or forbidden from doing them. He says that we simply don't know what women are capable of, because we have never let them try – one cannot make an authoritative statement without evidence. We can't stop women from trying things because they might not be able to do them. An argument based on speculative physiology is just that, speculation.
"The anxiety of mankind to intervene on behalf of an altogether unnecessary solicitude. What women by nature cannot do, it is quite superfluous to forbid them from doing."[7]
In this, men are basically contradicting themselves because they say women cannot do an activity and want to stop them from doing it. Here Mill suggests that men are basically admitting that women are capable of doing the activity, but that men do not want them to do so.
Whether women can do them or not must be found out in practice. In reality, we don't know what women's nature is, because it is so wrapped up in how they have been raised. Mill suggests we should test out what women can and can't do – experiment.
Women are brought up to act as if they were weak, emotional, docile – a traditional prejudice. If we tried equality, we would see that there were benefits for individual women. They would be free of the unhappiness of being told what to do by men. And there would be benefits for society at large – it would double the mass of mental faculties available for the higher service of humanity. The ideas and potential of half the population would be liberated, producing a great effect on human development.
Mill's essay is clearly utilitarian in nature on three counts: The immediate greater good,[8] the enrichment of society,[9] and individual development.
If society really wanted to discover what is truly natural in gender relations, Mill argued, it should establish a free market for all of the services women perform, ensuring a fair economic return for their contributions to the general welfare. Only then would their practical choices be likely to reflect their genuine interests and abilities.
Mill felt that the emancipation and education of women would have positive benefits for men also. The stimulus of female competition and companionship of equally educated persons would result in the greater intellectual development of all. He stressed the insidious effects of the constant companionship of an uneducated wife or husband. Mill felt that men and women married to follow customs and that the relation between them was a purely domestic one. By emancipating women, Mill believed, they would be better able to connect on an intellectual level with their husbands, thereby improving relationships.
Mill attacks marriage laws, which he likens to the slavery of women, "there remain no legal slaves, save the mistress of every house." He alludes to the subjection of women becoming redundant as slavery did before it. He also argues for the need for reforms of marriage legislation whereby it is reduced to a business agreement, placing no restrictions on either party. Among these proposals are the changing of inheritance laws to allow women to keep their own property, and allowing women to work outside the home, gaining independent financial stability.
Again the issue of women's suffrage is raised. Women make up half of the population, thus they also have a right to a vote since political policies affect women too. He theorises that most men will vote for those MPs who will subordinate women, therefore women must be allowed to vote to protect their own interests.
"Under whatever conditions, and within whatever limits, men are admitted to the suffrage, there is not a shadow of justification for not admitting women under the same."[10]
Mill felt that even in societies as unequal as England and Europe that one could already find evidence that when given a chance women could excel. He pointed to such English queens as Elizabeth I, or Victoria, or the French patriot, Joan of Arc. If given the chance women would excel in other arenas and they should be given the opportunity to try.
Mill was not just a theorist; he actively campaigned for women's rights as an MP and was the president of the National Society for Women's Suffrage.
The way Mill interpreted subjects over time changed. For many years Mill was seen as an inconsistent philosopher, writing on a number of separate issues. Consistency in his approach is based on utilitarianism, and the good of society.
Nothing should be ruled out because it is just "wrong" or because no one has done it in the past. When we are considering our policies, we should seek the greatest happiness of the greatest number. This leads to attacks on conventional views. If you wish to make something illegal, you need to prove what harm is being done. Individuals know their own interests best.
Progress of society[edit]
The greatest good is understood in a very broad sense to be the moral and intellectual developments of society. Different societies are at different stages of development or civilisation. Different solutions may be required for them. What matters is how we encourage them to advance further. We can say the same for individuals. Mill has a quite specific idea of individual progress, (1) Employing higher faculties (2) Moral development, people place narrow self-interest behind them
Individual self-reliance[edit]
We are independent, capable of change and of being rational. Individual liberty provides the best route to moral development. As we develop, we are able to govern ourselves, make our own decisions, and not be dependent on what anyone else tells us to do. Democracy is a form of self-dependence. This means:
1. Personal Liberty As long as we do not harm others, we should be able to express our own natures, and experiment with our lives
2. Liberty to Govern our own Affairs Civilized people are increasingly able to make their own decisions, and protect their own rights. Representative government is also a useful way of getting us to think about the common good.
3. Liberty for women as well as men All of Mill's arguments apply to both men and women. Previous ideas about the different natures of men and women have never been properly tested. Women can participate in determining their own affairs too.
See also[edit]
2. ^ a b Tong, Rosemarie (2009). Feminist Thought: A More Comprehensive Introduction. Westview Press (Perseus Books). p. 17. ISBN 978-0-8133-4375-4.
3. ^ Mill, Mrs. John Stuart (1851). The Enfranchisement of Women (July 1851 ed.). London: Westminster & Foreign Quarterly Review. p. 27. Retrieved 4 June 2014.
4. ^ "To yield to force is an act of necessity, not of will; it is at best an act of prudence. In what sense can it be a moral duty ... once might is made to be right, cause and effect are reversed, and every force which overcomes another force inherits the right which belonged to the vanquished. As soon as man can obey with impunity, his disobedience becomes legitimate; and the strongest is always right, the only problem is how to become the strongest. But what can be the validity of a right which perishes with the force on which it rests? If force compels obedience, there is no need to invoke duty to obey, and if force ceases to compel obedience, there is no longer any obligation. Thus the word 'right' adds nothing to what is said by 'force'; it is meaningless. 'Obey those in power.' If this means 'yield to force' the precept is sound, but superfluous; it will never, I suggest, be violated. ... If I am held up by a robber at the edge of a wood, force compels me to hand over my purse. But if I could somehow contrive to keep the purse from him, would I still be obliged in conscience to surrender it? After all, the pistol in the robber's hand is undoubtedly a power." The Social Contract, Book I, Chapter 3: The Right of the Strongest (Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 1762).
5. ^ John Stuart Mill, On the Subjection of Women, Chapter I"... [T]he law of the strongest seems to be entirely abandoned as the regulating principle of the world's affairs: nobody professes it, and, as regards most of the relations between human beings, nobody is permitted to practice it. On the Subjection of Women, Chapter I (John Stuart Mill, 1869).
6. ^ On the Subjection of Women, Chapter I (John Stuart Mill, 1869).
7. ^ a b On the Subjection of Women, Chapter I (John Stuart Mill, 1869).
8. ^ The family, justly constituted, would be the real school of the virtues of freedom. The Subjection of Women, Chapter II
9. ^ "The moral training of mankind will never be adapted to the adapted to the conditions of the life for which all other human progress is a preparation, until they practice in the family the same moral rule which is adapted to the normal constitution of human society." On the Subjection of Women, Chapter I (John Stuart Mill, 1869)
10. ^ The Subjection of Women, Chapter III.
External links[edit]
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To My Surprise
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
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To My Surprise
To My Surprise group photo.jpg
The last active incarnation of the band. From left to right: Paul Thompson, Steven Robinson, Shawn Crahan, Dorothy Hecht, Wade Thompson, Jarrod Brom
Background information
Origin Des Moines, Iowa, United States
Genres Experimental rock, alternative rock, indie rock
Years active 2002–2006
Labels Roadrunner Records, Big Orange Clown Records
Associated acts Slipknot
Dirty Little Rabbits
Past members Dorothy Hecht
Jarrod Brom
Paul Thompson
Wade Thompson
Shawn Crahan
Stevan Robinson
Brandon Darner
To My Surprise was an American experimental rock band formed in 2002 in Des Moines, Iowa. They are referred to as a side project of Shawn Crahan, a member/founder of rock band Slipknot. In 2003 they released their debut album To My Surprise, however after losing frontman Brandon Darner in 2004 they parted ways with their record label. 2005 saw four new members join the band to begin work on a second album and in 2006 they began performing shows in the US. However, shortly after To My Surprise canceled several upcoming appearances and disbanded without releasing a second album.
In June 2002, Shawn Crahan, Brandon Darner and Stevan Robinson began working on an album together. During an interview with MTV in 2003 Crahan explained; "I've been keeping in touch with the music side of myself," and that To My Surprise is "a movement towards understanding [himself] and who [he is]."[1] Two songs that Crahan and Darner wrote in 2002 were sent to producer Rick Rubin, without the intent of working with him. However, Rubin invited the band to Cello Studios in Los Angeles to work on an album.[1] On October 7, 2003, the band released their debut album To My Surprise through Roadrunner Records.[2] A music Video for the track "In The Mood" premiered on MTV's Extreme show on December 1.[3] In 2004 "Get It To Go" featured on the soundtrack for the video game MVP Baseball 2004.[4] Also in 2004, Crahan began working with Slipknot again in preparation of the release of their third album. At this time vocalist Darner was—as Crahan describes it—"at an age where he was ready to start his career" but Crahan had other commitments with Slipknot and Darner decided to leave To My Surprise.[5] Shortly after this, with only releasing one album by the band, Roadrunner Records parted ways with To My Surprise.[6]
In 2005—after Stone Sour had finished touring—Crahan and Robinson got back together to work on new material, enlisting the help of Dorothy Hecht, Jarrod Brom, Paul Thompson, Wade Thompson and Patrick McBride making the band twice its original size.[7] The band were working on a second album which they planned to release through Crahan's own label Big Orange Clown Records.[8] In 2006 it was announced that the band would release a limited edition 7" record, however the band began performing shows and this brought a halt to work in the studio.[9] Most notably To My Surprise performed at South by Southwest, which Crahan described as "a dream come true".[9] Prior to their performance at South by Southwest a track entitled "Jump The Gun" was released online as part of an e-card.[10] They also planned to perform at festivals in Europe and tour the US, however the band canceled their appearances at European festivals and parted ways. Crahan said that the reason the band "died" was because it was unrealistic for him to be in this band and make it work and that "Slipknot made it impossible".[5]
Musical style[edit]
To My Surprise found its name from people's reaction to their music, primarily based on peoples prejudice based on Crahan's most notable band Slipknot's musical style. Crahan went as far as saying "I'd have to put a gun in my mouth if it was metal," because he's already in "the best metal band in the world".[8] Their musical style has been noted to include; glam rock, new wave, pop, country rock, alternative rock and disco.[8][11][12] They have been compared to Cake, The Strokes, Faith No More, Weezer, Syd Barrett, They Might Be Giants, Hater, The Presidents of the United States of America and Harvey Danger, among others.[11][12]
Band members[edit]
• Dorothy Hecht – vocals, keyboards (2005–2006)
• Jarrod Brom – guitars, keyboards (2005–2006)
• Paul Thompson – guitars, vocals (2005–2006)
• Wade Thompson – bass, vocals (2005–2006)
• Shawn Crahandrums, vocals (2002–2006)
• Stevan Robinson – guitars, vocals (2002–2006)
• Brandon Darner – guitars, vocals (2002–2004)
• Patrick McBride - vocals (2005–2006)
1. ^ a b D'Angelo, Joe (2003-06-26). "Slipknot's Crahan Not Clowning Around With Side Project". MTV. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
2. ^ "For The Record: Quick News On Da Band, John Mayer, Godsmack, X-ecutioners, Ronald Isley, Hanoi Rocks & More". MTV. 2003-09-09. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
3. ^ "In The Mood". Roadrunner Records. 2003-11-21. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
4. ^ "(Game) Nerds". Roadrunner Records. 2004-02-09. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
5. ^ a b "Exclusive Podcast: Part 2 - Slipknot Percussionist Shawn Crahan Beats Himself, Takes Pictures For Art". MTV. 2008-11-14. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
6. ^ "To My Surprise Part Ways With Roadrunner, Seek New Label Home". 2004-07-17. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
7. ^ "South By Southwest Fesivals + Conferences". South by Southwest. 2006-03-16. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
8. ^ a b c Wiederhorn, Jon (2005-10-03). "Slipknot Cap A Year Of Destruction With 9.0: Live; More Stone Sour On Tap". MTV. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
9. ^ a b Gager, Ellen (April 2006). "Peeking behind Shawn "Clown" Crahan's mask". Midwest Excess. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
10. ^ "To My Surprise Featuring Slipknot Percussionist: New Song Posted Online". 2006-03-10. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
11. ^ a b Strauss, Neil (2003-10-15). "The Pop Life; Hard-Rock Clown Finds His Inner Softie". The New York Times. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
12. ^ a b Bell, Mike (2003-11-11). "These Clowns are unhinged". Calgary Sun. Retrieved 2008-11-30.
External links[edit]
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Page:A Desk-Book of Errors in English.djvu/139
From Wikisource
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This page has been validated.
Errors in English
gers or cargo. These words are pronounced alike. Compare dock.
kibosh: A slang term for "humbug." To put the kibosh on, a slang phrase for "to put an end to or stop anything."
kick is not used instead of "protest" by careful speakers, notwithstanding the fact that George Eliot introduced it into literature (see Silas Marner, ch. iv. p. 52). The term is slang.
kid: A common vulgarism for "child" and as such one the use of which can not be too severely condemned.
kid on: A vulgarism used in England for "humbug; hoax; or, try to induce one to believe something that is not true:"—no kid, no kidding: Vulgar terms for "without any humbug." Undesirable locutions.
killing. Compare perfectly.
kinder: For kind of, pronounced as one word, is merely a low vulgarism. The same remark holds of sorter similarly used for "sort of." See kind of.
kindness: When used in the plural is sometimes objected to on the ground that kindness is an abstract noun. "He wishes to express gratitude for many kindnesses." Nothing is commoner than the making of abstract nouns into concrete in this way; "affinities"; "charities"; "His tender mercies are over all His works." Besides, by "many kindnesses" is meant,
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Definition from Wiktionary, the free dictionary
Jump to: navigation, search
1. Present participle of coin.
coining (countable and uncountable, plural coinings)
1. (uncountable) A form of alternative medicine from Southeast Asia where a coin is rubbed vigorously on a patient's oiled skin.
2. (countable, linguistics) A newly created word or phrase
• 1783, Hugh Blair, George Edward Griffiths editor, The Monthly Review[1], volume 68, Art. V. Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres., page 499:
Poetry admits of greater latitude than proſe, which with reſpect to coining, or, at leaſt, new-compounding words; yet, even here, this liberty ſhould be uſed with a ſparing hand.
• 1989, Horsley, G.H.R., “The Greek Documentary Evidence and NT Lexical Study: Some Soundings”, in New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity[2], volume 5, ISBN 9780858376366, page 77:
Once we move into the Patristic period, there is undoubted evidence for new coinings of words (particularly compounds) as a response to the needs of the theological debates which occurred.
• 2009, Kristin Denham, Anne Lobeck, “Morphological Typology and Word Formation”, in Linguistics for Everyone: An Introduction[3], ISBN 9781413015898, page 194:
Coinings or neologisms are words that have recently been created. [...] True coinings, which are completely new words, are rather rare relative to the vast number of words we create by means of the other word formation processes.
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1. Industry
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What is a saltwater disposal well?
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A saltwater disposal well is where the water from oil and gas well production is discarded. Called "saltwater" euphemistically by industry, this fluid is considered hazardous waste because of its high salt content, hydrocarbons, and industrial compounds. This fluid is injected into wells so that it doesn't contaminate land or water resources. Hydraulic fracturing of shale gas well sites produces millions of gallons of this "saltwater" (also known as "produced water"). Placement of high pressure saltwater disposal well sites is often controversial because of the potential for groundwater contamination and small earthquakes.
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6. What is a saltwater disposal well?
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Skynet Project – monitor, scale and auto-heal a system in the Cloud
Skynet is a set of tools designed to monitor, scale and maintain a system in the Cloud. Put more simply, it’s a system that is aware about what’s happening on every single machine so it can also know about how the cluster is doing as a whole.
skynet archi
Our document conversion infrastructure is running in EC2. Pay-as-you-go is great for us, as we can scale depending on the number of documents our users are uploading to SlideShare.
We are firm believers in automation, so we decided to make the scaling process automated. The initial attempt was written in Bash, which was good enough while we were small. However, our cluster has grown by an order of magnitude. That’s why Casey Brown and I decided to build Skynet.
What and Why:
Skynet consists of:
- collectors (ruby code)
- message bus (Fluentd)
- data store (mongodb)
- api (ruby code)
- controller (ruby code)
- actions / scenarios (yaml)
The data collection part happens via two kinds of data collectors that we wrote: a library to gather application logs, and a daemon present on each machine to collect system metrics. These data are sent via Fluentd to multiple datastore in a reliable, fast and flexible fashion. We built these data collection tools ourselves because we wanted to be free to record what we wanted in the programming language we like (Ruby).
We are using MongoDB which we liked when starting the project because we were unclear about how the data would look. MongoDB gave us the flexibility that we needed. In front of that we have a REST API that allows anyone to consume data in an easy way without learning MongoDB-specific queries. It also gives us the possibility to change the datastore technology without disturbing data consumers (graph dashboard, analytics reports, Skynet controller…).
The scaling part happens with the controller, based on simple information like: number of documents waiting to be converted, load on machines and number of active connections on the web servers. You can easily decide if you need more capacity.
Let’s discuss the neat part: auto healing. We realized that for the majority of the on-call pages we get, we needed to perform a set of repetitive actions, which took us away from our precious foosball time. To solve that issue we provided the Skynet Controller a set of actions that it can perform, with which we can create scenarios (both actions and scenarios are organized in YAML files). Let’s pick an example where Skynet detects that a machine is not processing documents:
• It first gets the status of the application process; it finds out that it’s not running
• It attempts to restart process. The restart fails.
• It checks if the PID file is present, and it is. It deletes the PID file
• It try another restart. It works!
The scenario that I just described is a very classic one that any Ops person already performs hundreds of times in his career. Scenarios are actually possibility trees. Depending on the output of an action, it will pick the next action to perform. Additionally, scenarios can mix in other scenarios.
The decision engine, which is the Controller, gives us the ability to take smarter decisions than if every server would take decision locally. Let’s say that a condition shows up for every server at the same time: the Controller can decide to apply a scenario on a small part of the cluster, analyse the output and carry on or stop depending on how it went.
Finally we want to make Skynet able to learn. In the event that it can not solve a situation by applying a known scenario, it will attempt to execute a series of authorized actions and record whether they worked or not. Next time the Controller faces a similar issue, it will try the scenario that previously succeeded, and eventually scenarios that don’t work will be discarded.
Skynet is not open source yet but we are working on it. If you want to contribute to it now, we are hiring.
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DeutschClear Cookie - decide language by browser settings
Klüppelberg, Claudia (2002): Risk Management with Extreme Value Theory. Collaborative Research Center 386, Discussion Paper 270
In this paper we review certain aspects around the Value-at-Risk, which is nowadays the industry benchmark risk measure. As a small quantile (usually 1%) Value-at-Risk is closely related to extreme value theory. We explain an estimation method based on extreme value theory. Since the variance of the estimated Value-at-Risk may depend on the dependence structure of the data, we investigate the extreme behaviour of some of the most prominent time series models in finance, continuous as well as discrete time models. We also determine optimal portfolios, when risk is measured by the Value-at-Risk. Again we use realistic models, moving away from the traditional Black-Scholes model to the class of Lévy processes. This paper is the contribution to a book by several authors on Extreme Value Theory, which will appear by CRC/Chapman and Hall.
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Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
by Jules Verne
Part 1, Chapter 22: The Lightning Bolts of Captain Nemo
Additional Information
• Year Published: 1870
• Language: English
• Country of Origin: France
• Readability:
• Flesch–Kincaid Level: 6.5
• Word Count: 3,987
• Genre: Science Fiction
• Keywords: chapter 22: the lightning bolts of captain nemo, part 1
• ✎ Cite This
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Without standing up, we stared in the direction of the forest, my hand stopping halfway to my mouth, Ned Land's completing its assignment.
"Stones don't fall from the sky," Conseil said, "or else they deserve to be called meteorites."
A second well–polished stone removed a tasty ringdove leg from Conseil's hand, giving still greater relevance to his observation.
We all three stood up, rifles to our shoulders, ready to answer any attack.
"Apes maybe?" Ned Land exclaimed.
"Nearly," Conseil replied. "Savages."
"Head for the skiff!" I said, moving toward the sea.
Indeed, it was essential to beat a retreat because some twenty natives, armed with bows and slings, appeared barely a hundred paces off, on the outskirts of a thicket that masked the horizon to our right.
The skiff was aground ten fathoms away from us.
The savages approached without running, but they favored us with a show of the greatest hostility. It was raining stones and arrows.
Ned Land was unwilling to leave his provisions behind, and despite the impending danger, he clutched his pig on one side, his kangaroos on the other, and scampered off with respectable speed.
In two minutes we were on the strand. Loading provisions and weapons into the skiff, pushing it to sea, and positioning its two oars were the work of an instant. We hadn't gone two cable lengths when a hundred savages, howling and gesticulating, entered the water up to their waists. I looked to see if their appearance might draw some of the Nautilus's men onto the platform. But no. Lying well out, that enormous machine still seemed completely deserted.
Twenty minutes later we boarded ship. The hatches were open. After mooring the skiff, we reentered the Nautilus's interior.
I went below to the lounge, from which some chords were wafting. Captain Nemo was there, leaning over the organ, deep in a musical trance.
"Captain!" I said to him.
He didn't hear me.
"Captain!" I went on, touching him with my hand.
He trembled, and turning around:
"Ah, it's you, professor!" he said to me. "Well, did you have a happy hunt? Was your herb gathering a success?"
"Yes, captain," I replied, "but unfortunately we've brought back a horde of bipeds whose proximity worries me."
"What sort of bipeds?"
"Savages!" Captain Nemo replied in an ironic tone. "You set foot on one of the shores of this globe, professor, and you're surprised to find savages there? Where aren't there savages? And besides, are they any worse than men elsewhere, these people you call savages?"
"But Captain—"
"Speaking for myself, sir, I've encountered them everywhere."
"Well then," I replied, "if you don't want to welcome them aboard the Nautilus, you'd better take some precautions!"
"Easy, professor, no cause for alarm."
"But there are a large number of these natives."
"What's your count?"
"At least a hundred."
"Professor Aronnax," replied Captain Nemo, whose fingers took their places again on the organ keys, "if every islander in Papua were to gather on that beach, the Nautilus would still have nothing to fear from their attacks!"
The captain's fingers then ran over the instrument's keyboard, and I noticed that he touched only its black keys, which gave his melodies a basically Scottish color. Soon he had forgotten my presence and was lost in a reverie that I no longer tried to dispel.
I climbed onto the platform. Night had already fallen, because in this low latitude the sun sets quickly, without any twilight. I could see Gueboroa Island only dimly. But numerous fires had been kindled on the beach, attesting that the natives had no thoughts of leaving it.
For several hours I was left to myself, sometimes musing on the islanders—but no longer fearing them because the captain's unflappable confidence had won me over—and sometimes forgetting them to marvel at the splendors of this tropical night. My memories took wing toward France, in the wake of those zodiacal stars due to twinkle over it in a few hours. The moon shone in the midst of the constellations at their zenith. I then remembered that this loyal, good–natured satellite would return to this same place the day after tomorrow, to raise the tide and tear the Nautilus from its coral bed. Near midnight, seeing that all was quiet over the darkened waves as well as under the waterside trees, I repaired to my cabin and fell into a peaceful sleep.
The night passed without mishap. No doubt the Papuans had been frightened off by the mere sight of this monster aground in the bay, because our hatches stayed open, offering easy access to the Nautilus's interior.
At six o'clock in the morning, January 8, I climbed onto the platform. The morning shadows were lifting. The island was soon on view through the dissolving mists, first its beaches, then its summits.
The islanders were still there, in greater numbers than on the day before, perhaps 500 or 600 of them. Taking advantage of the low tide, some of them had moved forward over the heads of coral to within two cable lengths of the Nautilus. I could easily distinguish them. They obviously were true Papuans, men of fine stock, athletic in build, forehead high and broad, nose large but not flat, teeth white. Their woolly, red–tinted hair was in sharp contrast to their bodies, which were black and glistening like those of Nubians. Beneath their pierced, distended earlobes there dangled strings of beads made from bone. Generally these savages were naked. I noted some women among them, dressed from hip to knee in grass skirts held up by belts made of vegetation. Some of the chieftains adorned their necks with crescents and with necklaces made from beads of red and white glass. Armed with bows, arrows, and shields, nearly all of them carried from their shoulders a sort of net, which held those polished stones their slings hurl with such dexterity.
One of these chieftains came fairly close to the Nautilus, examining it with care. He must have been a "mado" of high rank, because he paraded in a mat of banana leaves that had ragged edges and was accented with bright colors.
I could easily have picked off this islander, he stood at such close range; but I thought it best to wait for an actual show of hostility. Between Europeans and savages, it's acceptable for Europeans to shoot back but not to attack first.
During this whole time of low tide, the islanders lurked near the Nautilus, but they weren't boisterous. I often heard them repeat the word "assai," and from their gestures I understood they were inviting me to go ashore, an invitation I felt obliged to decline.
So the skiff didn't leave shipside that day, much to the displeasure of Mr. Land who couldn't complete his provisions. The adroit Canadian spent his time preparing the meat and flour products he had brought from Gueboroa Island. As for the savages, they went back to shore near eleven o'clock in the morning, when the heads of coral began to disappear under the waves of the rising tide. But I saw their numbers swell considerably on the beach. It was likely that they had come from neighboring islands or from the mainland of Papua proper. However, I didn't see one local dugout canoe.
Having nothing better to do, I decided to dredge these beautiful, clear waters, which exhibited a profusion of shells, zoophytes, and open–sea plants. Besides, it was the last day the Nautilus would spend in these waterways, if, tomorrow, it still floated off to the open sea as Captain Nemo had promised.
So I summoned Conseil, who brought me a small, light dragnet similar to those used in oyster fishing.
"What about these savages?" Conseil asked me. "With all due respect to master, they don't strike me as very wicked!"
"They're cannibals even so, my boy."
"A person can be both a cannibal and a decent man," Conseil replied, "just as a person can be both gluttonous and honorable. The one doesn't exclude the other."
"Fine, Conseil! And I agree that there are honorable cannibals who decently devour their prisoners. However, I'm opposed to being devoured, even in all decency, so I'll keep on my guard, especially since the Nautilus's commander seems to be taking no precautions. And now let's get to work!"
For two hours our fishing proceeded energetically but without bringing up any rarities. Our dragnet was filled with Midas abalone, harp shells, obelisk snails, and especially the finest hammer shells I had seen to that day. We also gathered in a few sea cucumbers, some pearl oysters, and a dozen small turtles that we saved for the ship's pantry.
But just when I least expected it, I laid my hands on a wonder, a natural deformity I'd have to call it, something very seldom encountered. Conseil had just made a cast of the dragnet, and his gear had come back up loaded with a variety of fairly ordinary seashells, when suddenly he saw me plunge my arms swiftly into the net, pull out a shelled animal, and give a conchological yell, in other words, the most piercing yell a human throat can produce.
"Eh? What happened to master?" Conseil asked, very startled. "Did master get bitten?"
"No, my boy, but I'd gladly have sacrificed a finger for such a find!"
"What find?"
"This shell," I said, displaying the subject of my triumph.
"But that's simply an olive shell of the 'tent olive' species, genus Oliva, order Pectinibranchia, class Gastropoda, branch Mollusca—"
"Yes, yes, Conseil! But instead of coiling from right to left, this olive shell rolls from left to right!"
"It can't be!" Conseil exclaimed.
"Yes, my boy, it's a left–handed shell!"
"A left–handed shell!" Conseil repeated, his heart pounding.
"Look at its spiral!"
"Oh, master can trust me on this," Conseil said, taking the valuable shell in trembling hands, "but never have I felt such excitement!"
And there was good reason to be excited! In fact, as naturalists have ventured to observe, "dextrality" is a well–known law of nature. In their rotational and orbital movements, stars and their satellites go from right to left. Man uses his right hand more often than his left, and consequently his various instruments and equipment (staircases, locks, watch springs, etc.) are designed to be used in a right–to–left manner. Now then, nature has generally obeyed this law in coiling her shells. They're right–handed with only rare exceptions, and when by chance a shell's spiral is left–handed, collectors will pay its weight in gold for it.
So Conseil and I were deep in the contemplation of our treasure, and I was solemnly promising myself to enrich the Paris Museum with it, when an ill–timed stone, hurled by one of the islanders, whizzed over and shattered the valuable object in Conseil's hands.
I gave a yell of despair! Conseil pounced on his rifle and aimed at a savage swinging a sling just ten meters away from him. I tried to stop him, but his shot went off and shattered a bracelet of amulets dangling from the islander's arm.
"Conseil!" I shouted. "Conseil!"
"Eh? What? Didn't master see that this man–eater initiated the attack?"
"A shell isn't worth a human life!" I told him.
"Oh, the rascal!" Conseil exclaimed. "I'd rather he cracked my shoulder!"
Conseil was in dead earnest, but I didn't subscribe to his views. However, the situation had changed in only a short time and we hadn't noticed. Now some twenty dugout canoes were surrounding the Nautilus. Hollowed from tree trunks, these dugouts were long, narrow, and well designed for speed, keeping their balance by means of two bamboo poles that floated on the surface of the water. They were maneuvered by skillful, half–naked paddlers, and I viewed their advance with definite alarm.
It was obvious these Papuans had already entered into relations with Europeans and knew their ships. But this long, iron cylinder lying in the bay, with no masts or funnels—what were they to make of it? Nothing good, because at first they kept it at a respectful distance. However, seeing that it stayed motionless, they regained confidence little by little and tried to become more familiar with it. Now then, it was precisely this familiarity that we needed to prevent. Since our weapons made no sound when they went off, they would have only a moderate effect on these islanders, who reputedly respect nothing but noisy mechanisms. Without thunderclaps, lightning bolts would be much less frightening, although the danger lies in the flash, not the noise.
Just then the dugout canoes drew nearer to the Nautilus, and a cloud of arrows burst over us.
"Fire and brimstone, it's hailing!" Conseil said. "And poisoned hail perhaps!"
"We've got to alert Captain Nemo," I said, reentering the hatch.
I went below to the lounge. I found no one there. I ventured a knock at the door opening into the captain's stateroom.
The word "Enter!" answered me. I did so and found Captain Nemo busy with calculations in which there was no shortage of X and other algebraic signs.
"Am I disturbing you?" I said out of politeness.
"Correct, Professor Aronnax," the captain answered me. "But I imagine you have pressing reasons for looking me up?"
"Very pressing. Native dugout canoes are surrounding us, and in a few minutes we're sure to be assaulted by several hundred savages."
"Ah!" Captain Nemo put in serenely. "They've come in their dugouts?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, sir, closing the hatches should do the trick."
"Precisely, and that's what I came to tell you—"
"Nothing easier," Captain Nemo said.
And he pressed an electric button, transmitting an order to the crew's quarters.
"There, sir, all under control!" he told me after a few moments. "The skiff is in place and the hatches are closed. I don't imagine you're worried that these gentlemen will stave in walls that shells from your frigate couldn't breach?"
"No, Captain, but one danger still remains."
"What's that, sir?"
"Tomorrow at about this time, we'll need to reopen the hatches to renew the Nautilus's air."
"No argument, sir, since our craft breathes in the manner favored by cetaceans."
"But if these Papuans are occupying the platform at that moment, I don't see how you can prevent them from entering."
"Then, sir, you assume they'll board the ship?"
"I'm certain of it."
"Well, sir, let them come aboard. I see no reason to prevent them. Deep down they're just poor devils, these Papuans, and I don't want my visit to Gueboroa Island to cost the life of a single one of these unfortunate people!"
On this note I was about to withdraw; but Captain Nemo detained me and invited me to take a seat next to him. He questioned me with interest on our excursions ashore and on our hunting, but seemed not to understand the Canadian's passionate craving for red meat. Then our conversation skimmed various subjects, and without being more forthcoming, Captain Nemo proved more affable.
Among other things, we came to talk of the Nautilus's circumstances, aground in the same strait where Captain Dumont d'Urville had nearly miscarried. Then, pertinent to this:
"He was one of your great seamen," the captain told me, "one of your shrewdest navigators, that d'Urville! He was the Frenchman's Captain Cook. A man wise but unlucky! Braving the ice banks of the South Pole, the coral of Oceania, the cannibals of the Pacific, only to perish wretchedly in a train wreck! If that energetic man was able to think about his life in its last seconds, imagine what his final thoughts must have been!"
As he spoke, Captain Nemo seemed deeply moved, an emotion I felt was to his credit.
Then, chart in hand, we returned to the deeds of the French navigator: his voyages to circumnavigate the globe, his double attempt at the South Pole, which led to his discovery of the Adélie Coast and the Louis–Philippe Peninsula, finally his hydrographic surveys of the chief islands in Oceania.
"What your d'Urville did on the surface of the sea," Captain Nemo told me, "I've done in the ocean's interior, but more easily, more completely than he. Constantly tossed about by hurricanes, the Zealous and the new Astrolabe couldn't compare with the Nautilus, a quiet work room truly at rest in the midst of the waters!"
"Even so, Captain," I said, "there is one major similarity between Dumont d'Urville's sloops of war and the Nautilus."
"What's that, sir?"
"Like them, the Nautilus has run aground!"
"The Nautilus is not aground, sir," Captain Nemo replied icily. "The Nautilus was built to rest on the ocean floor, and I don't need to undertake the arduous labors, the maneuvers d'Urville had to attempt in order to float off his sloops of war. The Zealous and the new Astrolabe wellnigh perished, but my Nautilus is in no danger. Tomorrow, on the day stated and at the hour stated, the tide will peacefully lift it off, and it will resume its navigating through the seas."
"Captain," I said, "I don't doubt—"
"Tomorrow," Captain Nemo added, standing up, "tomorrow at 2:40 in the afternoon, the Nautilus will float off and exit the Torres Strait undamaged."
Pronouncing these words in an extremely sharp tone, Captain Nemo gave me a curt bow. This was my dismissal, and I reentered my stateroom.
There I found Conseil, who wanted to know the upshot of my interview with the captain.
"My boy," I replied, "when I expressed the belief that these Papuan natives were a threat to his Nautilus, the captain answered me with great irony. So I've just one thing to say to you: have faith in him and sleep in peace."
"Master has no need for my services?"
"No, my friend. What's Ned Land up to?"
"Begging master's indulgence," Conseil replied, "but our friend Ned is concocting a kangaroo pie that will be the eighth wonder!"
I was left to myself; I went to bed but slept pretty poorly. I kept hearing noises from the savages, who were stamping on the platform and letting out deafening yells. The night passed in this way, without the crew ever emerging from their usual inertia. They were no more disturbed by the presence of these man–eaters than soldiers in an armored fortress are troubled by ants running over the armor plate.
I got up at six o'clock in the morning. The hatches weren't open. So the air inside hadn't been renewed; but the air tanks were kept full for any eventuality and would function appropriately to shoot a few cubic meters of oxygen into the Nautilus's thin atmosphere.
I worked in my stateroom until noon without seeing Captain Nemo even for an instant. Nobody on board seemed to be making any preparations for departure.
I still waited for a while, then I made my way to the main lounge. Its timepiece marked 2:30. In ten minutes the tide would reach its maximum elevation, and if Captain Nemo hadn't made a rash promise, the Nautilus would immediately break free. If not, many months might pass before it could leave its coral bed.
But some preliminary vibrations could soon be felt over the boat's hull. I heard its plating grind against the limestone roughness of that coral base.
At 2:35 Captain Nemo appeared in the lounge.
"We're about to depart," he said.
"Ah!" I put in.
"I've given orders to open the hatches."
"What about the Papuans?"
"What about them?" Captain Nemo replied, with a light shrug of his shoulders.
"Won't they come inside the Nautilus?"
"How will they manage that?"
"By jumping down the hatches you're about to open."
"Professor Aronnax," Captain Nemo replied serenely, "the Nautilus's hatches aren't to be entered in that fashion even when they're open."
I gaped at the captain.
"You don't understand?" he said to me.
"Not in the least."
"Well, come along and you'll see!"
I headed to the central companionway. There, very puzzled, Ned Land and Conseil watched the crewmen opening the hatches, while a frightful clamor and furious shouts resounded outside.
The hatch lids fell back onto the outer plating. Twenty horrible faces appeared. But when the first islander laid hands on the companionway railing, he was flung backward by some invisible power, lord knows what! He ran off, howling in terror and wildly prancing around.
Ten of his companions followed him. All ten met the same fate.
Conseil was in ecstasy. Carried away by his violent instincts, Ned Land leaped up the companionway. But as soon as his hands seized the railing, he was thrown backward in his turn.
"Damnation!" he exclaimed. "I've been struck by a lightning bolt!"
These words explained everything to me. It wasn't just a railing that led to the platform, it was a metal cable fully charged with the ship's electricity. Anyone who touched it got a fearsome shock—and such a shock would have been fatal if Captain Nemo had thrown the full current from his equipment into this conducting cable! It could honestly be said that he had stretched between himself and his assailants a network of electricity no one could clear with impunity.
Meanwhile, crazed with terror, the unhinged Papuans beat a retreat. As for us, half laughing, we massaged and comforted poor Ned Land, who was swearing like one possessed.
But just then, lifted off by the tide's final undulations, the Nautilus left its coral bed at exactly that fortieth minute pinpointed by the captain. Its propeller churned the waves with lazy majesty. Gathering speed little by little, the ship navigated on the surface of the ocean, and safe and sound, it left behind the dangerous narrows of the Torres Strait.
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wander (v.) Look up wander at Dictionary.com
Old English wandrian "move about aimlessly, wander," from West Germanic *wandran "to roam about" (cognates: Old Frisian wondria, Middle Low German, Middle Dutch wanderen, German wandern "to wander," a variant form of the root represented in Old High German wantalon "to walk, wander"), from PIE root *wendh- "to turn, wind, weave" (see wind (v.1)). In reference to the mind, affections, etc., attested from c.1400. Related: Wandered; wandering. The Wandering Jew of Christian legend first mentioned 13c. (compare French le juif errant, German der ewige Jude).
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69716
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No city is ever going to fully conform to its public stereotype.
This little axiom applies to people, too. And yes, I understand the fallacy of my broad categorization of people below. Thanks for noticing. Just read.
Los Angeles is not entirely glitzy boob jobs, New York is not entirely bitter cynicism, and Nashville is not entirely rhinestones and twang.
Actually, I've never met anyone in Nashville who actually listens to modern country music. Not voluntarily, at least. Maybe a bit of Johnny Cash here or there, but those tastes seem to lie in the hardest-core of punks and the elderly. The whole Southern hospitality idea is somewhat kerneled in truth- I'll personally give correct directions to any tourist who doesn't drunkenly ask me if I'm a skinhead. (And, for the record, NO. The Ryman Auditorium is five miles THAT way.) It is possible to have a fulfilling experience here, though. I've spent quite a bit of time in Nashville, and I'm not in any fashion neurotic.
Several coffeehouses, such as Bongo Java, cater to a hugely diverse but well-knit population ranging from Vandy students avoiding Greek society, high-school drop-outs-turned poet/guitarist/body piercers, the homeless, the talented, the addicted, and sometimes just those who appreciate a damn fine cup of coffee. Much of the cast of the movie Gummo was lifted directly from Bongo's front porch.
The top of the BellSouth "batman" building. For such a heinous structure, it sure is fun to spit off of. Rooftop access varies, as it's kind of not legal. As an example of security, these guys guard their dumpsters with hungry attack dogs that have been taught how to use automatic weapons. Believe me on this one. It's quite a view, though.
Dragon Park. But only if you're special.
Vanderbilt's Sarratt Cinema and the Watkins-Belcourt both play a host of incredible foreign, indie, and tastefully strange retro flicks. Plenty of midnight showings with rowdy audiences to be found here. Annual animation and film festivals, also- I saw Spike and Mike's Sick and Twisted Animation and a documentary about John Waters in the same night.
Bars. Lots and lots of bars. There's about 6 microbreweries in Metro Nashville, and I will soon node every place you can get a nice frothy Guinness on tap.
In the same vein, there's a few notable dance clubs worth checking out. The Underground is small, smoky, hot, and spins mostly Bauhaus or Atari Teenage Riot, which explains the heavy Goth ratio most nights. eXceSs is an after-hours house and trance club seemingly populated entirely by very nicely built, shirtless men and high school candyravers looking for X.
Musically, Nasville does seem to lack any kind of ambient or IDM fan base, but then again, this species is sometimes hard to find... we tend to sit at home in headphones, mostly.
Out and about, though. There's fifty billion places to hear mind-blowingly good *live* music for the price of a beer here. Windows on the Cumberland is a nice cozy place to start, struggling yet talented bands play here for peanuts, upon the same tiny stage graced by Robert Moog a few months ago. The Exit/In is pretty infamous, it's the venue shown in Robert Altman's film Nashville, and I'm not even going to begin listing the legends who have played (and still do) here. 328 Performance Hall is of the same esteem, but catering more now to a pretty decent punk and electronica base- Sunny Day Real Estate played last weekend, and Stereolab last month.
That's not nearly everything, but it's a start.
There is refuge from reputation, you just have to know where to find it.
Being one of the few people living Nashville that was born and raised here, I know of the forgotten and forbidden bits.
For example the ultra-creepy abandoned cement yard complete with spooky bunkers and the remnants of the satanists that were run out years ago. A great place to visit at dusk, swill beers and listen to the trains. There's also Bobby's Dairy Dip a relic of the fifties, it's a great walk-up burger joint with a gourmet sensibility. They serve the best Angus beef burger to be had in the metropolitan area. On your majestic tour of the city you definitely have to visit what is loving refered to as "The Cheese House". It's difficult to describe, but it's a private residence that strongly resembles two large wedges of Swiss cheese (complete with circular, boat-portal-like windows) placed side by side with an ice cream cone placed artfully off center. Another stop should be Love Circle, I know what you're thinking, it's like "make-out point", a moniker, but no, that's actually the name of the road that circles the hill (which is actually an underground resevoir) and it affords an amazing view of the city in all directions. The best is going up there right before the right sun goes down and watching the street lights come on one by one. Also a good place to watch the sun come up, but a warning, after staying up all night (the only way that I end up seeing the sunrise),the sun is very bright. The Ryman Auditorium is an amazing venue. The acoustics are incredible, when Elvis Costello played there, on several songs he performed without a mic. Again a warning, the seats are wooden pews, bring a cushion or ass paralysis is certain. Like my dear aphexious, there are a billion and one things I've left out, but this is a start.
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69717
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You've heard of Golden Showers. You've may have even heard of Brown Showers. You'll want to jump in the shower after reading this. Just don't read this if you're eating.
Bluntly put, a person who is into Roman Showers is one who enjoys other people vomiting on them, smearing the vomit all over, perhaps even ingesting it, or vomiting on somebody. It's more common to find people that want to be on the receiving end than it is to find someone to be the donor.
This fetish poses serious health risks because of the toxins contained in vomit. Even if you're just vomiting on yourself, doing it semi-regularly has a tremendous impact on your internal organs. There is ample information on the health risks of vomiting on the bulimia node, so I won't repeat it here.
The phrase was coined as a reference to the early Roman Empire, where vomiting inbetween courses was the shared, common method of surviving multiple-course meals.
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69722
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The Joomla! Extensions Directory ™
bygokulnath, March 28, 2012
this extension is useful for event bookings, but not include about event provider profile and review about the event and provider will show only about the events but not about their providers and their ratings.
Owner's reply
Hi gokulnath,
Ohanah is not an event review system, but you could easily achieve this by entering whatever code for the review system you would like to use on the comment snippets system (therefore also being able to use other joomla review extension together with ohanah). You can even create providers profile and attach them to events, by using some simple logics , some simple html module and our module injector technology.
For anything else, don't esitate to open a ticket on our support system so that we can guide trough it :)
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69743
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Secondary Architecture Promotion Requirements (Draft)
From FedoraProject
Revision as of 18:06, 23 April 2012 by Mjg59 (Talk | contribs)
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This page is a draft only
Secondary architectures in Fedora are subject to looser constraints than primary architectures for two primary reasons:
• To make it easier to bootstrap an architecture without the overhead of the primary architecture release engineering process
• To avoid primary architecture development being held up by poorly developed or niche architectures
Promoting an architecture to primary architecture status is a significant responsibility. It implies that the port is sufficiently mature that little in the way of further architecture-specific changes or rebuilds will be required, and also that it has enough development effort to avoid it delaying the development of other primary architectures. Further, it means that the architecture becomes part of the overall Fedora brand. Fedora is an integrated Linux distribution rather than a technology collection, and as such there are various expectations that the overall Fedora experience will be consistent over all primary architectures.
In order to ensure that these expectations are met, secondary architectures must meet various criteria before they can be promoted:
1. The Fedora infrastructure and release engineering teams must indicate an ability and willingness to support the port.
2. All builds must occur on Fedora-maintained build servers.
4. All supported platforms must have kernels built from the Fedora kernel SRPM and enabled by default in the spec file. Each kernel must be built in a timely manner for every SRPM upload.
5. Sufficient developer resources must be available to fix any architecture-specific issues in such a way that they do not delay overall Fedora development.
6. It must be possible for maintainers of critical-path hardware dependent packages to have direct access to supported hardware in order to rectify any release-blocking issues. For example, X maintainers must have direct access to any hardware with graphics capabilities.
7. The port must not rely on sourceless binaries unless they fall under the generic firmware exemption. Where source and toolchain are available, the binaries must be built in the Fedora build infrastructure.
8. Excludearch may be used only to disable packages that are fundamentally architecture specific or which contain unported architecture-specific code.
9. Installable, testable images must be generated at the normal project milestones in a way that conforms to release engineering and QE requirements. Where possible, image generation should be integrated into the existing image generation infrastructure.
10. The port should work with the documentation and website teams to determine the work needed to add the architecture. Resources should be available to assist those teams in adding the architecture to public resources.
11. The architecture must be included in and meet appropriate formal release criteria
This list is not intended to be exhaustive - promotion to primary architecture status will require agreement from the Fedora infrastructure, release engineering, kernel and installer teams and is subject to overall approval by the Fedora Engineering Steering Committee, and additional criteria may be imposed if felt to be necessary.
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69751
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Categories > Anime/Manga > Death Note
20Themes: 20 Drabbles
by Jaebi_Lit 1 Reviews
[Death Note] A set of twenty one-hundred word drabbles about various characters. Mostly gen.
Category: Death Note - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst, Humor - Characters: - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2005/05/04 - Updated: 2005/05/04 - 2110 words - Complete
NOTE: Done for the LJ comm 20Themes' Death Note list. The themes are inside the parentheses.
DISCLAIMER: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by Obata Takeshi and Ooba Tsugumi and their publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
1. Small fry (carnival)
On one side, a con man.
On the other, a rigged game.
Raito felt fingers slip into his back pocket and whirled, grasping for the pickpocket's wrist. He missed and swore.
/Goddamn/, he thought, gritting his teeth. /It would be right to kill him. Just/.
He followed Ryuuzaki through the carnival for the rest of the day. His skin crawled. There were criminals everywhere, cardsharps cheating people out of their money, thieves, beggars.
"They should die," he muttered.
Ryuuzaki raised an eyebrow. "These minor criminals?" He paused. "Kira would think so. For justice."
He tossed Raito his wallet.
2. Most Beautiful (Social graces)
Misa twirled in front of her mirror. "How do I look, Remu?" She pouted cutely at her reflection. "Do my stockings match my eyes? I can't decide." She contemplated her outfit for a moment: red fishnets, black garters, black lace dress, her favourite red-and-white striped shirt.
Remu choked out, "Uhhh."
Misa struck a pose. "I have to look perfect! I'm finally going to meet Kira, my true love! I love him so much, I need to make a good impression! What do you think, Remu? Remu?"
Remu groaned, "Misa, your underwear is showing."
3. Striptease (sexuality/criminality)
"It's considered impolite to watch," Raito said. Socks went on the floor, pants piled on top. He started to undo his shirt, but stopped halfway through. It fell off his shoulders and hung awkwardly. Ryuuzaki peered at him from his perch on the toilet.
"Not finishing?"
Raito unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off his undershirt. They slid down his arm and hung on the chain. When he waved his arm, the dangling shirts flopped around.
Ryuuzaki unlocked the cuff and dumped his clothes on the floor. Raito stepped into the glass shower and waited.
"Aren't you going to leave?"
4. Nemesis (hourglass)
One/. Time had stopped for Raito. /Two/. No. Time had stopped for Kira. /Three. Raito was counting the seconds in his mind, Four./, and each passing minute was a minuscule step toward freedom. /Five/. Kira was the one on hold, for him and for the rest of the world. /Six. The seconds echoed loudly in his head, loudly in his cell. Seven. The world was panicking in his absence. Eight. Crime must be skyrocketing, criminals rejoicing in their freedom to rob and rape. Nine. When he was released, he would return justice to the world, beginning with L. Ten.
5. Confusion (English breakfast)
"Raito-kun, what is this?" L wrinkled his nose and poked dubiously at the greasy mess on his plate. Raito turned, frying pan in one hand, spatula in the other.
"An English breakfast. That's what you asked for, isn't it?" He dumped a piece of fried herring on top of the scrambled eggs; some ketchup jumped and splattered L on the face.
"This isn't breakfast, it's a monstrosity," L said. Rivulets of grease were dripping off the bacon, soaking into the buttered toast. "Where are the pastries? The strawberry crepes?"
Raito threw his spatula at him. "That's a continental breakfast, idiot."
6. Jealousy (one-half of a photograph)
"Ryuuzaki-san! Look! Raito and Misa got our pictures taken!" She waved a photo at Ryuuzaki, and Raito sighed. He jangled the chain on his wrist pointedly.
"He was there, Misa."
Misa twirled and pouted. "Misa knows that! But it's more like a real date if we pretend he wasn't." She hugged him and glared at Ryuuzaki. "Stupid."
The photographer had posed them like lovers, Misa's head on his chest and his arms around her waist. The chain stretching off to the side marred it only slightly.
Ryuuzaki calmly ripped the photo in half and walked off. "We have work, Raito-kun."
7. Murphy (empirical law)
He wakes up freezing and choking because Raito's stolen the comforter and the chain's tangled around his neck.
At breakfast, the crepes are burned and the strawberries are way over the line between tart and too sour to swallow.
Ten more criminals die, each one on the hour, all of them in the same district of Tokyo as his headquarters.
Misa-san demands a date with Raito-kun and throws a tantrum until he agrees. After an hour with the happy couple, he gets extremely drunk and tells them all about his childhood.
The next morning, L doesn't wake up at all.
8. Captive to Fascination (suicide, self-destruction)
/Fool/, Remu had thought, watching the shinigami crumble to dust. /What human could be worth it/?
Ryuuku was overjoyed. The human world was so interesting, and best of all, it had apples!
She began watching the human out of curiosity. There was nothing better to do here, even if the girl was a bit brainless and vapid.
Apples! He'd kill for apples!
Maybe not so brainless, just exuberant. She was fascinating, with her enthusiasm for everyone and her childish love for Kira.
He'd even help Raito, for apples. Just a little, though.
Then Misa got caught.
Then Raito got caught.
9. Battle of Wits ("perfect score")
Around dawn, Raito asked, "Don't you ever sleep?"
L blinked slowly, still reading newsfeeds online. "No."
Raito glared and stalked off to bed, perforce jerking L along with him. "Well, I need to."
A week later, Raito asked, "What do you do at night?"
L stared at his monitor. "Chess. Intellectual battles."
Raito fired up one of the computers. "I play chess."
Twenty minutes of silence later, L said, "Checkmate."
Raito brushed the hair out of his eyes and settled into his chair. "Again."
L tapped his temple and said, "You play well, Raito-kun. But I will always outthink you."
10. Behavioural Experiment (voyeurism)
Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays they stayed in front of the computers. The other nights, L worked on his laptop in bed.
On Monday night, Raito glanced at L's monitor and saw Misa. She'd kicked off her covers and was barely decent in a childish, lacy nightgown. He focused on his own monitor, which was throwing up columns of calculations on Kira's probable victims.
On Thursday night, Raito glanced at L's monitor and saw Misa. She was showering and he thought, /He really is watching us. All the time/.
On Friday night, L commented, "A loving boyfriend would have punched me."
11. Cyke! ("residual ___")
After a week of being chained to L, Raito was dead on his feet and not quite capable of thinking before speaking.
"Ryuuzaki, what's next?"
Ryuuzaki rolled over and stared at him. He did not, Raito noted enviously, look any more exhausted than usual; if anything, the bags under his eyes had decreased slightly.
"More cases."
Raito's tongue was heavy in his mouth; he was forcing out words past a veil of thick fatigue. "I mean, us. Will we keep working together?"
Ryuuzaki didn't blink. "You know my identity. When we're done, I will be forced to dispose of you."
12. Where the Heart Is (Eden, loss of Eden)
Soichiro sat back in his chair and absorbed the warmth of being at home. He could hear Sachiko preparing dinner and scolding Sayu to not drop the rice. He looked across the table and smiled at his son. Raito, just seventeen, was already a genius and a respectful, dutiful son. "So, have you thought about where you'll go to college?" he asked.
Raito said, "I think I'll apply to Touou," and smiled back.
"An outstanding school." That Raito wanted to follow in his footsteps warmed his heart far more than any of the accolades he received as chief of police.
13. Nightmares (4:00 A.M.)
The souls of your dead haunt you at night. Raito had read that once, and he felt chilly ghosts breathing behind his shoulders.
Raito woke up and blinked at the harsh light.
"Ryuuzaki? Are you still up?" He felt restless and the rumpled sheets were proof of his uneasy sleep.
Ryuuzaki looked over. "Yes, Raito-kun?"
Raito pulled the blankets around him more tightly. "No. Nothing." The deeper they got into this Yotsuba case, the more disturbed he felt. The cool logic of the old Kira seemed frighteningly just.
"You've been watching me all along?"
"I would know if you're Kira."
14. Calculating (Machiavellian)
Namikawa shifted into fifth and released the clutch. The Z4 accelerated smoothly and he smiled, relaxing slightly. One of the seven was Kira. Not Midou or Shimura, certainly not Takahashi either.
The scenery whizzed by, dark silhouettes of trees and highrises. Kira was the key to freedom, to success. If he could figure out who Kira was, the possibilities were endless.
His cell interrupted his thoughts. "Namikawa here."
"It's Midou. Shimura and I," there was a pause, "we want to discuss something. At my house."
Namikawa smiled and turned back toward Tokyo. "I'll be there." Events were starting to move.
15. Lost in Translation (generic Tokyo)
"We've been together for five years and you still won't tell me your name, you bastard!" Raito yelled, face flushed with rage.
"It is not--" L began.
"Don't you dare tell me that it's not important, or that it's not that I don't trust you," Raito mimicked the precise cadences of his voice and grabbed his collar. "Five years! I could've killed you at any point, Kira or not. You don't trust me, L." He shoved L away. "Get out."
There was no reasoning with Raito in this mood, so L left and walked out into the bright Tokyo night.
16. Withdrawal (cell)
His body was contorted into knots. He couldn't eat. There weren't any humans to watch. He couldn't talk to Raito-kun, he couldn't talk to this L or Misa, and very shortly he wouldn't be able to think, either. Maybe he could talk to Raito-kun, drive him insane because Raito-kun had to be going insane in this changeless prison and it wouldn't take much more to break him. A voice constantly speaking to him, taunting him, asking him simple questions, which he couldn't answer or tell to shut up. But even if Raito-kun went insane, he still wouldn't get any apples.
17. e-Evangelicals (apocalyptic cults)
The end of the world has come, for surely the Antichrist walks the earth.
The dawn of a new age has come, for Justice has returned.
People are dying everywhere, attacked by an unseen force. The hand of Satan moves among us.
Evildoers are being punished for their crimes. Divine retribution has visited us.
Yet in this darkness, there is hope. Do not lose faith, and you will be saved when the Rapture comes.
Yet in this rejoicing, there is doubt. Who is Kira? Do not question; His Will will be known.
The Messiah will come.
The Messiah has come.
18. Dinner (oxymoron)
L scrutinized the menu intently while Raito-kun charmed the waiter into thinking that L didn't have to take his feet off the chair, and that he certainly didn't have to put his slippers back on. He knew it was there somewhere, the perfect appetizer, something light to complement the entree, something to balance the heavy richness of the tiramisu he was ordering for dessert.
The waiter, finished with fawning over Raito-kun, turned to L. "And what will you be having, sir?"
He scanned the menu frantically, looking at the Italian words and italic print. "Ah! To start, the jumbo shrimp."
19. Logistics (public transportation, buses)
Running people over. Not a good idea. Can cause traffic accidents, will injure innocent bystanders. Affect busdriver and busdriver's family negatively, lawsuits.
Running people over. Bad idea. Likely to cause a massive accident. Messy.
Jumping onto the tracks. Halts the subway line, causes hours of delays and inconveniences everyone. Perhaps at night when the subway's not running (is the electricity still on in the rails?).
Falling down the stairs. Perfect, can convincingly break a neck, quite likely to happen in a hurry to catch the subway. Not during rush hour, too crowded.
Same problems as the subway.
20. Isolation (stagnation/disease)
"It's a pleasant day outside," Watari said as he set down the tea tray.
L flicked his fingers at him absently while studying his laptop. "Mmm."
"There's a new exhibit at the Tokyo Metropolitan," Watari hinted, pouring a cup of tea.
"Working. Case," L mumbled.
"We could go to the park." Watateri whisked the cover off of the biscuits. L contemplated them for a moment, fingers skittering here, there, then finally plucking one from the middle.
"Busy." The biscuit disappeared rapidly, and stray crumbs dribbled onto L's shirt as he spoke.
"L, you haven't been outside in months," Watari sighed.
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Friday, 30 January 2009
Fat Loss Myths
Fat Loss Myths
With all the television ads, advice from misinformed friends and assumptions there's bound to be a few myths out there. However, some are a lot more commonly believed than you would think. Many people are so desperate to lose weight they will try any outrageous diet or workout tools. Here's our guide to bust those myths and tell you how you should be training.
Myth One - Spot Reduction fat loss
Many people want to loss fat on a specific part of their body, usually the stomach. They think by doing thousands of sit ups and crunches they'll eventually burn off their stomach fat.
This however is not true. Your genetics determine where to store your fat reserves and how much. This means the only way to lose fat in your target area to you reduce your body fat throughout your body by having a good diet and cardiovascular regime.
Myth Two - High Reps to burn fat
With this myth people assume for reps equals more work therefore burning more fat. However, this is not the case. Studies have shown that moderate reps (8 to 12) with a heavy weight will be more effective than higher reps with a lower weight.
Another thing to consider is that building your muscles will increase your metabolism and in turn shed the fat. The most effective way of building muscle is heavy weights with low reps (5-8).
Myth Three - Starving yourself
Not only is this really unhealthy for your body, as your are starving it of it's vital nutrients and minerals that it needs to function properly, but this also a very ineffective way of weight loss. Your body will slow your metabolism right down and will conserve as much fat as possible.
For effective weight loss, eat around 500 calories less than your BMR (basal metabolic rate). Eat lots of protein and try to cut down on carbs. Do cardiovascular exercise at least 3 times a weeks and try HIIT which is the most effective form of cardio for burning fat.
Thursday, 22 January 2009
The truth about creatine
The truth about Creatine
Creatine gets alot of bad press from misinformed sources. You often hear people calling it a 'natural steroid' and any other outrageous description. Here is our guide to bust the myths and give you the low-down on all things creatine.
The Science
Creatine is a naturally found in meat and our bodies also make creatine in the liver, pancreas, and kidneys. Creatine helps in forming a compound called ATP (adrenosine triphosphate). This is what gives us the power in our muscles, we need it to contract and relax our muscles and so it is important we get enough of it.
For low-intensity aerobic exercises our body can use carbohydrates and fats as fuel to make ATP. However, when it comes to short, intense anaerobic activities like sprinting you cannot inhale enough oxygen for this process, therefore we rely on our creatine supply. Creatine can quickly be converted to ATP and hence it's importance in weight lifting.
How it helps
This means when lifting weights we'll have more anaerobic energy stores and so will delay the onset of fatigue. This will allow us to have longer, and more intense gym sessions and allow us to do more sets and reps. This obviously equates to gains in muscle and strength. Remember, taking creatine alone will do nothing, it's purpose is to help you work harder, so creatine is definitely not for those looking for easy effortless gains.
The main health concern associated with creatine is dehydration. Because creatine absorbs water and draws it into the muscles you'll need to be drinking extra water than usual, 10-15 cups a day is advised. As creatine is a relatively new supplement the long term effects are not entirely known, although it's it thought to be fairly safe and low risk. Some also claim risks of kidney damage, but unless your taking very high amounts and not enough water this shouldn't be a problem as they process creatine from other sources every day.
There you have it, all you need to know about creatine to make an educated decision on whether you decide to take it or not. In my opinion is is not necessary for beginners but for regular lifters it can be very beneficial and worth trying.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Target your lower abs
Target your lower abs
Exercise one - Hanging Leg Raise
Exercise Two - Lying Leg Raises
Exercise Three - V-Sits
Monday, 19 January 2009
Eat 5-6 times a day to lose weight
Eat 5-6 times a day to lose weight
Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? But this is totally works. You can lose more weight by breaking down your daily intake of food during 3 big meals into 5-6 smaller portions every day. A good schedule is to eat breakfast, then a mid-morning snack, a small early lunch, a second small lunch a couple of hours later, then a small late-afternoon snack, and finally a light dinner.
Make sure that the snacks you eat are healthy ones. Good examples would include fruits, eggs, nuts, milk, low-fat cheese, yogurt and veggies etc. During your meals, try eating just one smallish portion. If you feel like having a second serving, wait quarter of an hour and then see if you’re still full. It happens that your stomach feels full 10-15 minutes after you have had the food, if you take servings very fast then you do not have time to see if you are full.
Eating smaller, frequent meals means that your metabolism works more often on less food. This trains your metabolic rate to increase and digest food more quickly, ultimately leading to a faster overall metabolism. Faster metabolism leads to faster weight loss, thereby making you slim on eating more.
Sunday, 18 January 2009
Training your guns
Training your guns
Biceps are one of the most admired parts of the body and a nice pair of sleeve cannons can look very impressive. Here is our guide on effective bicep building.
Nutrition- Eat Big!
If you want big biceps your going to have to eat big. You'll need an excess of calories in order to build the most muscle. Proteins are essential, meat, fish, milk and eggs are excellent sources and contain the amino acids that your muscles need. Carbohydrates are sources of energy that your body will need, try brown bread, brown rice, wholemeal pasta and potatoes. Aim to eat 1-1.5 grams of protein per lb of bodyweight. A protein shake after your workout will be very beneficial as your body is crying out for protein, whey protein is quickly absorbed and will help your gains. Make sure you eat something before you go to bed as this is the time your muscles grow and repair.
Training - Lift Heavy
For maximum gains you've got to lift heavy, just like with every other muscle. Aim for a rep range between 4 and 8 with 6 to 8 sets. Only lift as much as you can using good form, you don't want to risk injury. Make sure your back is straight and your not swinging up the bar or dumbbell.
Training - Variation
Don't let your body get used to your workout or you'll hit a plateau and stop seeing gains. Use different exercises and grips. Switch things up with chip ups, barbell curls, preacher curls, hammer curls, EZ bar curls, bicep curls and concentration curls. Try different rep ranges and more or less sets.
Remember that your biceps will be involved with your back workout and therefore the two should be spaced by 48 hours. Don't overtrain, once a week is enough and don't lift if they are still sore. Get enough sleep so your body can grow and they'll soon be bulging from your sleeve!
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69768
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I am working on a function to create a CSR from OpenSSL 0.9.7m. So far, my
function runs perfectly on x86_64, win32, solaris, and SGI, but seems to
create a segfault on Linux ia64.
Basically it goes like this:
Open the private key
PEM_read the private key
create a new X509_REQ
X509_REQ_set_pubkey from the PEM_read_PrivateKey
create a new X509_NAME
Do NID lookups for all of my entries
create name entries by NID
add entries to my X509_NAME
X509_REQ_set_subject_name(my X509_REQ, my X509_NAME) (Function call causes a
If anyone has any idea why this might happen, I'd much appreciate it. As I
said, this has run on other platforms multiple times without even a hint of
failure with the exact same data. Additionally, I have done an strace and
nothing seems to be out of order that I can notice.
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69787
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Ask a question:
Rank 1: Guest
Posts: 1
Registered: 14-03-2012
Hi. Does anyone know how to stop recieving horoscopes, games ect on facebook. When i log in i get everyones daily update and its driving me nuts. I have switched them all off on my home computor but they still come through to my phone. Any ideas. I am only interested in whats happening in there life.
Message 1 of 3 (3,630 Views)
Moderator (Retired)
Posts: 23,636
Registered: 21-07-2008
Re: facebook
Hi lozza_ri,
To be honest I’m not too sure about this one however, you would need to log into your Facebook account on a PC an remove the application permissions or that actual application from you full Facebook account.
Message 2 of 3 (3,588 Views)
Rank 1: Guest
Posts: 1
Registered: 04-06-2012
Re: facebook
Posted from Facebook
okay ill try thankyou
Message 3 of 3 (3,159 Views)
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69796
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Re: WiFi
Laptops tend to have a hardware or software switch to turn WiFi on or off. Useful if you take it with you when traveling in a plane where using WiFi isn't allowed. Maybe yours is set to Off by accident?
Check the manual of your laptop where the switch is located or what function key to press or what program to run.
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69797
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Hello all, I'm very new here and I wonder if you can help me with this.
I need to get the metadata from an image file, the basic data like Image Type, Image Width,ColorModel, I already found out how to get but there are some that i dont have a clue how to retrieve:
Pixels Depth/Colors , Creation Software (for example Adobe Illustrator ) and ImageResolution (in pixels/dots per inch)
This is my first post, hope someone can give me a hand. Thanks in advance!
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69816
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Skip to content
My WebMD Sign In, Sign Up
Abdominal pain AFTER period
musicarta posted:
So I typically have very bad abdominal cramps with my periods, usually the day it starts and sometimes the next day. With a heating pad, rest, and Advil I can treat these to some level.
However, before my last period began I started experiencing abdominal "twinges" of pain on my lower left side and then it sometimes hurt on my lower right side. The normal location for my monthly cramps, only this time they weren't as severe and began about 5 days before my period started. I usually don't have pain that soon but once my period started at its normal time I just figured I was having a little different PMS and the pain went away with my period.
The last day of my period when all I was having was a tiny bit of spotting/discharge the "twinges" came back. It is now one week later and I am still having the pain along with join pain (specifically in my knees), light headaches, and nausea. Other than the weird stomach pains my period was normal (which for me is very heavy). I have an appointment with my doctor in 2 weeks but any time of medical trouble worries me so I thought I would see if anyone has experience this before.
Javaunt responded:
a UTI cud explain the abdominal twinges, but the joint pains are a mystery to me
utiproblems replied to Javaunt's response:
I suffered from uti's for many years and tried everything out there, am resistant to most antibiotics now and then I discovered that taking 6000 - 8000 mg if vitamin C with rosehips daily has cleaned out my urinary tract within a few days to the point of having had a white discharge that is now gone and everything feels healthy again the way it use to before I kept getting all these uti's. I heard years ago that drinking lemon juice daily would do this but for me that wasn't enough and the vit. c in large doses is doing it. I was praying for a natural solution and sofar have not had another uti. I have been on a 4000 mg a day maintenance dose after the intial 1 week high dose. It can cause diarrhia but one can take something for that untill you get to a lower dose.
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Wednesday, April 9, 2008
The Bipartisan Brotherhood of Plunder (Updated)
For it was a witty and a truthful rejoinder which was given by a captured pirate to Alexander the Great. The king asked the fellow, `What is your idea, in infesting the sea?' And the pirate answered, with uninhibited insolence, `The same is yours, in infesting the earth! But because I do it with a tiny craft, I'm called a pirate; because you have a mighty navy, you're called an emperor."
St. Augustine, The City of God, book IV, chapter 4.
One obvious difference between a common criminal gang, and the specialized version of a criminal gang called a "government," is this: Common gangs don't expect their victims to be abjectly grateful to be on the receiving end of criminal violence, and even to pay for the privilege of being plundered.
The more vicious variety of gangs called "government" not only expect such gratitude and tribute, they demand it. Indeed, they will literally kill to have it, sacrificing not only the lives of its victims, but of as many of its enforcers as may be necessary.
For five years, Washington has waged a war of aggression against Iraq in an undisguised effort to steal that country's energy resources and territory (the latter to be used as a staging base for additional imperial ventures in the region). Between the first and second Iraq wars, Washington led a multinational embargo of that country that annihilated hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians and immiserated millions more. For several decades leading up to the 1991 Gulf War, Washington materially supported Saddam -- who was brought to power with U.S. assistance -- in his wars of aggression, both foreign and domestic.
And yet after all of this, with Washington losing its war in Iraq (as justice demands that it does), the political class that dominates our country has the temerity to rebuke Iraq for refusing to pay the costs of recovering from the damage "our" government has inflicted on it.
This is illustrated by a proposal favored by the Democrat-controlled Senate to "force the Iraqi government to spend its own surplus in oil revenues to rebuild the country, sparing U.S. dollars," in the words of an AP account.
According to Senator Carl Levin, the Michigan Democrat who heads that body's Armed Services Committee, the only way to end the war and occupation is "to put continuous and increasing pressure on the Iraqis to settle their political differences, [and] to pay for their own reconstruction with their oil windfalls...."
As a long-time member of the parasite class, Levin has an uncanny instinct for finding exploitable wealth, and before listening to General Petraeus's pointless testimony on April 8 the senator pointed out that Iraq has $30 billion in "surplus funds" deposited in U.S. banks.
Speaking from across the exceptionally narrow divide separating the two branches of our Ruling Party, Republican Senator Susan Collins of Maine seconded Levin's suggestion: "Isn't it time for the Iraqis to start bearing more of [the war's] expenses, particularly in light of the windfall in revenues due to the high price of oil?"
Imagine, for a second, that you are an Iraqi whose country had been tyrannized for decades by one of Washington's most loathsome subcontractors, brutalized by a ten-year U.S.-led embargo, pummeled by three U.S.-arranged wars (the Iran-Iraq war and the two U.S.-led direct assaults), and rendered a complete shambles by a five-year occupation and escalating inter-communal war.
How would you, were you that Iraqi, react if you became aware that smug, comfortable, well-fed members of the U.S. Senate who most likely are profiting personally from this war had rebuked you for failing to pay your "share" of the costs for inflicting such misery and horror on your country, your community, your family?
Were I that Iraqi, I would be irresistibly tempted to tell such people that they could go inseminate themselves.
Washington is well on its way to losing the war in Iraq, and, once again, justice demands that outcome. We are constantly told -- even by His Holiness, Barack Obama -- that all Americans want the war to "succeed." This isn't true: Most Americans want the war to end, and have come to understand that it should never have been started in the first place.
At some point, many Americans are going to understand, and even be brave enough to say, that our government must lose that war, lest it be emboldened to carry out similar criminal ventures in the future. Indeed, marching out of Iraq now just as fast as we can is the only course of action that would prevent the disaster described by William Lind (and foreseen by many of us at the outset of the entire enterprise): The loss of an entire army in the Persian Gulf region.
The longer U.S. troops remain in Iraq, the likelier it is that they will be caught up in the war with Iran for which our rulers transparently lust -- and that war, as Lind points out, would mean that the U.S. force in Iraq would be cut off from re-supply and facing either a humiliating disorganized retreat or some time as involuntary recipients of Iranian hospitality.
The only rational alternative is to withdraw now, as quickly as possible. But at the Petraeus hearings, nobody in the World's Greatest Deliberative Body was willing to countenance that course of action, and the Grand and Glorious Decider has ruled that the troops will remain in Iraq for the foreseeable future.
The war took their children, now Washington wants to give them the bill: "Ungrateful" Iraqis, such as these fathers burying their murdered children, should help pay the costs of the war our government has inflicted on them.
During his face-time at the Petraeus hearing, Obama (cue trumpets, hosannas, and gasps of awe-struck reverence), the putative anti-war candidate for president, made a point of saying that although our "resources" are "finite," and the war in Iraq is an enormous strategic blunder, " no one is calling for a precipitous withdrawal."
My first reaction to that statement is to ask, "Why the hell not?"
On further reflection, however, I'm constrained to point out that Obama's assertion is entirely false -- unless, of course, removing our troops after five years of pointless brutality would be "precipitous" action, and the Republican Congressman representing Victoria, Texas who urges immediate withdrawal is named "No One" rather than "Ron Paul."
How many more "resources" -- that's collectivist corporate-speak for human lives, both American and Iraqi -- should be devoured by that war in order to spare the self-image of our political class? That's the only reason -- apart from the imperial designs beyond Iraq referred to above -- to keep American troops in Iraq. With the noble exception of Ron Paul (and perhaps a few others), nobody in either wing of the Imperial Party wants to see our government defeated in Iraq, and they're willing to keep wasting irreplaceable human lives simply to avoid that embarrassment.
Justice demands that the war -- which was rooted in deliberate lies, and has blossomed into an epochal atrocity -- be brought to an end, and that those responsible for it be tried for their crimes against the Constitution. But rather than renouncing the aggression against Iraq -- and repenting for it -- the criminal gang that rules us will continue to plunder that country, and our own economy, as it seeks to attain impunity.
There's nothing new or particularly unusual about this, of course. This is how the criminal syndicates called "governments" operate, at least until they are conquered by even more ruthless gangs, or collapse under the burden of their own accumulated stupidity and corruption.
Update: Bush says U.S. won't vacate Iraq until after war with Iran
In his speech earlier today (April 10), Bush oh-so-casually informed both U.S. servicemen deployed (or to be deployed) to Iraq, and the Iraqis themselves, that the occupation will not end until after Iraq, a country with a Shi'ite majority population and a Shi'ite-dominated government, takes part in another war with Iran:
"[W]hile this war is difficult, it is not endless. And we expect that as conditions on the ground continue to improve, they will permit us to continue the policy of return on success.
The day will come when Iraq is a capable partner of the United States. The day will come when Iraq's a stable democracy that helps fight our common enemies and promote our common interests in the Middle East.
And when that day arrives, you'll come home with pride in your success and the gratitude of your whole nation."
Of course, this new metric of "success" means that the homecoming won't happen until many years from now, if ever.
Earlier in the speech, Bush referred to Iraq as "the convergence point for two of the greatest threats to America in this new century: al-Qaida and Iran."
As everybody whose synapses have not been Hannitized can recognize, al-Qaeda did not have a foothold in Iraq until after the U.S. occupied that long-suffering country. It's difficult to believe that the Iraqis are suffused with gratitude to Washington for inflicting al-Qaeda on them. And despite the fact that Iran does aid its surrogates in the Iraqi insurgency, it is not widely seen as a threat in Iraq: Witness the fact that Iranian figurehead Ahmadenijad can strut around openly during his visits to Baghdad, while Bush has to make brief, furtive, unannounced visits to the country he supposedly liberated.
The line about Iraq being required to "fight our common enemies" isn't just a piece of throwaway motivational rhetoric: The Bush Regime has escalated its war propaganda against Tehran.
So the only way out of the disastrous Iraq war, according to the adults who script Bush's puerile sound bites, is to ignite a regional conflagration that -- as noted above -- will most likely result in the entire destruction of our military force deployed in the area.
And all of this is being done by way of presidential decree. The Regime insists that Bush, having taken us into two undeclared wars in the near East, can start a third with Iran at any time he considers suitable.
On sale now!
Dum spiro, pugno!
MOT said...
When I see innocent children caught in the crossfire and laid low for being in the way of freedom-dealing Yanks I have to put myself in their parents shoes and can damn well see where they want to kill as many as they can. Any right minded American who has a shred of decency in them would never sign up to inflict this misery on anyone and I don't care what excuses are used whether its because you're "poor... unemployed, uneducated... whatever!" Patriotism is a slimy excuse used time and time again to whitewash the tombs of their conscience.
MOT said...
BTW... The Schoolhouse Rocks styled video clip is spot on!
Anonymous said...
What is the hope? What are the answers?
Anonymous said...
Did you not see Ron Paul's questioning of Petreus and Crocker on C-Span? He lets them have it straight up and between the eyes.
Anonymous said...
what ron paul should have asked him was, "without a declaration of war from congress, would you allow forces under your command to be used in actions against iran, or would you allow the transfer of forces under your command that you know will be used to attack iran?"
bottom line: there is no end to this thing until god steps in. and the good news there is that He is in control. doesn't look that way, and we are asking why He is taking so long...but in in the end , it'll all work out.
Anonymous said...
Brilliant essay. Knocks the socks off the WaPo crap that won Pulitzer Prizes.
Chilling to see the thug-like furtiveness on the faces of Betrayus and Crocker, as Ron Paul asks them whether they can bomb Iran without Congressional authorization. They both answer like Mafia capos on the witness stand ... "I don't know nothin', nobody tells me anything." Paul witheringly points out that they obviously don't know the Constitution, which they took an oath to honor.
After five years in Iraq (and more to come), an honest assessment is that our culture is a degraded one of cynical, brutal, psychopathic murderers. The rubber-stamp Congress unconsciously parodies the former Supreme Soviet. Too bad the Soviets didn't retain Red and White factions of the Communist party, to trot out as a faux-choice democratic debate like the U.S. Congress.
Anonymous said...
Great news; the Fourth Amendment has been reinstated! From the WaPo:
"Ha ha, I didn't say that any other amendments still apply," Mukasey snickered after the hearing.
Sorry, I made that up. But it's not really a joke.
Anonymous said...
The patience of all other nations is ticking. Particularly those of the China. China has large oil interests in Iran and will never forget - should we choose to invade. In the typical asian fashion, she cordially bides her time, waiting until her middle class is strong enough to afford the goods she makes whereupon she will cut her ties to our worthless dollar and as we sink utilize her ever sophisticated military to drive a death blow into the heart of Uncle Sams Empire. Thus the world will no longer be covered red white and blue. A hypothetical scenario - yes but a highly probable one at that.
slim pickens rodeo said...
The slavemasters need war to make sweeping social changes so get used to war. Bomber McCain seems to like war as none of his offspring will be going.
Anonymous said...
yes but war requires money and currently the 100 year wars bomber mccain wants to fight are being funded by nations that have vital interests in countries that we want to blow to smithereens. I have had had experience doing business with the chinese. They are extremely shrewd, extremely patient and will wait a long time before exacting retribution. If crossed they ultimately will drive the govt of this country right to its knees.
Anonymous said...
Spare a thought for one of the pitiful victims of this site's pointed tirades:
Gosh, maybe Alberto should ring up his colleague at Berkeley Law, John Yoo.
In the meantime, why not turn his practiced hand to comedy? How about a graphic novel, "101 Ways to Torch the Constitution"? Man, that burning parchment sure makes for some tasty weiners and marshmellows! Go for it, Alberto! Tu eres Da Hombre! LOL!
John Polomny said...
What is really frightening about William Lind's order of battle is how will the people in the US react to the complete destruction of their army complete with video of US POWs being marched through Tehran? Will they finally rise up against this government or will they agree to a full mobilization ala WW2 to go teach those "ragheads" a lesson. Heres hoping for the best.
Anonymous said...
This Nationalism in the form of U.S v. China is the false dichotomy that many interest groups want, from war mongers to nativists to mercantilists to protectionists and so on... But in reality there is no reason for Chinese and Americans to war when one understands the social benefits of free exchange, the division of labor, comparative advantage and property rights. Freedom works.
Governments tend to be anti-these things and therefore antisocial.
Lemuel Gulliver said...
Another brillint essay.
If this country attacks Iran, it would be the most disastrously insane act this country has undertaken in 232 years, and would precipitate an immediate global economic catastrophe which the world might never be able to drag itself out of. Why? In one word: Insurance. (Not what you expected, eh?) Iran would not have to close the Straits of Hormuz. All it would have to do is sink one or two multi-billion dollar oil tankers by “accident” in the course of hostilities, and Lloyd’s of London and Swiss Re would refuse to pay out on these losses due to acts of war. Immediately, no tanker owner would risk sailing into or out of the Persian Gulf. The only oil to come out of the Middle East would be the trickle that Saudi Arabia can pump overland to its terminal on the Red Sea. The supply of 40% of the world’s oil would immediately stop moving. It would not resume until Iran had capitulated and ceased any acts of resistance. The only way I see this happening is if the USA used nuclear weapons, as Mr. Cheney has suggested recently. The cost in Iranian lives would be horrific. As a proud people, they might never give in, even if 50 million of them were dead. Oil would skyrocket to $300-$500 a barrel and all the world’s economies would begin to collapse within a couple of weeks. The United States would be forever viewed with horror and revulsion by every sane human left alive on the planet, not to mention the reaction to clouds of nuclear fallout that would drift over India or Pakistan or Russia or China, all of whom are themselves nuclear powers.
Mr. Grigg, did you ever read the essay I recommended to you: Major General Smedley Butler's classic, "War is a Racket?"
Martin Luther King Jr. was killed because he had started to preach against the Vietnam War. As long as he was just raising mayhem between black and white, the powers let him be, but as soon as he showed signs of threatening their war profits, that was it - he had to be eliminated.
What shall we do with them? Personally, I like the guillotine. The French have a certain flair for these things. I shall learn to knit, and sit before the infernal machine knitting red berets as the heads fall, "kerchunk - thud!" "kerchunk - klop!" "Kerchunk - splat!" into the wicker basket.
The best part, I imagine, will be watching the faces of those awaiting their turn.
Lemuel Gulliver.
Anonymous said...
I totally agree with your conclusion that the US government is composed of nothing but a criminal gang of liars, thieves and murderers. But, there is nothing new here. It has been that way since the dictator Lincoln came to power.
The old South, to it's eternal credit, valiantly tried to prevent the rise of a centralized government that it knew could only end in absolute and unchecked power. As Robert E. Lee said; "The consolidation of the states into one vast republic (if only it still was a republic!), sure to be aggressive abroad and despotic at home, will be the certain precursor of that ruin which has overwhelmed all those that have preceded it (Rome for example?). I grieve for posterity, for American principles and American liberty." He was truly a prophet wasn't he? Welcome to the United States of Empire.
It is now the year 2008. I'm more than a little surprised that our totally corrupt, greedy, brutal and downright satanic central government has been able to last this long. I, too, grieve for myself and my fellow Americans, American principles and American liberty.
May God forgive us.
Lemuel Gulliver said...
And of course, tomorrow is April 15th. The day on which we all spill our economic blood, with gratitude to the leeches who attach themselves like ball and chain to our legs, and don't let go till they are engorged with our life-essence.
Lemuel Gulliver.
Anonymous said...
Anon 9:05 PM,
"If crossed they (The Chinese oligarchs) ultimately will drive the government of this country right to its knees."
Hmmm, drive the American Power Elites' government to its knees?
Are you just trying to tease us?
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#113 - schaefdr (02/21/2012) [-]
you know she is the one when you wouldn't dare think of masturbating to her.
she deserves better than that.
#136 to #113 - anonymous (02/21/2012) [-]
I agree, but it still, it means something though.
User avatar #125 to #113 - roflcopterkklol **User deleted account** (02/21/2012) [-]
Quite true.
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Well that, I guess, is it. The last we'll see of old Lauren "LC" Conrad on The Hills, the reality dynasty that she helped build with her own two well-groomed hands. How did it all go down? Well, like any good comedy, it ended with a wedding.
Yes, Heidi and Fleshbeard finally, for realsies, tied the knot. But first there was much sloshing and murmuring and yelling to be done. Because that's what this show has become (and maybe always was): stretched and tired looking blonde people yelling in echoing rooms, their lives piles of gum and sawdust, fine bits of gems, like glittery mist, strewn across the top. Has an American family lurched toward ruination with as much ferocious celerity as the Montag clan, now that they're all on camera, all saying wretched things at the same time? What the ma's and pa's of Crested Butte, CO must think of these once-normalish folks. Went to Hollywood and got all fancy and ugly. Went to Hollywood and got all sad.
It all began with Heidi talking to Fleshbeard's terrible sister Handbags, her hair sticking up in odd places. She's like Salacious Crumb, old Handbags is, and I wish someone would come and zap her so she'll stop gnawing on our eyes. But no one has, yet. Though, when Handbags balefully asked Heidi who her bridesmaid would be, her face fell a bit, and maybe she did kinda get zapped, right in the feelings, when she heard the answer. It would not be Handbags, instead it would be Holly. Because, as Heidi put it, "You know... Holly's been my sister my whole life." Oh really? She's been your sister for your entire life? That's fucking amazing. My sister and I have been siblings for about, what is it Nel, six months? A year, tops. It's great, but I wish it could have been this way my whole life. Oh well. Heidi's so lucky. Heidi also wants a swan wedding full of actual swans and "dripping with diamonds." Handbags said "That sounds really nice." Yes, it does. If you're getting married inside of a Russian debutante's jewelry box.
For his part, Fleshbeard continued on his Good Will tour. He had lunch with Brody, who outright laughed in Fleshbeard's fleshy, bearded face. He thinks his turnaround is all fake. Which it probably is. But Spencer pressed on, arranging a little date with Belinda, Heidi's terrible mother, who has really settled with eerie ease into her new role in front of the cameras. She's learned terms like "hitting your mark" and "call time" and now she feels ready to get some real meaty roles in the future. Like Doting Mom of Pregnant Heidi or Consoling Mom of Divorcing Heidi. Or best yet, because it's such a juicy part, Grieving Mom of Dead Heidi. So she and Fleshbeard made a rickety peace with one another, their LED hearts flashing on and off, on and off, on and off forever. All was ready for the big day, they just needed to get one final dress rehearsal in. And what do you do after the rehearsal? Why, you go to the rehearsal dinner.
There they all were—Holly and Mommy and Heidi and Fleshy and Handbags and Sky, the Brother Montag who is fresh-faced and seemed nice, what a shame that he'll probably soon be ruined as well—at some white restaurant for white people, and then Holly exploded. Holly caught herself up in some netting or she found a nick in the fabric of space time and began scratching at it like a scab or suddenly the magic of the Four Winds all struck her at the same time and she became sort of broken god. Whatever happened, she was slurry and drunk-seeming and decided to throw a potato at her poor brother Sky but instead she hit Heidi's brand new handbag and stained and ruined it forever. So there was much shrieking and hooting and braying and whining and Holly burst into tears while her mother Belinda comforted her and looked at the camera and tried to cheat out and she embraced this creature who had once come out of her body and was now basically a tall, weeping near-empty ATM machine. At the table Handbags shook her head, because she'd wanted to be maid of honor, because she hadn't been late to the thrown-together bridal shower that involved huge expensive champagne bottles and the soul-wrecking claim made by Heidi that she wanted four boys and no girls because she always wanted to be the "queen of the throne" and didn't want some little girl threatening her primacy. (Belinda just looked at her strangely, hungry suddenly with a curling familiarity. I know that feeling, she thought bitterly. I am that feeling.) But regardless of poor performance, Holly will always be MOH. Sorry, Handsy.
Anyway. There's always shrieking and crying at rehearsal dinners, right? There's always potato throwing. And someone named Holly always accidentally summons the Handbag Stain demon and someone named Sky always sneaks out behind the restaurant and lights a cigarette and cries a little. That's just wedding tradition, I'm pretty sure, so it's nothing to worry about.
Then the wedding day came. All of our friends were there, from Jayde Scorpion to Justin Bobby, in their stupid mini dresses, doing their stupid preening walks, on the grandest set ever built for The Hills. This was the big wham-bang close of Act V when we find out who the killer is and maybe the young ingenues fall in love. Or get married. Or whatever. Everyone was wondering what happened to Lauren. Would she show up? No one knew.
Meanwhile Lauren had been lost and confused in that giddy sort of way. That feeling of pull and tide, that the world is expanding and yawning and your feet are itchy to explore it. Basically, it's just time to move on. Unsure what to do, she talked to her mentor Kelly Cutrone. Kelly didn't have much to say to her, other than that maybe she should just be a jellyfish for a while, float aimlessly, see what sticks. Good advice for people who have the money to be jellyfish. The rest of us have to be sharks, never stopping lest we disappear forever into the murky depths.
She and Lo were moving out of their Beverly Hills manse, and so they had one last cookout party, where everyone was sentimental and said sweet things, and Handbags made up with Brody, and Handbags urged Lauren to come to the wedding, and Handbags felt as though some great weight was both lifting and settling. Would this be the end of her run on the show? What else is there for the unwed spinster sister of reality's royal couple to do? But Lauren just smiled at her and seemed sad and complete. The world is ending, and isn't it wonderful.
And, yes, of course Lauren showed up to the wedding and took a private audience with Heidi and they sniffled at each other and as long as Heidi was happy, that's all that ever really mattered. Were her jewels and enormous pancake dress too much? Yes, of course. But also, who cares. And yes, of course, Kristin Cavallari showed up, wearing basically the same dress as Lauren. Everyone pretended to be surprised and MTV began the oh-so-subtle (not subtle at all) work of giving us visual cues that the guard was changing. Spencer and Heidi exchanged their sad little vows and then the wedding was over and everyone clapped and spilled outside where they threw flower petals and Heidi threw the bouquet and—oop!—Kristin Cavallari caught it and it was as if Adam DiVello looked up to the stars and said "No... there is another."
And Lauren. Lauren off in the background, got into her black town car and disappeared into the afternoon. The last we saw of her, the last anyone saw of that old gal, was a Mona Lisa smile in the back of a car. Was she happy that she'd been her own Ben Braddock and saved herself at this wedding? Was she unsure of all that awaited her? Who knows.
I like to think that now she'll disappear from the spotlight and begin living her own real life. Because, you know, there's a whole lot in real life that can be swishy and swoony. There's a whole lot to be discussed in bars and beauty salons, in walks on the beach, in cars speeding on highways. There's a whole lot in looks, in expressions, in little huffs that no one notices, in blinks and smiles, in kisses and hellos. There's a whole lot to do in this short spin, and I think it's done better when it's honest and off-camera. When it is, finally finally finally, the way it's always supposed to have been:
Unscripted. Unplanned. Unfilmed. Unsold.
And, most of all, unwritten.
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Take the 2-minute tour ×
While this is loosely graphic-design related, when doing design for some kind of annotations, one have to work with symbols used as 'reference markers', such as 1 in foo 1. When you need to discuss the decisions regarding these, you may want to use a distinctive word.
But how are, or should, these be called? These are usually numbers, however, this won't make them different from exponents; and saying 'numbers' is not very distinctive when the content body is dealing with or using numbers, too. They could be referred as numbers in the upper index or superscript, however, they not essentially need to be a superscript (especially if you try to experiment with something new in your design). In some cases 'reference markers' as numbers can also be a bad idea, eg. annotating a math text.
How should these be called? Numbers? Numbers in the superscript? Reference-mark symbols? Annotation symbols? Is there a term for these?
share|improve this question
+1 it's also a relevant typography terminology question. – user568458 May 1 '13 at 15:04
Well, you already found a name: “reference marker”. I think that if you use that, people will understand what you mean. – svick May 1 '13 at 16:11
Also, aren't references usually written [1]? I think ¹ is used for footnotes, not references. – svick May 1 '13 at 16:13
@svick hm, I think I accidentally merged the meaning of references with (that of) footnotes. Because they are noted similarly; even if they are used for different reasons / in different situations. (And their content is actually different, often.) – naxa May 1 '13 at 20:16
2 Answers 2
The only problem I see with "footnote" and "reference" is that these are slightly restrictive words. "Annotation" is the all-encompassing term for ALL the types of marks you are referring to: footnotes, endnotes, corrections, and captions are all annotations.
So seeing as how you want to avoid over specifying, "annotation marks" is the least leading phrase with respect to type, means, placement etc., and if you want to avoid using words like "numbers" or "letters" try "glyphs."
"What glyph(s) shall we use for marking annotations?"
"How should we style the annotation marks?"
share|improve this answer
Wikipedia offers 'footnote marker', and no other term under the regular markers' individual pages (like asterisk, dagger, pilcrow and section sign). I guess there is no official collective term for them.
share|improve this answer
Your Answer
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69896
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Take the 2-minute tour ×
I am new in design, and recently I have been given a task where I have to create images like the ones present on dropbox.com home page.
enter image description here
I am not sure what is the correct way of creating those images.I suppose they are called doodles.
Can they be created using Photoshop/Illustrator or will I have to use the method where I sketch the image on paper, scan it and then edit in Photoshop? If there is a way of creating the images other than that, then please let me know. Thanks
share|improve this question
Whatever works for you. There's really no wrong way to create sketch images. I'd guess that the specific device images on dropbox's home page were actually draw in some software though. – Scott May 9 at 7:57
I'd recommend hand drawing the images first and scanning them in. This will give you greater control over your designs and then you can work them up in either Photoshop or Illustrator. – SaturnsEye May 9 at 8:18
If you have the patience to get to grips with Inkscape these answers could be of interest. The jitter option is pretty good. graphicdesign.stackexchange.com/questions/27379/… – pebbl May 9 at 8:45
1 Answer 1
I draw the sketches that i’d like to convert into digital vector art.
Scan my sketches with a flatbed scanner.
Scan at a high resolution of at least 400 dpi while using the greyscale setting. Open your scanned sketch into Photoshop to convert to digital
Another Method I Prefer
There's better way to draw, paint, or simply doodle than with the use of a Wacom pen tablet. And Bamboo makes it easy, using your favorite software applications and Just pick up the pen and start drawing or painting. Adjust line weight and opacity naturally through the pen's pressure sensitivity.
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Search This Blog
Friday, May 11, 2012
A Conflict of Inference
Lately, my favorite saying has been:
The curse of authorship is that the information conveyed is not necessarily what the writer intended, but rather what the reader chooses to infer.
As someone who attempts to write, both for fun on this blog and the technical, management, and business documents as part of my work, I'm often flummoxed and bemused by the apparent lack of clarity in my writing when a reader ends up inferring meaning that not only didn't I intend, but would've never guessed in a million years that's how they would interpret what I had written.
The only thing that keeps me from feeling totally humiliated by my inability to write clearly is that it happens to real authors as well. I recommended Sowell's "A Conflict of Visions" to a friend and when he wrote a summary/critique of what he had read, I was wondering if he had read a different "A Conflict of Visions" than I did. It turns out it was the same book, but we had just interpreted it completely differently.
Poor Sowell, either my friend or I or both have completely misinterpreted his work. But that's the curse of authorship.
erp said...
Also the curse of inbred prejudices especially against non-conformist ideas and even more especially when those ideas are in a black person's head.
Hey Skipper said...
I suggest strongly resisting the temptation to analogize.
Rarely, there are times when the analogy will simplify and clarify the point at hand, while not introducing inconsistencies that either undermine the whole effort.
Bree-Z said...
What you have found is not a down fall, or lack of skill. It's a simple truth that humanity hears and sees what they would like. I don't mean that as a negativity toward humanity, but merely as a stated truth. The very beauty of words, and creation in general is that it is interpreted differently by each human being. There is hardly a way to insure that your exact meaning is identified in every piece without some explanation. We all see things differently because no two people have ever lived the same life. Combinations of different words have differing meaning to ever human being. Just as a painting might amaze one person, and be found disturbing to the next.
Just my opinion.
Bret said...
Those are good points and certainly part of the beauty of some sorts of creations is that each person can interpret and enjoy the creation in his or her own way.
On the other hand, I nevertheless find it frustrating when some of my creations aren't received in the manner I intend and I imagine that at least some other authors feel similar frustration. When I write a song it doesn't bother me how it's interpreted. But if I wrote a treatise on how 2 + 2 equals 4 and someone infers from what I wrote that I meant that 2 + 2 equals 5, that would hurt. Mostly, because I would assume that it was a severe lack of clarity in my writing that caused the incorrect interpretation.
The Sowell book I mentioned is somewhere in between a poem or a song and a hard description of objective reality, so there is definitely room for subjective interpretation. I was just surprised at how wide a range of interpretation was possible. I wonder if he would be surprised as well.
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What ‘big cats’ are native to North America?
1. 0 Votes
There are four distinct types of ‘large cat’ typically found in North America. These four species have numerous subspecies and are found in different regions across the continent; however they all have similar, distinctively feline characteristics.
The most common and widely distributed large cat in the Americas is the Cougar; they are also known by several other names such as mountain lions, panthers and pumas. They are a medium sized cat, measuring about eight feet long and weighing between 100 and 150 pounds. Cougars are found just about everywhere in the western hemisphere, inhabiting the wildernesses from Canada’s Yukon Territory all the way to the southern Andes Mountains. Cougars are typically a shade of tan or brown, but can also be shades of dark brown or reddish-brown. These cats are solitary hunters that hunt both during the day and at night; they are typically ambush predators, stalking their prey from behind or waiting patiently in a tree or tall grass for their dinner to come to close. Cougar typically prey on small to medium game such as rabbits, wild boars and birds, however they have been known to take down much larger prey including deer, elk and even moose! Cougars were once heavily hunted because they prey on livestock in the wilderness of the American West.
Like the cougar, jaguars are a widely dispersed predator in the Americas, inhabiting most of South America and reaching as far north as the southern United States. Jaguars are very much like the African Leopard, however they have evolved a smaller and more compact frame measuring about six feet from head to tail and tipping the scales at between 150 and 200 pounds. These jungle giants are typically nocturnal and prey upon anything they can find from small rodents, to fish to the continents’ largest animals. Jaguars are solitary creatures, males live on home ranges up to 40 square miles large, these plots are often shared with several females who migrate between the best feeding grounds and the most virile males. Jaguar sightings in the United States are extremely rare, although there have been a number of sightings in states like Arizona in recent years.
The bobcat is the second most common cat in North America after the cougar. Bobcats are smaller than cougars or their close relatives the Canadian Lynx, however they are still twice as large as the ordinary house cat, measuring three feet long and weighing around thirty pounds. Although they are commonly mistaken for cougars or other big cats, bobcats actually have several unique characteristics including a square face, pointed black ears with tufts of fur, a small, stubby, black-tipped tail and a distinct, grey-brown coat with black stripes and spots covering its body. Bobcats typically hunt during dusk and early nighttime dining mostly on small game, squirrels and rabbits making up the majority of its diet; however they have been known to eat everything from insects of deer!
Canadian Lynx:
The Canadian Lynx is found almost exclusively in the cold climates of Northern Canada and Alaska, although they have been spotted in some northern states like Vermont, New Hampshire and Minnesota. These lynx typically have a silvery-grey or light brown coat which allows them to stalk their favorite prey, snowshoe hares, which make up the majority of their diet; they also feed on other small game, birds, and deer. Due to trapping and human expansion, the Canadian Lynx is now considered threatened in the lower 48 states, although the species is in less danger farther North in Canada and Alaska where it is a top predator.
Black Panther:
The cat above is a Black jaguar; Black cougars are also found in North America.
Black Panthers are not a specific species of large cat, but rather just a term used for any large cat with a melanistic color variation that makes its coat appear all black. These are common in large cats; in Africa, black panthers are leopards with black coats, in South and Central America, they are black jaguars and in North America, black panthers are all black cougars although there have been recent sightings of a black jaguar in Arizona.
2. 0 Votes
One of the most common large cats in North America is the cougar, or mountain lion. Standing at about six feet long and weighing between 80 to 160 pounds, they are one of North America’s deadliest predators.
I hope this helped!
3. 0 Votes
Bobcats, cougars, and lynx’s are the most common big cats in North America. All of these are not uncommon to see, as they are a part of the ecosystem. There are a couple of other cats such as the Jaguar and Ocelot that make some guest appearances in the far south of Texas and Mexico, but there is not a lot of habitat for them there.
4. 0 Votes
Same thing tristen said. Cougars (mountain lions) Lnx’s, and bobcats
5. 0 Votes
Some of the most common large wild cats in the US, Canada, and Mexico include the cougar, bobcat, and lynx, which are fierce predators in their own rights. Other lesser known cats include pumas, ocelots and jaguars in the southern areas of the continent. As far as interactions with humans go, these large cats usually try to stay away from large populations, but can be dangerous in close proximity. Most reports of attacks or sightings have been single cats that wander into urban areas in search of food. I’ have always been told when facing a potential threat from a large cat, make yourself seem fierce and larger to scare it away; of course, if you can avoid contact with the animal, call Animal Control and stay indoors.
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Project Gutenberg Etext The Choir Invisible, by James Lane Allen Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! Please take a look at the important information in this header. We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** **Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** *These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and further information is included below. We need your donations. 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Project Gutenburg/Make A Difference Day Project 1999. THE CHOIR INVISIBLE by James Lane Allen "O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence. . . . . . feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused And in diffusion evermore intense. So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world." GEORGE ELIOT THE middle of a fragrant afternoon of May in the green wilderness of Kentucky: the year 1795. High overhead ridges of many-peaked cloud--the gleaming, wandering Alps of the blue ether; outstretched far below, the warming bosom of the earth, throbbing with the hope of maternity. Two spirits abroad in the air, encountering each other and passing into one: the spirit of scentless spring left by melting snows and the spirit of scented summer born with the earliest buds. The road through the forest one of those wagon-tracks that were being opened from the clearings of the settlers, and that wound along beneath trees of which those now seen in Kentucky are the unworthy survivors--oaks and walnuts, maples and elms, centuries old, gnarled, massive, drooping, majestic, through whose arches the sun hurled down only some solitary spear of gold, and over whose gray-mossed roots some cold brook crept in silence; with here and there billowy open spaces of wild rye, buffalo grass, and clover on which the light fell in sheets of radiance; with other spots so dim that for ages no shoot had sprung from the deep black mould; blown to and fro across this wagon-road, odours of ivy, pennyroyal and mint, mingled with the fragrance of the wild grape; flitting to and fro across it, as low as the violet-beds, as high as the sycamores, unnumbered kinds of birds, some of which like the paroquet are long since vanished. Down it now there came in a drowsy amble an old white bob-tail horse, his polished coat shining like silver when he crossed an expanse of sunlight, fading into spectral paleness when he passed under the rayless trees; his foretop floating like a snowy plume in the light wind, his unshod feet, half-covered by the fetlocks, stepping noiselessly over the loamy earth; the rims of his nostrils expanding like flexible ebony; and in his eyes that look of peace which is never seen but in those of petted animals. He had on an old bridle with knots of blue violets hanging, down at his ears; over his broad back was spread a blanket of buffalo-skin; on this rested a worn black side-saddle, and sitting in the saddle was a girl, whom every young man of the town not far away knew to be Amy Falconer, and whom many an old pioneer dreamed of when he fell asleep beside his rifle and his hunting-knife in his lonely cabin of the wilderness. She was perhaps the first beautiful girl of aristocratic birth ever seen in Kentucky, and the first of the famous train of those who for a hundred years since have wrecked or saved the lives of the men. Her pink calico dress, newly starched and ironed, had looked so pretty to her when she had started from home, that she had not been able to bear the thought of wearing over it this lovely afternoon her faded, mud-stained riding-skirt; and it was so short that it showed, resting against the saddle-skirt, her little feet loosely fitted into new bronze morocco shoes. On her hands she had drawn white half-hand mittens of home-knit; and on her head she wore an enormous white scoop-bonnet, lined with pink and tied under her chin in a huge muslin bow. Her face, hidden away under the pink-and-white shadow, showed such hints of pearl and rose that it seemed carved from the inner surface of a sea-shell. Her eyes were gray, almond shaped, rather wide apart, with an expression changeful and playful, but withal rather shrewd and hard; her light brown hair, as fine as unspun silk, was parted over her brow and drawn simply back behind her ears; and the lips of her little mouth curved against each other, fresh, velvet-like, smiling. On she rode down the avenue of the primeval woods; and Nature seemed arranged to salute her as some imperial presence; with the waving of a hundred green boughs above on each side; with a hundred floating odours; with the swift play of nimble forms up and down the boles of trees; and all the sweet confusion of innumerable melodies. Then one of those trifles happened that contain the history of our lives, as a drop of dew draws into itself the majesty and solemnity of the heavens. >From the pommel of the side-saddle there dangled a heavy roll of home-spun linen, which she was taking to town to her aunt's merchant as barter for queen's-ware pitchers; and behind this roll of linen, fastened to a ring under the seat of the saddle, was swung a bundle tied up in a large blue-and-white checked cotton neckkerchief. Whenever she fidgeted in the saddle, or whenever the horse stumbled as he often did because he was clumsy and because the road was obstructed by stumps and roots, the string by which this bundle was tied slipped a little through the lossening knot and the bundle hung a little lower down. Just where the wagon-trail passed out into the broader public road leading from Lexington to Frankfort and the travelling began to be really good, the horse caught one of his forefeet against the loop of a root, was thrown violently forward, and the bundle slipped noiselessly from the saddle to the earth. She did not see it. She indignantly gathered the reins more tightly in her hand, pushed back her bonnet, which now hung down over her eyes like the bill of a pelican, and applied her little switch of wild cherry to the horse's flank with such vehemence that a fly which was about to alight on that spot went to the other side. The old horse himself--he bore the peaceable name of William Penn--merely gave one of the comforting switches of his bob-tail with which he brushed away the thought of any small annoyance, and stopped a moment to nibble at the wayside cane mixed with purple blossoming peavine. Out of the lengthening shadows of the woods the girl and the horse passed on toward the little town; and far behind them in the public road lay the lost bundle. II IN the open square on Cheapside in Lexington there is now a bronze statue of John Breckinridge. Not far from where it stands the pioneers a hundred years ago had built the first log school-house of the town. Poor old school-house, long since become scattered ashes! Poor little backwoods academicians, driven in about sunrise, driven out toward dusk! Poor little tired backs with nothing to lean against! Poor little bare feet that could never reach the floor! Poor little droop-headed figures, so sleepy in the long summer days, so afraid to fall asleep! Long, long since, little children of the past, your backs have become straight enough, measured on the same cool bed; sooner or later your feet, wherever wandering, have found their resting-places in the soft earth; and all your drooping heads have gone to sleep on the same dreamless pillow and there are sleeping. And the young schoolmaster, who seemed exempt from frailty while he guarded like a sentinel that lone outpost of the alphabet--he too has long since joined the choir invisible of the immortal dead. But there is something left of him though more than a century has passed away: something that has wandered far down the course of time to us like the faint summer fragrance of a young tree long since fallen dead in its wintered forest--like a dim radiance yet travelling onward into space from an orb turned black and cold--like an old melody, surviving on and on in the air without any instrument, without any strings. John Gray, the school-master. At four o'clock that afternoon and therefore earlier than usual, he was standing on the hickory block which formed the doorstep of the school-house, having just closed the door behind him for the day. Down at his side, between the thumb and forefinger of one hand, hung his big black hat, which was decorated with a tricoloured cockade, to show that he was a member of the Democratic Society of Lexington, modelled after the Democratic Society of Philadelphia and the Jacobin clubs of France. In the open palm of the other lay his big silver English lever watch with a glass case and broad black silk fob. A young fellow of powerful build, lean, muscular; wearing simply but with gentlemanly care a suit of black, which was relieved around his wrists and neck by linen, snow-white and of the finest quality. In contrast with his dress, a complexion fresh, pure, brilliant--the complexion of health and innocence; in contrast with this complexion from above a mass of coarse dark-red hair, cut short and loosely curling. Much physical beauty in the head, the shape being noble, the pose full of dignity and of strength; almost no beauty in the face itself except in the gray eyes which were sincere, modest, grave. Yet a face not without moral loftiness and intellectual power; rugged as a rock, but as a rock is made less rugged by a little vine creeping over it, so his was softened by a fine network of nerves that wrought out upon it a look of kindness; betraying the first nature of passion, but disciplined to the higher nature of control; youthful, but wearing those unmistakable marks of maturity which mean a fierce early struggle against the rougher forces of the world. On the whole, with the calm, self respecting air of one who, having thus far won in the battle of life, has a fiercer longing for larger conflict, and whose entire character rests on the noiseless conviction that he is a man and a gentleman. Deeper insight would have been needed to discover how true and earnest a soul he was; how high a value he set on what the future had in store for him and on what his life would be worth to himself and to others; and how, liking rather to help himself than to be helped, he liked less to be trifled with and least of all to be seriously thwarted. He was thinking, as his eyes rested on the watch, that if this were one of his ordinary days he would pursue his ordinary duties; he would go up street to the office of Marshall and for the next hour read as many pages of law as possible; then get his supper at his favourite tavern--the Sign of the Spinning, Wheel--near the two locust trees; then walk out into the country for an hour or more; then back to his room and more law until midnight by the light of his tallow dip. But this was not an ordinary day--being one that he had long waited for and was destined never to forget. At dusk the evening before, the post-rider, so tired that he had scarce strength of wind to blow his horn, had ridden into town bringing the mail from Philadelphia; and in this mail there was great news for him. It had kept him awake nearly all of the night before; it had been uppermost in his mind the entire day in school. At the thought of it now he thrust his watch into his pocket, pulled his hat resolutely over his brow, and started toward Main Street, meaning to turn thence toward Cross Street, now known as Broadway. On the outskirts of the town in that direction lay the wilderness, undulating away for hundreds of miles like a vast green robe with scarce a rift of human making. He failed to urge his way through the throng as speedily as he may have expected, being withheld at moments by passing acquaintances, and at others pausing of his own choice to watch some spectacle of the street. The feeling lay fresh upon him this afternoon that not many years back the spot over which the town was spread had been but a hidden glade in the heart of the beautiful, awful wilderness, with a bountiful spring bubbling up out of the turf, and a stream winding away through the green, valley-bottom to the bright, shady Elkhorn: a glade that for ages had been thronged by stately-headed elk and heavy-headed bison, and therefore sought also by unreckoned generations of soft-footed, hard eyed red hunters. Then had come the beginning of the end when one summer day, toward sunset, a few tired, rugged backwoodsmen of the Anglo-Saxon race, wandering fearless and far into the wilderness from the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge and the Alleghanies, had made their camp by the margin of the spring; and always afterwards, whether by day or by night, they had dreamed of this as the land they must conquer for their homes. Now they had conquered it already; and now this was the town that had been built there, with its wide streets under big trees of the primeval woods; with a long stretch of turf on one side of the stream for a town common; with inns and taverns in the style of those of country England or of Virginia in the reign of George the Third; with shops displaying the costliest merchandise of Philadelphia; with rude dwellings of logs now giving way to others of frame and of brick; and, stretching away from the town toward the encompassing wilderness, orderly gardens and orchards now pink with the blossom of the peach, and fields of young maize and wheat and flax and hemp. As the mighty stream of migration of the Anglo-Saxon race had burst through the jagged channels of the Alleghanies and rushed onward to the unknown, illimitable West, it was this little town that had received one of the main streams, whence it flowed more gently dispersed over the rich lands of the newly created State, or passed on to the Ohio and the southern fringes of the Lakes. It was this that received also a vast return current of the fearful, the disappointed, the weak, as they recoiled from the awful frontier of backwood life and resought the peaceful Atlantic seaboard--one of the defeated Anglo-Saxon armies of civilization. These two far-clashing tides of the aroused, migrating race--the one flowing westward, the other ebbing eastward--John Gray found himself noting with deep interest as he moved through the town that afternoon a hundred years ago; and not less keenly the unlike groups and characters thrown dramatically together upon this crowded stage of border history. At one point his attention was arrested by the tearful voices of women and the weeping of little children: a company of travellers with pack-horses--one of the caravans across the desert of the Western woods--was moving off to return by the Wilderness Road to the old abandoned homes in Virginia and North Carolina. Farther on, his passage was blocked by a joyous crowd that had gathered about another caravan newly arrived--not one traveller having perished on the way. Seated on the roots of an oak were a group of young backwoodsmen--swarthy, lean, tall, wild and reckless of bearing--their long rifles propped against the tree or held fondly across the knees; the gray smoke of their pipes mingling with the gray of their jauntily worn raccoon-skin caps; the rifts of yellow sunlight blending with the yellow of their huntingshirts and tunics; their knives and powder-horns fastened in the belts that girt in their gaunt waists: the heroic youthful sinew of the old border folk. One among them, larger and handsomer than the others, had pleased his fancy by donning more nearly the Indian dress. His breech-clout was of dappled fawn-skin; his long thigh boots of thin deer-hide were open at the hips, leaving exposed the clear whiteness of his flesh; below the knees they were ornamented by a scarlet fringe tipped with the hoofs of fawns and the spurs of the wild turkey; and in his cap he wore the intertwined wings of the hawk and the scarlet tanager. Under another tree in front of a tavern bearing the sign of the Virginia arms, a group of students of William and Mary, the new aristocrats of the West, were singing, gambling, drinking; while at intervals one of them, who had lying open before him a copy of Tom Paine's "Age of Reason," pounded on the table and apostrophied the liberties of Man. Once Gray paused beside a tall pole that had been planted at a street corner and surmounted with a liberty cap. Two young men, each wearing the tricolour cockade as he did, were standing, there engaged in secret conversation. As he joined them, three other young men--Federalists--sauntered past, wearing black cockades, with an eagle button on the left side. The six men saluted coolly. Many another group and solitary figure he saw to remind him of the turbulent history of the time and place. A parson, who had been the calmest of Indian fighters, had lost all self-control as he contended out in the road with another parson for the use of Dr. Watts' hymns instead of the Psalms of David. Near by, listening to them, and with a wondering eye on all he saw in the street, stood a French priest of Bordeaux, an exile from the fury of the avenging jacobins. There were brown flatboatmen, in weather-beaten felt hats, just returned by the long overland trip from New Orleans and discussing with tobacco merchants the open navigation of the Mississippi; and as they talked, up to them hurried the inventor Edward West, who said with excitement that if they would but step across the common to the town branch, he would demonstrate by his own model that some day navigation would be by steam: whereat they all laughed kindly at him for a dreamer, and went to laugh at the action of his mimic boat, moving hither and thither over the dammed water of the stream. Sitting on a stump apart from every one, his dog at his feet, his rifle across his lap, an aged backwoodsman surveyed in sorrow the civilization that had already destroyed his hunting and that was about sending him farther west to the depths of Missouri--along with the buffalo. His glance fell with disgust upon two old gentlemen in knee-breeches who met and offered each other their snuff-boxes, with a deep bow. He looked much more kindly at a crave, proud Chickasaw hunter, who strode by with inward grief and shame, wounded by the robbery of his people. Puritans from New England; cavaliers from Virginia; Scotch-Irish from Pennsylvania; mild-eyed trappers and bargemen from the French hamlets of Kaskaskia and Cahokia; wood-choppers; scouts; surveyors; swaggering adventurers; land-lawyers; colonial burgesses,--all these mingled and jostled, plotted and bartered, in the shops, in the streets, under the trees. And everywhere soldiers and officers of the Revolution--come West with their families to search for homes, or to take possession of the grants made them by the Government. In the course of a short walk John Gray passed men who had been wounded in the battle of Point Pleasant; men who had waded behind Clark through the freezing marshes of the Illinois to the storming of Vincennes; men who had charged through flame and smoke up the side of King's Mountain against Ferguson's Carolina loyalists; men who with chilled ardour had let themselves be led into the massacre of the Wabash by blundering St. Clair; men who with wild thrilling pulses had rushed to victory behind mad Antony Wayne. And the women! Some--the terrible lioness-mothers of the Western jungles who had been used like men to fight with rifle, knife, and axe--now sat silent in the doorways of their rough cabins, wrinkled, scarred, fierce, silent, scornful of all advancing luxury and refinement. Flitting gaily past them, on their way to the dry goods stores--supplied by trains of pack-horses from over the Alleghanies, or by pack-horse and boat down the Ohio--hurried the wives of the officers, daintily choosing satins and ribands for a coming ball. All this and more he noted as he passed lingeringly on. The deep vibrations of history swept through him, arousing him as the marshalling storm cloud, the rush of winds, and sunlight flickering into gloom kindle the sense of the high, the mighty, the sublime. As he was crossing the common, a number of young fellows stripped and girt for racing--for speed greater than an Indian's saved many a life in those days, and running was part of the regular training of the young--bounded up to him like deer, giving a challenge: he too was very swift. But he named another day, impatient of the many interruptions that had already delayed him, and with long, rapid strides he had soon passed beyond the last fields and ranges of the town. Then he slackened his pace. Before him, a living wall, rose the edge of the wilderness. Noting the position of the sun and searching for a point of least resistance, he plunged in. Soon he had to make his way through a thicket of cane some twelve feet high; then through a jungle of wild rye, buffalo grass and briars; beyond which he struck a narrow deertrace and followed that in its westward winding through thinner undergrowth under the dark trees. He was unarmed. He did not even wear a knife. But the thought rose in his mind of how rapidly the forest also was changing its character. The Indians were gone. Two years had passed since they had for the last time flecked the tender green with tender blood. And the deadly wild creatures--the native people of earth and tree--they likewise had fled from the slaughter and starvation of their kind. A little while back and a maddened buffalo or a wounded elk might have trodden him down and gored him to death in that thicket and no one have ever learned his fate--as happened to many a solitary hunter. He could not feel sure that hiding in the leaves of the branches against which his hat sometimes brushed there did not lie the panther, the hungrier for the fawns that had been driven from the near coverts. A swift lowering of its head, a tense noiseless spring, its fangs buried in his neck,--with no knife the contest would not have gone well with him. But of deadly big game he saw no sign that day. Once from a distant brake he was surprised to hear the gobble of the wild turkey; and more surprised still--and delighted--when the trail led to a twilight gloom and coolness, and at the green margin of a little spring he saw a stag drinking. It turned its terrified eyes upon him for an instant and then bounded away like a gray shadow. When he had gone about two miles, keeping his face steadily toward the sun, he came upon evidences of a clearing: burnt and fallen timber; a field of sprouting maize; another of young wheat; a peach orchard flushing all the green around with its clouds of pink; beyond this a garden of vegetables; and yet farther on, a log house. He was hurrying on toward the house; but as he passed the garden he saw standing in one corner, with a rake in her hand, a beautifully formed woman in homespun, and near by a negro lad dropping garden-seed. His eyes lighted up with pleasure; and changing his course at once, he approached and leaned on the picket fence. "How do you do, Mrs. Falconer?" She turned with a cry, dropping her rake and pushing her sun-bonnet back from her eyes. "How unkind to frighten me!" she said, laughing as she recognized him; and then she came over to the fence and gave him her hand--beautiful, but hardened by work. A faint colour had spread over her face. "I didn't mean to frighten you," he replied, smiling at her fondly. "But I had rapped on the fence twice. I suppose you took me for a flicker. Or you were too busy with your gardening to hear me. Or, may be you were too deep in your own thoughts." "How do you happen to be out of school so early?" she asked, avoiding the subject. "I was through with the lessons." "You must have hurried." "I did." "And is that the way you treat people's children?" "That's the way I treated them to-day." "And then you came straight out here?" "As straight and fast as my legs could carry me--with a good many interruptions." She searched his face eagerly for a moment. Then her eyes fell and she turned back to the seed-planting. He stood leaning over the fence with his hat in his hand, glancing impatiently at the house. "How can you respect yourself, to stand there idling and see me hard at work?" she said at length, without looking, at him. "But you do the work so well--better than I could! Besides, you are obeying a Divine law. I have no right to keep you from doing the will of God. I observe you as one of the daughters of Eve--under the curse of toil." "There's no Divine command that I should plant beans. But it is my command that Amy shall. And this is Amy's work. Aren't you willing to work for her?" she asked, slowly raising her eyes to his face. "I am willing to work for her, but I am not willing to do her work!" he replied." If the queen sits quietly in the parlour, eating bread and honey"--and he nodded, protesting, toward the house. "The queen's not in the parlour, eating bread and honey. She has gone to town to stay with Kitty Poythress till after the ball." She noted how his expression instantly changed, and how, unconscious of his own action, he shifted his face back to the direction of the town. "Her uncle was to take her in to-morrow," she went on, still watching him, "but no! she and Kitty must see each other to-night; and her uncle must be sure to bring her party finery in the gig to-morrow. I'm sorry you had your walk for nothing; but you'll stay to supper?" "Thank you; I must go back presently." "Didn't you expect to stay when you came?" He flushed and laughed in confusion. "If you'll stay, I'll make you a johnny-cake on a new ash shingle with my own hands." "Thank you, I really must go back. But if there's a johnny-cake already made, I could easily take it along." "My johnny-cakes do not bear transportation." "I wouldn't transport it far, you know." "Do stay! Major Falconer will be so disappointed. He said at dinner there were so many things he wanted to talk to you about. He has been looking for you to come out. And, then, we have had no news for weeks. The major has been too busy to go to town; and I!--I am as dry as one of the gourds of Confucius." His thoughts settled contentedly upon her once more and his face cleared. "I can't stay to supper, but I'll keep the Indians away till the major comes," he said. "What were you thinking of when I surprised you?" "What was I thinking of?" She stopped working while she repeated his words and folded her hands about the handle of the rake as if to rest awhile. A band of her soft, shining hair, loosened by its own weight when she had bent over to thin some seed carelessly scattered in the furrow, now fell across her forehead. She pushed her bonnet back and stood gathering it a little absently into its place with the tips of her fingers. Meanwhile he could see that her eyes rested upon the edge of the wilderness. It seemed to him that she must be thinking of that; and he noted with pain, as often before, the contrast between her and her surroundings. From every direction the forest appeared to be rushing in upon that perilous little reef of a clearing--that unsheltered island of human life, newly displaying itself amid the ancient, blood-flecked, horror-haunted sea of woods. And shipwrecked on this island, tossed to it by one of the long tidal waves of history, there to remain in exile from the manners, the refinement, the ease, the society to which she had always been accustomed, this remarkable gentlewoman. III HE had learned a great deal about her past, and held it mirrored in his memory. The general picture of it rose before his eyes now, as he leaned on the fence this pleasant afternoon in May and watched her restoring to its place, with delicate strokes of her finger-tips, the lock of her soft, shining hair.How could any one so fine have thriven amid conditions so exhausting? Those hard toiling fingers, now grasping the heavy hoe, once used to tinkle over the spinet; the small, sensitive feet, now covered with coarse shoe-packs tied with leather thongs, once shone in rainbow hues of satin slippers and silken hose. A sunbonnet for the tiara of osprey plumes; a dress spun and woven by her own hand out of her own flax, instead of the stiff brocade; log hut for manor-house; one negro boy instead of troops of servants: to have possessed all that, to have been brought down to all this, and not to have been ruined by it, never to have lost distinction or been coarsened by coarseness never to have parted with grace of manner or grace of spirit, or been bent or broken or overclouded in character and ideals,--it was all this that made her in his eyes a great woman, a great lady. He held her in such reverence that, as he caught the serious look in her eyes at his impulsive question, he was sorry he had asked it: the last thing he could ever have thought of doing would have been to intrude upon the privacy of her reflections. "What was I thinking of?" There was a short silence and then she turned to him eagerly, brightly, with an entire change of voice and expression-- "But the news from town--you haven't told me the news." "Oh, there is any amount of news!" he cried, glad of a chance to retreat from his intrusion. And he began lightly, recklessly: "A bookbinder has opened a shop on Cross Street--a capital hand at the business, by the name of Leischman--and he will bind books at the regular market prices in exchange for linen rags, maple sugar, and goose-quills. I advise you to keep an eye on your geese, if the major once takes a notion to have his old Shakespeare and his other volumes, that had their bindings knocked off in crossing the Alleghanies, elegantly rebound. You can tell him also that after a squirrel-hunt in Bourbon County the farmers counted scalps, and they numbered five thousand five hundred and eighty-nine; so that he is not the only one who has trouble with his corn. And then you can tell him that on the common the other day Nelson Tapp and Willis Tandy had a fearful fight over a land-suit. Now it was Tandy and Tapp; now it was Tapp and Tandy; but they went off at last and drowned themselves and the memory of the suit in a bowl of sagamity.""And there is no news for me, I suppose?" "Oh yes! I am happy to inform you that at McIllvain's you can now buy the finest Dutch and English letter-paper, gilt, embossed, or marbled." "That is not very important; I have no correspondents." "Well, a saddlery has been opened by two fellows from London, England, and you can now buy Amy a new side-saddle. She needs one." "Nor is that! The major buys the saddles for the family." "Well, then, as I came out on Alain Street, I passed some ladies who accused me of being on my way here, and who impressed it upon me that I must tell you of the last displays of women-wear: painted and velvet ribbons, I think they said, and crepe scarfs, and chintzes and nankeens and moreens and sarcenets, and--oh yes!-some muslinette jackets tamboured with gold and silver. They said we were becoming civilized--that the town would soon be as good as Williamsburg, or Annapolis, or Philadelphia for such things. You see I am like my children: I remember what I don't understand." "I understand what I must not remember! Don't tell me of those things," she added. "They remind me of the past; they make me think of Virginia. I wear homespun now, and am a Kentuckian.""Well, then, the Indians fired on the Ohio packet-boat near Three Islands and killed--" "Oh!" she said, with pain and terror, "don't tell me of that, either! It reminds me of the present.""Well, in Holland two thousand cats have been put into the corn-stores, to check the ravages of rats and mice," he said, laughing. "What is the news from France? Do be serious!" "In New York some Frenchmen, seeing their flag insulted by Englishmen who took it down from the liberty-cap, went upstairs to the room of an English officer named Codd, seized his regimental coat and tore it to pieces." "I'm glad of it! It was a very proper action!" "But, madam, the man Codd was perfectly innocent!" "No matter! His coat was guilty. They didn't tear him to pieces; they tore his coat. Are there any new books at the stores?" "A great many! I have spent part of the last three days in looking over them. You can have new copies of your old favourites, Joseph Andrews, or Roderick Random, or Humphrey Clinker. You can have Goldsmith and Young, and Chesterfield and Addison. There is Don Quixote and Hudibras, Gulliver and Hume, Paley and Butler, Hervey and Watts, Lavater and Trenck, Seneca and Gregory, Nepos and even Aspasia Vindicated--to say nothing of Abelard and He1oise and Thomas a Kempis. All the Voltaires have been sold, however, and the Tom Paines went off at a rattling gait. By the way, while on the subject of books, tell the major that we have raised five hundred dollars toward buying books for the Transylvania Library, and that as soon as my school is out I am to go East as a purchasing committee. What particularly interests me is that I am going to Mount Vernon, to ask a subscription from President Washington. Think of that! Think of my presenting myself there with my tricoloured cockade --a Kentucky Jacobin!" "The President may be so occupied with the plots of you Kentucky jacobins," she said, "that he will not feel much like supplying you with more literature." Then she added, looking at him anxiously, " And so you are going away?" "I'm going, and I'm glad I'm going. I have never set eyes on a great man. It makes my heart beat to think of it. I feel as a young Gaul might who was going to Rome to ask Caesar for gold with which to overthrow him. Seriously, it would be a dreadful thing for the country if a treaty should be ratified with England. There is not a democratic society from Boston to Charleston that will not feel enraged with the President. You may be sure that every patriot in Kentucky will be outraged, and that the Governor will denounce it to the House." "There is news from France, then--serious news?""Much, much! The National Convention has agreed to carry into full effect the treaty of commerce between the two Republics, and the French and American flags have been united and suspended in the hall. The Dutch have declared the sovereignty of the French, and French and Dutch patriots have taken St. Martin's. The English have declared war against the Dutch and granted letters of marque and reprisals. There has been a complete change in the Spanish Ministry. There has been a treaty made between France and the Grand Duke of Tuscany. The French fleet is in the West Indies and has taken possession of Guadeloupe. All French emigrants in Switzerland have been ordered to remove ten leagues from the borders of France. A hundred and fifty thousand Austrians are hurrying down toward the Rhine, to be reinforced by fifty thousand more." He had run over these items with the rapidity of one who has his eye on the map of the world, noting, the slightest change in the situation of affairs that could affect Kentucky; and she listened eagerly like one no less interested. "But the treaty! The treaty! The open navigation of the Mississippi!" she cried impatiently. "The last news is that the treaty will certainly be concluded and the open navigation of the Mississippi assured to us forever. The major will load his flatboats, drift down to New Orleans, sell those Spanish fops his tobacco for its weight in gems, buy a mustang to ride home on, and if not robbed and murdered by the land-pirates on the way, come back to you like an enormous bumblebee from a clover-field, his thighs literally packed with gold." "I am so glad, so glad, so glad!" He drew from his pockets a roll. "Here are papers for two months back. And now I've something else to tell you. That is one of the things I came for" As he said this, his manner, hitherto full of humour and vivacity, turned grave, and his voice, sinking to a lower tone, became charged with sweetness. It was the voice in which one refined and sincere soul confides to another refined and sincere soul the secret of some new happiness that has come to it. But noticing the negro lad, who had paused in his work several paces off and stood watching them, he said to her: "May I have a drink?" She turned to the negro:"Go to the spring-house and bring some water."The lad moved away, smiling to himself and shaking his head. "He has broken all my pitchers," she added. "To-day I had to send my last roll of linen to town by Amy to buy more queen's-ware. The moss will grow on the bucket before he gets back." When the boy was out of hearing, she turned again to him: "What is it? Tell me quickly." "I have had news from Philadelphia. The case is at last decided in favour of the heirs, and I come at once into possession of my share. It may be eight or ten thousand dollars." His voice trembled a little despite himself. She took his hands in hers with a warm, close pressure, and tears of joy sprang to her eyes. The whole of his bare, bleak life was known to her; its half-starved beginning; its early merciless buffeting; the upheaval of vast circumstance in the revolutionary history of the times by which he had again and again been thrown back upon his own undefended strength; and stealthily following him from place to place, always closing around him, always seeking to strangle him, or to poison him in some vital spot, that most silent, subtle serpent of life--Poverty. Knowing this, and knowing also the man he had become, she would in secret sometimes liken him to one of those rare unions of delicacy and hardihood which in the world of wild flowers Nature refuses to bring forth except from the cranny of a cold rock. Its home is the battle-field of black roaring tempests; the red lightnings play among its roots ; all night seamless snow-drifts are woven around its heart; no bee ever rises to it from the valley below where the green spring is kneeling; no morning bird ever soars past it with observant song; but in due time, with unswerving obedience to a law of beauty unfolding from within, it sets forth its perfect leaves and strains its steadfast face toward the sun. These paltry thousands! She realized that they would lift from him the burden of debts that he had assumed, and give him, without further waiting, the libertyof his powers and the opportunities of the world."God bless you!" She said with trembling lips. "It makes me happier than it does you. No one else in the whole world is as glad as I am."Silence fell upon them. Both were thinking, but in very different ways--of the changes that would now take place in his life. "Do you know," he said at length, looking into her face with the quietest smile, that if this lawsuit had gone against me it would have been the first great defeat of my life? Sorely as I have struggled, I have yet to encounter that common myth of weak men, an insurmountable barrier. The imperfection of our lives-- what is it but the imperfection of our planning and doing? Shattered ideals--what hand shatters them but one's own? I declare to you at this moment, standing here in the clear light of my own past, that I firmly believe I shall be what I will, that I shall have what I want, and that I shall now go on rearing the structure of my life, to the last detail, just as I have long planned it."She did not answer, but stood looking at him with a new pity in her eyes. After all, was he so young, so untaught by the world? Had a little prosperity already puffed him up? "There will be this difference, of course," he added. "Hitherto I have had to build slowly; henceforth there will be no delay, now that I am free to lay hold upon the material. But, my dear friend, I cannot bear to think of my life as a structure to be successfully reared without settling at once how it is to be lighted from within. And, therefore, I have come to speak to you about--the lamp." As he said this a solemn beauty flashed out upon his face. As though the outer curtain of his nature had been drawn up, she now gazed into the depths and confidences. Her head dropped quickly on her bosom; and she drew slightly back, as though to escape pain or danger."You must know how long I have loved Amy," he continued in a tone of calmness. "I have not spoken sooner, because the circumstances of my life made it necessary for me to wait; and now I wish to ask her to become my wife, and I am here to beg your consent first." For some time she did not answer. The slip of an elm grew beside the picket fence, and she stood passing her fingers over the topmost leaves, with her head lowered so that he could not see her face. At length she said in a voice he could hardly hear: "I have feared for a long time that this would come; but I have never been able to get ready for it, and I am not ready now." Neither spoke for some time longer; only his expression changed, and he looked over at her with a compassionate, amused gravity, as though he meant to be very patient with her opposition. On her part, she was thinking--Is it possible that the first use he will make of his new liberty is to forge the chain of a new slavery? Is this some weak spot now to be fully revealed in his character? Is this the drain in the bottom of the lake that will in the end bring its high, clear level down to mud and stagnant shallows and a swarm of stinging insects? At last she spoke, but with difficulty:"I have known for a year that you were interested in Amy. You could not have been here so much without our seeing that. But let me ask you one question: Have you ever thought that I wished you to marry her?" "I have always beheld in you an unmasked enemy," he replied, smiling. "Then I can go on," she said. "But I feel as though never in my life have I done a thing that is as near being familiar and unwomanly. Nevertheless, for your sake--for hers--for ours--it is my plain, hard duty to ask you whether you are sure--even if you should have her consent--that my niece is the woman you ought to marry." And she lifted to him her clear, calm eyes, prematurely old in the experience of life. "I am sure," he answered with the readiness of one who has foreseen the question. The negro boy approached with a bucket of cold crystal water, and he drank a big gourd full of it gratefully. "You can go and kindle the fire in the kitchen," she said to the negro. "It is nearly time to be getting supper. I will be in by and by." "You have been with her so much!" she continued to Gray after another interval of embarrassment. "And you know, or you ought to know, her disposition, her tastes, her ways and views of life. Is she the companion you need now? will always need?" "I have been much with her," he replied, taking up her words with humorous gravity. "But I have never studied her as I have studied law. I have never cross-examined her for a witness, or prosecuted her as an attorney, or pronounced sentence on her is a judge. I am her advocate--and I am ready to defend her now--even to you!" "John!--""I love her--that is all there is of it!" "Suppose you wait a little longer." "I have waited too long already from necessity." It was on his lips to add: "I have gone too far with her; it is too late to retreat;" but he checked himself. "If I should feel, then, that I must withhold my consent?" He grew serious, and after the silence of a few moments, he said with great respect:"I should be sorry; but--" and then he forbore. "If Major Falconer should withhold his?" He shook his head, and set his lips, turning his face away through courtesy. "It would make no difference! Nothing would make any difference!" and then another silence followed. "I suppose all this would be considered the proof that you loved her," she began at length, despairingly, "but even love is not enough to begin with; much less is it enough to live by." "You don't appreciate her! You don't do her justice!" he cried rudely. "But perhaps no woman can ever understand why a man loves any other woman!" "I am not thinking of why you love my niece," she replied, with a curl of pride in her nostril and a flash of anger in her eyes. "I am thinking of why you will cease to love her, and why you will both be unhappy if you marry her. It is not my duty to analyze your affections; it is my duty to take care of her welfare.""My dear friend," he cried, his face aglow with impatient enthusiasm --"my dear friend" and he suddenly lifted her hand to his lips, "I have but one anxiety in the whole matter: will you cease to be my friend if I act in opposition to your wishes?" "Should I cease to be your friend because you had made a mistake? It is not to me you are unkind," she answered, quickly withdrawing her hand. Spots of the palest rose appeared on her cheeks, and she bent over and picked up the rake, and began to work. "I must be going," he said awkwardly; "it is getting late." "Yes," she said; "it is getting late." Still he lingered, swinging his hat in his hand, ill at case, with his face set hard away. "Is that all you have to say to me?" he asked at length, wheeling and looking her steadily and fondly in the eyes. "That is all," she replied, controlling the quiver in her voice; but then letting herself go a little, she added with slow distinctness: "You might remember this: some women in marrying demand all and give all: with good men they are the happy; with base men they are the brokenhearted. Some demand everything and give little: with weak men they are tyrants; with strong men they are the divorced. Some demand little and give all: with congenial souls they are already in heaven; with uncongenial they are soon in their graves. Some give little and demand little: they are the heartless, and they bring neither the joy of life nor the peace of death." "And which of these is Amy?" he said, after a minute of reflection. "And which of the men am I?" "Don't ask her to marry you until you find out both," she answered. She watched him as he strode away from her across the clearing, with a look in her eyes that she knew nothing of--watched him, motionless, until his tall, black figure passed from sight behind the green sunlit wall of the wilderness. What undisciplined, unawakened strength there was in him! how far such a stride as that would carry him on in life! It was like the tread of one of his own forefathers in Cromwell's unconquer-able, hymn-singing armies. She loved to think of him as holding his descent from a line so pious and so grim: it served to account to her for the quality of stern, spiritual soldiership that still seemed to be the mastering trait of his nature. How long would it remain so, was the question that she had often asked of herself. A fighter in the world he would always be--she felt sure of that; nor was it necessary to look into his past to obtain this assurance; one had but to look into his eyes. Moreover, she had little doubt that with a temper so steadily bent on conflict, he would never suffer defeat where his own utmost strength was all that was needed to conquer. But as he grew older, and the world in part conquered him as it conquers so many of us, would he go into his later battles as he had entered his earlier ones--to the measure of a sacred chant? Beneath the sweat and wounds of all his victories would he carry the white lustre of conscience, burning untarnished in him to the end? It was this religious purity of his nature and his life, resting upon him as a mantle visible to all eyes but invisible to him, that had, as she believed, attracted her to him so powerfully. On that uncouth border of Western civilization, to which they had both been cast, he was a little lonely in his way, she in hers; and this fact had drawn them somewhat together. He was a scholar, she a reader; that too had formed a bond. He had been much at their home as lover of her niece, and this intimacy had given her a good chance to take his wearing measure as a man. But over and above all other things, it was the effect of the unfallen in him, of the highest keeping itself above assault, of his first youth never yet brushed away as a bloom, that constituted to her his distinction among the men that she had known. It served to place him in contrast with the colonial Virginia society of her remembrance--a society in which even the minds of the clergy were not like a lawn scentless with the dew on it, but like a lawn parched by the afternoon sun and full of hot odours. It kept him aloof from the loose ways of the young backwoodsmen and aristocrats of the town, with whom otherwise he closely mingled. It gave her the right, she thought, to indulge a friendship for him such as she had never felt for any other man; and in this friendship it made it easier for her to overlook a great deal that was rude in him, headstrong, overbearing. When, this afternoon, he had asked her what she was thinking of when he surprised her with his visit, she had not replied: she could not have avowed even to herself that she was thinking of such things as these: that having, for some years, drawn out a hard, dull life in that settlement of pathfinders, trappers, woodchoppers, hunters, Indian fighters, surveyors; having afterwards, with little interest, watched them, one by one, as the earliest types of civilization followed,--the merchant, the lawyer, the priest, the preacher of the Gospel, the soldiers and officers of the Revolution,--at last, through all the wilderness, as it now fondly seemed to her, she saw shining the white light of his long absent figure, bringing a new melody to the woods, a new meaning to her life, and putting an end to all her desire ever to return to the old society beyond the mountains. His figure passed out of sight, and she turned and walked sorrowfully to the cabin, from the low rugged chimney of which a pale blue smoke now rose into the twilight air. She chid herself that she had confronted the declaration of his purpose to marry her niece with so little spirit, such faulty tact. She had long known that he would ask this; she had long gotten ready what she would say; but in the struggle between their wills, she had been unaccountably embarrassed, she had blundered, and he had left rather strengthened than weakened in his determination. But she must prevent the marriage; her mind was more resolute than ever as to that. Slowly she reached the doorstep of the cabin, a roughly hewn log, and turning, stood there with her bonnet in her hand, her white figure outlined before the doorway, slender and still. The sun had set. Night was rushing on over the awful land. The wolf-dog, in his kennel behind the house, rose, shook himself at his chain, and uttered a long howl that reached away to the dark woods--the darker for the vast pulsing yellow light that waved behind them in the west like a gorgeous soft aerial fan. As the echoes died out from the peach orchard came the song of a robin, calling for love and rest. Then from another direction across the clearing another sound reached her: the careless whistle of the major, returning from his day's work in the field. When she heard that, her face took on the expression that a woman sometimes comes to wear when she has accepted what life has brought her although it has brought her nothing for which she cares; and her lips opened with an unconscious sigh of weariness--the weariness that has been gathering weariness for years and that runs on in weariness through the future. Later, she was kneeling before the red logs of the fireplace with one hand shielding her delicate face from the blistering heat; in the other holding the shingle on which richly made and carefully shaped was the bread of Indian maize that he liked. She did not rise until she had placed it where it would be perfectly browned; otherwise he would have been disappointed and the evening would have been spoiled. IV JOHN GRAY did not return to town by his straight course through the forest, but followed the winding wagon-road at a slow, meditative gait. He was always thoughtful after he had been with Mrs. Falconer; he was unusually thoughtful now; and the gathering hush of night, the holy expectancy of stars, a flock of white clouds lying at rest low on the green sky like sheep in some far uplifted meadow, the freshness of the woods soon to be hung with dew,--all these melted into his mood as notes from many instruments blend in the ear. But he was soon aroused in an unexpected way. When he reached the place where the wagon-road passed out into the broader public road leading from Lexington to Frankfort, he came near stumbling over a large, loose bundle, tied in a blue and white neckerchief. Plainly it had been lost and plainly it was his duty to discover if possible to whom it belonged. He carried it to one side of the road and began to examine its contents: a wide, white lace tucker, two fine cambric handkerchiefs, two pairs of India cotton hose, two pairs of silk hose, two thin muslin handkerchiefs, a pair of long kid gloves,--straw colour,--a pair of white kid shoes, a pale-blue silk coat, a thin, white striped muslin dress.The articles were not marked. Whose could they be? Not Amy's: Mrs. Falconer had expressly said that the major was to bring her finery to town in the gig the next day. They might have been dropped by some girl or by some family servant, riding into town; he knew several young ladies, to any one of whom they might belong. He would inquire in the morning; and meantime, he would leave the bundle at the office of the printer, where lost articles were commonly kept until they could be advertised in the paper, and called for by their owners. He replaced the things, and carefully retied the ends of the kerchief. It was dark when he reached town, and he went straight to his room and locked the bundle in his closet. Then he hurried to his tavern, where his supper had to be especially cooked for him, it being past the early hour of the pioneer evening meal. While he sat out under the tree at the door, waiting and impatiently thinking that he would go to see Amy as soon as he could despatch it, the tavern-keeper came out to say that some members of the Democratic Society had been looking for him. Later on, these returned. A meeting of the Society had been called for that night, to consider news brought by the postrider the day previous and to prepare advices for the Philadelphia Society against the postrider's return: as secretary, he was wanted at the proceedings. He begged hard to be excused, but he was the scholar, the scribe; no one would take his place. When the meeting ended, the hour was past for seeing Amy. He went to his room and read law with flickering concentration of mind till near midnight. Then he snuffed out his candle, undressed, and stretched himself along the edge of his bed. It was hard and coarse. The room itself was the single one that formed the ruder sort of pioneer cabin. The floor was the earth itself, covered here and there with the skins of wild animals; the walls but logs, poorly plastered. From a row of pegs driven into one of these hung his clothes--not many. The antlers of a stag over the doorway held his rifle, his hunting-belt, and his hat. A swinging shelf displayed a few books, being eagerly added to as he could bitterly afford it--with a copy of Paley, lent by the Reverend James Moore, the dreamy, saintlike, flute-playing Episcopal parson of the town. In the middle of the room a round table of his own vigorous carpentry stood on a panther skin; and on this lay some copy books in which he had just set new copies for his children; a handful of goosequills to be fashioned into pens for them; the proceedings of the Democratic Society, freshly added to this evening; copies of the Kentucky Gazette containing essays by the political leaders of the day on the separation of Kentucky from the Union and the opening of the Mississippi to its growing commerce--among them some of his own, stately and academic, signed "Cato the Younger." Lying open on the table lay his Bible; after law, he always read a little in that; and to-night he had reread one of his favourite chapters of St.Paul: that wherein the great, calm, victorious soldier of the spirit surveys the history of his trials, imprisonments, beatings. In one corner was set a three-cornered cupboard containing his underwear, his new cossack boots, and a few precious things that had been his mother's: her teacup and saucer, her prayer-book. It was in this closet that he had put the lost bundle. He had hardly stretched himself along the edge of his bed before he began to think of this. Every complete man embraces some of the qualities of a woman, for Nature does not mean that sex shall be more than a partial separation of one common humanity; otherwise we should be too much divided to be companionable. And it is these womanly qualities that not only endow a man with his insight into the other sex, but that enable him to bestow a certain feminine supervision upon his own affairs when no actual female has them in charge. If he marries, this inner helpmeet behaves in unlike ways toward the newly reigning usurper; sometimes giving up peaceably, at others remaining her life-long critic--reluctant but irremovable. If many a wife did but realize that she is perpetually observed not only by the eyes of a pardoning husband but by the eyes of another woman hidden away in the depths of his being, she would do many things differently and not do some things at all. The invisible slip of a woman in Gray now began to question him regarding the bundle. Would not those delicate, beautiful things be ruined, thus put away in his closet? He got up, took the bundle out, laid it on his table, untied the kerchief, lifted carefully off the white muslin dress and the blue silk coat, and started with them toward two empty pegs on the wall. He never closed the door of his cabin if the night was fine. It stood open now and a light wind blew the soft fabrics against his body and limbs, so that they seemed to fold themselves about him, to cling to him. He disengaged them reluctantly--apologetically. Then he lay down again. But now the dress on the wall fascinated him. The moonlight bathed it, the wind swayed it. This was the first time that a woman's garments had ever hung in his room. He welcomed the mere accident of their presence as though it possessed a forerunning intelligence, as though it were the annunciation of his approaching change of life. And so laughing to himself, and under the spell of a growing fancy, he got up again and took the little white shoes and set them on the table in the moonlight--on the open Bible and the speech of St.Paul--and then went back, and lay looking at them and dreaming--looking at them and dreaming. His thoughts passed meantime like a shining flock of white doves to Amy, hovering about her. They stole onward to the time when she would be his wife; when lying thus, he would wake in the night and see her dress on the wall and feel her head on his bosom; when her little shoes might stand on his open Bible, if they chose, and the satin instep of her bare foot be folded in the hard hollow of his. He uttered a deep, voiceless, impassioned outcry that she might not die young nor he die young; that the struggles and hardships of life, now seeming to be ended, might never begirt him or her so closely again; that they might grow peacefully old together. To-morrow then, he would see her; no, not tomorrow; it was long past midnight now. He got down on his bare knees beside the bed with his face buried in his hands and said his prayers. And then lying outstretched with his head resting on his folded hands, the moonlight streaming through the window and lighting up his dark-red curls and falling on his face and neck and chest, the cool south wind blowing down his warm limbs, his eyes opening and closing in religious purity on the dress, and his mind opening and closing on the visions of his future, he fell asleep. V WHEN he awoke late, he stretched his big arms drowsily out before his face with a gesture like that of a swimmer parting the water: he was in truth making his way out of a fathomless, moonlit sea of dreams to the shores of reality. Broad daylight startled him with its sheer blinding revelation of the material world, as the foot of a swimmer, long used to the yielding pavements of the ocean, touches with surprise the first rock and sand. He sprang up, bathed, dressed, and stepped out into the crystalline freshness of the morning. He was glowing with his exercise, at peace with himself and with all men, and so strong in the exuberance of his manhood that he felt he could have leaped over into the east, shouldered the sun, and run gaily, impatiently, with it up the sky. How could he wait to see Amy until it went up its long slow way and then down again to its setting? A powerful young lion may some time have appeared thus at daybreak on the edge of a jungle and measured the stretches of sand to be crossed before he could reach an oasis where memory told him was the lurking-place of love. It was still early. The first smoke curled upward from the chimneys of the town; the melodious tinkle of bells reached his ear as the cows passed from the milking to the outlying ranges deep in their wild verdure. Even as he stood surveying the scene, along the path which ran close to his cabin came a bare-headed, nutbrown pioneer girl, whose close-fitting dress of white homespun revealed the rounded outlines of her figure. She had gathered up the skirt which was short, to keep it from the tops of the wet weeds. Her bare, beautiful feet were pink with the cold dew. Forgotten, her slow fat cows had passed on far ahead; for at her side, wooing her with drooping lashes while the earth was still flushed with the morn, strolled a young Indian fighter, swarthy, lean tall, wild. His long thigh boots of thin deer-hide, open at the hips, were ornamented with a scarlet fringe and rattled musically with the hoofs of fawns and the spurs of the wild turkey; his gray racoonskin cap was adorned with the wings of the hawk and the scarlet tanager. The magnificent young, warrior lifted his cap to the school-master with a quiet laugh; and the girl smiled at him and shook a warning finger to remind him he was not to betray them. He smiled back with a deprecating gesture to signify that he could be trusted. He would have liked it better if he could have said more plainly that he too had the same occupation now; and as he gazed after them, lingering along the path side by side, the long-stifled cravings of his heart rose to his unworldly, passionate eyes: he all but wished that Amy also milked the cows at early morning and drove them out to pasture. When he went to his breakfast at the tavern, one of the young Williamsburg aristocrats was already there, pretending to eat; and hovering about the table, brisk to appease his demands, the daughter of the taverner: she as ruddy as a hollyhock and gaily flaunting her head from side to side with the pleasure of denying him everything but his food, yet meaning to kiss him when twilight came--once, and then to run. Truly, it seemed that this day was to be given up to much pairing: as be thought it rightly should be and that without delay. When he took his seat in the school-room and looked out upon the children, they had never seemed so small, so pitiful. It struck him that Nature is cruel not to fit us for love and marriage as soon as we are born--cruel to make us wait twenty or thirty years before she lets us really begin to live. He looked with eyes more full of pity than usual at blear-eyed, delicate little Jennie, as to whom he could never tell whether it was the multiplication-table that made her deathly sick, or sickness that kept her from multiplying. His eye lit upon a wee, chubby-cheeked urchin on the end of a high, hard bench, and he fell to counting how many ages must pass before that unsuspicious grub would grow his palpitating wings of flame. He felt like making them a little speech and telling them how happy he was, and how happy they would all be when they got old enough to deserve it. And as for the lessons that day, what difference could it make whether ideas sprouted or did not sprout in those useless brains? He answered all the hard questions himself; and, indeed, so sunny and exhilarating was the weather of his discipline that little Jennie, seeing how the rays fell and the wind lay, gave up the multiplication-table altogether and fell to drawing tomahawks. A remarkable mixture of human life there was in Gray's school. There were the native little Kentuckians, born in the wilderness--the first wild, hardy generation of the new people; and there were little folks from Virginia, from Tennessee, from North Carolina, and from Pennsylvania and other sources, huddled together, some uncouth, some gentle-born, and all starting out to be formed into the men and women of Kentucky. They had their strange, sad, heroic games and pastimes under his guidance. Two little girls would be driving the cows home about dusk; three little boys would play Indian and capture them and carry them off; the husbands of the little girls would form a party to the rescue; the prisoners would drop pieces of their dresses along the way; and then at a certain point of the woods--it being the dead of night now and the little girls being bound to a tree, and the Indians having fallen asleep beside their smouldering campfires--the rescuers would rush in and there would be whoops and shrieks and the taking of scalps and a happy return. Or some settlers would be shut up in their fort. The only water to be had was from a spring outside the walls, and around this the enemy skulked in the corn and grass. But their husbands and sweethearts must not perish of thirst. So, with a prayer, a tear, a final embrace, the little women marched out through the gates to the spring in the very teeth of death and brought back water in their wooden dinner-buckets. Or, when the boys would become men with contests of running and pitching quoits and wrestling, the girls would play wives and have a quilting, in a house of green alder-bushes, or be capped and wrinkled grandmothers sitting beside imaginary spinning-wheels and smoking imaginary pipes. Sometimes it was not Indian warfare but civil strife. One morning as many as three Daniel Boones appeared on the playground at the same moment; and at once there was a dreadful fight to ascertain which was the genuine Daniel. This being decided, the spurious Daniels submitted to be: the one, Simon Kenton; the other, General George Rogers Clark. And there was another game of history--more practical in its bearings--which he had not taught them, but which they had taught him; they had played it with him that very morning. When he had stepped across the open to the school, he found that the older boys, having formed themselves into a garrison for the defence of the smaller boys and girls, had barricaded the door and barred and manned the wooden windows: the schoolhouse had suddenly become a frontier station; they were the pioneers; he was the invading Indians--let him attack them if he dared! He did dare and that at once; for he knew that otherwise there would be no school that day or as long as the white race on the inside remained unconquered. So had ensued a rough-and-tumble scrimmage for fifteen minutes, during which the babies within wailed aloud with real terror of the battle, and he received some real knocks and whacks and punches through the loop-holes of the stockade: the end being arrived at when the schoolhouse door, by a terrible wrench from the outside, was torn entirely off its wooden hinges; and the victory being attributed--as an Indian victory always was in those days--to the overwhelming numbers of the enemy. With such an opening of the day, the academic influence over childhood may soon be restored to forcible supremacy but will awaken little zest. Gray was glad therefore on all accounts that this happened to be the day on which he had promised to tell them of the battle of the Blue Licks. Thirteen years before and forty miles away that most dreadful of all massacres had taken place; and in the town were many mothers who still wept for their sons, many widows who still dreamed of their young husbands, fallen that beautiful, fatal August day beneath the oaks and the cedars, or floating down the red-dyed river. All the morning he could see the expectation of this story in their faces: a pair of distant, clearest eyes would be furtively lifted to his, then quickly dropped; or another pair more steadily directed at him through the backwoods loop-hole of two stockade fingers. At noon, then, having dismissed the smaller ones for their big recess, he was standing amid the eager upturned faces of the others--bareheaded under the brilliant sky of May. He had chosen the bank of the Town Fork, where it crossed the common, as a place in which he should be freest from interruption and best able to make his description of the battle-field well understood. This stream flows unseen beneath the streets of the city now with scarce rent enough to wash out its grimy channel; but then it flashed broad and clear through the long valley of scattered cabins and orchards and cornfields and patches of cane. It was a hazardous experiment with the rough jewels of those little minds. They were still rather like diamonds rolling about on the bottom of barbarian rivers than steadily set and mounted for the uses of civilization. He fixed his eyes upon a lad in his fifteenth year, the commandant of the fort of the morning, who now stood at the water edge, watching him with breathless attention. A brave, sunny face;--a big shaggy head holding a mind in it as clear as a sphere of rock-crystal; already heated with vast ambition--a leader in the school, afterwards to be a leader in the nation--Richard Johnson. "Listen!" he cried; and when he spoke in, that tone he reduced everything turbulent to peace. "I have brought you here to tell you of the battle of the Blue Licks not because it was the last time, as you know, that an Indian army ever invaded Kentucky; not because a hundred years from now or a thousand years from now other school-boys and other teachers will be talking of it still; not because the Kentuckians will some day assemble on the field and set up a monument to their forefathers, your fathers and brothers; but because there is a lesson in it for you to learn now while you are children. A few years more and some of you boys will be old enough to fight for Kentucky or for your country. Some of you will be common soldiers who will have to obey the orders of your generals; some of you may be generals with soldiers under you at the mercy of your commands. It may be worth your own lives, it may save the lives of your soldiers, to heed this lesson now and to remember it then. And all of you--whether you go into battles of that sort or not--will have others; for the world has many kinds of fighting to be done in it and each of you will have to do his share. And whatever that share may be, you will need the same character, the same virtues, to encounter it victorious; for all battles are won in the same way, all conquerors are alike. This lesson, then, will help each of you to win, none of you to lose. "Do you know what it was that brought about the awful massacre of the Blue Licks? It was the folly of one officer. "Let the creek here be the Licking River. The Kentuckians, some on foot and some on horse, but all tired and disordered and hurrying along, had just reached the bank. Over on the other side--some distance back--the Indians were hiding in the woods and waiting. No one knew exactly where they were; every one knew they counted from seven hundred to a thousand. The Kentuckians were a hundred and eighty-two. There was Boone with the famous Boonsborough men, the very name of whom was a terror; there was Trigg with men just as good from Harrodsburg; there was Todd, as good as either, with the men from Lexington. More than a fourth of the whole were commissioned officers, and more fearless men never faced an enemy. There was but one among them whose courage had ever been doubted, and do you know what that man did? "After the Kentuckians had crossed the river to attack, been overpowered, forced back to the river again, and were being shot down or cut down in the water like helpless cattle, that man--his name was Benjamin Netherland--did this: He was finely mounted. He had quickly recrossed the river and had before him the open buffalo trace leading back home. About twenty other men had crossed as quickly as he and were urging their horses toward this road. But Netherland, having reached the opposite bank, wheeled his horse's head toward the front of the battle, shouted and rallied the others, and sitting there in full view and easy reach of the Indian army across the narrow river, poured his volley into the foremost of the pursuers, who were cutting down the Kentuckians in the river. He covered their retreat. He saved their lives. "There was another soldier among them named Aaron Reynolds. He had had a quarrel some days before with Colonel Patterson and there was bad blood between them. During the retreat, he was galloping toward the ford. The Indians were close behind. But as he ran, he came upon Colonel Patterson, who had been wounded and, now exhausted, had fallen behind his comrades. Reynolds sprang from his horse, helped the officer to mount, saw him escape, and took his poor chance on foot. For this he fell into the hands of the Indians. "That is the kind of men of whom that little army of a hundred and eighty-two was made up--the oak forest of Kentucky. "And yet, when they had reached the river in this pursuit and some twenty of the officers had come out before the ranks to hold a council of war and the wisest and the oldest were urging caution or delay, one of them--McGary--suddenly waved his hat in the air, spurred his horse into the river, and shouted: "'Let all who are not cowards follow me!' "They all followed; and then followed also the shame of defeat, the awful massacre, the sorrow that lasts among us still, and the loss to Kentucky of many a gallant young life that had helped to shape her destiny in the nation. "Some day perhaps some historian will write it down that the Kentuckians followed McGary because no man among them could endure such a taunt. Do not believe him. No man among them even thought of the taunt: it had no meaning. They followed him because they were too loyal to desert him and those who went with him in his folly. Your fathers always stood together and fought together as one man, or Kentucky would never have been conquered; and in no battle of all the many that they ever fought did they ever leave a comrade to perish because he had made a mistake or was in the wrong. "This, then, is your lesson from the battle of Blue Licks: Never go into a battle merely to show that you are not a coward: that of itself shows what a coward you are. "Do not misunderstand me! whether you be men or women, you will never do anything in the world without courage. It is the greatest quality of the mind--next to honor. It is your king. But the king must always have a good cause. Many a good king has perished in a bad one; and this noblest virtue of courage has perhaps ruined more of us than any other that we possess. You know what character the old kings used always to have at their courts. I have told you a great deal about him. It was the Fool. Do you know what personage it is that Courage, the King, is so apt to have in the Court of the Mind? It is the Fool also. Lay these words away; you will understand them better when you are older and you will need to understand them very well. Then also you will know what I mean when I say to you this morning that the battle of the Blue Licks was the work of the Fool, jesting with the King." He had gone to the field himself one Saturday not long before, walking thoughtfully over it. He had had with him two of the Lexington militia who, in the battle, had been near poor Todd, their colonel, while fighting like a lion to the last and bleeding from many wounds. The recollection of it all was very clear now, very poignant: the bright winding river, there broadening at its ford; the wild and lonely aspect of the country round about. On the farther bank the long lofty ridge of rock, trodden and licked bare of vegetation for ages by the countless passing buffalo; blackened by rain and sun; only the more desolate for a few dwarfish cedars and other timber scant and dreary to the eye. Encircling this hill in somewhat the shape of a horseshoe, a deep ravine heavily wooded and rank with grass and underbrush. The Kentuckians, disorderly foot and horse, rushing in foolhardiness to the top of this uncovered expanse of rock; the Indians, twice, thrice, their number, engirdling its base, ringing them round with hidden death. The whole tragedy repossessed his imagination and his emotions. His face had grown pale, his voice took the measure and cadence of an old-time minstrel's chant, his nervous fingers should have been able to reach out and strike the chords of a harp.With uplifted finger he was going on to impress them with another lesson: that in the battles which would be sure to await them, they must be warned by this error of their fathers never to be over-hasty or over-confident, never to go forward without knowing the nature of the ground they were to tread, or throw themselves into a struggle without measuring the force of the enemy. He was doing this when a child came skipping joyously across the common, and pushing her way up to him through the circle of his listeners, handed him a note. He read it, and in an instant the great battle, hills, river, horse, rider, shrieks, groans, all vanished from his mind as silently as a puff of white smoke from a distant cannon. For a while he stood with his eyes fixed upon the paper, so absorbed as not to note the surprise that had fallen upon the children. At length merely saying, "I shall have to tell you the rest some other day," he walked rapidly across the common in the direction from which the little messenger had come. A few minutes later he stood at the door of Father Poythress, the Methodist minister, asking for Amy. But she and Kitty had ridden away and would not return till night. Leaving word that he would come to see her in the evening, he turned away. The children were scattered: there could be no more of the battle that day. But it was half an hour yet before his duties would recommence at the school. As he walked slowly along debating with himself how he should employ the time, a thought struck him; he hastened to the office of one of many agents for the locating and selling of Kentucky lands, and spent the interval in determining the titles to several tracts near town--an intricate matter in those times. But he found one farm, the part of an older military grant of the French and Indian wars, to which the title was unmistakably direct. As soon as his school was out, he went to look at this property again, now that he was thinking of buying it. He knew it very well already, his walks having often brought him into its deep majestic woods; and he penetrated at once to an open knoll sloping toward the west and threw himself down on the deep green turf with the freedom of ownership. VI YES, this property would suit him; it would suit Amy. It was near town; it was not far from Major Falconer's. He could build his house on the hill-top where he was lying. At the foot of it, out of its limestone caverns, swelled a bountiful spring. As he listened he could hear the water of the branch that ran winding away from it toward the Elkhorn. That would be a pleasant sound when he sat with her in their doorway of summer evenings. On that southern slope he would plant his peach orchard, and he would have a vineyard. On this side Amy could have her garden, have her flowers. Sloping down from the front of the house to the branch would be their lawn, after he had cleared away everything but a few of the noblest old trees: under one of them, covered with a vine that fell in long green cascades from its summit to the ground, he would arrange a wild-grape swing for her, to make good the loss of the one she now had a" Major Falconer's. Thus, out of one detail after another, he constructed the whole vision of the future, with the swiftness of desire, the unerring thoughtfulness of love; and, having transformed the wilderness into his home, he feasted on his banquet of ideas, his rich red wine of hopes and plans. One of the subtlest, most saddening effects of the entire absence of possessions is the inevitable shrinkage of nature that must be undergone by those who have nothing to own. When a man, by some misfortune, has suddenly suffered the loss of his hands, much of the bewilderment and consternation that quickly follow have their origin in the thought that he never again shall be able to grasp. To his astonishment, he finds that no small part of his range of mental activity and sense of power was involved in that exercise alone. He has not lost merely his hands; much of his inner being has been stricken into disuse. But the hand itself is only the rudest type of the universal necessity that pervades us to take hold. The body is furnished with two; the mind, the heart, the spirit--who shall number the invisible, the countless hands of these? All growth, all strength, all uplift, all power to rise in the world and to remain arisen, comes from the myriad hold we have taken upon higher surrounding realities. Some time, wandering in a thinned wood, you may have happened upon an old vine, the seed of which had long ago been dropped and had sprouted in an open spot where there was no timber. Every May, in response to Nature's joyful bidding that it yet shall rise, the vine has loosed the thousand tendrils of its hope, those long, green, delicate fingers searching the empty air. Every December you may see these turned stiff and brown, and wound about themselves like spirals or knotted like the claw of a frozen bird. Year after year the vine has grown only at the head, remaining empty-handed; and the head itself, not being lifted always higher by anything the hands have seized, has but moved hither and thither, back and forth, like the head of a wounded snake in a path. Thus every summer you may see the vine, fallen back and coiled upon itself, and piled up before you like a low green mound, its own tomb; in winter a black heap, its own ruins. So, it often is with the poorest, who live on at the head, remaining empty-handed; fallen in and coiled back upon themselves, their own inescapable tombs, their own unavertible ruins. The prospect of having what to him was wealth had instantly bestowed upon John Gray the liberation of his strength. It had untied the hands of his idle powers; and the first thing he had reached fiercely out to grasp was Amy--his share in the possession of women; the second thing was land--his share in the possession of the earth. With these at the start, the one unshakable under his foot, the other inseparable from his side, he had no doubt that he should rise in the world and lay hold by steady degrees upon all that he should care to have. Naturally now these two blent far on and inseparably in the thoughts of one whose temperament doomed him always to be planning and striving for the future. The last rays of the sun touched the summit of the knoll where he was lying. Its setting was with great majesty and repose, depth after depth of cloud opening inward as toward the presence of the infinite peace. The boughs of the trees overhead were in blossom; there were blue and white wild-flowers at his feet. As he looked about him, he said to himself in his solemn way that the long hard winter of his youth had ended; the springtime of his manhood was turning green like the woods. With this night came his betrothal. For years he had looked forward to that as the highest white mountain peak of his life. As he drew near it now, his thoughts made a pathway for his feet, covering it as with a fresh fall of snow. Complete tenderness overcame him as he beheld Amy in this new sacred relation; a look of religious reverence for her filled his eyes. He asked himself what he had ever done to deserve all this.Perhaps it is the instinctive trait of most of us to seek an explanation for any great happiness as we are always prone to discuss the causes of our adversity. Accordingly, and in accord with our differing points of view of the universe, we declare of our joy that it is the gift of God to us despite our shortcomings and our transgressions; or that it is our blind share of things tossed out impersonally to us by the blind operation of the chances of life; or that it is the clearest strictest logic of our own being and doing--the natural vintage of our own grapes. Of all these, the one that most deeply touches the heart is the faith, that a God above who alone knows and judges aright, still loves and has sent a blessing. To such a believer the heavens seem to have opened above his head, the Divine to have descended and returned; and left alone in the possession of his joy, he lifts his softened eyes to the Light, the Life, the Love, that has always guided him, always filled him, never forgotten him. This stark audacity of faith was the schoolmaster's. It belonged to him through the Covenanter blood of his English forefathers and through his Scotch mother; but it had surrounded him also in the burning spiritual heroism of the time, when men wandered through the Western wilderness, girt as with camel's hair and fed as on locusts, but carrying from cabin to cabin, from post to post, through darkness and snow and storm the lonely banner of the Christ and preaching the gospel of everlasting peace to those who had never known any peace on earth. So that all his thoughts were linked with the eternal; he had threaded the labyrinth of life, evermore awestruck with its immensities and its mysteries; in his ear, he could plainly hear immortality sounding like a muffled bell across a sea, now near, now farther away, according as he was in danger or in safety. Therefore, his sudden prosperity--Amy--marriage--happiness--all these meant to him that Providence was blessing him. In the depth of the wood it had grown dark. With all his thoughts of her sounding like the low notes of a cathedral organ, he rose and walked slowly back to town. He did not care for his supper; he did not wish to speak with any other person; the rude, coarse banter of the taverns and the streets would in some way throw a stain on her. Luckily he reached his room unaccosted; and then with care but without vanity having dressed himself in his best, he took his way to the house of Father Poythress. VII HE was kept waiting for some time. More than once he heard in the next room the sounds of smothered laughter and two voices, pitched in a confidential tone: the one with persistent appeal, the other with persistent refusal. At last there reached him the laughter of a merry agreement, and Amy entered the room, holding Kitty Poythress by the hand. She had been looking all day for her lost bundle. Now she was tired; worried over the loss of her things which had been bought by her aunt at great cost and self-sacrifice; and disappointed that she should not be able to go to the ball on Thursday evening. It was to be the most brilliant assemblage of the aristocratic families of the town that had ever been known in the wilderness and the first endeavour to transplant beyond the mountains the old social elegance of Williamsburg, Annapolis, and Richmond. Not to be seen in the dress that Mrs. Falconer, dreaming of her own past, had deftly made--not to have her beauty reign absolute in that scene of lights and dance and music--it was the long, slow crucifixion of all the impulses of her gaiety and youth. She did not wish to see any one to-night, least of all John Gray with whom she had had an engagement to go. No doubt he had come to ask why she had broken it in the note which she had sent him that morning. She had not given him any reason in the note; she did not intend to give him the reason now. He would merely look at her in his grave, reproachful, exasperating way and ask what was the difference: could she not wear some other dress? or what great difference did it make whether she went at all? He was always ready to take this manner of patient forbearance toward her, as though she were one of his school children. To-night she was in no mood to have her troubles treated as trifles or herself soothed like an infant that was crying to be rocked. She walked slowly into the room, dragging Kitty behind her. She let him press the tips of her unbending fingers, pouted, smiled faintly, dropped upon a divan by Kitty's side, strengthened her hold on Kitty's hand, and fixed her eyes on Kitty's hair. "Aren't you tired?" she said, giving it an absorbed caressing stroke, with a low laugh. "I am." "I am going to look again to-morrow, Kitty," she continued, brightening up with a decisive air, "and the next day and the next." She kept her face turned aside from John and did not include him in the conversation. Women who imagine themselves far finer ladies than this child was treat a man in this way--rarely--very rarely--say, once in the same man's lifetime. "We are both so tired," she drowsily remarked at length, turning to John after some further parley which he did not understand and tapping her mouth prettily with the palm of her hand to fight away a yawn. "You know we've been riding all day. And William Penn is at death's door with hunger. Poor William Penn! I'm afraid he'll suffer to-night at the tavern stable. They never take care of him and feed him as I do at home. He is so unhappy when be is hungry; and when he is unhappy, I am. And he has to be rubbed down so beautifully, or he doesn't shine." The tallow candles, which had been lighted when he came, needed snuffing by this time. The light was so dim that she could not see his face--blanched with bewilderment and pain and anger. What she did see as she looked across the room at him was his large black figure in an absent-minded awkward posture and his big head held very straight and high as though it were momentarily getting higher. He had remained simply silent. His silence irritated her; and she knew she was treating him badly and that irritated her with him all the more. She sent one of her light arrows at him barbed with further mischief. "I wish, as you go back, you would stop at the stable and see whether they have mistreated him in any way. He takes things so hard when they don't go to suit him," and she turned to Kitty and laughed significantly. Then she heard him clear his throat, and in a voice shaking with passion, he said: "Give your orders to a servant." A moment of awkward silence followed. She did not recognize that voice as his or such rude, unreasonable words. "I suppose you want to know why I broke my engagement with you," she said, turning toward him aggrievedly and as though the subject could no longer be waived. "But I don't think you ought to ask for the reason. You ought to accept it without knowing it." "I do accept it. I had never meant to ask." He spoke as though the whole affair were not worth recalling. She could not agree with him in this, and furthermore his manner administered a rebuke. "Oh, don't be too indifferent," she said sarcastically, looking to Kitty for approval. If you cared to go to the party with me, you are supposed to be disappointed." "I am disappointed," he replied briefly, but still with the tone of wishing to be done with the subject. Amy rose and snuffed the candles. "And you really don't care to know why I broke my engagement?" she persisted, returning to her seat and seeing that she worried him. "Not unless you should wish to tell me." "But you should wish to know, whether I tell you or not. Suppose it were not a good reason?" "I hadn't supposed you'd give me a poor one." "At least, it's serious, Kitty." "I had never doubted it." "It might be amusing to you." "It could hardly be both." "Yes; it is both. It is serious and it is amusing." He made no reply but by an impatient gesture. "And you really don't wish to know?"He sat silent and still. "Then, I'll tell you: I lost the only reason I had for going," and she and Kitty exchanged a good deal of laughter of an innocent kind. The mood and the motive with which he had sought her made him feel that he was being unendurably trifled with and he rose. But at the same moment Kitty effected an escape and he and Amy were left alone. She looked quickly at the door through which Kitty had vanished, dropped her arms at her sides and uttered a little sigh of inexpressible relief. "Sit down," she said, repeating her grimace at absent Kitty. "You are not going! I want to talk to you. Isn't Kitty dreadful?" Her voice and manner had changed. There was no one now before whom she could act--no one to whom she could show that she could slight him, play with him. Furthermore, she had gotten some relief from the tension of her ill humour by what she had already said; and now she really wanted to see him. The ill humour had not been very deep; nothing in her was very deep. And she was perfectly sincere again--for the moment. What does one expect? "Don't look so solemn," she said with mock ruefulness. "You make me feel as though you had come to baptize me, as though you had to wash away my sins. Come here!" and she laid her hand invitingly on the chair that Kitty had vacated at her side. He stood bolt upright in the middle of the room, looking down at her in silence. Then he walked slowly over and took the seat. She folded her hands over the back of her own chair, laid her cheek softly down on them and looked up with a smile--subdued, submissive, fond, absolutely his. "Don't be cross!" she pleaded, with a low laugh full of maddening music to him. He could not speak to her or look at her for anger and shame and disappointment; so she withdrew one hand from under her cheek and folded it softly over the back of his--his was pressed hard down on the cap of his knee--and took hold of his big finders one by one, caressing them. "Don't be cross!" she pleaded. "Be good to me! I'm tired and unhappy!" Still he would not speak, or look at her; so she put her hand back under her cheek again, and with a patient little sigh closed her eyes as though she had done all she could. The next moment she leaned over and let her forehead rest on the back of his hand."You are so cross!" she said. "I don't like you!" "Amy!" he cried, turning fiercely on her and catching her hand cruelly in his, "before I say anything else to you, you've got to promise me--"And then he broke down and then went on again foolishly--,you've got to promise me one thing now. You sha'n't treat me in one way when we are by ourselves and go in another way when other people are present. If you love me, as you always make me believe you do when we are alone, you must make the whole world believe it!" "What right would I have to make the whole world believe I loved you?" she asked, looking at him quizzically. "I'll give you the right!" The rattle of china at the cupboard in the next room was heard. Amy started up and skipped across the room to the candle on the mantelpiece. "If Kitty does come back in here--" she said, in a disappointed undertone; and with the snuffers between her thumb and forefinger, she snipped them bitingly several times at the door. The door was opened slightly, a plate was thrust through, and a laughing voice called apologetically: "Amy!" "Come in here! Come in!" commanded Amy, delightedly; and as Kitty reluctantly entered, she fixed upon her a telling look. "Upon my word," she said, "what do you mean by treating me this way?" and catching Kitty's eye, she made a grimace at John. Kitty offered the candy to John with the assurance that it was made out of that year's maple sugar in their own camp. "He never eats sweet things and he doesn't care for trifles: bring it here!" And the girls seated themselves busily side by side on the opposite side of the room. Amy bent over the plate and chose the largest, beautiful white plait."Now there'll be a long silence," she said, holding it up between her dainty fingers and settling herself back in her chair. "But, Kitty, you talk. And if you do leave your company again!--" She threatened Kitty charmingly. He was in his room again, thinking it all over. She had not known why he had come: how could she know? To her it meant simply an ordinary call at an unfortunate hour; for she was tired--he could see that--and worried--he could see that also. And he!--had he ever been so solemn, so implacably in earnest, so impatient of the playfulness which at another time he would have found merely amusing? Why was he all at once growing so petty with her and exacting? Little by little he went over the circumstances judicially, in an effort to restore her to lovable supremacy over his imagination. His imagination--for his heart was not in it. He wrought out her entire acquittal, but it did no good. Who at any time sounds the depths of the mind which, unlike the sea, can regain calm on the surface and remain troubled by a tempest at the bottom? What is the name of that imperial faculty dwelling within it which can annul the decisions of the other associated powers? After he had taken the entire blame upon himself, his rage and disappointment were greater than ever. Was it nothing for her to break her engagement with him and then to follow it up with treatment like that? Was it nothing to force Kitty into the parlour despite the silent understanding reached by all three long ago that whenever he called at the Poythress home, he would see her alone? Was it nothing to take advantage of his faithfulness to her, and treat him as though he had no spirit? Was it nothing to be shallow and silly herself? Was it nothing--and ah! here was the trouble at the bottom of it all! Here was the strain of conviction pressing sorely, steadily in upon him through the tumult of his thoughts--was it nothing for her to be insincere? Did she even know what sincerity was? Would he marry an insincere woman? Insincerity was a growth not only ineradicable, but sure to spread over the nature as one grew older. He knew young people over whose minds it had begun to creep like the mere slip of a plant up a wall; old ones over whose minds it lay like a poisonous creeper hiding a rotting ruin. To be married and sit helplessly by and see this growth slowly sprouting outward from within, enveloping the woman he loved, concealing her, dragging her down--an unarrestable disease--was that to be his fate? Was it already taking palpable possession of Amy? Could he hide his eyes any longer to the fact that he had felt its presence in her all the time--in its barely discoverable stages? What else could explain her conduct in allowing him, whenever they were alone, to think that she was fond of him, and then scattering this belief to the winds whenever others were present? Was this what Mrs. Falconer had meant? He could never feel any doubt of Mrs. Falconer. Merely to think of her now had the effect of instantly clearing the whole atmosphere for his baffled, bewildered mind.So the day ended. He had been beaten, routed, and by forces how insignificant! Bitterly he recalled his lesson to the children that morning. What a McGary he had been--reckless, overconfident, knowing neither theplan nor the resources of the enemy! He recalled his boast to Mrs. Falconer the day before, that he had never been defeated and that now he would proceed to carry out the plans of his life without interruption. But to-morrow evening, Amy would not be going to the ball. She would be alone. Then he would not go. He must find out all that he wished to know--or all that he did not. VIII THE evening of the ball had come at last.Not far from John's school on the square stood another log cabin, from which another and much more splendid light streamed out across the wilderness: this being the printing room and book-bindery of the great Mr. John Bradford. His portrait, scrutinized now from the distance and at the disadvantage of a hundred years, hands him down to posterity as a bald-headed man with a seedy growth of hair sprouting laterally from his temples, so that his ears look like little flat-boats half hidden in little canebrakes; with mutton-chop whiskers growing far up on the overhanging ledges of his cheek-bones and suggesting rather a daring variety of lichen; with a long arched nose, running on its own hook in a southwesterly direction; one eye a little higher than the other; a protruding upper lip, as though he had behind it a set of the false teeth of the time, which were fixed into the jaws by springs and hinges, all but compelling a man to keep his mouth shut by main force; and a very short neck with an overflowing jowl which weighed too heavily on his high shirt collar. Despite his maligning portrait a foremost personage of his day, of indispensable substance, of invaluable port: Revolutionary soldier, Indian warrior; editor and proprietor of the Kentucky Gazette, the first newspaper in the wilderness; binder of its first books--some of his volumes still surviving on musty, forgotten shelves; senatorial elector; almanac-maker, taking his ideas from the greater Mr. Franklin of Philadelphia, as Mr. Franklin may have derived his from the still greater Mr. Jonathan Swift of London; appointed as chairman of the board of trustees to meet the first governor of the State when he had ridden into the town three years before and in behalf of the people of the new commonwealth which had been carried at last triumphantly into the Union, to bid his excellency welcome in an address conceived in the most sonorous English of the period; and afterwards for many years author of the now famous "Notes," which will perhaps make his name immortal among American historians. On this evening of the ball at the home of General James Wilkinson, the great Mr. Bradford was out of town, and that most unluckily; for the occasion--in addition to all the pleasure that it would furnish to the ladies--was designed as a means of calling together the leaders of the movement to separate Kentucky from the Union; and the idea may have been, that the great Mr. Bradford, having written one fine speech to celebrate her entrance, could as easily turn out a finer one to celebrate her withdrawal. It must not be inferred that his absence had any political significance. He had merely gone a few days previous to the little settlement at Georgetown--named for the great George--to lay in a supply of paper for his Weekly, and had been detained there by heavy local rains, not risking so dry an article of merchandise either by pack-horse or open wagon under the dripping trees. Paper was very scarce in the wilderness and no man could afford to let a single piece get wet. In setting out on his journey, he had instructed his sole assistant--a young man by the name of Charles O'Bannon--as to his duties in the meantime: he was to cut some new capital letters out of a block of dog-wood in the office, and also some small letters where the type fell short; to collect if possible some unpaid subscriptions--this being one of the advantages that an editor always takes of his own absence--in particular to call upon certain merchants for arrears in advertisements; and he was to receive any lost articles that might be sent in to be advertised, or return such as should be called for by their owners: with other details appertaining to the establishment. O'Bannon had performed his duties as he had been told--reserving for himself, as always, the right of a personal construction. He had addressed a written appeal to the nonpaying subscribers, declaring that the Gazette had now become a Try-Weekly, since Mr. Bradford had to try hard every week to get it out by the end; he had collected from several delinquent advertisers; whittled out three new capital letters, and also the face of Mr. Bradford and one of his legs; taken charge with especial interest of the department of Lost and Found and was now ready for other duties. On this evening of the ball he was sitting in the office. In one corner of the room stood a worn handpress with two dog-skin inking-balls. Between the logs of the wall near another corner a horizontal iron bar had been driven, and from the end of this bar hung a saucer-shaped iron lamp filled with bear-oil. Out of this oil stuck the end of a cotton rag for a wick; which, being set on fire, filled the room with a strong smell and a feeble, murky, flickering light. Under the lamp stood a plain oak slab on two pairs of crosslegs; and on the slab were papers and letters, a black ink-horn, some leaves of native tobacco, and a large gray-horn drinking-cup--empty. Under the table was a lately emptied bottle.O'Bannon sat in a rough chair before this drinking-cup, smoking a long tomahawk-pipe. His head was tilted backward, his eyes followed the flight of smoke upward. That he expected to be at the party might have been inferred from his dress: a blue broadcloth coat with yellow gilt buttons; a swan's-down waistcoat with broad stripes of red and white; a pair of dove-coloured corded-velvet pantaloons with three large yellow buttons on the hips; and a neckcloth of fine white cam- bric.His figure was thickset, strong, cumbrous; his hair black, curly, shining. His eyes, bold, vivacious, and now inflamed, were of that rarely beautiful blue which is seen only in members of the Irish race. His complexion was a blending of the lily and the rose. His lips were thick and red under his short fuzzy moustache. His hands also were thick and soft, always warm, and not very clean--on account of the dog-skin inking-balls. He had two ruling passions: the influence he thought himself entitled to exert over women; and his disposition to play practical jokes on men. Both the first and the second of these weaknesses grew out of his confidence that he had nothing to fear from either sex. Nevertheless he had felt forced to admit that his charms had never prevailed with Amy Falconer. He had often wondered how she could resist; but she had resisted without the least effort. Still, he pursued, and he had once told her with smiling candour that if she did not mind the pursuit, he did not mind the chase. Only, he never urged it into the presence of Mrs. Falconer, of whom alone he stood in speechless, easily comprehensible awe. Perhaps to-night--as Amy had never seen him in ball-dress--she might begin to succumb; he had just placed her under obligation to him by an unexpected stroke of good fortune; and finally he had executed one neat stratagem at the expense of Mr. Bradford and another at the expense of John Gray. So that esteeming himself in a fair way to gratify one passion and having already gratified the other, he leaned back in his chair, smiling, smoking, drinking. He had just risen to pinch the wick in the lamp overhead when a knock sounded on the door, and to his surprise and displeasure--for he thought he had bolted it--there entered without waiting to be bidden a low, broadchested, barefooted, blond fellow, his brown-tow breeches rolled up to his knees, showing a pair of fine white calves; a clean shirt thrown open at the neck and rolled up to the elbows, displaying a noble pair of arms; a ruddy shine on his good-humoured face; a drenched look about his short, thick, whitish hair; and a comfortable smell of soap emanating from his entire person. Seeing him, O'Bannon looked less displeased; but keeping his seat and merely taking the pipe from his lips, he said, with an air of sarcasm, "I would have invited you to come in, Peter, but I see you have not waited for the invitation." Peter deigned no reply; but walking forward, he clapped down on the oak slab a round handful of shillings and pence. "Count it, and see if it's all there," he said, taking a short cob pipe out of his mouth and planting his other hand stoutly on his hip. "What's this for?" O'Bannon spoke in a tone of wounded astonishment. "What do you suppose it's for? Didn't I hear you've been out collecting?" "Well, you have had an advertisement running in the paper for some time." "That's what it's for then! And what's more, I've got the money to pay for a better one, whenever you'll write it." "Sit down, sit down, sit down!" O'Bannon jumped from his chair, hurried across the room--a little unsteadily--emptied a pile of things on the floor, and dragged back a heavy oak stool. "Sit down. And Peter?" he added inquiringly, tapping his empty drinking-cup. Peter nodded his willingness. O'Bannoli drew a key from his pocket and shook it temptingly under Peter's nose. Then he bolted the door and unlocked the cupboard, displaying a shelf filled with bottles. "All for advertisements!" he said, waving his hand at the collection. "And a joke on Mr. Bradford. Fourth-proof French brandy, Jamaica rum, Holland gin, cherry bounce, Martinique cordial, Madeira, port, sherry, cider. All for advertisements! Two or three of these dealers have been running bills up, and to-day I stepped in and told them we'd submit to be paid in merchandise of this kind. And here's the merchandise. What brand of merchandise will you take?" "We had better take what you have been taking." "As you please." He brought forward another drinking-cup and a bottle. "Hold on!" cried Peter, laying a hand on his arm. "My advertisement first!" "As you please." "About twice as long as the other one," instructed Peter. "As you please." O'Bannon set the bottle down, took up a goose-quill, and drew a sheet of paper before him. "My business is increasing," prompted Peter still further, with a puzzled look as to what should come next. "Put that in!" "Of course," said O'Bannon. "I always put that in." He was thinking impatiently about the ball and he wrote out something quickly and read it aloud with a thick, unsteady utterance: "'Mr. Peter Springle continues to carry on the blacksmith business opposite the Sign of the Indian Queen. Mr. Springle cannot be rivalled in his shoeing of horses. He keeps on hand a constant supply of axes, chains, and hoes, which he will sell at prices usually asked--'" "Stop," interrupted Peter who had sniffed a strange, delicious odour of personal praise in the second sentence. "You might say something more about me, before you bring in the axes." "As you please." "'Mr. Peter Springle executes his work with satisfaction and despatch; his work is second to none in Kentucky; no one surpasses him; he is a noted horseshoer; he does nothing but shoe horses.'" He looked at Peter inquiringly. "That sounds more like it," admitted Peter. "Is that enough?" "Oh, if that's all you can say!""'Mr. Springle devotes himself entirely to the shoeing of fine horses; fine horses are often injured by neglect in shoeing; Mr. Springle does not injure fine horses, but shoes them all around with new shoes at one dollar for each horse.'" "Better," said Peter." Only, don't say so much about the horses! Say more about--" "'Mr. Springle is the greatest blacksmith that ever left New Jersey--'""Or that ever lived I'll New Jersey." O'Bannon rose and pinched the cotton wick, seized the bottle, and poured out more liquor. "Peter," he said, squaring himself, "I'm going to let you into a secret. If you were not drunk, I wouldn't tell you. You'll forget it by morning." "If I were half as drunk as you are, I couldn't listen," retorted Peter. "I don't want to know any secrets. I tell everything I know." "You don't know any secrets? You don't know that last week Horatio Turpin sold a ten dollar horse in front of your shop for a hundred because he had--" "Oh, I know some secrets about horses," admitted Peter, carelessly. "It's a secret about a horse I'm going to tell you," said O'Bannon. "Here is an advertisement that has been left to be inserted in the next paper: 'Lost, on Tuesday evening, on the road between Frankfort and Lexington, a bundle of clothes tied up in a blue-and-white checked cotton neckerchief, and containing one white muslin dress, a pale-blue silk coat, two thin white muslin handkerchiefs, one pair long kid gloves--straw colour--one pair white kid shoes, two cambric handkerchiefs, and some other things. Whoever will deliver said clothes to the printer, or give information so that they can be got, will be liberally rewarded on application to him.' "And here, Peter, is another advertisement. Found, on Tuesday evening, on the road between Lexington and Frankfort, a bundle of clothes tied in a blue-and-white neckerchief. The owner can recover property by calling on the printer.'" He pushed the papers away from him. "Yesterday morning who should slip around here but Amy Falconer. And then, in such a voice, she began. How she had come to town the day before, and had brought her party dress. How the bundle was lost. How she had come to inquire whether any one had left the clothes to be advertised; or whether I wouldn't put an advertisement in the paper; or, if they were left at my office before Thursday evening, whether I wouldn't send them to her at once." "Ahem!" said Peter drily, but with moisture in his eyes. "She hadn't more than gone before who should come in here but a boy bringing this same bundle of clothes with a note from John Gray, saying that he had found them in the public road yesterday, and asking me to send them at once to the owner, if I should hear who she was; if not, to advertise them." "That's no secret," said Peter contemptuously. "I might have sent that bundle straight to the owner of it. But, when I have anything against a man, I always forgive him, only I get even with him first." "What are you hammering at?" cried Peter, bringing his fist down on the table. "Hit the nail on the head." "Now I've got no grudge against her," continued O'Bannon. "I'd hate her if I could. I've tried hard enough, but I can't. She may treat me as she pleases: it's all the same to me as soon as she smiles. But as for this redheaded Scotch-Irishman--" "Stop!" said Peter. "Not a word against him!" O'Bannon stared. "He's no friend of yours," said he, reflectively. "He is!" "Oh, is he? Well, only the other day I heard him say that he thought a good deal more of your shoes than he did of you," cried O'Bannon, laughing sarcastically. Peter made no reply, but his neck seemed to swell and his face to be getting purple. "And he's a friend of yours? I can't even play a little joke on him." "Play your joke on him!" exclaimed Peter, "and when my time comes, I'll play mine." "When he sent the bundle here yesterday morning I could have returned it straight to her. I locked it in that closet! 'You'll never go to the ball with her,' I said, 'if I have to keep her away.' I set my trap. To-day I hunted up Joseph Holden. 'Come by the office, as you are on your way to the party to-night,' I said. 'I want to talk to you about a piece of land. Come early; then we can go together.' When he came--just before you did--I said, 'Look here, did you know that Amy wouldn't be at the ball? She lost her clothes as she was coming to town the other day, and somebody has just sent them here to be advertised. I think I'd better take them around to her yet: it's not too late.' 'I'll take them! I'll go with her myself!' he cried,jumping up. "So she'll be there, he'll be there, I'll be there, we'll all be there--but your John can hear about it in the morning." And O'Bannon arose slowly, but unexpectedly sat down again. "You think I won't be there," he said threateningly to Peter. "You think I'm drunk. I'll show you! I'll show you that I can walk--that I can dance--dance by myself --do it all--by myself--furnish the music and do the dancing." He began whistling "Sir Roger de Coverley," and stood up, but sank down again and reached for the bottle. "Peter," he said with a soft smile, looking down at his gorgeous swan's-down waistcoat and his well-shaped dove-coloured legs: "ain't I a beauty?" "Yes, you are a beauty!" said Peter. Suddenly lifting one of his bare feet, he shot O'Bannon as by the action of a catapult against the printing-press. He lay there all night. IV HOW fine a thing it would be if all the faculties of the mind could be trained for the battles of life as a modern nation makes every man a soldier. Some of these, as we know, are always engaged in active service; but there are times when they need to be strengthened by others, constituting a first reserve; and yet graver emergencies arise in the marchings of every man when the last defences of land and hearth should be ready to turn out: too often even then the entire disciplined strength of his forces would count as a mere handful to the great allied powers of the world and the devil. But so few of our faculties are of a truly military turn, and these wax indolent and unwary from disuse like troops during long times of peace. We all come to recognize sooner or later, of course, the unfailing little band of them that form our standby, our battle-smoked campaigners, our Old Guard, that dies, neversurrenders. Who of us also but knows his faithful artillery, dragging along his big guns--and so liable to reach the scene after the fighting is over? Who when worsted has not fought many a battle through again merely to show how different the result would have been, if his artillery had only arrived in time! Boom! boom! boom! Where are the enemy now? And who does not take pride in his navy, sweeping the high seas of the imagination but too often departed for some foreign port when the coast defences need protecting? Beyond this general dismemberment of our resources do we not all feel the presence within us of certain renegades? Does there not exist inside every man a certain big, ferocious-looking faculty who is his drum major--loving to strut at the head of a peaceful parade and twirl his bawble and roll his eyes at the children and scowl back at the quiet intrepid fellows behind as though they were his personal prisoners? Let but a skirmish threaten, and our dear, ferocious, fat major--! not even in the rear--not even on the field! Then there is a rattling little mannikin who sleeps in the barracks of the brain and is good for nothing but to beat the cerebral drum. There is a certain awkward squad--too easily identified--who have been drafted again and again into service only to be in the way of every skilled manoeuvre, only to be mustered out as raw recruits at the very end of life. And, finally, there is a miscellaneous crowd of our faculties scattered far and near at their humdrum peaceful occupations; so that if a quick call for war be heard, these do but behave as a populace that rushes into a street to gaze at the national guard already marching past, some of the spectators not even grateful, not even cheering. All that day John had to fight a battle for which he had never been trained; moreover he had been compelled to divide his forces: there was the far-off solemn battle going on in his private thoughts; and there was the usual siege of duties in the school. For once he would gladly have shirked the latter; but the single compensation he always tried to wrest from the disagreeable things of life was to do them in such a way that they would never fester in his conscience like thorns broken off in the flesh. During the forenoon, therefore, by an effort which only those who have experienced it can understand, he ordered off all communication with larger troubles and confined himself in that stifling prison-house of the mind where the perplexities and toils of childhood become enormous and everything else in the world grows small. Up under the joists there was the terrible struggle of a fly in a web, at first more and more violent, then ceasing in a strain so fine that the ear could scarce take it; a bee came in one window, went out another; a rat, sniffing greedily at its hole, crept toward a crumb under a bench, ran back, crept nearer, seized it and was gone; a toiling slate-pencil grated on its way as arduously as a wagon up a hill; he had to teach a beginner its letters. These were the great happenings. At noon the same child that had brought him a note on the day before came with another: "Kitty is going to the ball with Horatio. I shall be alone. We can have our talk uninterrupted. How unreasonable you are! Why don't you understand things without wanting to have them explained? If you wish to go to the ball, you can do this afterwards. Don't come till Kitty has gone." Duties in the school till near sunset, then letters. O'Bannon had told him that Mr. Bradford's post-rider would leave at four o'clock next morning; if he had letters to send, they must be deposited in the box that night. Gray had letters of the utmost importance to write--to his lawyer regarding the late decision in his will case, and to the secretary of the Democratic Club in Philadelphia touching the revival of activity in the clubs throughout the country on account of the expected treaty with England. After he had finished them, he strolled slowly about the dark town--past his school-house, thinking that his teaching days would soon be over--past Peter's blacksmith shop, thinking what a good fellow he always was--past Mr. Bradford's editorial room, with a light under the door and the curtain drawn across the window. Two or three times he lingered before show-windows of merchandise. He had some taste in snuff-boxes, being the inheritor of several from his Scotch and Irish ancestors, and there were a few in the new silversmith's window which he found little to his liking. As he passed a tavern, a group of Revolutionary officers, not yet gone to the ball, were having a time of it over their pipes and memories; and he paused to hear one finish a yarn of strong fibre about the battle of King's Mountain. Couples went hurrying by him beautifully dressed. Once down a dark street he fancied that he distinguished Amy's laughter ringing faintly out on the still air; and once down another he clearly heard the long cry of a pet panther kept by a young backwoods hunter. The Poythress homestead was wrapped in silence as he stepped upon the porch; but the door was open, there was a light inside, and by means of this he discovered, lying asleep on the threshold, a lad who was apprentice to the new English silversmith of the town and a lodger at the minister's--the bond of acquaintanceship being the memory of John Wesley who had sprinkled the lad's father in England. John laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to break his slumber. He opened his eyes at last and said, "Nobody at home," and went to sleep again. When thoroughly aroused, he sat up. Mr. and Mrs. Poythress had been called away to some sick person; they had asked him to sit up till they came back; he wished they'd come; he didn't see how he was ever to learn how to make watches if he couldn't get any sleep; and be lay down again. John aroused him again. "Miss Falconer is here; will you tell her I wish to see her?" The lad didn't open his eyes but said dreamily: "She's not here; she's gone to the party." John lifted him and set him on his feet. Then he put his hands on his shoulders and shook him: "You are asleep! Wake up! Tell Miss Falconer I wish to see her." The lad seized Gray by the arms and shook him with all his might. "You wake up," he cried. "I tell you she's gone to the party. Do you hear? She's gone to the party! Now go away, will you? How am I ever to be a silversmith, if I can't get any sleep?" And stretching himself once more on the settee, he closed his eyes. John turned straight to the Wilkinsons'. His gait was not hurried; whatever his face may have expressed was hidden by the darkness. The tense quietude of his mind was like that of a summer tree, not one of whose thousands of leaves quivers along the edge, but toward which a tempest is rolling in the distance. The house was set close to the street. The windows were open; long bars of light fell out; as he stepped forward to the threshold, the fiddlers struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley"; the company parted in lines to the right and left, leaving a vacant space down the middle of the room; and into this vacant space he saw Joseph lead Amy and the two begin to dance. She wore a white muslin dress--a little skillful work had restored its freshness; a blue silk coat of the loveliest hue; a wide white lace tucker caught across her round bosom with a bunch of cinnamon roses; and straw-coloured kid gloves, reaching far up her snow-white arms. Her hair was coiled high on the crown of her head and airily overtopped by a great curiously carved silver-and-tortoise-shell comb; and under her dress played the white mice of her feet. The tints of her skin were pearl and rose; her red lips parted in smiles. She was radiant with excitement, happiness, youth. She culled admiration, visiting all eyes with hers as a bee all flowers. It was not the flowers she cared for. He did not see her dress; he did not recognize the garments that had hung on the wall of his room. What he did see and continued to see was the fact that she was there and dancing with Joseph. If he had stepped on a rattlesnake, he could not have been more horribly, more miserably stung. He had the sense of being poisoned, as though actual venom were coursing through his blood. There was one swift backward movement of his mind over the chain of forerunning events. "She is a venomous little serpent!" he groaned aloud. "And I have been crawling in the dust to her, to be stung like this!" He walked quietly into the house. He sought his hostess first. He found her in the centre of a group of ladies, wearing the toilet of the past Revolutionary period in the capitals of the East. The vision dazzled him, bewildered him. But he swept his eye over them with one feeling of heart-sickness and asked his hostess one question: was Mrs. Falconer there? She was not. In another room he found his host, and a group of Revolutionary officers and other tried historic men, surrounding the Governor. They were discussing the letters that had passed between the President and his Excellency for the suppression of a revolution in Kentucky. During this spring of 1795 the news had reached Kentucky that Jay had at last concluded a treaty with England. The ratification of this was to be followed by the surrender of those terrible Northwestern posts that for twenty years had been the source of destruction and despair to the single-handed, maddened, or massacred Kentuckians. Behind those forts had rested the inexhaustible power of the Indian confederacies, of Canada, of England. Out of them, summer after summer, armies that knew no pity had swarmed down upon the doggedly advancing line of the Anglo-Saxon frontiersmen. Against them, sometimes unaided, sometimes with the aid of Virginia or of the National Government, the pioneers hurled their frantic retaliating armies: Clarke and Boone and Kenton often and often; Harmar followed by St. Clair; St. Clair followed by Wayne. It was for the old failure to give aid against these that Kentucky had hated Virginia and resolved to tear herself loose from the mother State and either perish or triumph alone. It was for the failure to give aid against these that Kentucky hated Washington, hated the East, hated the National Government, and plotted to wrest Kentucky away from the Union, and either make her an independent power or ally her with France or Spain. But over the sea now France--France that had come to the rescue of the colonies in their struggle for independence--this same beautiful, passionate France was fighting all Europe unaided and victorious. The spectacle had amazed the world. In no other spot had sympathy been more fiercely kindled than along that Western border where life was always tense with martial passion. It had passed from station to station, like a torch blazing in the darkness and with a two-forked fire--gratitude to France, hatred of England--hatred rankling in a people who had come out of the very heart of the English stock as you would hew the heart out of a tree. So that when, two years before this, Citizen Genet, the ambassador of the French republic, had landed at Charleston, been driven through the country to New York amid the acclamations of French sympathizers, and disregarding the President'sproclamation of neutrality, had begun to equip privateers and enlist crews to act against the commerce of England and Spain, it was to the backwoodsmen of Kentucky that he sent four agents, to enlist an army, appoint a generalissimo, and descend upon the Spanish settlements at the mouth of the Mississippi--those same hated settlements that had refused to the Kentuckians the right of navigation for their commerce, thus shutting them off from the world by water, as the mountains shut them off from the world by land. Hence the Jacobin clubs that were formed in Kentucky: one at Lexington, a second at Georgetown, a third at Paris. Hence the liberty poles in the streets of the towns; the tricoloured cockades on the hats of the men; the hot blood between the anti-federal and the federalist parties of the State. The actions of Citizen Genet had indeed been disavowed by his republic. But the sympathy for France, the hatred of England and of Spain, had but grown meantime; and when therefore in this spring of 1795 the news reached the frontier that Jay had concluded a treaty with England--the very treaty that would bring to the Kentuckians the end of all their troubles with the posts of the Northwest--the flame of revolution blazed out with greater brilliancy. During the hour that John Gray spent in that assemblage of men that night, the talk led always to the same front of offence: the baser truckling to England, an old enemy; the baser desertion of France, a friend. He listened to one man of commanding eloquence, while he traced the treaty to the attachment of Washington for aristocratic institutions; to another who referred it to the jealousy felt by the Eastern congressmen regarding the growth of the new power beyond the Alleghanies; to a third who foretold that like all foregoing pledges it would leave Kentucky still exposed to the fury of the Northern Indians; to a fourth who declared that let the treaty be once ratified with Lord Granville, and in the same old faithless way, nothing more would be done to extort from Spain for Kentucky the open passage of the Mississippi. At any other time he would have borne his part in these discussions. Now he scarcely heard them. All the forces of his mind were away, on another battle-field and he longed to be absent with them, a field strewn with the sorrowful carnage of ideal and hope and plan, home, happiness, love. He was hardly aware that his own actions must seem unusual, until one of the older men took him affectionately by the hand and said: "Marshall tells me that you teach school till sunset and read law till sunrise; and tonight you come here with your eyes blazing and your skin as pallid and dry as a monk's. Take off the leeches of the law for a good month, John! They abstract too much blood. If the Senate ratifies in June the treachery of Jay and Lord Granville, there will be more work than ever for the Democratic Societies in this country, and nowhere more than in Kentucky. We shall need you then more than the law needs you now, or than you need it. Save yourself for the cause of your tricolour. You shall have a chance to rub the velvet off your antlers." "We shall soon put him beyond the reach of his law," said a member of the Transylvania Library Committee. "As soon as his school is out, we are going to send him to ask subscriptions from the President, the Vice-President, and others, and then on to Philadelphia to buy the books." A shadow fell upon the face of another officer, and in a lowered tone he said, with cold emphasis: "I am sorry that the citizens of this town should stoop to ask anything from such a man as George Washington." The schoolmaster scarcely realized what he had done when he consented to act as a secret emissary of the Jacobin Club of Lexington to the club in Philadelphia during the summer. The political talk ended at last, the gentlemen returned to the ladies. He found himself standing in a doorway beside an elderly man of the most polished hearing and graceful manners, who was watching a minuet. "Ah!" he said, waving his hand with delight toward the scene. "This is Virginia and Maryland brought into the West! It reminds me of the days when I danced with Martha Custis and Dolly Madison. Some day, with a beginning like this, Kentucky will be celebrated for its beautiful women. The daughters and the grand-daughters and the great-granddaughters of such mothers as these--" "And of fathers like these!" interposed one of the town trustees who came up at that moment. "But for the sake of these ladies isn't it time we were passing a law against the keeping of pet panthers? I heard the cry of one as I came here to-night. What can we do with these young backwoods hunters? Will civilization ever make pets of them--ever tame them?" John felt some one touch his arm; it was Kitty with Horatio. Her cheeks were like poppies; her good kind eyes welcomed him sincerely. "You here! I'm so glad. Haven't you seen Amy? She is in the other room with Joseph. Have they explained everything? But we will loose our place--"she cried, and with a sweet smile of adieu to him, and of warning to her partner, she glided away. "We are entered for this horse race," remarked Mr. Turpin, lingering a moment longer. "Weight for age, agreeable to the rules of New Market. Each subscriber to pay one guinea, etc., etc., etc." He was known as the rising young turfman of the town, having first run his horses down Water Street; but future member of the first Jockey Club; so that in the full blossom of his power he could name all the horses of his day with the pedigree of each: beginning with Tiger by Tiger, and on through Sea Serpent by Shylock, and Diamond by Brilliant, and Black Snake by Sky Lark: a type of man whom long association with the refined and noble nature of the horse only vulgarizes and disennobles. Once afterward Gray's glance fell on Amy and Joseph across the room. They were looking at him and laughing at his expense and the sight burnt his eyes as though hot needles had been run into them. They beckoned gaily, but he gave no sign; and in a moment they were lost behind the shifting figures of the company. While he was dancing, however, Joseph came up. "As soon as you get away, Amy wants to see you." Half and hour later he came a second time and drew Gray aside from a group of gentlemen, speaking more seriously: "Amy wants to explain how all this happened. Come at once." "There is nothing to explain," said John, with indifference. Joseph answered reproachfully: "This is foolish, John! When you know what has passed, you will not censure her. And I could not have done otherwise." Despite his wish to be serious, he could not help laughing for he was very happy himself. But to John Gray these reasonable words went for the very thing that they did not mean. His mind had been forced to a false point of view; and from a false point of view the truth itself always looks false. Moreover it was intolerable that Joseph should be defending to him the very woman whom a few hours before he had hoped to marry. "There is no explanation needed from her," he replied, with the same indifference. "I think I understand. What I do not understand I should rather take for granted. But you, Joseph, you owe me an explanation. This is not the place to give it." His face twitched, and he knotted the fingers of his large hands together like bands of iron. "But by God I'll have it; and if it is not a good one, you shall answer." His oath sounded like an invocation to the Divine justice--not profanity. Joseph fixed his quiet fearless eyes on Gray's. "I'll answer for myself--and for her"--he replied and turned away. Still later Gray met her while dancing--the faint rose of her cheeks a shade deeper, the dazzling whiteness of her skin more pearl-like with warmth, her gaiety and happiness still mounting, her eyes still wandering among the men, culling their admiration. "You haven't asked me to dance to-night. You haven't even let me tell you why I had to come with Joseph, when I wanted to come with you." She gave a little pout of annoyance and let her eyes rest on his with the old fondness. "Don't you want to know why I broke my engagement with you?" And she danced on, smiling back at him provokingly. He did not show that he heard; and although they did not meet again, he was made aware that a change had at last come over her. She was angry now. He could hear her laughter oftener--laughter that was meant for his ear and she was dancing oftener with Joseph. He looked at her repeatedly, but she avoided his eyes. "I am playing a poor part by staying here!" he said with shame, and left the house. After wandering aimlessly about the town for some two hours, he went resolvedly back again and stood out in the darkness, looking in at her through the windows. There she was, unwearied, happy, not feigning; and no more affected by what had taken place between them than a candle is affected by a scorched insect. So it seemed to him. This was the first time he had ever seen her at a ball. He had never realized what powers she possessed in a field like this: what play, what resources, what changes, what stratagems, what victories. He mournfully missed for the first time certain things in himself that should have corresponded with all those light and graceful things in her. Perhaps what hurt him most were her eyes, always abroad searching for admiration, forever filling the forever emptied honeycomb of self-love. With him love was a sacred, a grim, an inviolate selection. He would no more have wished the woman he had chosen to seek indiscriminate admiration with her eyes than with her lips or her waist. It implied the same fatal flaw in her refinement, her modesty, her faithfulness, her high breeding. A light wind stirred the leaves of the trees overhead. A few drops of rain fell on his hat. He drew his hand heavily across his eyes and turned away. Reaching his room, he dropped down into a chair before his open window and sat gazing absently into the black east. Within he faced a yet blacker void--the ruined hopes on which the sun would never rise again. It was the end of everything between him and Amy: that was his one thought. It did not occur to him even to reflect whether he had been right or wrong, rude or gentle: it was the end: nothing else appeared worth considering. Life to him meant a simple straightforward game played with a few well-known principles. It must be as open as a chess-board: each player should see every move of the other: and all who chose could look on. He was still very young. X THE glimmer of gray dawn at last and he had never moved from his seat. A fine, drizzling rain had set in. Clouds of mist brushed against the walls of his cabin. In the stillness he could hear the big trees shedding their drops from leaf to bending leaf and the musical tinkle of these as they took their last leap into little pools below. With the chilliness which misery brings he got up at last and wrapped his weather-coat about him. If it were only day when he could go to his work and try to forget! Restless, sleepless, unable to read, tired of sitting, driven on by the desire to get rid of his own thoughts, he started out to walk. As he passed his school-house he noticed that the door of it, always fastened by a simple latch, now stood open; and he went over to see if everything inside were in order. All his life, when any trouble had come upon him, he had quickly returned to his nearest post of duty like a soldier; and once in the school-room now, he threw himself down in his chair with the sudden feeling that here in his familiar work he must still find his home--the home of his mind and his affections--as so long in the past. The mere aspect of the poor bare place had never been so kind. The very walls appeared to open to him like a refuge, to enfold themselves around him with friendly strength and understanding. He sat at the upper end of the room, gazing blankly through the doorway at the gray light and clouds of white mist trailing. Once an object came into the field of his vision. At the first glimpse he thought it a dog--long, lean, skulking, prowling, tawny--on the scent of his tracks. Then the mist passed over it. When he beheld it again it had approached nearer and was creeping rapidly toward the door. His listless eyes grew fascinated by its motions--its litheness, suppleness, grace, stealth, exquisite caution. Never before had he seen a dog with the step of a cat. A second time the fog closed over it, and then, advancing right out of the cloud with more swiftness, more cunning, its large feet falling as lightly as flakes of snow, the weight of its huge body borne forward as noiselessly as the trailing mist, it came straight on. It reached the hickory block, which formed the doorstep; it paused there an instant, with its fore quarters in the doorway, one fore foot raised, the end of its long tail waving; and then it stole just over the threshold and crouched, its head pressed down until its long, whitish throat lay on the floor; its short, jagged ears set forward stiffly like the broken points of a javelin; its dilated eye blazing with steady green fire--as still as death. And then with his blood become as ice in his veins from horror and all the strength gone out of him in a deathlike faintness, the school- master realized that he was face to face unarmed with a cougar, gaunt with famine and come for its kill. This dreaded animal, the panther or painter of the backwoodsman, which has for its kindred the royal tiger and the fatal leopard of the Old World, the beautiful ocelot and splendid unconquerable jaguar of the New, is now rarely found in the Atlantic States or the fastnesses of the Alleghanies. It too has crossed the Mississippi and is probably now best known as the savage puma of more southern zones. But a hundred years ago it abounded throughout the Western wilderness, making its deeper dens in the caverns of mountain rocks, its lair in the impenetrable thickets of bramble and brakes of cane, or close to miry swamps and watery everglades; and no other region was so loved by it as the vast game park of the Indians, where reined a semi-tropical splendour and luxuriance of vegetation and where, protected from time immemorial by the Indian hunters themselves, all the other animals thatconstitute its prey roved and ranged in unimaginable numbers. To the earliest Kentuckians who cut their way into this, the most royal jungle of the New World, to wrest it from the Indians and subdue it for wife and child, it was the noiseless nocturnal cougar that filled their imaginations with the last degree of dread. To them its cry--most peculiar and startling at the love season, at other times described as like the wail of a child or of a traveller lost in the woods--aroused more terror than the nearest bark of the wolf; its stealth and cunning more than the strength and courage and address of the bear; its attack more than the rush of the majestic, resistless bison, or the furious pass with antlers lowered of the noble, ambereyed, infuriated elk. Hidden as still as an adder in long grass of its own hue, or squat on a log, or amid the foliage of a sloping tree, it waited around the salt licks and the springs and along the woodland pathways for the other wild creatures. It possessed the strength to kill and drag a heifer to its lair; it would leap upon the horse of a traveller and hang there unshaken, while with fang and claw it lacerated the hind quarters and the flanks--as the tiger of India tries to hamstring its nobler, unmanageable victims; or let an unwary bullock but sink a little way in a swamp and it was upon him, rending him, devouring him, in his long agony. Some hunter once had encamped at the foot of a tree, cooked his supper, seen his fire die out and lain down to sleep, with only the infinite solitude of the woods for his blanket, with the dreary, dismal silence for his pillow. Opening his eyes to look up for the last time at the peaceful stars, what he perceived above him were two nearer stars set close together, burning with a green light, never twinkling. Or another was startled out of sleep by the terrible cry of his tethered horse. Or after a long, ominous growl, the cougar had sprung against his tent, knocking it away as a squirrel would knock the thin shell from a nut to reach the kernel; or at the edge of the thicket of tall grass he had struck his foot against the skeleton of some unknown hunter, dragged down long before. To such adventures with all their natural exaggeration John Gray had listened many a time as they were recited by old hunters regarding earlier days in the wilderness; for at this period it was thought that the cougar had retreated even from the few cane-brakes that remained unexplored near the settlements. But the deer, timidest of animals, with fatal persistence returns again and again to its old-time ranges and coverts long after the bison, the bear, and the elk have wisely abandoned theirs; and the cougar besets the deer. It was these stories that he remembered now and that filled him with horror, with the faintness of death. His turn had come at last, he said; and as to the others, it had come without warning. He was too shackled with weakness to cry out, to stand up. The windows on each side were fastened; there was no escape. There was nothing in the room on which he could lay hold--no weapon or piece of wood, or bar of iron. If a struggle took place, it would be a clean contest between will and will, courage and courage, strength and strength, the love of prey and the love of life.It was well for him that this was not the first time he had ever faced death, as he had supposed; and that the first thought that had rushed into his consciousness before returned to him now. That thought was this: that death had come far too soon, putting an end to his plans to live, to act, to succeed, to make a great and a good place for himself in this world before he should leave it for another. Out of this a second idea now liberated itself with incredible quickness and spread through him like a living flame: it was his lifelong attitude of victory, his lifelong determination that no matter what opposed him he must conquer. Young as he was, this triumphant habit had already yielded him its due result that growth of character which arises silently within us, built up out of a myriad nameless elements--beginning at the very bottom of the ocean of unconsciousness; growing as from cell to cell, atom to atom--the mere dust of victorious experience--the hardening deposits of the ever-living, ever-working, ever-rising will; until at last, based on eternal quietude below and lifting its wreath of palms above the waves of life, it stands finished, indestructible, our inward rock of defence against every earthly storm. Soon his face was worth going far to see. He had grown perfectly calm. His weakness had been followed by a sense of strength wholly extraordinary. His old training in the rough athletics of the wilderness had made him supple, agile, wary, long-winded. His eyes hadnever known what it was to be subdued; he had never taken them from the cougar. Keeping them on it still, he rose slowly from the chair, realizing that his chances would be better if he were in the middle of the room. He stepped round in front of his table and walked two paces straight forward and then paused, his face as white, as terrible, as death. At the instant of his moving he could see the tense drawing in of all the muscles of the cougar and the ripple of its skin, as its whole body quivered with excitement and desire; and he knew that as soon as he stopped it would make its spring. With a growl that announces that all hiding and stealth are over, the leap came. He had thrown his body slightly forward to meet it with the last thought that whatever happened he must guard his throat. It was at this that the cougar aimed, leaping almost perpendicularly, its widespread fore feet reaching for his shoulders, while the hind feet grasped at his legs. The under part of its body being thus exposed, he dealt it a blow with all his strength--full in the belly with his foot, and hurled it backward. For a second it crouched again, measuring him anew, then sprang again. Again he struck, but this time the fore feet caught his arm as they passed backward; the sharp, retractile nails tore their way across the back and palm of his hand like dull knives and the blood gushed. Instantly the cougar leaped upon the long, wooden desk that ran alone one side of the room, and from that advantage, sprang again but he bent his body low so that it passed clean over him. Instantly it was upon his desk at his back; and before he could more than recover his balance and turn, it sprang for the fourth time. He threw out his arm to save his throat, but the cougar had reached his left shoulder, struck its claws deep into his heavy coat; and with a deafening roar sounding close in his ears, had buried its fangs near the base of his neck, until he heard them click as they met through his flesh. He staggered, but the desk behind caught him. Straightening himself up, and grappling the panther with all his strength as he would a man, he turned with it and bent it over the sharp edge of the ponderous desk, lower, lower, trying to break its back. One of the fore feet was beginning to tear through his clothing, and straightening himself up again, he reached down and caught this foot and tried to bend it, break it. He threw himself with all his force upon the floor, falling with the cougar under him, trying to crush it. He staggered to his feet again, but stepped on his own blood and fell. And then, feeling his blood trickling down his breast and his strength going, with one last effort he put up his hands and seizing the throat, fastened his fingers like iron rivets around the windpipe. And then--with the long, loud, hoarse, despairing roar with which a man, his mouth half full of water, sinks far out in the ocean--he fell again. XI IT was ten o'clock that morning of mid-May. The rain was over. Clouds and mists were gone, leaving an atmosphere of purest crystal. The sun floated a globe of gold in the yielding blue. Above the wilderness on a dead treetop, the perch of an eagle now flashing like a yellow weather-vane, a thrush poured the spray-like far-falling fountain of his notes over upon the bowed woods. Beneath him the dull green domes of the trees flashed as though inlaid with gems, white and rose. Under these domes the wild grapevines, climbing the forest arches as the oak of stone climbs the arches of a cathedral, filled the ceiling and all the shadowy spaces between with fresh outbursts of their voluptuous dew-born fragrance. And around the rough-haired Satyr feet of these vines the wild hyacinth, too full of its own honey to stand, fell back on its couch of moss waiting to be visited by the singing bee. The whole woods emerged from the cloudy bath of Nature with the coolness, the freshness, the immortal purity of Diana united to the roseate glow and mortal tenderness of Venus; and haunted by two spirits: the chaste, unfading youth of Endymion and the dust-born warmth and eagerness of Dionysus. Through these woods, feeling neither their heat nor their cold, secured by Nature against any passion for either the cooling star or the inflaming dust, rode Amy--slowly homeward from the ball. Yet lovelier, happier than anything the forest held. She had pushed her bonnet entirely off so that it hung by the strings at the back of her neck; and her face emerged from the round sheath of it like a pink and white tulip, newly risen and bursting forth. When she reached home, she turned the old horse loose with many pattings and good-byes and promises of maple sugar later in the day; and then she bounded away to the garden to her aunt, of whom, perhaps, she was more truly fond than of any one in the world except herself. Mrs. Falconer had quickly left off work and was advancing very slowly--with mingled haste and reluctance--to meet her. "Aunt Jessica! Aunt Jessica!" cried Amy in a voice that rang like a small silver bell, "I haven't seen you for two whole nights and three whole days!" Placing her hands on Mrs. Falconer's shoulders, she kissed her once on each cheek and twice playfully on the pearly tip of the chin; and then she looked into her eyes as innocently as a perfect tulip might look at a perfect rose. Mrs. Falconer smilingly leaned forward and touched her lips to Amy's forehead. The caress was as light as thistle-down--perhaps no warmer. "Three entire days!" she said chidingly. "It has been three months," and she searched through Amy's eyes onward along the tortuous little passages of her heart as a calm blue air might search the chambers of a cold beautiful sea-shell. Each of these women instantly perceived that since they had parted a change had taken place in the other; neither was aware that the other noticed the change in herself. Mrs. Falconer had been dreading to find one in Amy when she should come home; and it was the one she saw now that fell as a chill upon her. Amy was triumphantly aware of a decisive change in herself, but chose for the present, as she thought, to keep it hidden; and as for any change in her aunt--that was an affair of less importance. "Why, Aunt Jessica!" she exclaimed indignantly, "I don't believe you are glad to see me," and throwing her arms around Mrs. Falconer's neck, she strained her closely. "But you poor dear auntie! Come, sit down. I'm going to do all the work now--mine and yours, both. Oh! the beautiful gardening! Rows and rows and rows! With all the other work beside. And me an idle good-for-nothing!" The two were walking toward a rough bench placed under a tree inside the picket fence. Amy had thrown her arm around Mrs. Falconer's waist. "But you went to the ball," said the elder woman. "You were not idle there, I imagine. And a ball is good for a great deal. One ought to accomplish more there than in a garden. Besides, you went with John Gray, and he is never idle. Did--he--accomplish--nothing?""Indeed, he was not idle!" exclaimed Amy with a jubilant laugh. "Indeed he did accomplish something--more than he ever did in his life before!" Mrs. Falconer made no rejoinder; she was too poignantly saying to herself: "Ah! if it is too late, what will become of him? " The bench was short. Instinctively they seated themselves as far apart as possible; and they turned their faces outward across the garden, not toward each other as they had been used when sitting thus. The one was nineteen--the tulip: with springlike charm but perfectly hollow and ready to be filled by east wind or west wind, north wind or south wind, according as each blew last and hardest; the other thirty-six--the rose: in its midsummer splendour with fold upon fold of delicate symmetric structures, making a masterpiece. "Aunt Jessica," Amy began to say drily, as though this were to be her last concession to a relationship now about to end, "I might as well tell you everything that has happened, just as I've been used to doing since I was a child--when I've done anything wrong." She gave a faithful story of the carrying off of her party dress, which of course had been missed and accounted for, the losing of it and the breaking of her engagement with John; the return of it and her going to the ball with Joseph. This brought her mind to the scenes of the night, and she abandoned herself momentarily to the delight of reviving them. "Ah! if you had been there, Aunt Jessica! If they had seen you in a ball dress as I've seen you without one: those shoulders! those arms! that skin! You would have been a swan among the rough-necked, red-necked turkeys," and Amy glanced a little enviously at a neck that rose out of the plain dress as though turned by a sculptor. The sincere little compliment beat on Mrs. Falconer's ear like a wave upon a stone. "But if you did not go with John Gray, you danced with him, you talked with him?" "No," replied Amy, quickly growing grave, "I didn't dance with him. But we talked yes--not much; it was a little too serious for many words," and she sank into a mysterious silence, seeming even to forget herself in some new recess of happiness. Mrs. Falconer was watching her. "Ah!" she murmured to herself. "It is too late! too late!" She passed her fingers slowly across her brow with a feeling that life had turned ashen, cold, barren."How is Kitty?" she asked quickly. "Well--as always; and stupid." "She is always kind and good, isn't she? and faithful." "Kindness is not always interesting, unfortunately; and goodness is dreadful, and her faithfulness bores me to death." "At least, she was your hostess, Amy." "I lent her my silk stockings or she'd have had to wear cotton ones," exclaimed Amy, laughing. "We're even." "If you were merely paying for a lodging, you should have gone to the inn." "There was nobody at the tavern who could wear my silk stockings; and I had spent all my money." "Don't you expect Kitty to return your visit? "I certainly do-- more's the pity. She has such big feet!" Amy put out her toe and studied it with vixenish satisfaction. "Aunt Jessica," she observed at length, looking round at her aunt. "You have to work too hard. And I have always been such a care to you. Wouldn't you like to get rid of me?" Mrs. Falconer leaned quickly, imploringly, toward her. "Is that a threat, Amy?" Amy waited half a minute and then began with a composure that was tinged with condescension: "You have had so much trouble in your life, Aunt Jessica; so much sorrow." Mrs. Falconer started and turned upon her niece her eyes that were always exquisite with refinement. "Amy, have I ever spoken to you of the troubles of my life?" The reproof was majestic in dignity and gentleness. "You have not." "Then will you never speak of them to me never again--while you live!" Amy began again with a dry practical voice, which had in it the sting of revenge; her aunt's rebuke had nettled her. "At least, I have always been a trouble to you. You sew for me, cook for me, make the garden for me, spin and weave for me, and worry about me. Uncle has to work for me and support me." The turn of the conversation away from herself brought such relief that Mrs. Falconer replied even warmly. "You have been a great pleasure to him and to me! The little I have done, you have repaid a thousand fold. Think of us at night without you! Your uncle on one side of the fireplace--me on the other, and you away! Think of us at the table--him at one end, me at the other, and you away! Think of me alone in the house all day, while he is in the fields! Child, I have depended on you--more than you will ever understand!" she added to herself. "Aunt Jessica," observed Amy with the air of making a fine calculation, "perhaps uncle would think more of you if I were not in the house." "Amy!" "Perhaps you would think more of him!" "Amy!" "Perhaps if neither of you had me to depend on, you might depend more on each other and be happier." "You speak to me in this way--on a subject like this! You'd better go!" "Aunt Jessica," replied Amy, never budging, "the time has been when I would have done so. But it is too late now for you ever to tell me to leave your presence. I am a woman! If I had not been, I shouldn't have said what I just have." Mrs. Falconer looked at her in silence. This rare gentlewoman had too profound a knowledge of the human heart not to realize that she was completely vanquished. For where in this world is not refinement instantly beaten by coarseness, gentleness by rudeness, all delicacy by all that is indelicate? What can the finest consideration avail against no consideration? the sweetest forbearance against intrusiveness? the beak of the dove against the beak of the hawk? And yet all these may have their victory; for when the finer and the baser metal are forced to struggle with each other in the same field, the finer may always leave it. With unruffled dignity and with a voice that Amy had never heard--a voice that brought the blood rushing into her cheeks--Mrs. Falconer replied:"Yes; it is true: you are a woman. This is the first day that you have ever made me feel this. For I have always known that as soon as you became one, you would begin to speak to me as you have spoken. I shall never again request you to leave my presence: when it becomes unavoidable, I shall leave yours." She rose and was moving away. Amy started up and caught her. "Aunt Jessica, I've something to tell you!" she cried, her face dyed scarlet with the sting. Mrs. Falconer released herself gently and returned to her seat. "You know what I mean by what I said?" inquired Amy, still confused but regaining self command rapidly. "I believe I know: you are engaged to be married." The words were very faint: they would have reached the subtlest ear with the suggestiveness of a light dreary wind blowing over a desolation. "Yes; I am engaged to be married." Amy affirmed it with a definite stress. "It is this that has made you a woman? "It is this that has made me a woman." After the silence of a moment Mrs. Falconer inquired: "You do not expect to ask my consent--my advice?" "I certainly do not expect to ask your consent--your advice." Amy was taking her revenge now--and she always took it as soon as possible. "Nor your uncle's?" "Nor my uncle's." After another, longer silence: "Do you care to tell me how long this engagement has lasted?" "Certainly!--Since last night." "Thank you for telling me that. I think I must go back to my work now." She walked slowly away. Amy sat still, twirling her bonnet strings and smiling to herself. This outburst of her new dignity--this initial assertion of her womanhood--had come almost as unexpectedly to herself as to her aunt. She had scarcely known it was in herself to do such a thing. Certain restrictions had been chafing her for a long time: she had not dreamed that they could so readily be set aside, that she had only to stamp her foot violently down on another foot and the other foot would be jerked out of the way. In the flush of elation, she thought of what had just taken place as her Declaration of Independence. She kept on celebrating it in a sort of intoxication at her own audacity: "I have thrown off the yoke of the Old Dynasty! Glory for the thirteen colonies! A Revolution in half an hour! I'm the mother of a new country! Washington, salute me!" Then, with perhaps somewhat the feeling of a pullet that has whipped a hen in a barnyard and that after an interval will run all the way across the barnyard to attack again and see whether the victory is complete, she rose and went across the garden, bent on trying the virtue of a final peck. "But you haven't congratulated me, Aunt Jessica! You have turned your back on the bride elect--you with all your fine manners! She presents herself once more to your notice the future Mrs. Joseph Holden, Junior, to be married one month from last night!" And unexpectedly standing in front of Mrs. Falconer, Amy made one of her low bows which she had practised in the minuet. But catching the sight of the face of her aunt, she cried remorsefully: "Oh, I have been so rude to you, Aunt Jessica! Forgive me!" There was something of the new sense of womanhood in her voice and of the sisterhood in suffering which womanhood alone can bring. But Mrs. Falconer had not heard Amy's last exclamation. "What do you mean?" she asked with quick tremulous eagerness. She had regained her firmness of demeanour, which alone should have turned back any expression of sympathy before it could have been offered. "That I am to become Mrs. Joseph Holden--a month from last night," repeated Amy bewitchingly. "You are serious?" "I am serious!" Mrs. Falconer did not take Amy's word: she searched her face and eyes with one swift scrutiny that was like a merciless white flame of truth, scorching away all sham, all play, all unreality. Then she dropped her head quickly, so that her own face remained hidden, and silently plied her work. But how the very earth about the rake, how the little roots and clods, seemed to come to life and leap joyously into the air! All at once she dropped everything and came over and took Amy's hand and kissed her cheek. Her lovely eyes were glowing; her face looked as though it had upon it the rosy shadow of the peach trees not far away. "I do congratulate you," she said sweetly, but with the reserve which Amy's accession to womanhood and the entire conversation of the morning made an unalterable barrier to her. "You have not needed advice: you have chosen wisely. You shall have a beautiful wedding. I will make your dress myself. The like of it will never have been seen in the wilderness. You shall have all the finest linen in the weaving-room. Only a month! How shall we ever get ready!--if we stand idling here! Oh, the work, the work!" she cried and turned to hers with a dismissing smile--unable to trust herself to say more. "And I must go and take the things out of my bundle," cried Amy, catching the contagion of all this and bounding away to the house. Some five minutes later Mrs. Falconer glanced at the sun: it was eleven o'clock--time to be getting dinner. When she reached her room, Amy was standing beside the bed, engaged in lifting out of the bundle the finery now so redolent of the ball. "Aunt Jessica," she remarked carelessly, without looking round, "I forgot to tell you that John Gray had a fight with a panther in his schoolroom this morning," and she gave several gossamer-like touches to the white lace tucker. Mrs. Falconer had seated herself in a chair to rest. She had taken off her bonnet, and her fingers were unconsciously busy with the lustrous edges of her heavy hair. At Amy's words her hands fell to her lap. But she had long ago learned the value of silence and self-control when she was most deeply moved: Amy had already surprised her once that morning. "The panther bit him in the shoulder close to the neck," continued Amy, folding the tucker away and lifting out the blue silk coat. "They were on the floor of the school-house in the last struggle when Erskine got there. He had gone for Phoebe Lovejoy's cows, because it was raining and she couldn't go herself; and he heard John as he was passing. He said his voice sounded like the bellow of a dying bull." "Is he much hurt? Where is he? Did you go to see him? ho dressed his wound? Who is with him?" "They carried him home," said Amy, turning round to the light and pressing the beautiful silk coat in against her figure with little kicks at the skirt. "No; I didn't go; Joseph came round and told me. He didn't think the wound was very dangerous--necessarily. One of his hands was terribly clawed." "A panther? In town? In his schoolroom?"-- "You know Erskine keeps a pet panther. I heard him tell Mrs. Poythress it was a female," said Amy with an apologetic icy, knowing little laugh. "And he said this one had been prowling about in the edge of the canebrakes for several days. He had been trying to get a shot at it. He says it was nearly starved: that was why it wanted to eat John whole before breakfast." Amy turned back to the bed and shook out delicately the white muslin dress--the dress that John had hung on the wall of his cabin--that had wound itself around his figure so clingingly. There was silence in the room. Amy had now reached the silk stockings; and taking up one, she blew down into it and quickly peeped over the side, to see whether it would fill out to life-size--with a mischievous wink. "I am going to him at once." Amy looked up in amazement. "But, Aunt Jessica," she observed reproachfully; "who will get uncle's dinner? You know I can't." "Tell your uncle what has happened as soon as he comes." She had risen and was making some rapid preparations. "I want my dinner," said Amy ruefully, seating herself on the edge of the bed and watching her aunt with disapproval. "You can't go now!" she exclaimed. "Uncle has the horses in the field." Mrs. Falconer turned to her with simple earnestness. "I hoped you would lend me your horse?" "But he is tired; and beside I want to use him this afternoon: Kitty and I are going visiting." "Tell your uncle when he comes in," said Mrs. Falconer, turning in the doorway a minute later, and speaking rapidly to her niece, but without the least reproach, "tell your uncle that his friend is badly hurt. Tell him that we do not know how badly. Tell him that I have gone to find out and to do anything for him that I can. Tell him to follow me at once. He will find me at his bedside. I am sorry about the dinner." XII SEVERAL days had slipped by. At John's request they had moved his bed across the doorway of his cabin; and stretched there, he could see the sun spring every morning out the dimpled emerald ocean of the wilderness; and the moon follow at night, silvering the soft ripples of the multitudinous leaves lapping the shores of silence: days when the inner noises of life sounded like storms; nights when everything within him lay as still as memory. His wounds had behaved well from the out-set. When he had put forth all his frenzied despairing strength to throttle the cougar, it had let go its hold only to sink its fangs more deeply into his flesh, thus increasing the laceration; and there was also much laceration of the hand. But the rich blood flowing in him was the purest; and among a people who for a quarter of a century had been used to the treatment of wounds, there prevailed a rough but genuine skill that stood him in good stead. To these hardy fighting folk, as to him, it was a scratch and he would have liked to go on with his teaching. Warned of the danger of inflammation, however, he took to his bed; and according to our own nervous standards which seem to have intensified pain for us beyond the comprehension of our forefathers, he was sick and a great sufferer. Those long cool, sweet, brilliant days! Those long still, lonely, silvery nights! His cabin stood near the crest of the hill that ran along the southern edge of the settlement; and propped on his bed, he could look down into the wide valley--into the town. The frame of his door became the frame of many a living picture. Under a big shady tree at the creek-side, he could see some of his children playing or fishing: their shouts and laughter were borne to his ear; he could recognize their shrill voices--those always masterful voices of boys at their games. Sometimes these little figures were framed timidly just outside the door--the girls with small wilted posies, the boys with inquiries. But there was no disguising the dread they all felt that he might soon be well: he had felt himself once; he did not blame them. Wee Jennie even came up with her slate one day and asked him to set her a sum in multiplication; he did so; but he knew that she would rub it out as soon as she could get out of sight, and he laughed quietly to himself at this tiny casuist, who was trying so hard to deceive them both. Two or three times, now out in the sunlight, now under the shadow of the trees, he saw an old white horse go slowly along the distant road; and a pink skirt and a huge white bonnet--two or three times; but he watched for it a thousand times till his eyes grew weary. One day Erskine brought the skin of the panther which he was preparing for him, to take the place of the old one under his table. He brought his rifle along also,--his "Betsy," as he always called it; which, however, he declared was bewitched just now; and for a while John watched him curiously as he nailed a target on a tree in front of John's door, drew on it the face of the person whom he charged with having bewitched his gun, and then, standing back, shot it with a silver bullet; after which, the spell being now undone, he dug the bullet out of the tree again and went off to hunt with confidence in his luck. And then the making of history was going on under his eyes down there in the town, and many a thoughtful hour he studied that. The mere procession of figures across his field of vision symbolized the march of destiny, the onward sweep of the race, the winning of the continent. Now the barbaric paint and plumes of some proud Indian, peaceably come to trade in pelts but really to note the changes that had taken place in his great hunting ground, loved and ranged of old beyond all others: this figure was the Past--the old, old Past. Next, the picturesque, rugged outlines of some backwoods rifleman, who with his fellows had dislodged and pushed the Indian westward: this figure was the Present--the short-lived Present. Lastly, dislodging this figure in turn and already pushing him westward as he had driven the Indian, a third type of historic man, the fixed settler, the land-loving, house-building, wife-bringing, child-getting, stock-breeding yeoman of the new field and pasture: this was the figure of the endless Future. The retreating wave of Indian life, the thin restless wave of frontier life, the on-coming, all-burying wave of civilized life--he seemed to feel close to him the mighty movements of the three. His own affair, the attack of the panther, the last encounter between the cabin and the jungle looked to him as typical of the conquest; and that he should have come out of the struggle alive, and have owed his life to the young Indian fighter and hunter who had sprung between him and the incarnate terror of the wilderness, affected his imagination as an epitome of the whole winning of the West. One morning while the earth was still fresh with dew, the great Boone came to inquire for him, and before he left, drew from the pocket of his hunting shirt a well-worn little volume. "It has been my friend many a night," he said. "I have read it by many a camp-fire. I had it in my pocket when I stood on the top of Indian Old Fields and saw the blue grass lands for the first time. And when we encamped on the creek there, I named it Lulbegrud in honour of my book. You can read it while you have nothing else to do;" and he astounded John by leaving in his hand Swift's story of adventures in new worlds. He had many other visitors: the Governor, Mr. Bradford, General Wilkinson, the leaders in the French movement, all of whom were solicitous for his welfare as a man, but also as their chosen emissary to the Jacobin Club of Philadelphia. In truth it seemed to him that everyone in the town came sooner or later, to take a turn at his bedside or wish him well. Except four persons: Amy did not come; nor Joseph, with whom he had quarrelled and with whom he meant to settle his difference as soon as he could get about; nor O'Bannon, whose practical joke had indirectly led to the whole trouble; nor Peter, who toiled on at his forge with his wounded vanity. Betrothals were not kept secret in those days and engagements were short. But as he was sick and suffering, some of those who visited him forbore to mention her name, much less to speak of the preparations now going forward for her marriage with Joseph. Others, indeed, did begin to talk of her and to pry; but he changed the subject quickly. And so he lay there with the old battle going on in his thoughts, never knowing that she had promised to become the wife of another: fighting it all over in his foolish, iron-minded way: some days hardening and saying he would never look her in the face again; other days softening and resolving to seek her out as soon as he grew well enough and learn whether the fault of all this quarrel lay with him or wherein lay the truth: yet in all his moods sore beset with doubts of her sincerity and at all times passing sore over his defeat--defeat that always went so hard with him. Meantime one person was pondering his case with a solicitude that he wist not of: the Reverend James Moore, the flute-playing Episcopal parson of the town, within whose flock this marriage was to take place and who may have regarded Amy as one of his most frisky wayward fleeces. Perhaps indeed as not wearing a white spiritual fleece at all but as dyed a sort of merino-brown in the matter of righteousness. He had long been fond of John--they both being pure-minded men, religious, bookish, and bachelors; but their friendship caused one to think of the pine and the palm: for the parson, with his cold bleak face, palish straight hair put back behind white ears, and frozen smile, appeared always to be inhabiting the arctic regions of life while John, though rooted in a tropical soil of many passions, strove always to bear himself in character like a palm, up-right, clean-cut; having no low or drooping branches; and putting forth all the foliage and blossoms of the mind at the very summit of his powers. The parson and the school-master had often walked out to the Falconers' together in the days when John imagined his suit to be faring prosperously; and from Amy's conduct, and his too slight knowledge of the sex, this arctic explorer had long since adjusted his frosted faculties to the notion that she expected to become John's wife. He was sorry; it sent an extra chill through the icebergs of his imagination; but perhaps he gathered comforting warmth from the hope that some of John's whiteness would fall upon her and that thus from being a blackish lambkin she would at least eventually turn into a light-gray ewe. When the tidings reached his far-inward ear that she was to marry Joseph instead of his friend, a general thaw set in over the entire landscape of his nature: it was like spring along the southern fringes of Greenland. The error must not be inculcated here that the parson had no passions: he had three-ruling ones: a passion for music, a passion for metaphysics, and a passion for satirizing the other sex. Dropping in one afternoon and glancing with delicate indirection at John's short shelf of books, he inquired whether he had finished with his Paley. John said he had and the parson took it down to bear away with him. Laying it across his stony knees as he sat down and piling his white hands on it, "Do you believe Paley?" he asked, turning upon John a pair of the most beautiful eyes, which looked a little like moss agates. "I believe St. Paul," replied John, turning his own eyes fondly on his open Testament. "Do you believe Paley?" insisted the parson, who would always have his questions answered directly. "There's a good deal of Paley: what do you mean?" said John, laughing evasively. "I mean his ground idea-the corner stone of his doctrine -his pou sto. I mean do you believe that we can infer the existence and character of God from any evidences of design that we see in the universe " "I'm not so sure about that," said John. "What we call the evidences of design in the universe may be merely certain laws of our own minds, certain inward necessities we are under to think of everything as having an order and a plan and a cause. And these inner necessities may themselves rest on nothing, may be wrong, may be deceiving us." "Oh, I don't mean that!" said the parson. "We've got to believe our own minds. We've got to do that even to disbelieve them. If the mind says of itself it is a liar, how does it know this to be true if it is a liar itself? No; we have to believe our own minds whether they are right or wrong. But what I mean is: can we, according to Paley, infer the existence and character of God from anything we see?" "It sounds reasonable," said John. "Does it! Then suppose you apply this method of reasoning to a woman: can you infer her existence from anything you see? Can you trace the evidences of design there? Can you derive the slightest notion of her character from her works?" As the parson said this, he turned upon the sick man a look of such logical triumph that John, who for days had been wearily trying to infer Amy's character from what she had done, was seized with a fit of laughter--the parson himself remaining perfectly grave. Another day he examined John's wound tenderly, and then sat down by him with his beautiful moss-agate eyes emitting dangerous little sparkles. "It's a bad bite," he said, "the bite of a cat--felis concolor. They are a bad family--these cats--the scratchers." He was holding John's wounded hand. "So you've had your fight with a felis. A single encounter ought to be enough! If some one hadn't happened to step in and save you!--What do you suppose is the root of the idea universal in the consciousness of our race that if a man had not been a man he'd have been a lion; and that if a woman hadn't been a woman she'd have been a tigress? " "I don't believe there's any such idea universal in the consciousness of the race," replied John, laughing. "It's universal in my consciousness," said the parson doggedly, "and my consciousness is as valid as any other man's. But I'll ask you an easier question: who of all men, do you suppose, knew most about women?" "Women or Woman?" inquired John. "Women," said the parson. "We'll drop the subject of Woman: she's beyond us! "I don't know," observed John. "St. Paul knew a good deal, and said some necessary things." "St. Paul!" exclaimed the parson condescendingly. "He knew a few noble Jewesses--superficially--with a scattering acquaintance among the pagan sisters around the shores of the Mediterranean. As for what he wrote on that subject--it may have been inspired by Heaven: it never could have been inspired by the sex." "Shakspeare, I suppose," said John. "The man in the Arabian Nights," cried the parson, who may have been put in mind of this character by his own attempts to furnish daily entertainment. "He knew a thousand of them--intimately. And cut off the heads of nine hundred and ninety-nine! The only reason he did not cut off the head of the other was that he had learned enough: he could not endure to know any more. All the evidence had come in: the case was closed." "I suppose there are men in the world," he continued, "who would find it hard to stand a single disappointment about a woman. But think of a thousand disappointments! A thousand attempts to find a good wife--just one woman who could furnish a man a little rational companionship at night. Bluebeard also must have been a well-informed person. And Henry the Eighth--there was a man who had evidently picked up considerable knowledge and who made considerable use of it. But to go back a moment to the idea of the felis family. Suppose we do this: we'll begin to enumerate the qualities of the common house cat. I'll think of the cat; you think of some woman; and we'll see what we come to." "I'll not do it," said John. "She's too noble." "Just for fun!" "There's no fun in comparing a woman to a cat." "There is if she doesn't know it. Come, begin!" And the parson laid one long forefinger on one long little finger and waited for the first specification. "Fineness," said John, thinking of a certain woman. "Fondness for a nap," said the parson, thinking of a certain cat. "Grace," said John. "Inability to express thanks," said the parson. "A beautiful form," said John."A desire to be stroked," said the parson. "Sympathy," said John. "Oh, no!" said the parson; "no cat has any sympathy. A dog has: a man is more of a dog." "Noble-mindedness," said John. "That will not do either," said the parson. "Cats are not noble-minded; it's preposterous!" "Perfect case of manner," said John. "Perfect indifference of manner," said the parson." "No vanity," said John. "No sense of humour," said the parson. "Plenty of wit," said John. "You keep on thinking too much about some woman," remonstrated the parson, slightly exasperated. "Fastidiousness," said John. "Soft hands and beautiful nails," said the parson, nodding encouragingly. "A gentle footstep," said John with a softened look coming into his eyes. "A quiet presence." "Beautiful taste in music," said John. "Oh! dreadful!" said the parson. "What on earth are you thinking about?" "The love of rugs and cushions," said John, groping desperately. "The love of a lap," said the parson fluently. "The love of playing with its victim," said John, thinking of another woman. "Capital!" cried the parson. "That's the truest thing we've said. We'll not spoil it by another word;" but he searched John's face covertly to see whether this talk had beguiled him. All this satire meant nothing sour, or bitter, or ignoble with the parson. It was merely the low, far-off play of the northern lights of his mind, irradiating the long polar night of his bachelorhood. But even on the polar night the sun rises--a little way; and the time came when he married--as one might expect to find the flame of a volcano hidden away in a mountain of Iceland spar. Toward the end of his illness, John lay one night inside his door, looking soberly, sorrowfully out into the moonlight. A chair sat outside, and the parson walked quietly up the green hill and took it. Then he laid his hat on the grass; and passed his delicate hands slowly backward over his long fine straight hair, on which the moonbeams at once fell with a luster as upon still water or the finest satin. They talked awhile of the best things in life, as they commonly did. At length the parson said in his unworldly way: "I have one thing against Aristotle: he said the effect of the flute was bad and exciting. He was no true Greek. John, have you ever thought how much of life can be expressed in terms of music? To me every civilization has given out its distinct musical quality; the ages have their peculiar tones; each century its key, its scale. For generations in Greece you can hear nothing but the pipes; during other generations nothing but the lyre. Think of the long, long time among the Romans when your ear is reached by the trumpet alone. "Then again whole events in history come down to me with the effect of an orchestra, playing in the distance; single lives sometimes like a great solo. As for the people I know or have known, some have to me the sound of brass, some the sound of wood, some the sound of strings. Only--so few, so very, very few yield the perfect music of their kind. The brass is a little too loud; the wood a little too muffled; the strings--some of the strings are invariably broken. I know a big man who is nothing but a big drum; and I know another whose whole existence has been a jig on a fiddle; and I know a shrill little fellow who is a fife; and I know a brassy girl who is a pair of cymbals; and once--once," repeated the parson whimsically, "I knew an old maid who was a real living spinet. I even know another old maid now who is nothing but an old music book--long ago sung through, learned by heart, and laid aside: in a faded, wrinkled binding--yellowed paper stained by tears--and haunted by an odour of rose-petals, crushed between the leaves of memory: a genuine very thin and stiff collection of the rarest original songs--not songs without words, but songs without sounds--the ballads of an undiscovered heart, the hymns of an unanswered spirit." After a pause during which neither of the men spoke, the parson went on: "All Ireland--it is a harp! We know what Scotland is. John," he exclaimed, suddenly turning toward the dark figure lying just inside the shadow, "you are a discord of the bagpipe and the harp: there's the trouble with you. Sometimes I can hear the harp alone in you, and then I like you; but when the bagpipe begins, you are worse than a big bumblebee with a bad cold." "I know it," said John sorrowfully. "My only hope is that the harp will outlast the bee." "At least that was a chord finely struck," said the parson warmly. After another silence he went on. "Martin Luther--he was a cathedral organ. And so it goes. And so the whole past sounds to me: it is the music of the world: it is the vast choir of the ever-living dead." He gazed dreamily up at the heavens: "Plato! he is the music of the stars." After a little while, bending over and looking at the earth and speaking in a tone of unconscious humility, he added: "The most that we can do is to begin a strain that will swell the general volume and last on after we have perished. As for me, when I am gone, I should like the memory of my life to give out the sound of a flute." He slipped his hand softly into the breastpocket of his coat and more softly drew something out. "Would you like a little music?" he asked shyly, his cold beautiful face all at once taking on an expression of angelic sweetness. John quickly reached out and caught his hand in a long, crushing grip: he knew this was the last proof the parson could ever have given him that he loved him. And then as he lay back on his pillow, he turned his face back into the dark cabin. Out upon the stillness of the night floated the parson's passion-- silver-clear, but in an undertone of such peace, of such immortal gentleness. It was as though the very beams of the far-off serenest moon, falling upon his flute and dropping down into its interior through its little round openings, were by his touch shorn of all their lustre, their softness, their celestial energy, and made to reissue as music. It was as though his flute had been stuffed with frozen Alpine blossoms and these had been melted away by the passionate breath of his soul into the coldest invisible flowers of sound. At last, as though all these blossoms in his flute had been used up--blown out upon the warm, moon-lit air as the snow-white fragrances of the ear--the parson buried his face softly upon his elbow which rested on the back of his chair. And neither man spoke again. XIII WHEN Mrs. Falconer had drawn near John's hut on the morning of his misfortune, it was past noon despite all her anxious, sorrowful haste to reach him. His wounds had been dressed. The crowd of people that had gathered about his cabin were gone back to their occupations or their homes--except a group that sat on the roots of a green tree several yards from his door. Some of these were old wilderness folk living near by who had offered to nurse him and otherwise to care for his comforts and needs. The affair furnished them that renewed interest in themselves which is so liable to revisit us when we have escaped a fellow-creature's suffering but can relate good things about ourselves in like risks and dangers; and they were drawing out their reminiscences now with unconscious gratitude for so excellent an opportunity befalling them in these peaceful unadventurous days. Several of John's boys lay in the grass and hung upon these narratives. Now and then they cast awe-stricken glances at his door which had been pushed to, that he might be quiet; or, if his pain would let him, drop into a little sleep. They made it their especial care, when any new-comer hurried past, to arrest him with the command that he must not go in; and they would thus have stopped Mrs. Falconer but she put them gently aside without heed or hearing. When she softly pushed the door open, John was not asleep. He lay in a corner on his low hard bed of skins against the wall of logs-- his eyes wide open, the hard white glare of the small shutter-less window falling on his face. He turned to her the look of a dumb animal that can say nothing of why it has been wounded or of how it is suffering; stretched out his hand gratefully; and drew her toward him. She sat down on the edge of the bed, folded her quivering fingers across his temples, smoothed back his heavy, coarse, curling hair, and bending low over his eyes, rained down into them the whole unuttered, tearless passion of her distress, her sympathy. Major Falconer came for her within the hour and she left with him almost as soon as he arrived. When she was gone, John lay thinking of her. "What a nurse she is!" he said, remembering how she had concerned herself solely his about life, his safety, his wounds. Once she had turned quickly: "Now you can't go away!" she had said with a smile that touched him deeply. "I wish you didn't have to go!" he had replied mourningfully, feeling his sudden dependence on her. This was the first time she had ever been in room--with its poverty, its bareness. She must have cast about it a look of delicate inquiry--as a woman is apt to do in a singleman's abode; for when she came again, in addition to pieces of soft old linen for bandages brought fresh cool fragrant sheets--the work of her own looms; a better pillow with a pillow-case on it that was delicious to his cheek; for he had his weakness about clean, white linen. She put a curtain over the pitiless window. He saw a wild rose in a glass beside his Testament. He discovered moccasin slippers beside his bed. "And here," she had said just before leaving, with her hand on a pile of things and with an embarrassed laugh--keeping her face turned away--"here are some towels." Under the towels he found two night shirts--new ones. When she was gone, he lay thinking of her again. He had gratefully slipped on one of the shirts. He was feeling the new sense of luxury that is imparted by a bed enriched with snow-white, sweet-smelling pillows and sheets. The curtain over his window strained into his room a light shadowy, restful. The flower on his table,--the transforming touch in his room--her noble brooding tenderness--everything went into his gratitude, his remembrance of her. But all this--he argued with a sudden taste for fine discrimination--had not been done out of mere anxiety for his life: it was not the barren solicitude of a nurse but the deliberate, luxurious regard of a mother for his comfort: no doubt it represented the ungovernable overflow of the maternal, long pent-up in her ungratified. And by this route he came at last to a thought of her that novel for him--the pitying recollection of her childlessness. "What a mother she would have been!" he said rebelliously. "The mother of sons who would have become great through her--and greater through the memory of her after she was gone." When she came again, seeing him out of danger and seeing him comfortable, she seated herself beside his table and opened her work."It isn't good for you to talk much," she soon said reprovingly, "and I have to work--and to think." And so he lay watching her--watching her beautiful fingers which never seemed to rest in life--watching her quiet brow with its ripple of lustrous hair forever suggesting to him how her lovely neck and shoulders would be buried by it if its long light waves were but loosened. To have a woman sitting by his table with her sewing--it turned his room into something vaguely dreamed of heretofore: a home. She finished a sock for Major Falconer and began on one of his shirts. He counted the stitches as they went into a sleeve. They made him angry. And her face!--over it had come a look of settled weariness; for perhaps if there is ever a time when a woman forgets and the inward sorrow steals outward to the surface as an unwatched shadow along a wall, it is when she sews. "What a wife she is!" he reflected enviously after she was gone; and he tried not to think of certain matters in her life. "What a wife! How unfaltering in duty!" The next time she came, it was early. She seemed to him to have bathed in the freshness, the beauty, the delight of the morning. He had never seen her so radiant, so young. She was like a woman who holds in her hand the unopened casket of life--its jewels still ungazed on, still unworn. There was some secret excitement in her as though the moment had at last come for her to open it. She had but a few moments to spare. "I have brought you a book," she said, smiling and laying her cheek against a rose newly placed by his Testament. For a moment she scrutinized him with intense penetration. Then she added: "Will you read it wisely?" "I will if I am wise," he replied laughing. "Thank you," and he held out his hand for the book eagerly. She clasped it more tightly with the gayest laugh of irresolution. Her colour deepened. A moment later, however, she recovered the simple and noble seriousness to which she had grown used as the one habit of her life with him. "You should have read it long ago," she said. "But it is not too late for you. Perhaps now is your best time. It is a good book for a man, wounded as you have been; and by the time you are well, you will need it more than you have ever done. Hereafter you will always need it more." She spoke with partly hidden significance, as one who knows life may speak to one who does not. He eyed the book despairingly. "It is my old Bible of manhood," she continued with rich soberness, " part worthless, part divine. Not Greek manhood--nor Roman manhood: they were too pagan. Not Semitic manhood: that--in its ideal at least--was not pagan enough. But something better than any of these--something that is everything." The subject struck inward to the very heart's root of his private life. He listened as with breath arrested. "We know what the Greeks were before everything else," she said resolutely: " hey were physical men: we think less of them spiritually in any sense of the idea that is valued by us and of course we do not think of them at all as gentlemen: that involves of course the highest courtesy to women. The Jews were of all things spiritual in the type of their striving. Their ancient system, and the system of the New Testament itself as it was soon taught and passed down to us, struck a deadly blow at the development of the body for its own sake--at physical beauty: and the highest development of the body is what the race can never do without. It struck another blow at the development of taste--at the luxury and grace of the intellect: which also the race can never do without. But in this old book you will find the starting-point of a new conception of ideal human life. It grew partly out of the pagan; it grew partly out of the Christian; it added from its own age something of its own. Nearly every nation of Europe has lived on it ever since--as its ideal. The whole world is being nourished by that ideal more and more. It is the only conception of itself that the race can never fall away from without harm, because it is the ideal of its own perfection. You know what I mean?" she asked a little imperiously as though she were talking to a green boy. "What do you mean?" he asked wonderingly. She had never spoken to him in this way. Her mood, the passionate, beautiful, embarrassed stress behind all this, was a bewildering revelation. "I mean," she said, "that first of all things in this world a man must be a man--with all the grace and vigour and, if possible, all the beauty of the body. Then he must be a gentleman--with all the grace, the vigour, the good taste of the mind. And then with both of these--no matter what his creed, his dogmas, his superstitions, his religion--with both of these he must try to live a beautiful life of the spirit." He looked at her eagerly, gratefully. "You will find him all these," she resumed, dropping her eyes before his gratitude which was much too personal. "You wil1 find all these in this book: here are men who were men; here are men who were gentlemen; and here are gentlemen who served the unfallen life of the spirit." She kept her eyes on the book. Her voice had become very grave and reverent. She had grown more embarrassed, but at last she went on as though resolved to finish: "So it ought to help you! It will help you. It will help you to be what you are trying to be. There are things here that you have sought and have never found. There are characters here whom you have wished to meet without ever having known that they existed. If you will always live by what is best in this book, love the best that it loves, hate what it hates, scorn what it scorns, follow its ideals to the end of the world, to the end of your life --" "Oh, but give it to me!" he cried, lifting himself impulsively on one elbow and holding out his hand for it. She came silently over to the bedside and placed it on his hand. He studied the title wonderingly, wonderingly turned some of the leaves, and at last, smiling with wonder still, looked up at her. And then he forgot the book--forgot everything but her. Once upon a time he had been walking along a woodland path with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him as was his studious wont. In the path itself there had not been one thing to catch his notice: only brown dust--little stones--a twig--some blades of withered grass. Then all at once out of this dull, dead motley of harmonious nothingness, a single gorgeous spot had revealed itself, swelled out, and disappeared: a butterfly had opened its wings, laid bare their inside splendours, and closed them again--presenting to the eye only the adaptive, protective, exterior of those marvellous swinging doors of its life. He had wondered then that Nature could so paint the two sides of this thinnest of all canvases: the outside merely daubed over that it might resemble the dead and common and worthless things amid which the creature had to live--a masterwork of concealment; the inside designed and drawn and coloured with lavish fullness of plan, grace of curve, marvel of hue--all for the purpose of the exquisite self revelation which should come when the one great invitation of existence was sought or was given. As the young school-master now looked up--too quickly--at the woman who stood over him, her eyes were like a butterfly's gorgeous wings that for an instant had opened upon him and already were closing--closing upon the hidden splendours of her nature--closing upon the power to receive upon walls of beauty all the sunlight of the world. "What a woman!" he said to himself, strangely troubled a moment later when she was gone. He had not looked at the book again. It lay forgotten by his pillow. "What a woman!" he repeated, with a sigh that was like a groan. Her bringing of the book--her unusual conversation--her excitement--her seriousness--the impression she made upon him that a new problem was beginning to work itself out in her life--most of all that one startling revelation of herself at the instant of turning away: all these occupied his thoughts that day. She did not return the next or the next or the next. And, it was during these long vacant hours that he began to weave curiously together all that he had ever heard of her and of her past; until, in the end, he accomplished something like a true restoration of her life--in the colour of his own emotions. Then he fell to wandering up and down this long vista of scenes as he might have sought unwearied secret gallery of pictures through which he alone had the privilege of walking. At the far end of the vista he could behold her in her childhood as the daughter of a cavalier land-holder in the valley of the James: an heiress of a vast estate with its winding creeks and sunny bays, its tobacco plantations worked by troops of slaves, its deer parks and open country for the riding to hounds. There was the manor-house in the style of the grand places of the English gentry from whom her father was descended; sloping from the veranda to the river landing a wide lawn covered with the silvery grass of the English parks, its walks bordered with hedges of box, its summer-house festooned with vines, its terraces gay with the old familiar shrubs and flowers loyally brought over from the mother land. He could see her as, some bright summer morning, followed by a tame fawn, she bounded down the lawn to the private landing where a slow frigate had stopped to break bulk on its way to Williamsburg-perhaps to put out with other furniture a little mahogany chair brought especially for herself over the rocking sea from London or where some round-sterned packet from New England or New Amsterdam was unloading its cargo of grain or hides or rum in exchange for her father's tobacco. Perhaps to greet her father himself returning from a long absence amid old scenes that still could draw him back to England; or standing lonely on the pier, to watch in tears him and her brothers--a vanishing group--as they waved her a last good-bye and drifted slowly out to the blue ocean on their way "home" to school at Eton. He liked to dwell on the picture of her as a little school-girl herself: sent fastidiously on her way, with long gloves covering her arms, a white linen mask tied over her face to screen her complexion from tan, a sunbonnet sewed tightly on her head to keep it secure from the capricious winds of heaven and the more variable gusts of her own wilfulness; or on another picture of her--as a lonely little lass--begging to be taken to court, where she could marvel at her father, an awful judge in his wig and his robe of scarlet and black velvet; or on a third picture of her--as when she was marshalled into church behind a liveried servant bearing the family prayer-book, sat in the raised pew upholstered in purple velvet, with its canopy overhead and the gilt letters of the family name in front; and a little farther away on the wall of the church the Lord's Prayer and the Commandments put there by her father at the cost of two thousand pounds of his best tobacco; finally to be preached to by a minister with whom her father sometimes spilt wine on the table-cloth, and who had once fought a successful duel behind his own sanctuary of peace and good will to all men. Here succeeded other scenes; for as his interest deepened, he never grew tired of this restorative image-building by which she could be brought always more vividly before his imagination. Her childhood gone, then, he followed her as she glided along the shining creeks from plantation to plantation in a canoe manned by singing black oarsmen: or rode abroad followed by her greyhound, her face concealed by a black velvet riding mask kept in place by a silver mouth-piece held between her teeth; or when autumn waned, went rolling slowly along towards Williamsburg or Annapolis in the great family coach of mahogany, with its yellow facings, Venetian windows, projection lamps, and high seat for footmen and coachman --there to take a house for the winter season--there to give and to be given balls, where she trod the minuet, stiff in blue brocade, her white shoulders rising out of a bodice hung with gems, her beautiful head bearing aloft its tower of long white feathers. Yet with most of her life passed at the great lonely country-house by the bright river: qazing wistfully out of the deep-mullioned windows of diamond panes; flitting up and down the wide staircase of carven oak; buried in its library, with its wainscoted walls crossed with swords and hung with portraits of soldierly faces: all of which pleased him best, he being a home-lover. So that when facts were lacking, sometimes he would kindle true fancies of her young life in this place: as when she reclined on mats and cushions in the breeze-swept balls, fanned by a slave and reading the Tatler or the Spectator; or if it were the chill twilights of October, perhaps came in from a walk in the cool woods with a red leaf at her white throat, and seated herself at the spinet, while a low blaze from the deep chimney seat flickered over her face, and the low music flickered with the shadows; or when the white tempests of winter raved outside, gave her nights to the reading of "Tom Jones," by the light of myrtleberry candles on a slender-legged mahogany table. But he had heard a great deal of her visits at the other great country places of the day. Often at Greenway Court, where her father went to ride to hounds with Lord Fairfax and Washington; at Carter's Grove; at the homes of the Berkeleys, the Masons, the Spottswoods; once, indeed, at Castlewood itself, where the stately Madam Esmond Warrington had placed her by her own side at dinner and had kissed her check at leaving; but oftenest at Brandon Mansion where one of her heroines had lived--Evelyn Byrd; so that, Sir Godfrey Knell having painted that sad young lady, who now lies with a heavy stone on her heavier heart in the dim old burying-ground at Westover, she would have it that hers must be painted in the same identical fashion, with herself sitting on a green bank, a cluster of roses in her hand, a shepherd's crook across her knees. And then, just as she was fairly opening into the earliest flower of womanhood, the sudden, awful end of all this half-barbaric, half-aristocratic life--the revolt of the colonies, the outbreak of the Revolution, the blaze of way that swept the land like a forest fire, and that enveloped in its furies even the great house on the James. One of her brothers turned Whig, and already gone impetuously away in his uniform of buff and blue, to follow the fortunes of Washington; the other siding with the "home" across the sea, and he too already ridden impetuously away in scarlet. Her proud father, his heart long torn between these two and between his two countries, pacing the great hall, his face flushed with wine, his eyes turning confusedly, pitifully, on the soldierly portraits of his ancestors; until at last he too was gone, to keep his sword and his conscience loyal to his king. And then more dreadful years and still sadder times; as when one dark morning toward daybreak, by the edge of a darker forest draped with snow where the frozen dead lay thick, they found an officer's hat half filled with snow, and near by, her father fallen face downward; and turning him over, saw a bullet-hole over his breast, and the crimson of his blood on the scarlet of his waistcoat; so departed, with manfulness out of this world and leaving behind him some finer things than his debts and mortgages over dice and cards and dogs and wine and lotteries. Then not long after that, the manor-house on the James turned into the unkindest of battlefields; one brother defending at the head of troops within, the other attacking at the head of troops without; the snowy bedrooms becoming the red-stained wards of a hospital; the staircase hacked by swords; the poor little spinet and the slender-legged little mahogany tables overturned and smashed, the portraits slashed, the library scattered. Then one night, seen from a distance, a vast flame licking the low clouds; and afterwards a black ruin where the great house had stood, and so the end of it all forever. During these years, she, herself, had been like a lily in a lake, never uprooted, but buried out of sight beneath the storm that tosses the waves back and forth. Then white and heavenly Peace again, and the liberty of the Anglo-Saxon race in the New World. But with wounds harder to heal than those of the flesh; with memories that were as sword-points broken off in the body; with glory to brighten more and more, as time went on, but with starvation close at hand. Virginia willing to pay her heroes but having naught wherewith to pay, until the news comes from afar, that while all this has been going on in the East, in the West the rude border-folk, the backwoodsmen of the Blue Ridge and the Alleghanies, without generals, without commands, without help or pay, or reward of any kind, but fighting of their own free will and dyeing every step of their advance with their blood, had entered and conquered the great neutral game-park of the Northern and the Southern Indians, and were holding it against all plots: in the teeth of all comers and against the frantic Indians themselves; against England, France, Spain,--a new land as good as the best of old England--Kentucky! Into which already thousands upon thousands were hurrying in search of homes --a new movement of the race--its first spreading-out over the mighty continent upon its mightier destiny. So had come about her hasty marriage with her young officer, whom Virginia rewarded for his service with land; so had followed the breaking of all ties, to journey by his side into the wilderness, there to undergo hardship, perhaps death itself after captivity and torture such that no man who has ever loved a woman can even look another man in the face and name. Thus ever on and on unwittingly he wove the fibres of her life about him as his shirt of destiny: following the threads nearer, always nearer, toward the present, until he reached the day on which he had first met her on his in the wilderness. From that time, he no longer relied upon hearsay, but drew from his own knowledge of her to fill out and so far to end all these fond tapestries of his memory and imagination. But as one who has traversed a long gallery of pictures, and, turning to look back upon all that he has passed, sees a straight track narrowing away into the dimming distance, and only the last few life scenes standing out lustrous and clear, so the school-master, gazing down this long vista, beheld at the far end of it a little girl, whom he did not know, playing on the silvery ancestral lawns of the James; at the near end, watching by his bedside on this rude border of the West, a woman who had become indispensable to his friendship. More days passed, and still she did not return. His eagerness for her rose and followed, and sorrowfully set with every sun. Meantime he read the book, beginning it with an effort through finding it hard to withdraw his mind from his present. But soon he was clutching it with a forgotten hand and lay on his bed for hours joined fast to it with unreleasing eyes; draining its last words into his heart, with a thirst newly begotten and growing always the more quenchless as it was always being quenched. So that having finished it, he read it again, now seeing the high end of it all from the low beginning. And then a third time, more clingingly, more yearningly yet, thrice lighting the fire in his blood with the same straw. Like a vital fire it was left in him at last, a red and white of flame; the two flames forever hostile, and seeking each to burn the other out. And while it stayed in him thus as a fire, it had also filled all tissues of his being as water fills a sponge--not dead water a dead sponge--but as a living sap runs through the living sponges of a young oak on the edge of its summer. So that never should he be able to forget it; never henceforth be the same in knowledge or heart or conscience; and nevermore was the lone spiritual battle of his life, if haply waged at all, to be fought out by him with the earlier, simpler weapons of his innocence and his youth, but with all the might of a tempted man's high faith in the beauty and the right and the divine supremacy of goodness. One morning his wounds had begun to require attention. No one had yet come to him: it was hardly the customary hour: and moreover, by rising in bed he could see that something unusual had drawn the people into the streets. The news of a massacre on the western frontier, perhaps; the arrival of the post-rider with angry despatches from the East; or the torch of revolution thrown far northward from New Orleans. His face had flushed with feverish waiting and he lay with his eyes turned restlessly toward the door. It was Mrs. Falconer who stepped forward to it with hesitation. But as soon as she caught sight of him, she hurried to the bed. "What is the trouble? Have you been worse?" "Oh, nothing! It is nothing." "Why do you say that--to me?" "My shoulder. But it is hardly time for them to come yet." She hesitated and her face showed how serious her struggle was. "Let me," she said firmly. He looked up quickly, confusedly, at her with a refusal on his lips; but she had already turned away to get the needful things in readiness, and he suffered her, if for no other reason than to avoid letting her see the painful rush of blood to his face. As she moved about the room, she spoke only to ask unavoidable questions; he, only to answer them; and neither looked at the other. Then he sat up in the bed and bared his neck and shoulder, one arm and half his chest; and with his face crimson, turned his eyes away. She had been among the women in the fort during that summer thirteen years before, when the battle of the Blue Licks had been fought; and speaking in the quietest, most natural of voices, she now began to describe how the wounded had straggled in from the battle-field; one rifleman reeling on his horse and held in his seat by the arm of a comrade, his bleeding, bandaged head on that comrade's shoulder; another borne on a litter swung between two horses; others --footmen--holding out just long enough to come into sight of the fort, there to sink down; one, a mere youth, fallen a mile back in the hot dusty buffalo trace with an unspoken message to some one in his brave, beautiful, darkening eyes. But before this, she told him how the women had watched all that night and the day previous inside the poor little earth-mound of a defence against artillery, built by order of Jefferson and costing $37.5O; the women taking as always the places of the men who were gone away to the war; becoming as always the defenders of the land, of the children, of those left behind sick or too old to fight. How from the black edge of dawn they had strained their eyes in the direction of the battle until at last a woman's cry of agony had rent the air as the first of the wounded had ridden slowly into sight. How they had rushed forth through the wooden gates and heard the tidings of it all and then had followed the scenes and the things that could never be told for pity and grief and love and sadness. After a little pause she began to speak of Major Falconer as the school-master had never known her to speak; tremulously of his part in that battle, a Revolutionary officer serving as a common backwoods soldier; eloquently of his perfect courage then and always, of his perfect manliness; and she ended by saying that the worst thing that could ever befall a woman was to marry an unmanly man. "If any one single thing in life could ever have killed me," she said, "it would have been that." With her last words she finished the dressing of his wounds. Spots of the deepest rose were on her cheeks; her eyes were lighted with proud fire. Confusedly he thanked her and, lying back on his pillow, closed his eyes and turned his face away. When she had quickly gone he sat up in the bed again. He drew the book guiltily from under his pillow, looked long and sorrowfully at it, and then with a low cry of shame--the first that had ever burst from his lips--he hurled it across the room and threw himself violently down again, with his forehead against the logs, his eyes hidden, his face burning. XIV THE first day that John felt strong enough to walk as far as that end of the town, he was pulling himself unsteadily past the shop when he saw Peter and turned in to rest and chat.The young blacksmith refused to speak to him. "Peter!" said John with a sad, shaky voice, holding out his hand, "have I changed so much? Don't you know me?" "Yes; I know you," said Peter. "I wish I didn't." "I don't think I recognize you any more," replied John, after a moment of silence. "What's the matter?" "Oh, you get along," said Peter. "Clear out!" John went inside and drank a gourd of water out of Peter's cool bucket, came back with a stool and sat down squarely before him. "Now look here," he said with the candour which was always the first law of nature with him, "what have I done to you?" Peter would neither look nor speak; but being powerless before kindness, he was beginning to break down. "Out with it," said John. "What have I done?""You know what you've said." "What have I said about you?" asked John, now perceiving that some mischief had been at work here. "Who told you I had said anything about you?" "It's no use for you to deny it." "Who told you?" "O'Bannon!" "O'Bannon!" exclaimed John with a frown. "I've never talked to O'Bannon about you--about anything." "You haven't abused me?" said Peter, wheeling on the schoolmaster, eyes and face and voice full of the suffering of his wounded self-love and of his wounded affection. "I hope I've abused nobody!" said John proudly. "Come in here!" cried Peter, springing up and hurrying into his shop. Near the door stood a walnut tree with wide-spreading branches wearing the fresh plumes of late May, plumes that hung down over the door and across the windows, suffusing the interior with a soft twilight of green and brown shadows. A shaft of sunbeams penetrating a crevice fell on the white neck of a yellow collie that lay on the ground with his head on his paws, his eyes fixed reproachfully on the heels of the horse outside, his ears turned back toward his master. Beside him a box had been kicked over: tools and shoes scattered. A faint line of blue smoke sagged from the dying coals of the forge toward the door, creeping across the anvil bright as if tipped with silver. And in one of the darkest corners of the shop, near a bucket of water in which floated a huge brown gourd, Peter and John sat on a bench while the story of O'Bannon's mischief-making was begun and finished. It was told by Peter with much cordial rubbing of his elbows in the palms of his hands and much light-hearted smoothing of his apron over his knees. At times a cloud, passing beneath the sun, threw the shop into heavier shadow; and then the school-master's dark figure faded into the tone of the sooty wall behind him and only his face, with the contrast of its white linen collar below and the bare discernible lights of his auburn hair above--his face, proud, resolute, astounded, pallid, suffering--started out of the gloom like a portrait from an old canvas. "And this is why you never came to see me." He had sprung up like a man made well, and was holding Peter's hand and looking reproachfully into his eyes. "I'd have seen you dead first," cried Peter gaily, giving him a mighty slap on the shoulder. "But wait! O'Bannon's not the only man who can play a joke!" John hurriedly left the shop with a gesture which Peter did not understand. The web of deceptive circumstances that had been spun about him had been brushed away at last: he saw the whole truth now--saw his own blindness, blundering, folly, injustice. He was on his way to Amy already. When he had started out, he had thought he should walk around a little and then lie down again. Now with his powerful stride come back to him, he had soon passed the last house of the town and was nearing the edge of the wilderness. He took the same straight short course of the afternoon on which he had asked Mrs. Falconer's consent to his suit. As he hurried on, it seemed to him a long time since then! What experiences he had undergone! What had he not suffered! How he was changed! "Yes," he said over and over to himself, putting away all other thoughts in a resolve to think of this nearest duty only. "If I've been unkind to her, if I've been wrong, have I not suffered?" He had not gone far before his strength began to fail. He was forced to sit down and rest. It was near sundown when he reached the clearing. "At last!" he said gratefully, with his old triumphant habit of carrying out whatever he undertook. He had put out all his strength to get there. He passed the nearest field--the peach trees--the garden--and took the path toward the house. "Where shall I find her?" he thought. "Where can I see her alone?" "Between him and the house stood a building of logs and plaster. It was a single room used for the spinning and the weaving of which she had charge. Many a time he had lain on the great oaken chest into which the homespun cloth was stored while she sat by her spinning-wheel; many a talk they had had there together, many a parting; and many a Saturday twilight he had put his arms around her there and turned away for his lonely walk to town, planning their future. "If she should only be in the weaving-room!" He stepped softly to the door and looked in. She was there-- standing near the middle of the room with her face turned from him. The work of the day was done. On one side were the spinning-wheels, farther on a loom; before her a table on which the cloth was piled ready to be folded away; on the other the great open chest into which she was about to store it. She had paused in revery, her hands clasped behind her head. At the sight of her and with the remembrance of how he had misjudged and mistreated her--most of all swept on by some lingering flood of the old tenderness--he stepped forward put his arms softly around her, drew her closely to him, and buried his check against hers: "Amy!" he murmured, his voice quivering his whole body trembling, his heart knocking against his ribs like a stone. She struggled out of his arms with a cry and recognizing him, drew her figure up to its full height. Her eyes filled with passion, cold and resentful. He made a gesture. "Wait!" he cried. "Listen." He laid bare everything--from his finding of the bundle to the evening of the ball. He was standing by the doorway. A small window in the opposite wall of the low room opened toward the West. Through this a crimson light fell upon his face revealing its pallor, its storm, its struggle for calmness. She stood a few yards off with her face in shadow. As she had stepped backward, one of her hands had struck against her spinning-wheel and now rested on it; with the other she had caught the edge of the table. From the spinning-wheel a thread of flax trailed to the ground; on the table lay a pair of iron shears. As he stood looking at her facing him thus in cold half-shadowy anger--at the spinning wheel with its trailing flax--at, the table with its iron shears--at her hands stretched forth as if about to grasp the one and to lay hold on the other--he shudderingly thought of the ancient arbitress of Life and Death--Fate the mighty, the relentless. The fancy passed and was succeeded by the sense of her youth and loveliness. She wore a dress of coarse snow-white homespun, narrow in the skirt and fitting close to her arms and neck and to the outlines of her form. Her hair was parted simply over her low beautiful brow. There was nowhere a ribbon or a trifle of adornment: and in that primitive, simple, fearless revelation of itself her figure had the frankness of a statue. While he spoke the anger died out of her face. But in its stead came something worse--hardness; and something that was worse still--an expression of revenge. "If I was unfeeling with you," he implored, "only consider! You had broken your engagement without giving any reason; I saw you at the party dancing with Joseph; I believed myself trifled with, I said that if you could treat in that way there was nothing you could say that I cared to hear. I was blind to the truth; I was blinded by suffering. "If you suffered, it was your own fault," she replied, calm as the Fate that holds the shears and the thread. "I wanted to explain to you why I broke my engagement and why I went with Joseph: you refused to allow me." "But before that! Remember that I had gone to see you the night before. You had a chance to explain then. But you did not explain. Still, I did not doubt that your reason was good. I did not ask you to state it. But when I saw you at the party with Joseph, was I not right, in thinking that the time for an explanation had passed?" "No," she replied. "As long as I did not give any reason, you ought not to have asked for one; but when I wished to give it, you should have been ready to hear it." He drew himself up quickly. "This is a poor pitiful misunderstanding. I say, forgive me! We will let it pass. I had thought each of us was wrong--you first, I, afterward." "I was not wrong either first or last!" "Think so if you must! Only, try to understand me! Amy, you know I've loved you. You could never have acted toward me as you have, if you had not believed that. And that night--the night you would not see me alone--I went to ask you to marry me. I meant to ask you the next night. I am here to ask you now! . . ." He told her of the necessity that had kept him from speaking sooner, of the recent change which made it possible. He explained how he had waited and planned and had shaped his whole life with the thought that she would share it. She had listened with greater interest especially to what he had said about the improvement in his fortunes. Her head had dropped slightly forward as though she were thinking that after all perhaps she had made a mistake. But she now lifted it with deliberateness: "And what right had you to be so sure all this time that I would marry you whenever you asked me? What right had you to take it for granted that whenever you were ready, I would be?" The hot flush of shame dyed his face that she could deal herself such a wound and not even know it. He drew himself up again, sparing her: "I loved you. I could not love without hoping. I could not hope without planning. Hoping, planning, striving,--everything!--it was all because I loved you!" And then he waited, looking down on her in silence. She began to grow nervous. She had stooped to pick up the thread of flax and was passing it slowly between her fingers. When he spoke again, his voice showed that he shook like a man with a chill: "I have said all I can say. I have offered all I have to offer. I am waiting." Still the silence lasted for the new awe of him that began to fall upon her. In ways she could not fathom she was beginning to feel that a change had come over him during these weeks of their separation. He used more gentleness with her: his voice, his manner, his whole bearing, had finer courtesy; he had strangely ascended to some higher level of character, and he spoke to her from this distance with a sadness that touched her indefinably--with a larger manliness that had its quick effect. She covertly lifted her eyes and beheld on his face a proud passion of beauty and of pain beyond anything that she had ever thought possible to him or to any man. She quickly dropped her head again; she shifted her position; a band seemed to tighten around her throat; until, in a voice hardly to be heard, she murmured falteringly: "I have promised to marry Joseph." He did not speak or move, but continued to stand leaning against the lintel of the doorway, looking down on her. The colour was fading from the west leaving it ashen white. And so standing in the dying radiance, he saw the long bright day of his young hope come to its close; he drained to its dregs his cup of bitterness she had prepared for him; learned his first lesson in the victory of little things over the larger purposes of life, over the nobler planning; bit the dust of the heart's first defeat and tragedy. She had caught up the iron shears in her nervousness and begun to cut the flaxen thread; and in the silence of the room only the rusty click was now heard as she clipped it, clipped it, clipped it. Then such a greater trembling seized her that she laid the shears back upon the table. Still he did not move or speak, and there seemed to fall upon her conscience--in insupportable burden until, as if by no will of her own, she spoke again pitifully: "I didn't know that you cared so much for me. It isn't my fault. You had never asked me, and he had already asked me twice." He changed his position quickly so that the last light coming in through the window could no longer betray his face. All at once his voice broke through the darkness, so unlike itself that she started: "When did you give him this promise? I have no right to ask . . . when did you give him this promise?" She answered as if by no will of her own:"The night of the ball--as we were going home." She waited until she felt that she should sink to the ground. Then he spoke again as if rather to himself than to her, and with the deepest sorrow and pity for them both: "If I had gone with you that night--if I had gone with you that night--and had asked you--you would have married me." Her lips began to quiver and all that was in her to break down before him--to yearn for him. In a voice neither could scarce hear she said: "I will marry you yet!" She listened. She waited, Out of the darkness she could distinguish not the rustle of a movement, not a breath of sound; and at last cowering back into herself with shame, she buried her face in her hands. Then she was aware that he had come forward and was standing over her. He bent his head down so close that his lids touched her hair--so close that his warm breath was on her forehead--and she felt rather than knew him saying to himself, not to her: "Good-bye!" He passed like a tall spirit out of the door, and she heard his footsteps die away along the path--die slowly away as of one who goes never to return. XV A JEST may be the smallest pebble that was ever dropped into the sunny mid-ocean of the mind; but sooner or later it sinks to a hard bottom, sooner or later sends it ripples toward the shores where the caves of the fatal passions yawn and roar for wreckage. It is the Comedy of speech that forever dwells as Tragedy's fondest sister, sharing with her the same unmarked domain; for the two are but identical forces of the mind in gentle and in ungentle action as one atmosphere holds within itself unseparated the zephyr and the storm. The following afternoon O'Bannon was ambling back to town--slowly and awkwardly, he being a poor rider and dreading a horse's back as he would have avoided its kick. He was returning from the paper mill at Georgetown whither he had been sent by Mr. Bradford with an order for a further supply of sheets. The errand had not been a congenial one; and he was thinking now as often before that he would welcome any chance of leaving the editor's service. What he had always coveted since his coming into the wilderness was the young master's school; for the Irish teacher, afterwards so well known a figure in the West, was even at this time beginning to bend his mercurial steps across the mountains. Out of his covetousness had sprung perhaps his enmity toward the master, whom he further despised for his Scotch blood, and in time had grown to dislike from motives of jealousy, and last of all to hate for his simple purity. Many a man nurses a grudge of this kind against his human brother and will take pains to punish him accordingly; for success in virtue is as hard for certain natures to witness as success in anything else will irritate those whose nerveless or impatient or ill-directed grasp it has wisely eluded. On all accounts therefore it had fallen well to his purpose to make the schoolmaster the dupe of a disagreeable jest. The jest had had unexpectedly serious consequences: it had brought about the complete discomfiture of John in his love affair; it had caused the trouble behind the troubled face with which he had looked out upon every one during his illness. The two young men had never met since; but the one was under a cloud; the other was refulgent with his petty triumph; and he had set his face all the more toward any further aggressiveness that occasion should bring happily to his hand. The mere road might have shamed him into manlier reflections. It was one of the forest highways of the majestic bison opened ages before into what must have been to them Nature's most gorgeous kingdom, her fairest, most magical Babylon: with hanging gardens of verdure everywhere swung from the tree-domes to the ground; with the earth one vast rolling garden of softest verdure and crystal waters: an ancient Babylon of the Western woods, most alluring and in the end most fatal to the luxurious, wantoning wild creatures, which know no sin and are never found wanting. This old forest street of theirs, so broad, so roomy, so arched with hoary trees, so silent now and filled with the pity and pathos of their ruin--it may not after all have been marked out by them. But ages before they had ever led their sluggish armies eastward to the Mississippi and, crossing, had shaken its bright drops from their shaggy low-hung necks on the eastern bank--ages before this, while the sun of human history was yet silvering the dawn of the world--before Job's sheep lay sick in the land of Uz-- before a lion had lain down to dream in the jungle where Babylon was to arise and to become a name,--this old, old, old high road may have been a footpath of the awful mastodon, who had torn his terrible way through the tangled, twisted, gnarled and rooted fastnesses of the wilderness as lightly as a wild young Cyclone out of the South tears his way through the ribboned corn. Ay, for ages the mastodon had trodden this dust. And, ay, for ages later the bison. And, ay, for ages a people, over whose vanished towns and forts and graves had grown the trees of a thousand years, holding in the mighty claws of their roots the dust of those long, long secrets. And for centuries later still along this path had crept or rushed or fled the Indians: now coming from over the moon-loved, fragrant, passionate Southern mountains; now from the sad frozen forests and steely marges of the Lakes: both eager for the chase. For into this high road of the mastodon and the bison smaller pathways entered from each side, as lesser watercourses run into a river: the avenues of the round-horned elk, narrow, yet broad enough for the tossing of his lordly antlers; the trails of the countless migrating shuffling bear; the slender woodland alleys along which buck and doe and fawn had sought the springs or crept tenderly from their breeding coverts or fled like shadows in the race for life; the devious wolf-runs of the maddened packs as they had sprung to the kill; the threadlike passages of the stealthy fox; the tiny trickle of the squirrel, crossing, recrossing, without number; and ever close beside all these, unseen, the grass-path or the tree-path of the cougar. Ay, both eager for the chase at first and then more eager for each other's death for the sake of the whole chase: so that this immemorial game-trace had become a war-path--a long dim forest street alive with the advance and retreat of plume-bearing, vermilion-painted armies; and its rich black dust, on which hereand there a few scars of sunlight now lay like stillest thinnest yellow leaves, had been dyed from end to end with the red of the heart. And last of all into this ancient woodland street of war one day there had stepped a strange new-comer--the Anglo-Saxon. Fairhaired, blue-eyed, always a lover of Land and of Woman and therefore of Home; in whose blood beat the conquest of many a wilderness before this--the wilderness of Britain, the wilderness of Normandy, the wildernesses of the Black, of the Hercinian forest, the wilderness of the frosted marshes of the Elbe and the Rhine and of the North Sea's wildest wandering foam and fury. Here white lover and red lover had metand fought: with the same high spirit and overstrung will, scorn of danger, greed of pain; the same vehemence of hatred and excess of revenge; the same ideal of a hero as a young man who stands in the thick of carnage calm and unconscious of his wounds or rushes gladly to any poetic beauty of death that is terrible and sublime. And already the red lover was gone and the fair-haired lover stood the quiet owner of the road, the last of all its long train of conquerors brute and human--with his cabin near by, his wife smiling beside the spinning-wheel, his baby crowing on the threshold. History was thicker here than along the Appian Way and it might well have stirred O'Bannon; but he rode shamblingly on, un-touched, unmindful. At every bend his eye quickly swept along the stretch of road to the next turn; for every man carried the eye of an eagle in his head in those days. At one point he pulled his horse up violently. A large buckeye tree stood on the roadside a hundred yards ahead. Its large thick leaves already full at this season, drew around the trunk a seamless robe of darkest green. But a single slight rent had been made on one side as though a bough bad been lately broken off to form an aperture commanding a view of the road; and through this aperture he could see something black within-as black as a crow's wing. O'Bannon sent his horse forward in the slowest walk: it was unshod; the stroke of its hoofs was muffled by the dust; and he had approached quite close, remaining himself unobserved, before he recognized the school-master. He was reclining against the trunk, his hat off, his eyes closed; in the heavy shadows he looked white and sick and weak and troubled. Plainly he was buried deep in his own thoughts. If he had broken off those low boughs in order that he might obtain a view of the road, he had forgotten his own purpose; if he had walked all the way out to this spot and was waiting, his vigilance had grown lax, his aim slipped from him. Perhaps before his eyes the historic vision of the road had risen: that crowded pageant, brute and human, all whose red passions, burning rights and burning wrongs, frenzied fightings and awful deaths had left but the sun-scarred dust, the silence of the woods clothing itself in green. And from this panoramic survey it may have come to him to feel the shortness of the day of his own life, the pitifulness of its earthly contentions, and above everything else the sadness of the necessity laid upon him to come down to the level of the cougar and the wolf. But as O'Bannon struck his horse and would have passed on, he sprang up quickly enough and walked out into the middle of the road. When the horse's head was near he quietly took hold of the reins and throwing his weight slightly forward, brought it to a stop. "Let go!" exclaimed O'Bannon, furious and threatening. He did let go, and stepping backward three paces, he threw off his coat and waistcoat and tossed them aside to the green bushes: the action was a pathetic mark of his lifelong habit of economy in clothes: a coat must under all circumstances be cared for. He tore off his neckcloth so that his high shirt collar fell away from his neck, showing the purple scar of his wound; and he girt his trousers in about his waist, as a laboring man will trim himself for neat, quick, violent work. Then with a long stride he came round to the side of the horse's head, laid his hand on its neck and looked O'Bannon in the eyes: "At first I thought I'd wait till you got back to town. I wanted to catch you on the street or, in a tavern where others could witness. I'm sorry. I'm ashamed I ever wished any man to see me lay my hand on you. "Since you came out to Kentucky, have I ever crossed you? Thwarted you in any plan or purpose? Wronged you in any act? Ill-used your name? By anything I have thought or wished or done taken from the success of your life or made success harder for you to win? "But you had hardly come out here before you began to attack me and you have never stopped. Out of all this earth's prosperity you have envied me my little share: you have tried to take away my school. With your own good name gone, you have wished to befoul mine. With no force of character to rise in the world, you have sought to drag me down. When I have avoided a brawl with you, preferring to live my life in peace with every man, you have said I was a coward, you unmanly slanderer! When I have desired to live the best life I could, you have turned even that against me. You lied and you know you lied--blackguard! You have laughed at the blood in my veins--the sacred blood of my mother--" His words choked him. The Scotch blood, so slow to kindle like a mass of cold anthracite, so terrible with heat to the last ashes, was burning in him now with flameless fury. "I passed it all over, I only asked to go on my way and have you go yours. But now--" He seemed to realize in an instant everything that he had suffered in consequence of O'Bannon's last interference in his affairs. He ground his teeth together and shook his head from side to side like an animal that had seized its prey. "Get down!" he cried, throwing his head back. "I can't fight you as an equal but I will give you one beating for the low dog you are." O'Bannon had listened immovable. He now threw the reins down and started to throw his leg over the saddle but resumed his seat. "Let go!" he shouted. "I will not be held and ordered." The school-master tightened his grasp on the reins. "Get down! I don't trust you." O'Bannon held a short heavy whip. He threw this into the air and caught it by the little end. The school-teacher sprang to seize it; but O'Bannon lifted it backward over his shoulder, and then raising himself high in his stirrups, brought it down. The master saw it coming and swerved so that it grazed his ear; but it cut into the wound on his neck with a coarse, ugly, terrific blow and the blood spurted. With a loud cry of agony and horror, he reeled and fell backward dizzy and sick and nigh to fainting. The next moment in the deadly silence of a wild beast attacking to kill, he was on his feet, seized the whip before it could fall again, flung it away, caught O'Bannon's arm and planting his foot against the horse's shoulder, threw his whole weight backward. The saddle turned, the horse sprang aside, and he fell again, pulling O'Bannon heavily down on him. There in the blood-dyed dust of the old woodland street, where bison and elk, stag and lynx, wolf and cougar and bear had gored or torn each other during the centuries before; there on the same level, glutting their passion, their hatred, their revenge, the men fought out their strength--the strength of that King of Beasts whose den is where it should be: in a man's spirit. A few afternoons after this a group of rough young fellows were gathered at Peter's shop. The talk had turned to the subject of the fight: and every one had thrown his gibe at O'Bannon, who had taken it with equal good nature. >From this they had chaffed him on his fondness for a practical joke and his awkward riding; and out of this, he now being angry, grew a bet with Horatio Turpin that he could ride the latter's filly, standing hitched to the fence of the shop. He was to ride it three times around the enclosure, and touch it once each time in the flank with the spur which the young horseman took from his heel. At the first prick of it, the high-spirited mettlesome animal, scarcely broken, reared and sprang forward, all but unseating him. He dropped the reins and instinctively caught its mane, at the same time pressing his legs more closely in against the animal's sides, thus driving the spur deeper. They shouted to him to lie down, to fall off, as they saw the awful danger ahead; for the maddened filly, having run wildly around the enclosure several times, turned and rushed straight toward the low open doors of the smithy and the pasture beyond. But he would not release his clutch; and with his body bent a little forward, he received the blow of the projecting shingles full on his head as the mare shot from under him into the shop, scraping him off. They ran to him and lifted him out of the sooty dust and laid him on the soft green grass. But of consciousness there was never to be more for him: his jest had reached its end. XVI IT was early summer now. In the depths of the greening woods the school-master lay reading: "And thus it passed on from Candlemass until after Easter that the month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom and to bring forth fruit; for like as herbs and trees bring forth fruit and flourish in May, in likewise, every lusty heart that is any manner a lover springeth and flourisheth in lusty deeds. For it giveth unto all lovers courage--that lusty month of May--in something to constrain him to some manner of thing more in that month than in any other month. For diverse causes: For then all herbs and trees renew a man and woman; and, in likewise, lovers call again to their mind old gentleness and old service and many kind deeds that were forgotten by negligence. For like as winter rasure doth always erase and deface green summer, so fareth it by unstable love in man and woman. For in many persons there is no stability;...for a little blast of winter's rasure, anon we shall deface and lay apart true love (for little or naught), that cost so much. This is no wisdom nor stability, but it is feebleness of nature and great disworship whomever useth this. Therefore like as May month flowereth and flourisheth in many gardens, so in likewise let every man of worship flourish his heart in this world: first unto God, and next unto the joy of them that he promised his faith unto; for there was never worshipful man nor worshipful woman but they loved one better than the other. And worship in arms may never be foiled; but first reserve the honour to God, and secondly the quarrel must come of thy lady; and such love I call virtuous love. But nowsdays men cannot love seven nights but they must have all their desires... Right so fareth love nowadays, soon hot, soon cold: this is no stability. But the old love was not so. Men and women could love together seven years...and then was love truth and faithfulness. And lo! In likewise was used love in King Arthur's days. Wherefore I liken love nowadays unto summer and winter; for like the one is hot and the other cold, so fareth love nowadays."....... He laid the book aside upon the grass, sat up, and mournfully looked about him. Effort was usually needed to withdraw his mind from those low-down shadowy centuries over into which of late by means of the book, as by means of a bridge spanning a known and an unknown land, he had crossed, and wonder-stricken had wandered; but these words brought him swiftly home to the country of his own sorrow. Unstable love! feebleness of nature! one blast of a cutting winter wind and lo! green summer defaced: the very phrases seemed shaped by living lips close to the ear of his experience. It was in this spot a few weeks ago that he had planned his future with Amy: these were the acres he would buy; on this hill-top he would build; here, home-sheltered, wife-anchored, the warfare of his flesh and spirit ended, he could begin to put forth all his strength upon the living of his life. Had any frost ever killed the bud of nature's hope more unexpectedly than this landscape now lay blackened before him? And had any summer ever cost so much? What could strike a man as a more mortal wound than to lose the woman he had loved and in losing her see her lose her loveliness? As the end of it all, he now found himself sitting on the blasted rock of his dreams in the depths of the greening woods. He was well again by this time and conscious of that retightened grasp upon health and redder stir of life with which the great Mother-nurse, if she but dearly love a man, will tend him and mend him and set him on his feet again from a bed of wounds or sickness. It had happened to him also that with this reflushing of his blood there had reached him the voice of Summer advancing northward to all things and making all things common in their awakening and their aim. He knew of old the pipe of this imperious Shepherd; sounding along the inner vales of his being; herding him toward universal fellowship with seeding grass and breeding herb and every heart-holding creature of the woods. He perfectly recognized the sway of the thrilling pipe; he perfectly realized the joy of the jubilant fellowship. And it was with eyes the more mournful therefore that he gazed in purity about him at the universal miracle of old life passing into new life, at the divinely appointed and divinely fulfilled succession of forms, at the unrent mantle of the generations being visibly woven around him under the golden goads of the sun. " ...for like as herbs bring forth fruit and flourish in May, in likewise, every heart that is in any manner a lover spingeth and flourisheth in lusty deeds." . . . But all this must come, must spend itself, must pass him by, as a flaming pageant dies away from a beholder who is forbidden to kindle his own torch and claim his share of its innocent revels. He too had laid his plans to celebrate his marriage at the full tide of the Earth's joy, and these plans had failed him. But while the school-master thus was gloomily contemplating the end of his relationship with Amy and her final removal from the future of his life, in reality another and larger trouble was looming close ahead. A second landscape had begun to beckon not like his poor little frost-killed field, not of the earth at all, but lifted unattainable into the air, faint, clear, elusive--the marriage of another woman. And how different she! He felt sure that no winter's rasure would ever reach that land; no instability, no feebleness of nature awaited him there; the loveliness of its summer, now brooding at flood, would brood unharmed upon it to the natural end. He buried his face guiltily in his hands as he tried to shut out the remembrance of how persistently of late, whithersoever he had turned, this second image had reappeared before him, growing always clearer, drawing always nearer, summoning him more luringly. Already he had begun to know the sensations of a traveller who is crossing sands with a parched tongue and a weary foot, crossing toward a country that he will never reach, but that he will stagger toward as long as he has strength to stand. During the past several days--following his last interview with Amy--he had realized for the first time how long and how plainly the figure of Mrs. Falconer had been standing before him and upon how much loftier a level. Many a time of old, while visiting the house, he had grown tired of Amy; but he had never felt wearied by her. For Amy he was always making apologies to his own conscience; she needed none. He had secretly hoped that in time Amy would become more what he wished his wife to be; it would have pained him to think of her as altered. Often he had left Amy's company with a grateful sense of regaining the larger liberty of his own mind; by her he always felt guided to his better self, he carried away her ideas with the hope of making them his ideas, he was set on fire with a spiritual passion to do his utmost in the higher strife of the world. For this he had long paid her the guiltless tribute of his reverence and affection. And between his reverence and affection and all the forbidden that lay beyond rose a barrier which not even his imagination had ever consciously overleaped. Now the forbidding barrier had disappeared, and in its place had appeared the forbidden bond--he knew not how or when. How could he? Love, the Scarlet Spider, will in a night hang between two that have been apart a web too fine for either to see; but the strength of both will never avail to break it. Very curiously it had befallen him furthermore that just at the time when all these changes were taking place around him and within him, she had brought him the book that she had pressed with emphasis upon his attention. In the backwoods settlements of Pennsylvania where his maternal Scotch-Irish ancestors had settled and his own life been spent, very few volumes had fallen into his hands. After coming to Kentucky not many more until of late: so that of the world's history he was still a stinted and hungry student. When,therefore, she had given him Malory's "LeMorte D'Arthur," it was the first time that the ideals of chivalry had ever flashed their glorious light upon him; for the first time the models of Christian manhood, on which western Europe nourished itself for centuries, displayed themselves to his imagination with the charm of story; he heard of Camelot, of the king, of that company of men who strove with each other in arms, but strove also with each other in grace of life and for the immortal mysteries of the spirit. She had said that he should have read this book long before but that henceforth he would always need it even more than in his past: that here were some things he had looked for in the world and had never found; characters such as he had always wished to grapple to himself as his abiding comrades: that if he would love the best that it loved, hate what it hated, scorn what it scorned, it would help him in the pursuit of his own ideals to the end. Of this and more he felt at once the truth, since of all earthly books known to him this contained the most heavenly revelation of what a man may be in manliness, in gentleness, and in goodness. And as he read the nobler portions of the book, the nobler parts of his nature gave out their immediate response. Hungrily he hurried to and fro across the harvest of those fertile pages, gathering of the white wheat of the spirit many a lustrous sheaf: the love of courage, the love of courtesy, the love of honour, the love of high aims and great actions, the love of the poor and the helpless, the love of a spotless name and a spotless life, the love of kindred, the love of friendship, the love of humility of spirit, the love of forgiveness, the love of beauty, the love of love, the love of God. Surely, he said to himself, within the band of these virtues lay not only a man's noblest life, but the noblest life of the world. While fondling these, he failed not to notice how the great book, as though it were a living mouth, spat its deathless scorn upon the things that he also--in the imperfect measure of his powers--had always hated: all cowardice of mind or body, all lying, all oppression, all unfaithfulness, all secret revenge and hypocrisy and double-dealing: the smut of the heart and mind. But ah! the other things besides these. Sown among the white wheat of the spirit were the red tares of the flesh; and as he strode back and forth through the harvest, he found himself plucking these also with feverish vehemence. There were things here that he had never seen in print: words that he had never even named to his secret consciousness; thoughts and desires that he had put away from his soul with many a struggle, many a prayer; stories of a kind that he had always declined to hear when told in companies of men: all here, spelled out, barefaced, without apology, without shame: the deposits of those old, old moral voices and standards long since buried deep under the ever rising level of the world's whitening holiness. With utter guilt and shame he did not leave off till he had plucked the last red tare; and having plucked them, he had hugged the whole inflaming bundle against his blood--his blood now flushed with youth, flushed with health, flushed with summer. And finally, in the midst of all these things, perhaps coloured by them, there had come to him the first great awakening of his life in a love that was forbidden. He upbraided himself the more bitterly for the influence of the book because it was she who had placed both the good and the evil in his hand with perfect confidence that he would lay hold on the one and remain unsoiled by the other. She had remained spirit-proof herself against the influences that tormented him; out of her own purity she had judged him. And yet, on the other hand, with that terrible candour of mind which he used either for or against himself as rigidly as for or against another person, he pleaded in his own behalf that she had made a mistake in overestimating his strength, in underestimating his temptations. How should she know that for years his warfare had gone on direfully? How realize that almost daily he had stood as at the dividing of two roads: the hard, narrow path ascending to the bleak white peaks of the spirit; the broad, sweet, downward vistas of the flesh? How foresee, therefore, that the book would only help to rend him in twain with a mightier passion for each? He had been back at the school a week now. He had never dared go to see her. Confront that luminous face with his darkened one? Deal such a soul the wound of such dishonour? He knew very well that the slightest word or glance of self-betrayal would bring on the immediate severance of her relationship with him: her wifehood might be her martyrdom, but it was martyrdom inviolate. And yet he felt that if he were once with her, he could not be responsible for the consequences: he could foresee no degree of self-control that would keep him from telling her that he loved her. He had been afraid to go. But ah, how her image drew him day and night, day and night! Slipping between him and every other being, every other desire. Her voice kept calling to him to come to her--a voice new, irresistible, that seemed to issue from the deeps of Summer, from the deeps of Life, from the deeps of Love, with its almighty justification. This was his first Saturday. To-day he had not even the school as a post of duty, to which he might lash himself for safety. He had gone away from town in an opposite direction from her home, burying himself alone in the forest. But between him and that summoning voice he could put no distance. It sang out afresh to him from the inviting silence of the woods as well as from its innumerable voices. It sang to him reproachfully from the pages of the old book: "In the lusty month of May lovers call again to their mind old gentleness and old service and many deeds that were forgotten by negligence:" he had never even gone to thank her for all her kindness to him during his illness! Still he held out, wrestling with himself. At last Love itself, the deceiver, snaringly pleaded that she alone could cure him of all this folly. It had grown up wholly during his absence from her, no doubt by reason of this. Many a time before be had gone to her about other troubles, and always he had found her carrying that steady light of right-mindedness which had scatteredhis darkness and revealed his better pathway. He sprang up and set off sternly through the woods. Goaded by love, he fancied that the presence of the forbidden woman would restore him to his old, blameless friendship. XVIII SHE was at work in the garden: he had long ago noted that she never idled. He approached the fence and leaned on it as when they had last talked together; but his big Jacobin hat was pulled down over his eyes now. He was afraid of his own voice, afraid of the sound of his knuckles, so that when at last he had rapped on the fence, he hoped that she had not heard, so that he could go away. "Knock louder," she called out from under her bonnet. "I'm not sure that I heard you." How sunny her voice was, how pure and sweet and remote from any suspicion of hovering harm! It unshackled him as from a dreadful nightmare. He broke into his old laugh--the first time since he had stood there before--and frankly took off his hat. "How did you know who it was? You saw me coming!" "Did I? I don't like to contradict a stranger." "Am I a stranger?" "What makes a stranger? How long has it been since you were here?" "A lifetime," he replied gravely. "You are still living! Will you walk into my parlour?" "Will you meet me at the door?" It was so pleasant to seem gay, to say nothing, be nothing! She came quietly over to the fence and gave him her hand with a little laugh." "You have holiday of Saturdays. I have not, you see. But I can take a recess: come in. You are looking well! Wounds agree with you." He went trembling round to the gate, passed in, and they sat down on the bench. "How things grow in this soil," she said pointing to the garden. "It has only been five or six weeks since you were here. Do you remember? I was planting the seed: now look at the plants!" "I, too, was sowing that afternoon," he replied musingly. "But my harvest ripened before yours; I have already reaped it." "What's that you are saying about me?" called out a hard, smooth voice from over the fence at their back. "I don't like to miss anything!" Amy had a piece of sewing, which she proceeded to spread upon the fence. "Will you show me about this, Aunt Jessica?" She greeted John without embarrassment or discernible remembrance of their last meeting. Her fine blond hair was frowsy and a button was missing at the throat of her dress. (Some women begin to let themselves go after marriage; some after the promise of marriage.) There were cake-crumbs also in one corner of her mouth. "These are some of my wedding clothes," she said to him prettily. "Aren't they fine?" Mrs. Falconer drew her attention for a moment and they began to measure the cloth over the back of her finger, counting the lengths under her breath. Amy took a pin from the bosom of her dress and picked between her pearly teeth daintily. "Aunt Jessica," she suddenly inquired with mischievous look at John, "before you were engaged to uncle, was there any one else you liked better?" With a terrible inward start, he shot a covert glance at her and dropped his eyes. Mrs. Falconer's answer was playful and serene. "It has been a long time; it's hard to remember. But I've heard of such cases." There was something in the reply that surprised Amy and she peeped under Mrs. Falconer's bonnet to see what was going on. She had learned that a great deal went on under that bonnet. "Well, after you were engaged to him, was there anybody else?" "I don't think I remember. But I've known of such cases." Amy peeped again, and the better to see for herself hereafter, coolly lifted the bonnet off. "Well, after you were married to him," she said, "was there anybody else? I've known of such cases," she added, with a dry imitation of the phrase. "You have made me forget my lengths," said Mrs. Falconer with unruffled innocence. "I'll have to measure again." Amy turned to John with sparkling eyes. "Did you ever know a man who was in love with a married woman?" "Yes," said John, secretly writhing, but too truthful to say "no." "What did he do about it?" asked Amy. "I don't know," replied John, shortly. "What do you think he ought to have done? What would you do?" asked Amy. "I don't know," replied John, more coolly, turning away his confused face. Neither of you seems to know anything this afternoon," observed Amy, "and I'd always been led to suppose that each of you knew everything." As she departed with her sewing, she turned to send a final arrow, with some genuine feeling. "I think I'll send for uncle to come and talk tome." "Stay and talk to us," Mrs. Falconer called to her with a sincere, pitying laugh. "Come back!" Amy's questions had passed high over her head like a little flock of chattering birds they had struck him low, like bullets. "Go on," she said quietly, when they were seated again, "what was it about the harvest?" He could not reply at once; and she let him sit in silence, looking across the garden while she took up her knitting from the end of the bench, and leaning lightly toward him, measured a few rows of stitches across his wrist. It gave way under her touch. "These are your mittens for next winter," she said softly, more softly than he had ever heard her speak. And the quieting melody of her mere tone!--how unlike that other voice which bored joyously into you as a bright gimlet twists its unfeeling head into wood. He turned on her one quick, beautiful look of gratitude. "What was it about the harvest?" she repeated, forbearing to return his look, and thinking that all his embarrassment followed from the pain of having thus met Amy. He began to speak very slowly: "The last time I was here I boasted that I had yet to meet my first great defeat in life . . . that there was nothing stronger in the world than a man's will and purpose . . . that if ideals got shattered, we shattered them . . . that I would go on doing with my life as I had planned, be what I wished, have what I wanted." "Well?" she urged, busy with her needles. "I know better now." "Aren't you the better for knowing better?" He made no reply; so that she began to say very simply and as a matter of course: "It's the defeat more than anything else that hurts you! Defeat is always the hardest thing for you to stand, even in trifles. But don't you know that we have to be defeated in order to succeed? Most of us spend half our lives in fighting for things that would only destroy us if we got them. A man who has never been defeated is usually a man who has been ruined. And, of course," she added with light raillery, "of course there are things stronger than the strongest will and purpose: the sum of other men's wills and purposes, for instance. A single soldier may have all the will and purpose to whip an army, but he doesn't do it. And a man may have all the will and purpose to whip the world, walk over it rough-shod, shoulder it out of his way as you'd like to do, but he doesn't do it. And of course we do not shatter our ideals ourselves--always: a thousand things outside ourselves do that for us. And what reason had you to say that you would have what you wanted? Your wishes are not infallible. Suppose you craved the forbidden?" She looked over at him archly, but he jerked his face farther away. Then he spoke out with the impulse to get away from her question: "I could stand to be worsted by great things. But the little ones, the low, the coarse, the trivial! Ever since I was here last--beginning that very night--I have been struggling like a beast with his foot in a trap. I don't mean Amy!" he cried apologetically. "I'm glad you've discovered there are little things," she replied. "I had feared you might never find that out. I'm not sure yet that you have. One of your great troubles is that everything in life looks too large to you, too serious, too important. You fight the gnats of the world as you fought your panther. With you everything is a mortal combat. You run every butterfly down and break it on an iron wheel; after you have broken it, it doesn't matter: everything is as it was before, except that you have lost time and strength. The only things that need trouble us very much are not the things it is right to conquer, but the things it is wrong to conquer. If you ever conquer in yourself anything that is right, that will be a real trouble for you as long as you live--and for me!" He turned quickly and sat facing her, the muscles of his face moving convulsively. She did not look at him, but went on: "The last time you were here, you told me that I did not appreciate Amy; that I could not do her justice; but that no woman could ever understand why a man loved any other woman." "Did I say that?" he muttered remorsefully. "It was because you did not appreciate he--it was because you would never be able to do her justice--that I was so opposed to the marriage. And this was largely a question of little things. I knew perfectly well that as soon as you married Amy, you would begin to expect her to act as though she were made of iron: so many pieces, so many wheels, so many cogs, so many revolutions. All the inevitable little things that make up the most of her life--that make up so large a part of every woman's life--the little moods, the little play, little changes, little tempers and inconsistencies and contradictions and falsities and hypocrisies which come every morning and go every night,--all these would soon have been to you--oh! I'm afraid they'd have been as big as a herd of buffalo! There would have been a bull fight for every foible." She laughed out merrily, but she did not look at him. "Yes," she continued, trying to drain his cup for him, since he would not do it himself, "you are the last man in the world to do a woman like Amy justice. I'm afraid you will never do justice to any woman, unless you change a good deal and learn a good deal. Perhaps no woman will ever understand you--except me." She looked up at him now with the clearest fondness in her exquisite eyes. With a groan he suddenly leaned over and buried his face in his hands. His hat fell over on the grass. Her knitting dropped to her lap, and one of her hands went out quickly toward his big head, heavy with its shaggy reddish mass of hair, which had grown long during his sickness. But at the first touch she quickly withdrew it, and stooping over picked up his hat and put it on her knees, and sat beside him silent and motionless. He straightened himself up a moment later, and keeping his face turned away reached for his hat and drew it down over his eyes. "I can't tell you! You don't understand!" he said in a broken voice. "I understand everything. Amy has told me-poor little Amy! She is not wholly to blame. I blame you more. You may have been in love with your idea of her, but anything like that idea she never has been and never will be; and who is responsible for your idea, then, but yourself? It is a mistake that many a man makes; and when the woman disappoints him, he blames her, and deserts her or makes her life a torment. Of course a woman may make the same mistake; but, as a rule, women are better judges of men than men are of women. Besides, if they find themselves mistaken, they bear their disappointment better and show it less: they alone know their tragedy; it is the unperceived that kills." The first tears that he had ever seen gathered and dimmed her eyes. She was too proud either to acknowledge them or to hide them. Her lids fell quickly to curtain them in, and the lashes received them in their long, thick fringes. But she had suffered herself to go too far. "Ah, if you had loved her! loved her!" she cried with an intensity of passion, a weary, immeasurable yearning, that seemed to come from a life in death. The strength of that cry struck him as a rushing wind strikes a young eagle on the breast, lifting him from his rock and setting him afloat on the billows of a rising storm. His spirit mounted the spirit of her unmated confession, rode it as its master, exulted in it as his element and his home. But the stricken man remained motionless on the bench a few feet from the woman, looking straight across the garden, with his hands clinched about his knees, his hat hiding his eyes, his jaws set sternly with the last grip of resolution. It was some time before either spoke. Then her voice was very quiet. "You found out your mistake in time; suppose it had been too late? But this is all so sad; we will never speak of it again. Only you ought to feel that from this time you can go on with the plans of your life uninterrupted. Begin with all this as small defeat that means a larger victory! There is no entanglement now, not a drawback; what a future! It does look as though you might now have everything that you set your heart on." She glanced up at him with a mournful smile, and taking the knitting which had lain forgotten in her lap leaned over again and measured the stitches upon his wrist. "When do you start?" she asked, seeing a terrible trouble gathering in his face and resolved to draw his thoughts to other things. "Next week." The knitting fell again. "And you have allowed all this time to go by without coming to see us! You are to come everyday till you go: promise!" He had been repeating that he would not trust himself to come at all again, except to say good-bye. "I can't promise that." "But we want you so much! The major wants you, I want you more than the major. Why should meeting Amy be so hard? Remember how long it will be before you get back. When will you be back?" He was thinking it were better never. "It is uncertain," he said. "I shall begin to look for you as soon as you are gone. I can hear your horse's feet now, rustling in the leaves of October. But what will become of me till then? Ah, you don't begin to realize how much you are to me!" "Oh!" He stretched his arms out into vacancy and folded them again quickly. "I'd better go." He stood up and walked several paces into the garden, where he feigned to be looking at the work she had left. Was he to break down now? Was the strength which he had relied on in so many temptations to fail him now, when his need was sorest? In a few minutes he wheeled round to the bench and stopped full before her, no longer avoiding her eyes. She had taken up the book which he had laid on his end of the seat and was turning the pages. "Have you read it?" "Over and over." "Ah! I knew I could trust you! You never disappoint. Sit down a little while." "I'd--better go!" "And haven't you a word? Bring this book back to me in silence? After all I said to you? I want to know how you feel about it--all your thoughts." She looked up at him with a reproachful smile-- The blood had rushed guiltily into his face, and she seeing this, without knowing what it meant, the blood rushed into hers. "I don't understand," she said proudly and coldly, dropping her eyes and dropping her head a little forward before him, and soon becoming very pale, as from a death-wound. He stood before her, trembling, trying to speak, trying not to speak. Then he turned and strode rapidly away. XVIII THE next morning the parson was standing before his scant congregation of Episcopalians. It was the first body of these worshippers gathered together in the wilderness mainly from the seaboard aristocracy of the Church of England. A small frame building on the northern slope of the wide valley served them for a meeting-house. No mystical half-lights there but the mystical half-lights of Faith; no windows but the many-hued windows of Hope; no arches but the vault of Love. What more did those men and women need in that land, over-shadowed always by the horror of quick or waiting death? In addition to his meagre flock many an unclaimed goat of the world fell into that meek valley-path of Sunday mornings and came to hear, if not to heed, the voice of this quiet shepherd; so that now, as be stood delivering his final exhortation, his eyes ranged over wild, lawless, desperate countenances, rimming him darkly around. They glowered in at him through the door, where some sat upon the steps; others leaned in at the windows on each side of the room. Over the closely packed rough heads of these he could see others lounging further away on the grass beside their rifles, listening, laughing and talking. Beyond these stretched near fields green with maize, and cabins embosomed in orchards and gardens. Once a far-off band of children rushed across his field of vision, playing at Indian warfare and leaving in the bright air a cloud of dust from an old Indian war trail. As he observed it all--this singularly mixed concourse of God-fearing men and women and of men and women who feared neither God nor man nor devil--as he beheld the young fields and the young children and the sweet transition of the whole land from bloodshed to innocence, the recollection of his mission in it and of the message of his Master brough out upon his cold, bleak, beautiful face the light of the Divine: so from a dark valley one may sometime have seen a snow-clad peak of the Alps lit up with the rays of the hidden sun. He had chosen for his text the words "My peace I give unto you," and long before the closing sentences were reached, his voice was floating out with silvery, flute-like clearness on the still air of the summer morning, holding every soul, however unreclaimed, to intense and reverential silence: "It is now twenty years since you scaled the mountains and hewed your path into this wilderness, never again to leave it. Since then you have known but war. As I look into your faces, I see the scar of many a wound; but more than the wounds I see are the wounds I do not see: of the body as well as of the spirit--the lacerations of sorrow, the strokes of bereavement. So that perhaps not one of you here but bears some brave visible or invisible sin of this awful past and of his share in the common strife. Twenty years are a long time to fight enemies of any kind, a long time to bold out against such as you have faced; and had you not been a mighty people sprung from the loins of a mighty race, no one of you would be here this day to worship the God of your fathers in the faith of your fathers. The victory upon which you are entering at last is never the reward of the feeble, the cowardly, the faint-hearted. Out of your strength alone you have won your peace. "But, O my brethren, while your land is now at peace, are you at peace? In the name of my Master, look each of you into his heart and answer: Is it not still a wilderness? full of the wild beasts of the appetites? the favourite hunting-ground of the passions? And is each of you, tried and faithful and fearless soldier that he may be on every other field, is each of you doing anything to conquer this?" "My cry to-day then is the war-cry of the spirit. Subdue the wilderness within you! Step by step, little by little, as you have fought your way across this land from the Eastern mountains to the Western river, driven out every enemy and now hold it as your own, begin likewise to take possession of the other until in the end you may rule it also. If you are feeble; if fainthearted; if you do not bring into your lonely, silent, unwitnessed battles every virtue that you have relied on in this outward warfare of twenty years, you may never hope to come forth conquerors. By your strength, your courage, patience, watchfulness, constancy,--by the in-most will and beholden face of victory you are to overmaster the evil within yourselves as you have overmastered the peril in Kentucky." "Then in truth you may dwell in green and tranquil pastures, where the will of God broods like summer light. Then you may come to realize the meaning of this promise of our Lord, 'My peace I give unto you': it is the gift of His peace to those alone who have learned to hold in quietness their land of the spirit." White, cold, aflame with holiness, he stood before them; and every beholder, awe-stricken by the vision of that face, of a surety was thinking that this man's life was behind his speech: whether in ease or agony, he had found for his nature that victory of rest that was never to be taken from him. But even as he stood thus, the white splendour faded from his countenance, leaving it shadowed with care. In one corner of the room, against the wall, shielding his face from the light of the window with his big black hat and the palm of his hand, sat the school-master. He was violently flushed, his eyes swollen and cloudy, his hair tossed, his linen rumpled, his posture bespeaking wretchedness and self-abandonment. Always in preaching the parson had looked for the face of his friend; always it had been his mainstay, interpreter, steadfast advocate in every plea for perfection of life. But to-day it had been kept concealed from him; nor until he had reached his closing exhortation, had the school-master once looked him in the eye, and he had done so then in a most remarkable manner: snatching the hat from before his face, straightening his big body up, and transfixing him with an expression of such resentment and reproach, that among all the wild faces before him, he could see none to match this one for disordered and evil passion. If he could have harboured a conviction so monstrous, he would have said that his words had pierced the owner of that face like a spear and that he was writhing under the torture. As soon as he had pronounced the benediction he looked toward the corner again, but the school-master had already left the room. Usually he waited until the others were gone and the two men walked homeward together, discussing the sermon. To-day the others slowly scattered, and the parson sat alone at the tipper end of the room disappointed and troubled. John strode up to the door. "Are you ready?" he asked in a curt unnatural voice. "Ah!" The parson sprang up gladly. "I was hoping you'd come!" They started slowly off along the path, John walking unconsciously in it, the parson stumbling along through the grass and weeds on one side. It had been John's unvarying wont to yield the path to him. "It is easy to preach," he muttered with gloomy, sarcastic emphasis. "If you tried it once, you might think it easier to practise," retorted the parson, laughing. "It might be easier to one who is not tempted." "It might be easier to one who is. No man is tempted beyond his strength, but a sermon is often beyond his powers. I let you know, young man, that a homily may come harder than a virtue." "How can you stand up and preach as you've been preaching, and then come out of the church and laugh about it!" cried John angrily. "I'm not laughing about what I preached on," replied the parson with gentleness. "You are in high spirits! You are gay! You are full of levity!" "I am full of gladness. I am happy: is that a sin?" John wheeled on him, stopping short, and pointing back to the church: "Suppose there'd been a man in that room who was trying to some temptation--more terrible than you've ever known anything about. You'd made him feel that you were speaking straight at him -bidding him do right where it was so much easier to do wrong. You had helped him; he had waited to see you alone, hoping to get more help. Then suppose he had found you as you are now--full of your gladness! He wouldn't have believed in you! He'd have been hardened." "If he'd been the right kind of man," replied the parson, quickly facing an arraignment had the rancour of denunciation, "he ought to have been more benefited by the sight of a glad man than the sound of a sad sermon. He'd have found in me a man who practises what he preaches: I have conquered my wilderness. But, I think," he added more gravely, "that if any such soul had come to me in his trouble, I could have helped him: if he had let me know what it was, he would have found that I could understand, could sympathize. Still, I don't see why you should condemn my conduct by the test of imaginary cases. I suppose I'm happy now because I'm glad to be with you," and the parson looked the school-master a little reproachfully in the eyes. "And do you think I have no troubles?" said John, his lips trembling. He turned away and the parson walked beside him. "You have two troubles to my certain knowledge," said he in the tone of one bringing forward a piece of critical analysis that was rather mortifying to exhibit. "The one is a woman and the other is John Calvin. If it's Amy, throw it off and be a man. If it's Calvinism, throw it off and become an Episcopalian." He laughed out despite himself. "Did you ever love a woman?" asked John gruffly. "Many a one--in the state of the first Adam!" "That's the reason you threw it off: many a one!" "Don't you know," inquired the parson with an air of exegetical candour, "that no man can be miserable because some woman or other has flirted his friend? That's the one trouble that every man laughs at--when it happens in his neighbourhood, not in his own house!" The school-master made no reply. "Or if it is Calvin," continued the parson, "thank God, I can now laugh at him, and so should you! Answer me one question: during the sermon, weren't you thinking of the case of a man born in a wilderness of temptations that he is foreordained never to conquer, and then foreordained to eternal damnation because he didn't conquer it?" "No--no!" "Well, you'd better've been thinking about it! For that's what you believe. And that's what makes life so hard and bitter and gloomy to you. I know! I carried Calvinism around within me once: it was like an uncorked ink-bottle in a rolling snowball: the farther you go, the blacker you get! Admit it now," he continued in his highest key of rarefied persistency, "admit that you were mourning over the babies in your school that will have to go to hell! You'd better be getting some of your own: the Lord will take care of other people's! Go to see Mrs. Falconer! See all you can of her. There's a woman to bring you around!" They had reached the little bridge over the clear, swift Elkhorn. Their paths diverged. John stopped at his companion's last words, and stood looking at him with some pity. "I thank you for your sermon," he said huskily; "I hope to get some help from that. But you!--you are making things harder for me every word you utter. You don't understand and I can't tell you." He took the parson's cool delicate hand in his big hot one. Alone in the glow of the golden dusk of that day he was sitting outside his cabin on the brow of the hill, overlooking the town in the valley. How peaceful it lay in the Sunday evening light! The burden of the parson's sermon weighed more heavily than ever on his spirit. He had but to turn his eye down the valley and there, flashing in the sheen of sunset, flowed the great spring, around the margin of which the first group of Western hunters had camped for the night and given the place its name from one of the battle-fields of the Revolution; up the valley he could see the roof under which the Virginia aristocracy of the Church of England had consecrated their first poor shrine. What history lay between the finding of that spring and the building of that altar! Not the winning of the wilderness simply; not alone its peace. That westward penetrating wedge of iron-browed, iron-muscled, iron-hearted men, who were now beginning to be known as the Kentuckians, had not only cleft a road for themselves; they had opened a fresh highway for the tread of the nation and found a vaster heaven for the Star of Empire. Already this youthful gigantic West was beginning to make its voice heard from Quebec to New Orleans while beyond the sea the three greatest kingdoms of Europe had grave and troubled thoughts of the on-rushing power it foretokened and the unimaginably splendid future for the Anglo-Saxon race that it forecast. He recalled the ardour with which he had followed the tramp of those wild Westerners; footing it alone from the crest of the Cumberland; subsisting on the game he could kill by the roadside; sleeping at night on his rifle in some thicket of underbrush or cane; resolute to make his way to this new frontier of the new republic in the new world; open his school, read law, and begin his practice, and cast his destiny in with its heroic people. And now this was the last Sunday in a long time, perhaps forever, that he should see it all--the valley, the town, the evening land, resting in its peace. Before the end of another week his horse would be climbing the ranges of the Alleghanies, bearing him on his way to Mount Vernon and thence to Philadelphia. By outward compact he was going on one mission for the Transylvania Library Committee and on another from his Democratic Society to the political Clubs of the East. But in his own soul he knew he was going likewise because it would give him the chance to fight his own battle out, alone and far away. Fight it out here, he felt that he never could. He could neither live near her and not see her, nor see her and not betray the truth. His whole life had been a protest against the concealment either of his genuine dislikes or his genuine affections. How closely he had come to the tragedy of a confession, she to the tragedy of an understanding, the day before! Her deathly pallor had haunted him ever since--that look of having suffered a terrible wound. Perhaps she understood already. Then let her understand! Then at least he could go away better satisfied: if he never came back, she would know: every year of that long separation, her mind would be bearing him the pardoning companionship that every woman must yield the man who has loved her, and still loves her, wrongfully and hopelessly: of itself that knowledge would be a great deal to him during all those years. Struggle against it as he would, the purpose was steadily gaining ground within him to see her and if she did not now know everything then to tell her the truth. The consequences would be a tragedy, but might it not be a tragedy of another kind? For there were darker moments when he probed strange recesses of life for him in the possibility that his confession might open up a like confession from her. He had once believed Amy to be true when she was untrue. Might he not be deceived here? Might she not appear true, but in reality be untrue? If he were successfully concealing his love from her, might she not be successfully concealing her love from him? And if they found each other out, what then? At such moments all through him like an alarm bell sounded her warning: "The only things that need trouble us very much are not the things it is right to conquer but the things it is wrong to conquer. If you ever conquer anything in yourself that is right, that will be a real trouble for you as long as you live--and for me!" Had she meant this? But whatever mood was uppermost, of one thing he now felt assured: that the sight of her made his silence more difficult. He had fancied that her mere presence, her purity, her constancy, her loftiness of nature would rebuke and rescue him from the evil in himself: it had only stamped upon this the consciousness of reality. He had never even realized until he saw her the last time how beautiful she was; the change in himself had opened his eyes to this; and her greater tenderness toward him in their talk of his departure, her dependence on his friendship, her coming loneliness, the sense of a tragedy in her life--all these sweet half-mute appeals to sympathy and affection had rioted in his memory every moment since. Therefore it befell that the parson's sermon of the morning had dropped like living coals on his conscience. It had sounded that familiar, lifelong, best-loved, trumpet call of duty--the old note of joy in his strength rightly and valiantly to be put forth--which had always kindled him and had always been his boast. All the afternoon those living coals of divine remonstrance had been burning into him deeper and deeper but in vain: they could only torture, not persuade. For the first time in his life he had met face to face the fully aroused worst passions of his own stubborn, defiant, intractable nature: they too loved victory and were saying they would have it. One by one the cabins disappeared in the darkness. One by one the stars bloomed out yellow in their still meadows. Over the vast green sea of the eastern wilderness the moon swung her silvery lamp, and up the valley floated a wide veil of mist bedashed with silvery light. The parson climbed the crest of the hill, sat down, laid his hat on the grass, and slipped his long sensitive fingers backward over his shining hair. Neither man spoke at first; their friendship put them at ease. Nor did the one notice the shrinking and dread which was the other's only welcome. "Did you see the Falconers this morning?" The parson's tone was searching and troubled and gentler than it had been earlier that day. "No." "They were looking for you. They thought you'd gone home and said they'd go by for you. They expected you to go out with them to dinner. Haven't you been there to-day?" "No." "I certainly supposed you'd go. I know they looked for you and must have been disappointed. Isn't this your last Sunday?" "Yes." He answered absently. He was thinking that if she was looking for him, then she had not understood and their relation still rested on the old innocent footing. Whatever explanation of his conduct and leave-taking the day before she had devised, it had not been in his disfavour. In all probability, she had referred it, as she had referred everything else, to his affair with Amy. His conscience smote him at the thought of her indestructible trust in him. "If this is your last Sunday," resumed the parson in a voice rather plaintive, "then this is our last Sunday night together. And that was my last sermon. Well, it's not a bad one to take with you. By the time you get back, you'll thank me more for it than you did this morning--if you heed it." There was another silence before he continued, musingly: "What an expression a sermon will sometimes bring out on a man's face! While I was preaching, I saw many a thing that no man knew I saw. It was as though I were crossing actual wilderness-es; I met the wild beasts of different souls, I crept up on the lurking savages of the passions. I believe some of those men would have liked to confess to me. I wish they had." He forbore to speak of John's black look, though it was of this that he was most grievously thinking and would have led the way to have explained. But no answer came." There was one face with no hidden guilt in it, no shame. I read into the depths of that clear mind. It said: 'I have conquered my wilderness.' I have never known another such woman as Mrs. Falconer. She never speaks of herself; but when I am with her, I feel that the struggles of my life have been nothing." "Yes," he continued, out of kindness trying to take no notice of his companion's silence, "she holds in quietness her land of the spirit; but there are battle-fields in her nature that fill me with awe by their silence. I'd dread to be the person to cause her any further trouble in this world." The schoolmaster started up, went into the cabin, and quickly came out again. The parson, absorbed in his reflections, had not noticed: "You've thought I've not sympathized with you in your affair with Amy. It's true. But if you'd ever loved this woman and failed, I could have sympathized." "Why don't you raise the money to build a better church by getting up a lottery?" asked John, breaking in harshly upon the parson's gentleness. The question brought on a short discussion of this method of aiding schools and churches, then much in vogue. The parson rather favoured the plan (and it is known that afterwards a better church was built for him through this device); but his companion bore but a listless part in the talk: he was balancing the chances, the honour and the dishonour, in a lottery of life. "You are not like yourself to-day," said the parson reproachfully after silence had come on again. I know it," replied John freely, as if awaking at last. "Well, each of us has his troubles. Sometimes I have likened the human race to a caravan of camels crossing a desert--each with sore on his hump and each with his load so placed as to rub that sore. It is all right for the back to bear its burden, but I don't think there should have been any sore!" "Let me ask you a question," said John, suddenly and earnestly. "Have there ever been days in your life when, if you'd been the camel, you'd have thrown the load and driver off?" "Ah!" said the parson keenly, but gave no answer. "Have there ever been days when you'd rather have done wrong than right?" "Yes; there have been such days--when I was young and wild." The confession was reluctant. "Have you ever had a trouble, and everybody around you fell upon you in the belief that it was something else?" "That has happened to me--I suppose to all of us." "Were you greatly helped by their misunderstanding you?" "I can't say that I was." "You would have been glad for them to know the truth, but you didn't choose to tell them?" "Yes; I have gone through such an experience." "So that their sympathy was in effect ridiculous?" "That is true also." "If you have been through all this," said John conclusively, "then without knowing anything more, you can understand why I am not like myself, as you say, and haven't been lately." The parson moved his chair over beside the school-master's and took one of his hands in both of his own, drawing it into his lap. "John," he said with affection, "I've been wrong: forgive me! And I can respect your silence. But don't let anything come between us and keep it from me. One question now on this our last Sunday night together: Have you anything against me in this world?" "Not one thing! Have you anything against me?" "Not one thing!" Neither spoke for a while. Then the parson resumed: "I not only have nothing against you, but I've something to say; we might never meet hereafter. You remember the woman who broke the alabaster box for the feet of the Saviour while he was living--that most beautiful of all the appreciations? And you know what we do? Let our fellow-beings carry their crosses to their Calvarys, and after each has suffered his agony and entered into his peace, we go out to him and break our alabaster boxes above his stiff cold feet. I have always hoped that my religion might enable me to break my alabaster box for the living who alone can need it--and who always do need it. Here is mine for your feet, John: Of all the men I have ever known, you are the most sincere; of them all I would soonest pick upon you to do what is right; of them all you have the cleanest face, because you have the most innocent heart; of them all you have the highest notions of what a man may do and be in this life. I have drawn upon your strength ever since I knew you. You have a great deal. It is fortunate; you will need a great deal; for the world will always be a battle-field to you, but the victory will be worth the fighting. And my last words to you are: fight it out to the end; don't compromise with evil; don't lower your ideals or your aims. If it can be any help to you to know it, I shall always be near you in spirit when you are in trouble; if you ever need me, I will come; and if my poor prayers can ever bring you a blessing, you shall have that." The parson turned his calm face up toward the firmament and tears glistened in his eyes. Then perhaps from the old habit and need of following a sermon with a hymn, he said quite simply: "Would you like a little music? It is the Good-bye of the Flute to you and a pleasant journey." The school-master's head had dropped quickly upon his arms, which were crossed over the back of his chair. While the parson was praising him, he had put out his hand two or three times with wretched, imploring gestures. Keeping his face still hidden, he moved his head now in token of assent; and out upon the stillness of the night floated the Farewell of the Flute. But no sermon, nor friendship, nor music, nor voice of conscience, nor voice of praise, nor ideals, nor any other earthly thing could stand this day against the evil that was in him. The parson had scarce gone away through the misty beams before he sprang up and seized his hat. There was no fog out on the clearing. He could not have said why he had come. He only knew that he was there in the garden where he had parted from her the day before. He sat on the bench where they had talked so often, he strolled among her plants. How clear in the moonlight every leaf of the dark green little things was, many of them holding white drops of dew on their tips and edges! How plain the last shoe-prints where she had worked! How peaceful the whole scene in every direction, how sacredly at rest! And the cabin up there at the end of the garden where they were sleeping side by side--how the moon poured its strongest light upon that: his eye could never get away from it. So closely a man might live with a woman in this seclusion! So entirely she must be his! His passions leaped like dogs against their chains when brought too near. They began to draw him toward the cabin until at last he had come opposite to it, his figure remaining hidden behind the fence and under the heavy shadow of a group of the wilderness trees. Then it was that taking one step further, he drew back. The low window of the cabin was open and she was sitting there near the foot of her bed, perfectly still and looking out into the night. Her face rested in one palm, her elbow on the window sill. Her nightgown had slipped down from her arm. The only sleepless thing in all the peace of that summer night: the yearning image of mated loneliness. He was so close that he could hear the loud regular breathing of a sleeper on the bed just inside the shadow. Once the breathing stopped abruptly; and a moment later, as though in reply to a command, he heard her say without turning her head: "I am coming!" The voice was sweet and dutiful; but to an ear that could have divined everything, so dead worn away with weariness. Then he saw an arm put forth. Then he heard the shutter being fastened on the inside. XIX THE closing day of school had come; and although he had waited in impatience for the end, it was with a lump in his throat that he sat behind the desk and ruler for the last time and looked out on the gleeful faces of the children. No more toil and trouble between them and him from this time on; a dismissal, and as far as he was concerned the scattering of the huddled lambkins to the wide pastures and long cold mountain sides of the world. He had grown so fond of them and he had grown so used to teach them by talking to them, that his speech overflowed. But it had been his unbroken wont to keep his troubles out of the schoolroom; and although the thought never left him of the other parting to be faced that day, he spoke out bravely and cheerily, with a smile: "This is the last day of school, and you know that to-morrow I am going away and may never come back. Whether I do or not, I shall never teach again, so that I am now saying good-bye to you for life. "What I wish to impress upon you once more is the kind of men and women your fathers and mothers were and the kind of men and women you must become to be worthy of them. I am not speaking so much to those of you whose parents have not been long in Kentucky as to those whose parents were the first to fight for the land until it was safe for others to follow and share it. Let me tell you that nothing like that was ever done before in all this world. And if, as I sit here, I can't help seeing that this one of you has no father and this one no mother and this one neither father nor mother and that almost none of you have both, still I cannot help saying, You ought to be happy children! not that you have lost your parents, but that you have had such parents to lose and to remember! "All of you are still too young to know fully what they have done and how the whole world will some day speak of them. Still, you can understand some things. For nowadays, when you go to your homes at night, you can lie down and sleep without fear or danger. "And in the mornings your fathers go off to the fields to their work, your mothers go off to theirs, you go off to yours, feeling sure that you will all come together at night again. Some of you can remember when this was not so. Your father would put his arms around you in the morning and you would never see him again; your mother kissed you, and waved her hand to you as she went out of the gate; and you never knew what became of her afterwards. "And don't you recollect how you little babes in the wilderness could never go anywhere? If you heard wild turkeys gobbling just inside the forest, or an owl hooting, or a paroquet screaming, or a fawn bleating, you were warned never to go there; it was the trick of the Indians. You could never go near a clump of high weeds, or a patch of cane, or a stump, or a fallen tree. You must not go to the sugar camp, to get a good drink, or to a salt lick for a pinch of salt, or to the field for an ear of corn, or even to the spring for a bucket of water: so that you could have neither bread nor water nor sugar nor salt. Always, always, it was the Indians. If you cried in the night, your mother came over to you and whispered 'Hush! they are coming! They will get you!' And you forgot your pain and clung to her neck and listened. "Now you are let alone, you go farther and farther away from your homes, you can play hide-and-seek in the canebrakes, you can explore the woods, you fish and you hunt, you are free for the land is safe. "And then only think, that by the time you are men and women, Kentucky will no longer be the great wilderness it still is. There will be thousands and thousands of people scattered over it; and the forest will be cut down--can you ever believe that?--cut through and through, leaving some trees here and some trees there. And the cane will be cut down: can you believe that? And instead of buffalo and wild-cats and bears and wolves and panthers there will be flocks of the whitest sheep, with little lambs frisking about on the green spring meadows. And under the big shady trees in the pastures there will be herds of red cattle, so gentle and with backs so soft and broad that you could almost stretch yourselves out and go to sleep on them, and they would never stop chewing their cuds. Only think of the hundreds of orchards with their apple-blossoms and of the big ripe, golden apples on the trees in the fall! It will be one of the quietest, gentlest lands that a people ever owned; and this is the gift of your fathers who fought for it and of your mothers who fought for it also. And you must never forget that you would never have had such fathers, had you not had such mothers to stand by them and to die with them. "This is what I have wished to teach you more than anything in your books--that you may become men and women worthy of them and of what they have left you. But while being the bravest kind of men and women, you should try also to be gentle men and gentle women. You boys must get over your rudeness and your roughness; that is all right in you now but it would be all wrong in you afterwards. And the last and the best thing I have to say to you is be good boys and grow up to be good men! That sounds very plain and common but I can wish you nothing better for there is nothing better. As for my little girls, they are good enough as they are! "I have talked a long time. God bless you everyone. I wish you long and happy lives and I hope we may meet again. And now all of you must come and shake hands with me and tell me good-bye." They started forward and swarmed toward him; only, as the foremost of them rose and hid her from sight, little Jennie, with one mighty act of defiant joy, hurled her arithmetic out of the window; and a chubby-cheeked veteran on the end of the bench produced a big red apple from between his legs and went for it with a smack of gastric rapture that made his toes curl and sent his glance to the rafters. They swarmed on him, and he folded his arms around the little ones and kissed them; the older boys, the warriors, brown and barefoot, stepping sturdily forward one by one, and holding out a strong hand that closed on his and held it, their eyes answering his sometimes with clear calm trust and fondness, sometimes lowered and full of tears; other little hands resting unconsciously on each of his shoulders, waiting for their turns. Then there were softened echoes --gay voices, dying away in one direction and another, and then--himself alone in the room--school-master no longer. He waited till there was silence, sitting in his old erect way behind his desk, the bight smile still on his face though his eyes were wet. Then, with the thought that now he was to take leave of her, he suddenly leaned forward and buried his face on his arms. XX IN the Country of the Spirit there is a certain high table-land that lies far on among the out-posts toward Eternity. Standing on that calm clear height, where the sun shines ever though it shines coldly, the wayfarer may look behind him at his own footprints of self-renunciation, below on his dark zones of storm, and forward to the final land where the mystery, the pain, and the yearning of his life will either be infinitely satisfied or infinitely quieted. But no man can write a description of this place for those who have never trodden it; by those who have, no description is desired: their fullest speech is Silence. For here dwells the Love of which there has never been any confession, from which there is no escape, for which there is no hope: the love of a man for a woman who is bound to another, or the love of a woman for a man who is bound to another. Many there are who know what that means, and this is the reason why the land is always thronged. But in the throng no one signals another; to walk there is to be counted among the Unseen and the Alone. To this great wistful height of Silence he had struggled at last after all his days of rising and falling, of climbing and slipping back. It was no especial triumph for his own strength. His better strength had indeed gone into it, and the older rightful habitudes of mind that always mean so much to us when we are tried and tempted, and the old beautiful submission of himself to the established laws of the world. But more than what these had effected was what she herself had been to him and had done for him. Even his discovery of her at the window that last night had had the effect of bidding him stand off; for he saw there the loyalty and sacredness of wifehood that, however full of suffering, at least asked for itself the privilege and the dignity of suffering unnoticed. Thus he had come to realize that life had long been leading him blindfold, until one recent day, snatching the bandage from his eyes, she had cried: "Here is the parting of three ways, each way a tragedy: choose your way and your tragedy!" If he confessed his love and found that she felt but friendship for him, there was the first tragedy. The wrong in him would lack the answering wrong in her, which sometimes, when the two are put together, so nearly makes up the right. From her own point of view, he would merely be offering her a delicate ineffaceable insult. If she had been the sort of woman by whose vanity every conquest is welcomed as a tribute and pursued as an aim, he could never have cared for her at all. Thus while his love took its very origin from his belief of her nobility, he was premeditating the means of having her prove to him that this did not exist. If he told her everything and surprised her love for him, there was the second tragedy. For over there, beyond the scene of such a confession, he could not behold her as anything else than a fatally lowered woman. The agony of this, even as a possibil-ity, overwhelmed him in advance. To require of her that she should have a nature of perfect loyalty and at the same time to ask her to pronounce her own falseness--what happiness could that bring to him? If she could be faithless to one man because she loved another, could she not be false to the second, if in time she grew to love a third? Out of the depths even of his loss of her the terrible cry was wrung from him that no love could long be possible between him and any woman who was not free to love him. And so at last, with that mingling of selfish and unselfish motives, which is like the mixed blood of the heart itself, he had chosen the third tragedy: the silence that would at least leave each of them blameless. And so he had come finally to that high cold table-land where the sun of Love shines rather as the white luminary of another world than the red quickener of this. Over the lofty table-land of Kentucky the sky bent darkest blue, and was filled with wistful, silvery light that afternoon as he walked out to the Falconers'. His face had never looked so clear, so calm; his very linen never so spotless, or so careful about his neck and wrists; and his eyes held again their old beautiful light--saddened. >From away off he could descry her, walking about the yard in the pale sunshine. He had expected to find her preoccupied as usual; but to-day she was strolling restlessly to and fro in front of the house, quite near it and quite idle. When she saw him coming, scarce aware of her own actions, she went round the house and walked on quickly away from him. As he was following and passing the cabin, a hand was quickly put out and the shutter drawn partly to. "How do you do!" That hard, smooth, gay little voice! "You mustn't come here! And don't you peep! When are you going?" He told her. "To-morrow! Why, have you forgotten that I'm married to-morrow! Aren't you coming? Upon my word! I've given you to the widow Babcock, and you are to ride in the procession with her. She has promised me not to laugh once on the way or even to allude to anything cheerful! Be persuaded! . . . Well, I'm sorry. I'll have to give your place to Peter, I suppose. And I'll tell the widow she can be natural and gay: Peter'll not mind! Good-bye! I can't shake hands with you." Behind the house, at the foot of the sloping hill, there was a spring such as every pioneer sought to have near his home; and a little lower down, in one corner of the yard, the water from this had broadened out into a small pond. Dark-green sedgy cane grew thick around half the margin. One March day some seasons before, Major Falconer had brought down with his rifle from out the turquoise sky a young lone-wandering swan. In those early days the rivers and ponds of the wilderness served as resting places and feeding-grounds for these unnumbered birds in their long flights between the Southern waters and the Northern lakes. A wing of this one had been broken, and out of her wide heaven of freedom and light she had floated down his captive but with all her far-sweeping instincts throbbing on unabated. This pool had been the only thing to remind her since of the blue-breasted waves and the glad fellowship of her kind. On this she had passed her existence, with a cry in the night now and then that no one heard, a lifting of the wings that would never rise, an eye turned upward toward the turquoise sky across which familiar voices called to each other, called down, and were lost in the distance. As he followed down the hill, she was standing on the edge of the pond, watching the swan feeding in the edge of the cane. He took her hand without a word, and looked with clear unfaltering eyes down into her face, now swanlike in whiteness. She withdrew her hand and gave him the gloves which she was holding in the other. "I'm glad you thought enough of them to come for them." "I couldn't come! Don't blame me!" "I understand! Only I might have helped you in your trouble. If a friend can't do that--may not do that! But it is too late now! You start for Virginia tomorrow?" "To-morrow." "And to-morrow Amy marries, I lose you both the same day! You are going straight to Mount Vernon?" "Straight to Mount Vernon." "Ah, to think that you will see Virginia so soon! I've been recalling a great deal about Virginia during these days when you would not come to see me. Now I've forgotten everything I meant to say!" They climbed the hill slowly. Two or three times she stopped and pressed her hand over her heart. She tried to hide the sound of her quivering breath and glanced up once to see whether he were observing. He was not. With his old habit of sending his thoughts on into the future, fighting its distant battles, feeling its far-off pain, he was less conscious of their parting than of the years during which he might not see her again. It is the woman who bursts the whole grape of sorrow against the irrepressible palate at such a moment; to a man like him the same grape distils a vintage of yearning that will brim the cup of memory many a time beside his lamp in the final years. He would have passed the house, supposing they were to go to the familiar seat in the garden; but a bench had been placed under a forest tree near the door and she led the way to this. The significance of the action was lost on him. "Yes," she continued, returning to a subject which furnished both an escape and a concealment of her feelings, "I have been revisiting my girlhood. You love Kentucky but I cannot make myself over." Her face grew full of the finest memories and all the fibres of her nature were becoming more unstrung. He had made sure of his strength before he had ever dared see her this day, had pitted his self-control against every possible temptation to betray himself that could arise throughout their parting; and it was this very composure, so unlocked for, that unconsciously drove her to the opposite extreme. Shades of colour swept over her neck and brow, as though she were setting under wind-tossed blossoming peach boughs. Her lustrous, excited eyes seemed never able to withdraw themselves from his whitened solemn face. Its mute repressed suffering touched her; its calmness filled her with vague pain that at such a time he could be so calm. And the current of her words ran swift, as a stream loosened at last from some steep height."Sometime you might be in that part of Virginia. I should like you to know the country there and the place where my father's house stood. And when you see the Resident, I wish you would recall my father to him. And you remember that one of my brothers was a favourite young officer of his. I should like you to hear him speak of them both: he has not forgotten. Ah! My father! He had his faults, but they were all the faults of a gentleman. And the faults of my brothers were the faults of gentlemen. I never saw my mother; but I know how genuine she was by the books she liked and her dresses and her jewels, and the manner in which she had things put away in the closets. One's childhood is everything! If I had not felt I was all there was in the world to speak for my father and my mother and my brothers! Ah, sometimes pride is the greatest of virtues!" He bowed his head in assent. With a swift transition she changed her voice and manner and the conversation: "That is enough about me. Have you thought that you will soon be talking to the greatest man in the world--you who love ideals?" "I have not thought of it lately." "You will think of it soon! And that reminds me: why did you go away as you did the last time you were here--when I wanted to talk with you about the book?" Her eyes questioned him imperiously. "I cannot tell you: that is one of the things you'd better not wish to understand. She continued to look at him, and when she spoke, her voice was full of relief: "It was the first time you ever did anything that I could not understand: I could not read your face that day." "Can you read it now?" he asked, smiling at her sorrowfully. "Perfectly!" "What do you read?" "Everything that I have always liked you for most. Memories are a great deal to me. Ah, if you had ever done anything to spoil yours!" Do you think that if I loved a woman she would know it by looking at my face?" "You would tell her: that is your nature." "Would I? Should I?" "Why not?" There was silence. "Let me talk to you about the book," he cried suddenly. He closed his eyes and passed one hand several times slowly across his forehead; then facing her but with his arm resting on the back of the seat and his eyes shaded by his hand he began: "You were right: it is a book I have needed. At first it appeared centuries old to me and far away: the greatest gorgeous picture I had ever seen of human life anywhere. I could never tell you of the regret with which it filled me not to have lived in those days--of the longing to have been at Camelot to have seen the King and to have served him; to have been friends with the best of the Knights; to have taken their vows; to have gone out with them to right what was wrong, to wrong nothing that was right." The words were wrung from him with slow terrible effort, as though he were forcing himself to draw nearer and nearer some spot of supreme mental struggle. She listened, stilled, as she had never been by any words of his. At the same time she felt stifled--felt that she should have to cry out--that he could be so deeply moved and so self-controlled. More slowly, with more composure, he went on. He was still turned toward her, his hand shading the upper part of his face: "It was not until--not until--afterwards--that I got something more out of it than all that--got what I suppose you meant. . . . suppose you meant that the whole story was not far away from me but present here--its right and wrong--its temptation; that there was no vow a man could take then that a man must not take now; that every man still has his Camelot and his King, still has to prove his courage and his strength to all men . . . and that after he has proved these, he has--as his last, highest act of service in the world. . . to lay them all down, give them all up, for the sake of--of his spirit. You meant that I too, in my life, am to go in quest of the Grail: is it all that?" The tears lay mute on her eyes. She rose quickly and walked away to the garden. He followed her. When they had entered it, he strolled beside her among the plants. "You must see them once more," she said. Her tone was perfectly quiet and careless. Then she continued with animation: "Some day you will not know this garden. When we are richer, you will see what I shall do: with it, with the house, with everything! I do not live altogether on memories: I have hopes." They came to the bench where they were used to talk, She sat down, and waited until she could control the least tremor of her voice. Then she turned upon him her noble eyes, the exquisite passionate tender light of which no effort of the will could curtain in. Nor could any self-restraint turn aside the electrical energy of her words:"I thought I should not let you go away without saying something more to you about what has happened lately with Amy. My interest in you, your future, your success, has caused me to feel everything more than you can possibly realize. But I am not thinking of this now: it is nothing, it will pass. What it has caused me to see and to regret more than anything else is the power that life will have to hurt you on account of the ideals that you have built up in secret. We have been talking about Sir Thomas Malory and chivalry and ideals: there is one thing you need to know--all of us need to know it--and to know it well."Ideals are of two kinds. There are those that correspond to our highest sense of perfection. They express what we might be were life, the world, ourselves, all different, all better. Let these be high as they may! They are not useless because unattainable. Life is not a failure because they are never attained. God Himself requires of us the unattainable: 'Be ye perfect, even as I am perfect! He could not do less. He commands perfection, He forgives us that we are not perfect! Nor does He count us failures because we have to be forgiven. Our ideals also demand of us perfection--the impossible; but because we come far short of this we have no right to count ourselves as failures. What are they like--ideals such as these? They are like light-houses. But light-houses are not made to live in; neither can we live in such ideals. I suppose they are meant to shine on us from afar, when the sea of our life is dark and stormy, perhaps to remind us of a haven of hope, as we drift or sink in shipwreck. All of your ideals are lighthouses. "But there are ideals of another sort; it is these that you lack. As we advance into life, out of larger experience of the world and of ourselves, are unfolded the ideals of what will be possible to us if we make the best use of the world and of ourselves, taken as we are. Let these be as high as they may, they will always be lower than those others which are perhaps the veiled intimations of our immortality. These will always be imperfect; but life is not a failure because they are so. It is these that are to burn for us, not like light-houses in the distance, but like candles in our hands. For so many of us they are too much like candles!--the longer they burn, the lower they burn, until before death they go out altogether! But I know that it will not be thus with you. At first you will have disappoint-ments and sufferings--the world on one side, unattainable ideals of perfection on the other. But by degrees the comforting light of what you may actually do and be in an imperfect world will shine close to you and all around you, more and more. It is this that will lead you never to perfection, but always toward it." He bowed his head: the only answer he could make. It was getting late. The sun at this moment passed behind the western tree-tops. It was the old customary signal for him to go. They suddenly looked at each other in that shadow. "I shall always think of you for your last words to me," he said in a thick voice, rising. "Some day you will find the woman who will be a candle," she replied sadly, rising also. Then with her lips trembling, she added piteously: "Oh, if you ever marry, don't make the mistake of treating the woman as an ideal Treat her in every way as a human being exactly like yourself! With the same weakness, the same strug-les, the same temptations! And as you have some mercy on yourself despite your faults, have some mercy on her despite hers." "Must I ever think of you as having been weak and tempted as I have been?" he cried, the guilty blood rushing into his face in the old struggle to tell her everything. "Oh, as for me--what do you know of me!" she cried, laughing. And then more quickly: "I have read your face! What do you read in mine?" He looked long into it: "All that I have most wished to see in the face of any woman--except one thing!" "What is that? But don't tell me!" She turned away toward the garden gate. In silence they passed out--walking toward the edge of the clearing. Half-way she paused. He lifted his hat and held out his hand. She laid hers in it and they gave each other the long clinging grasp of affection."Always be a good man," she said, tightening her grasp and turning her face away. As he was hurrying off, she called to him in a voice full of emotion: "Come back!" He wheeled and walked towards her blindly. She scanned his face, feature by feature. "Take off your hat!" she said with a tremulous little laugh. He did so and she looked at his forehead and his hair. "Go now, dear friend!" she said calmly but quickly. XXI It was the morning of the wedding. According to the usage of the time the marriage ceremony was to take place early in the forenoon, in order that the guests, gathered in from distant settlements of the wilderness, might have a day for festivity and still reach home before night. Late in the afternoon the bridal couple, escorted by many friends, were to ride into town to Joseph's house, and in the evening there was to be a house-warming. The custom of the backwoods country ran that a man must not be left to build his house alone; and one day some weeks before this wagons had begun to roll in from this direction and that direction out of the forest, hauling the logs for Joseph's cabin. Then with loud laughter and the writhing of tough backs and the straining of powerful arms and legs, men old, middle-aged, and young had raised the house like overgrown boys at play, and then had returned to their own neglected business: so that to him was left only the finishing.He had finished it and furnished it for the simple scant needs of pioneer life.But on this, his wedding morning, he had hardly left the town, escorted by friends on horseback, before many who had variously excused themselves from going began to issue from their homes: women carrying rolls of linen and pones of bread; boys with huge joints of jerked meat and dried tongues of the buffalo, bear, and deer. There was a noggin, a piggin, a churn, a homemade chair; there was a quilt from a grandmother and a pioneer cradle--a mere trough scooped out of a walnut log. An old pioneer sent the antlers of a stag for a hat-rack, and a buffalo rug for the young pair to lie warm under of bitter, winter nights; his wife sent a spinning-wheel and a bundle of shingles for johnny-cakes. Some of the merchants gave packages of Philadelphia groceries; some of the aristo-cratic families parted with heirlooms that had been laboriously brought over the mountains--a cup and saucer of Sevres, a pair of tall brass candlesticks, and a Venus -mirror framed in ebony. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when John Gray jumped on the back of a strong trusty horse at the stable of the Indian Queen, leaned over to shake the hands of the friends who had met there to see him off, and turned his horse's head in the direction of the path that led to the Wilderness Road. But when he had gone about a mile, he struck into the forest at right angles and rode across the country until he reached that green woodland pathway which led from the home of the Falconers to the public road between Lexington and Frankfort. He tied his horse some distance away, and walking back, sat down on the roots of an oak and waited. It was a day when the beauty of the earth makes itself felt like ravishing music that has no sound. The air, warm and full of summer fragrance, was of that ethereal untinged clearness which spreads over all things the softness of velvet. The far-vaulted heavens, so bountiful of light, were an illimitable weightless curtain of pale-blue velvet; the rolling clouds were of white velvet; the grass, the stems of bending wild flowers, the drooping sprays of woodland foliage, were so many forms of emerald velvet; the gnarled trunks of the trees were gray and brown velvet; the wings and breasts of the birds, flitting hither and thither, were of gold and scarlet velvet; the butterflies were stemless, floating velvet blossoms."Farewell, Kentucky! farewell!" he said, looking about him at it all. Two hours passed. The shadows were lengthening rapidly. Over the forest, like the sigh of a spirit, swept from out the west the first intimation of waning light, of the mysteries of coming darkness. At last there reached his ear from far down the woodland path the sounds of voices and laughter--again and again--louder and louder--and then through the low thick boughs he caught glimpses of them coming. Now beneath the darker arches of the trees, now across pale-green spaces shot by slanting sunbeams. Once there was a halt and a merry outcry. Long grape-vines from opposite sides of the road had been tied across it, and this barrier had to cut through. Then on they came again: At the head of procession, astride an old horse that in his better days had belonged to a mounted rifleman, rode the parson. He was several yards ahead of the others and quite forgetful of them. The end of his flute stuck neglectedly out of his waistcoat pocket; his bridle reins lay slack on the neck of the drowsy beast; his hands were piled on the pommel of the saddle as over his familiar pulpit; his dreamy moss-agate eyes were on the tree-tops far ahead. In truth he was preparing a sermon on the affection of one man for another and ransacking Scripture for illustrations; and he meant to preach this the following Sunday when there would be some one sadly missed among his hearers. Nevertheless he enjoyed great peace of spirit this day: it was not John who rode behind him as the bridegroom: otherwise he would as soon have returned to the town at the head of the forces of Armageddon. Behind the parson came William Penn in the glory of a new bridle and saddle and a blanket of crimson cloth; his coat smooth as satin, his mane a tumbling cataract of white silk; bunches of wild roses at his ears; his blue-black eyes never so soft, and seeming to lift his feet cautiously like an elephant bearing an Indian princess. They were riding side by side, the young husband and wife. He keeping one hand on the pommel of her saddle, thus holding them together; while with the other he used his hat to fan his face, now hers, though his was the one that needed it, she being cool and quietly radiant with the thoughts of her triumph that day--the triumph of her wedding, of her own beauty. Furthermore show was looking ahead to the house-warming that night when she would be able to triumph again and also count her presents. Then came Major and Mrs. Falconer. Her face was hidden by a veil and as they passed, it was held turned toward him: he was talking, uninterrupted. Then followed Horatio Turpin and Kitty Poythress; and then Erskine and his betrothed, he with fresh feathers of the hawk and the scarlet tanager gleaming in his cap above his swart, stern aquiline face. Then Peter, beside the widow Babcock; he openly aflame and solicitous; she coy and discreetly inviting, as is the wisdom of some. Then others and others and others--a long gay pageant, filling the woods with merry voices and laughter. They passed and the sounds died away--passed on to the town awaiting the, to the house-warming, and please God, to long life and some real affection and happiness. Once he had expected to ride beside her at the head of this procession. There had gone by him the vision of his own life as it was to have been. Long after the last sound had ceased in the distance he was sitting at the root of the red oak. The sun set, the moon rose, he was there still. A loud, impatient neigh from his horse aroused him. He sprang lightly up, meaning to ride all night and not to draw rein until he had crossed the Kentucky River and reached Traveller's Rest, the home of Governor Shelby, where he had been invited to break his travel. All that nigh he rode and at sunrise was far away. Pausing on a height and turning his horse's head, he sat a long time motion-less as a statue. Then he struck his feet into its flank and all that day rode back again. The sun was striking the tree-tops as he neared the clearing. He could see her across the garden. She sat quite still, her face turned toward the horizon. Against her breast, opened but forgotten, lay a book. He could recognize it. By that story she had judged him and wished to guide him. The smile smote his eyes like the hilt of a knight's sword used as a Cross to drive away the Evil One. For he knew the evil purpose with which he had returned. And so he sat watching her until she rose and walked slowly to the house. XXII IT was early autumn when the first letters from him were received over the mountains. All these had relation to Mount Vernon and his business there. To the Transylvania Library Committee he wrote that the President had mad a liberal subscription for the buying of books and that the Vice-President and other public men would be likely to contribute. His sonorous, pompous letter to a member of the Democratic Society was much longer and in part as follows: "When I made know to the President who I was and where I came from, he regarded me with a look at once so stern and so benign, that I felt like one of my school-boys overtaken in some small rascality and was almost of a mind to march straight to a corner of the room and stand with my face to the wall. If he had seized me by the coat collar and trounced me well, I should somehow have felt that he had the right. From the conversations that followed I am led to believe that he knows the name of every prominent member of the Democratic Society of Lexington, and that he understands Kentucky affairs with regard to national and international complications as no other living man. While questioning me on the subject, he had the manner of one who, from conscientiousness, would further verify facts which he had already tested. But what impressed me even more than his knowledge was his justice; in illustration of which I shall never forget his saying, that the part which Kentucky had taken, or had wished to take, in the Spanish and French conspiracies had caused him greater solicitude than any other single event since the foundation of the National Government; but that nowhere else in America had the struggle for immediate self-government been so necessary and so difficult, and that nowhere else were the mistakes of patriotic and able men more natural or more to be judged with mildness. "I think I can quote his very words when he spoke of the foolish jealousies and heartburnings, due to misrepresentations, that have influenced Kentucky against the East as a section and against the Government as favouring it: 'The West derives from the East supplies requisite to its growth and comfort; and what is perhaps of still greater consequence, it must of necessity owe the secure enjoyment of indispensable outlets for its own production to the weight, influence, and future maritime strength of the Atlantic side of the Union, directed by an indissoluble community of interest, as One Nation.' "Memorable to me likewise was the language in which he proceeded to show that this was true: "'The inhabitants of our Western country have lately had a useful lesson on this head. They have seen in the negotiations by the Executive, and in the unanimous ratification by the Senate of the treaty with Spain, and in the universal satisfaction of that event throughout the United States, a decisive proof how unfounded were the suspicions propagated among them of a policy in the General Government and in the Atlantic States unfriendly to their interests in regard to the Mississippi. . . . Will they not henceforth be deaf to those advisers, if such there are, who would sever them from their Brethren and connect them with Aliens?' "I am frank to declare that, having enjoyed the high privilege of these interviews with the President and been brought to judge rightly what through ignorance I had judged amiss, I feel myself in honour bound to renounce my past political convictions and to resign my membership in the Lexington Democratic Society. Nor shall I join the Democratic Society of Philadelphia, as had been my ardent purpose; and it will not be possible for me on reaching that city to act as the emissary of the Kentucky Clubs. But I shall lay before the Society the despatches of which I am the bearer. And will you lay before yours the papers herewith enclosed, containing my formal resignation with the grounds thereof carefully stated?" To Mrs. Falconer he wrote bouyantly: "I have crossed the Kentucky Alps, seen the American Caesar, carried away some of his gold. I came, I saw, I overcame. How do you think I met the President? I was riding toward Mount Vernon one quiet sunny afternoon and unexpectedly came upon an old gentleman who was putting up some bars that opened into a wheat-filed by the roadside. He had on long boots, corduroy smalls, a speckled red jacket, blue coat with yellow buttons, and a broad-brimmed hat. He held a hickory switch in his hand. An umbrella and a long staff were attached to his saddle-bow. His limbs were so long, large, and sinewy; his countenance so lofty, masculine, and contemplative; and although he was of a presence so statue-like and venerable that my heart with a great throb cried out, It is Washington!" "My dear friend," he wrote at the close, "it is of no little worth to me that I should have come to Mount Vernon at this turning-point of my life. I find myself uplifted to a plane of thought and feeling higher than has ever been trod by me. When I began to draw near this place, I seemed to be mounting higher, like a man ascending a mountain; and ever since my arrival there has been this same sense of rising into a still loftier atmosphere, of surveying a vaster horizon, of beholding the juster relations of surrounding objects. "All this feeling has its origin in my contemplation of the character of the President. You know that when a heavy sleet falls upon the Kentucky forest, the great trees crack and split, or groan and stagger, with branches snapped off or trailing. In adversity it is often so with men. But he is a vast mountain-peak, always calm, always lofty, always resting upon a base that nothing can shake; never higher, never lower, never changing; from every quarter of the earth storms have rushed in and beaten upon him; but they have passed; he is as he was. The heavens have emptied their sleets and snows on his head,--these have made him look only purer, only the more sublime. "From the spectacle of this great man thus bearing the great burdens of his great life, a new standard of what is possible to human nature has been raised within me. I have seen with my own eyes a man whom the adverse forces of the world have not been able to wreck--a lover of perfection, who has so wrought it out in his character that to know him is to be awed into reverence of his virtues. I shall go away from him with nobler hopes of what a man may do and be. "It is to you soley that I owe the honour of having enjoyed the personal consideration of the President. His reception of me had been in the highest degree ceremonious and distant; but upon my mentioning the names of father and brother, his manner grew warm: I had touched that trait of affectionate faithfulness with which he has always held on to every tie of kin and friendship. That your father should have fought against him and your brother under him made no difference in his memory. He had many questions to ask regarding you--your happiness, your family--to some of which I could return the answers that gave him pleasure or left him thoughtful. Upon my setting out from Mount Vernon, his last words made me the bearer of his message to you, the child of an old comrade and the sister or a gallant young soldier." Beyond this there was nothing personal in his letter and nothing as to his return. When she next heard, he was in Philadelphia, giving his attention to the choosing and shipment of the books. One piece of news, imparted in perfect calmness by him, occasioned her acute disappointment. His expectation of coming into possession of some ten thousand dollars had not quite been realized. An appeal had been taken and the case was yet pending. He was pleased neither with the good faith nor with the good sense of the counsel engaged; and he would remain on the spot himself during the trial. He added that he was lodging with a pleasant family. Then followed the long winter during which all communication between the frontier and the seaboard was interrupted. When spring returned at last and the earliest travel was resumed, other letters came, announcing that the case had gone against him, and that he had nothing. She sold at once all the new linen that had been woven, got together all the money she otherwise could and despatched it with Major Falconer's consent, begging him to make use of it for the sake of their friendship--not to be foolish and proud: there were lawyers' fees it could help to pay, or other plain practical needs it might cover. But when the post-rider returned, he brought it all back with a letter of gratitude: only, he couldn't accept it. And the messenger had been warned not to let it be known that he was in prison for debt on account of these same suit expenses; for having from the first formed a low opinion of his counsel's honour and ability and having later expressed this opinion at the door of the court-room with a good deal of fire and a good deal of contempt, and being furthermore unable and unwilling to pay the exorbitant fee, he had been promptly clapped into jail by the incensed attorney, as well for his poverty and for his temper and his pride. In jail he spent that spring and summer and autumn. Then an important turn was given to his history. It seems that among the commissions with which he was charged on leaving Lexington was one from Edward West, the watchmaker and inventor, who some time before, and long before Fulton, had made trial of steam navigation with a small boat on the Town Fork of the Elkhorn, and who desired to have his invention brought before the American Philosophical Society of Philadelphia. He had therefore placed a full description of his steamboat in John's hands with the request that he would enforce this with the testimony of an eye-witness as to its having moved through water. At this time, through Franklin's influence, the Society was keenly interested in the work of inventors, having received also some years previous from Hyacinthe de Magellan two hundred guineas to be used for rewarding the authors of improvements and discoveries. Accordingly it took up the subject of West's invention but desired to hear more regarding the success of the experiment; and so requested John to appear before it at one of its meetings. But upon looking for this obscure John and finding him in jail, the committee were under the necessity of appearing before him. Whereupon, grown interested in him and made acquainted with the ground of his unreasonable imprisonment, some of the members effected his release--by recourse to the attorney with certain well-direct threats that he could easily be put into jail for his own debts. Not only this; but soon afterwards the young Westerner was taken into the law-office of one of these gentlemen, binding himself for a term of years. It was not until spring that he wrote he humorously of his days in jail; but when it came to telling her of the other matter, the words refused to form themselves before his will or his hand to shape them on the paper. He would do this in the next letter, he said to himself mournfully. But early that winter Major Falconer had died, and his next letter was but a short hurried reply to one from her, bringing him this intelligence. And before he wrote again, certain grave events had happened that led him still further to defer acquainting her with his new situation, new duties, new plans. That same spring, then, during which he was entering upon his career in Philadelphia, she too began really to live. And beginning to live, she began to build--inwardly and outwardly; for what is all life but ceaseless inner and outer building? As the first act, she sold one of the major's military grants, reserving the ample, noble, parklike one on which she had passed existence up to this; and near the cabin she laid the foundations of her house. Not the great ancestral manor-house on the James and yet a seaboard aristocratic Virginia country-place: two story brick with two-story front veranda of Corinthian columns; wide hall, wide stairway; oak wood interior, hand-carved, massive; sliding doors between the large library and large dining-room; great bedrooms, great fireplaces, great brass fenders and fire-dogs, brass locks and keys: full of elegance, spaciousness, comfort, rest. In every letter she sent him that spring and summer and early autumn, always she had something to tell him about this house, about the room in it built for him, about the negros she had bought, the land she was clearing, the changes and improvements everywhere: as to many things she wanted his advice. That year also she sent back to Virginia for flower-seed and shrub and plants--the same old familiar ones that had grown on her father's lawn, in the garden, about the walls, along the water--some of which had been bought over from England: the flags, the lilies, honeysuckles, calacanthus, snowdrops, roses--all of them. Speaking of this, she wrote him that of course that most of these would have to be set out that autumn, and little could be done for grounds till the following season; but the house!--it was to be finished before winter set in. In the last of these letters, she ended by saying: "I think I know now the very day you will be coming back. I can hear your horse's feet rustling in the leaves of--I said--October; but I will say November this time." His replies were unsatisfying. There had been the short, hurried, earnest letter, speaking of Major Falconer's death: that was all right. But since then a vague blinding mist had seemed to lie between her eyes and every page. Something was kept hidden--some new trouble. "I shall understand everything when he comes!" she would say to herself each time. "I can wait." Her buoyancy was irrepressible. Late that autumn the house was finished--one of those early country-places yet to be seen here and there on the landscape of Kentucky, marking the building era of the aristocratic Virginians and renewing in the wilderness the architecture of the James. She had taken such delight in furnishing her room: in the great bedstead with its mighty posts, its high tester, its dainty, hiding curtains; such delight in choosing, in bleaching, in weaving the linen for it! And the pillowcases--how expectant they were on the two pillows now set side by side at the head of the bed, with the delicate embroidery in the centre of each! At first she had thought of working her initials within an oval-shaped vine; but one day, her needle suddenly arrested in the air, she had simply worked a rose. Late one afternoon, when the blue of Indian summer lay on the walls of the forest like a still sweet veil, she came home from a walk in the woods. Her feet had been rustling among the brown leaves and each time she had laughed. At her round white throat she had pinned a scarlet leaf, from an old habit of her girlhood. But was not Kentucky turning into Virginia? Was not womanhood becoming girlhood again? She was still so young--only thirty-eight. She had the right to be bringing in from the woods a bunch of the purple violets of November. She sat down in her shadowy room before the deep fireplace; where there was such comfort now, such loneliness. In early years at such hours she had like to play. She resolved to get her a spinet. Yes; and she would have myrtle-berry candles instead of tallow, and a slender-legged mahogany table beside which to read again in the Spectator and "Tom Jones." As nearly as she could she would bring back everything that she had been used to in her childhood--was not all life still before her? If he were coming, it must be soon, and she would know what had been keeping him--what it was that had happened. She had walked to meet him so many times already. And the heartless little gusts of wind, starting up among the leaves in the woods, how often they had fooled her ear and left her white and trembling! The negro boy who had been sent to town on other business and to fetch the mail, soon afterwards knocked and entered. There was a letter from him--a short one and a paper. She read the letter and could not believe her own eyes, could not believe her own mind. Then she opened the paper and read the announcement of it printed there": he was married. That night in her bedroom--with the great clock measuring out life in the corner--the red logs turning slowly to ashes--the crickets under the bricks of the hearth singing of summer gone--that night, sitting by the candle-stand, where his letter lay opened, in a nightgown white as white samite, she loosened the folds of her heavy lustrous hair--wave upon wave--until the edges that rippled over her forehead rippled down over her knees. With the loosening of her hair somehow had come the loosening of her tears. And with the loosening of her tears came the loosening of her hold upon what she, until this night, had never acknowledged to herself--her love for him, the belief that he had loved her. The next morning the parson, standing a white, cold shepherd before his chilly wilderness flock, preached a sermon from the text: "I shall go softly all my years." While the heads of the rest were bowed during the last moments of prayer, she rose and slipped out. "Yes," she said to herself, gathering her veil closely about her face as she alighted at the door of her house and the withered leaves of November were whirled fiercely about her feet, "I shall go softly all my years." XXIII AFTER this the years were swept along. Fast came the changes in Kentucky. The prophecy which John Gray had made to his school-children passed to its realization and reality went far beyond it. In waves of migration, hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of settlers of the Anglo-Saxon race hurried into the wilderness and there jostled and shouldered each other in the race passion of soil-owning and home-building; or always farther westward they rushed, pushing the Indian back. Lexington became the chief manufacturing town of the new civilization, thronged by merchants and fur-clad traders; gathered into it were men and women making a society that would have been brilliant in the capitals of the East; at its bar were heard illustrious voices, the echoes of which are not yet dead, are past all dying; the genius of young Jouett found for itself the secret of painting canvases so luminous and true that never since in the history of the State have they been equalled; the Transylvania University arose with lecturers famous enough to be known in Europe: students of law and medicine travelled to it from all parts of the land. John Gray's school-children grew to be men and women. For the men there were no longer battles to fight in Kentucky, but there were the wars of the Nation; and far away on the widening boundaries of the Republic they conquered or failed and fell; as volunteers with Perry in the victory on Lake Erie; in the awful massacre at the River Raisin; under Harrison at the Thames; in the mud and darkness of the Mississippi at New Orleans, repelling Pakenham's charge with Wellington's veteran, victory-flushed campaigners. The school-master's friend, the parson, he too had known his more peaceful warfare, having married and become a manifold father. Of a truth it was feared at one period that the parson was running altogether to prayers and daughters. For it was remarked that with each birth, his petitions seemed longer and his voice to rise from behind the chancel with a fresh wail as of one who felt a growing grievance both against himself and the almighty. Howbeit, innocently enough after the appearance of the fifth female infant, one morning he preached the words: "No man knoweth what manner of creature he is"; and was unaware that a sudden smile rippled over the faces of his hearers. But it was not until later on when mother and six were packed into one short pew at morning service, that they became known in a body as the parson's Collect for all Sundays. Sometimes the little ones were divided and part of them sat in another pew where there was a single occupant--a woman--childless. "Yes"," she had said, "I shall go softly all my years." The plants she had brought that summer from Virginia had long since become old bushes. The Virginia Creeper had climbed to the tops of the trees. The garden, though in the same spot, was another place now, with vine-heavy arbours and sodden walks running between borders of flowers and vegetables--daffodils and thyme--in the quaint Virginia fashion. There was a lawn covered as the ancestral one had been with the feathery grass of England. There was a park where the deer remained at home in their wilderness. Crowning this landscape of comfort and good taste, stood the house. Often of nights when its roof lay deep under snow and the eaves were bearded with hoary icicles, there were candles twinkling at every window and the sounds of music and dancing in the parlours. Once a year there was a great venison supper in the dining-room, draped with holly and mistletoe. On Christmas eve man a child's sock or stocking was hung--no one knew when or by whom--around the shadowy chimney-seat of her room; and every Christmas morning the little negros from the cabins knew to whom each of these belonged. In spring, parties of young girls and youths came out from town for fishing parties and picknicked in the lawn amid the dandelions and under the song of the blackbird; during the summer, for days at a time, other gay company filled the house; of autumns there were nutting parties in the russet woods. Other guests also, not young, not gay. Aaron Burr was entertained there; there met for counsel the foremost Western leaders in his magnificent conspiracy. More than one great man of his day, middle-aged, unmarried, began his visits, returned oftener for awhile--always alone--and one day drove away disappointed. Through seasons and changes she had gone softly: never retreating from life but drawing about her as closely as she could its ties, its sympathies, it duties: in all things a character of the finest equipois, the truest moderation. But these are women of the world--some of us men may have discerned one of them in the sweep of our experiences--to whom the joy and the sorrow come alike with quietness. For them there is neither the cry of sudden delight nor the cry of sudden anguish. Gazing deep into their eyes, we are reminded of the light of dim churches; hearing their voices, we dream of some minstrel whose murmurs reach us imperfectly through his fortress wall; beholding the sweetness of their faces, we are touched as by the appeal of the mute flowers; merely meeting them in the street, we recall the long-vanished image of the Divine Goodess. They are the women who have missed happiness and who know it, but having failed of affection, give themselves to duty. And so life never rises high and close about them as about one who stands waist-deep in a wheat-field, gathering at will either its poppies or its sheaves; it flows forever away as from one who pauses waist-deep in a stream and hearkens rather to the rush of all things toward the eternal deeps. It was into the company of theses quieter pilgrims that she had passed: she had missed happiness twice. Her beauty had never failed. Nature had fought hard in her for all things; and to the last youth of her womanhood it burned like an autumn rose which some morning we may have found on the lawn under a dew that is turning to ice. But when youth was gone, in the following years her face began to reflect the freshness of Easter lilies. For prayer will in time make the human countenance its own divinest alter; years upon years of true thoughts, like ceaseless music shut up within, will vibrate along the nerves of expression until the lines of the living instrument are drawn into correspondence, and the harmony of visible form matches the unheard harmonies of the mind. It was about this time also that there fell upon her hair the earliest rays of the light which is the dawn of Eternal Morning. She had never ceased to watch his career as part of her very life. Time was powerless to remove him farther from her than destiny had removed him long before: it was always yesterday; the whole past with him seemed caught upon the clearest mirror just at her back. Once or twice a year she received a letter, books, papers, something; she had been kept informed of the birth of his children. From other sources--his letters to the parson, traders between Philadelphia and the West--she knew other things: he had risen in the world, was a judge, often leading counsel in great cases, was almost a great man. She planted her pride, her gratitude, her happiness, on this new soil: they were the few seed that a woman in the final years will sow in a window-box and cover the window-pane and watch and water and wake and think of in the night--she who was used once to range the fields. But never from the first to last had she received a letter from him that was transparent; the mystery stayed unlifted; she had to accept the constancy of his friendship without its confidence. Question or chiding of course there never was from her; inborn refinement alone would have kept her from curiosity or prying; but she could not put away the conviction that the concealment which he steadily adhered to was either delicately connected with his marriage or registered but too plainly some downward change in himself. Which was it, or was it both? Had he too missed happiness? Missed it as she had--by a union with a perfectly commonplace, plodding, unimaginative, unsympathetic, unrefined nature? And was it a mercy to be able to remember him, not to know him? These thoughts filled her so often, so often! For into the busiest life--the life that toils to shut out thought--the inevitable leisure will come; and with the leisure will return the dreaded emptiness, the loneliness, the never stifled need of sympathy, affection, companionship--for that world of two outside of which every other human being is a stranger. And it was he who entered into all these hours of hers as by a right that she had neither the heart nor the strength to question. For behind everything else there was one thing more--deeper than anything else, dearer, more sacred; the feeling she would never surrender that for a while at least he had cared more for her than he had ever realized. One mild afternoon of autumn she was walking with quiet dignity around her garden. She had just come from town where she had given to Jouett the last sitting of her portrait, and she was richly dressed in the satin gown and cap of lace which those who see the picture nowadays will remember. The finishing of it had saddened her a little; she meant to leave it to him; and she wondered whether, when he looked into the eyes of this portrait, he would at last understand": she had tried to tell him the truth; it was the truth that Jouett painted. Thus she was thinking of the past as usual; and once she paused in the very spot where one sweet afternoon of May long ago he had leaned over the fence, holding in his hand his big black had decorated with a Jacobin cockade, and had asked her consent to marry Amy. Was not yonder the very maple, in the shade of which he and she sat some weeks later while she had talked with him about the ideals of life? She laughed, but she touched her handkerchief to her eyes as she turned to pass on. Then she stopped abruptly. Coming down the garden walk toward her with a light rapid step, his head in the air, a smile on his fresh noble face, an earnest look in his gray eyes, was a tall young fellow of some eighteen years. A few feet off he lifted his hat with a free, gallant air, uncovering a head of dark-red hair, closely curling. "I beg your pardon, madam," he said, in a voice that fell on her ears like music long remembered. "Is this Mrs. Falconer?" "Yes," she replied, beginning to tremble, "I am Mrs. Falconer." "Then I should like to introduce myself to you, dearest madam. I am John Gray, the son of your old friend, and my father sends me to you to stay with you if you will let me. And he desires me to deliver this letter." "John Gray!" she cried, running forward and searching his face. "You John Gray! You! Take off your hat!" For a moment she looked at his forehead and his hair; her eyes became blinded with tears. She threw her arms around his neck with a sob and covered his face with kisses. "Madam," said the young fellow, stooping to pick up his hat, and laughing outright at his own blushes and confusion, "I don't wonder that my father thinks so much of you!" "I never did that to your father!" she retorted. Beneath the wrinkled ivory of her skin a tinge of faintest pink appeared and disappeared. Half and hour later she was sitting at a western window. Young John Gray had gone to the library to write to his father and mother, announcing his arrival; and in her lap lay his father's letter which with tremulous fingers she was now wiping her spectacles to read. In all these years she had never allowed herself to think of her John Gray as having grown older; she saw him still young, as when he used to lean over the garden fence. But now the presence of this son had the effect of suddenly pushing the father far on into life; and her heart ached with this first realization that he too must have passed the climbing-point and have set his feet on the shaded downward slope that leads to the quiet valley. His letter began lightly: "I send John to you with the wish that you will be to the son the same inspiring soul you once were to the father. You will find him headstrong and with great notions of what he is to be in the world. But he is warm-hearted and clean-hearted. Let him do for you the things I used to do; let him hold the yarn on his arms for you to wind off, and read to you your favourite novels; he is a good reader for a young fellow. And will you get out your spinning-wheel some night when the logs are in roaring in the fireplace and let him hear its music? Will you some time with your hands make him a johnny-cake on a new ash shingle? I want him to know a woman who can do all things and still be a great lady. And lay upon him all the burdens that in any way you can, so that he shall not think too much of what he may some day do in life, but, of what he is actually doing. We get great reports of the Transylvania University, of the bar of Lexington, of the civilization that I foresaw would spring up in Kentucky; and I send John to you with the wish that he hear lectures and afterward go into the office of some one whom I shall name, and finally marry and settle there for life. You recall this as the wish of my own; through John shall be done what I could not do. You see how stubborn I am! I have given him the names of my school-children. He is to find out those of them who still live there, and to tell me of those who have passed away or been scattered. "I do not know; but if at the end of life I should be left alone here, perhaps I shall make my way back to Kentucky to John, as the old tree falls beside the young one." >From this point the tone of the letter changed. "And now I am going to open to you what no other eye has ever seen, must ever see--one page in the book of my life." When she reached these words with a contraction of the heart and a loud throbbing of the pulses in her ears, she got up and locked the letter in her bureau. Then, commanding herself, she went to the dining-room, and with her own hands prepared the supper table; got our her finest linen, glass, silver; had the sconces lighted, extra candelabra brought in; gave orders for especial dishes to be cooked; and when everything was served, seated her guest at the foot of the table and let him preside as though it were his old rightful place. Ah, how like his father he was! Several times when the father's name was mentioned, he quite choked up with tears. At an early hour he sought rest from the fatigue of travel. She was left alone. The house was quiet. She summoned the negro girl who slept on the floor in her room and who was always with her of evenings: "You can go to the cabin till bedtime. And when you come in, don't make any noise. And don't speak to me. I shall be asleep." Then seating herself beside the little candle stand which mercifully for her had had shed its light on so many books in the great lonely bedchamber, she re-read those last words: "And now I am going to open to you what no other eye has ever seen, must ever see--one page in the book of my life: "Can you remember the summer I left Kentucky? On reaching Philadelphia I called on a certain family consisting, as I afterwards ascertained, of father, mother, and daughter; and being in search of lodgings, I was asked to become a member of their household. This offer was embraced the more eagerly because I was sick for a home that summer and in need of some kind soul to lean on in my weakness. I had indeed been led for these reasons to seek their acquaintance--the father and mother having known my own parents even before I met them. You will thus understand how natural a haven with my loneliness and amid such memories this house became to me, and upon what grounds I stood in my association with its members from the beginning. "When the lawsuit went against me and I was wrongfully thrown into jail for debt, their faithful interest only deepened. Very poor themselves, they would yet have make any sacrifice in my behalf. During the months of my imprisonment they were often with me, bringing every comfort and brightening the dulness of many an hour. "Upon my release I returned gladly to their joyous household, welcomed I could not say with what joyous affection. Soon afterwards I found a position in the office of a law firm and got my start in life. "And now I cross the path of some things that cannot be written. But you who know what my life and character had been will nobly understand: remember your last words to me. "One day I offered my hand to the daughter. I told her the whole truth: that there was some one else--not free; that no one could take the place of this other was filling at the moment, and would always fill. Nevertheless, if she would accept me on these conditions, everything that it was in my power to promise she could have. "She said that in time she would win the rest. "A few weeks later that letter came from you, bringing the intelligence that changed everything. (Do you remember my reply? I seem only this moment to have dropped the pen.) As soon as I could control myself, I told her that now you were free, that it was but justice and kindness alike to her and to me that I should give here the chance to reconsider the engagement. A week passed, I went again. I warned her how different the situation had become. I could promise less than before--I could not say how little. A month later I went again. "Ah, well--that is all! "The summer after my marriage I travelled to Virginia regarding a landsuit. One day I rode far out of my course into the path of the country where you lived. I remained some days strolling over the silent woods and fields, noting the bushes on the lawn, such as you had carried over into Kentucky, hunting out the quiet nooks where you were used to read in your girlhood. Those long, sweet, sacred summer days alone with you there before you were married! O Jessica! Jessica! Jessica! Jessica! And to this day the sight of peach blossoms in the spring--the rustle of autumn leaves under my feet! Can you recall the lines of Malory? 'Men and women could love together seven years, and then was love truth and faithfulness.' How many more than seven have I loved you!--you who never gave me anything but friendship, but who would in time, I hope, have given me everything if I had come back. Ah, I did come back! Many a time even now as soon as I have hurried through the joyous gateways of sleep, I come back over the mountains to you as naturally as though there had been no years to separate and to age. Let me tell you all this! My very life would be incomplete without it! I owed something to you long before I owed anything to another: a duty can never set aside a duty. And as to what I have owed you since, it becomes more and more the noblest earthly that I shall ever leave unpaid. I did not know you perfectly when we parted: I was too young, too ignorant of the world, too ignorant of many women. A man must have touched their coarseness in order to appreciate their refinement; have been wounded by untruthfulness to understand their delicate honour; he must have been driven to turn his eyes mercifully away from their stain before he can ever look with all the reverence and gratitude of his heart and soul upon their brows of chastity. "But of my life otherwise. I take it fir granted that you would know where I stand, what I have become, whether I have kept faith with the ideals of my youth. "I have succeeded, perhaps reached now what men call the highest point of their worldly prosperity, made good my resolve that no human power should defeat me. All that Macbeth had not I have: a quiet throne of my own, children, wife, troops of friends, duties, honours, ease. There have been times when with natural misgiving lest I had wandered too far these many summers on a sea of glory, I have prepared for myself the lament of Wolsey on his fall: yet ill fortune had not overwhelmed me or mine. "All this prosperity, as the mere fruit of my toil, has been less easy than for many. I may not boast the Apostle that I have fought a good fight, but I can say that I fought a hard one. The fight will always be hard for any man who undertakes to conquer life with the few simple weapons I have used and who will accept victory only upon such terms as I have demanded. For be my success small or great, it has been won without inner compromise or other form of self-abasement. No man can look me in the eyes and say I ever wronged him for my own profit; none may charge that I have smiled on him in order to use him, or call him my friend that I might make him do for me the work of a servant. "Do not imagine I fail to realize that I have added my full share to the general evil of the world: in part unconsciously, in part against my conscious will. It is the knowledge of this influence of imperfection forever flowing from myself to all others that has taught me charity with all the wrongs that flow from others toward me. As I have clung to myself despite the evil, so I have clung to the world despite all the evil that is in the world. To lose faith in men, not humanity; to see justice go down and not believe in the triumph of injustice; for every wrong that you weakly deal another or another deals you to love more and more the fairness and beauty of what is right; and so to turn with ever-increasing love from the imperfection that is in us all to the Perfection that is above us all--the perfection that is God: this is one of the ideals of actual duty that you once said were to be as candles in my hand. Many a time this candle has gone out; but as quickly as I could snatch any torch--with your sacred name on my lips--it has been relighted. "My candles are all beginning to burn low now. For as we advance far on into life, one by one our duties end, one by one the lights go out. Not much ahead of me now must lurk the great mortal changes, coming always nearer, always faster. As they approach, I look less to my candles, more toward my candles, more toward my lighthouses--those distant unfailing beacons that cast their rays over the stormy sea of this life from the calm ocean of the Infinate. I know this: that if I should live to be an old man, my duties ended and my candles gone, it is these that will shine in upon me in that vacant darkness. And I have this belief: that if we did but recognize them aright, these ideals at the close of life would become one with the ideals of youth. We lost them as we left mortal youth behind; we regain them as we enter upon youth immortal. "If I have kept unbroken faith with any of mine, thank you. And thank God!" End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Choir Invisible, by James Lane Allen
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69932
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nRF24L01+ power consumption footprint
I hooked my Dirt Cheap Low Power Wireless Sensor Node (DCLPWSN :-) ) to the scope to see what is going on during transmissions. I used this library for the test, and this code:
* Pins:
* Hardware SPI:
* MISO -> 12
* MOSI -> 11
* SCK -> 13
* Configurable:
* CE -> 8
* CSN -> 7
#include <avr/sleep.h>
#include <avr/power.h>
typedef enum { wdt_16ms = 0, wdt_32ms, wdt_64ms, wdt_128ms, wdt_250ms, wdt_500ms, wdt_1s, wdt_2s, wdt_4s, wdt_8s } wdt_prescalar_e;
const short sleep_cycles_per_transmission = 1;
volatile short sleep_cycles_remaining = sleep_cycles_per_transmission;
#include <SPI.h>
#include <Mirf.h> //
#include <nRF24L01.h>
#include <MirfHardwareSpiDriver.h>
void setup(){
// disable ADC
ADCSRA = 0;
// turn off various modules
//PRR = 0xFF;
// turn off brown-out enable in software
MCUCR = _BV (BODS);
// Prepare sleep parameters
* Setup pins / SPI.
/* To change CE / CSN Pins:
Mirf.cePin = 8;
Mirf.csnPin = 7;
Mirf.spi = &MirfHardwareSpi;
* Configure reciving address.
Mirf.setRADDR((byte *)"clie1");
* Set the payload length to sizeof(unsigned long) the
* return type of millis().
Mirf.payload = sizeof(unsigned long);
* Write channel and payload config then power up reciver.
*/ = 7;
* To change channel:
* = 10;
* NB: Make sure channel is legal in your area.
void loop(){
unsigned long time = millis();
Mirf.send((byte *)&time);
// Sleep the MCU. The watchdog timer will awaken in a short while, and
// continue execution here.
// digitalWrite(9,LOW);
while( sleep_cycles_remaining )
sleep_cycles_remaining = sleep_cycles_per_transmission;
// Sleep helpers
// 0=16ms, 1=32ms,2=64ms,3=125ms,4=250ms,5=500ms
void setup_watchdog(uint8_t prescalar)
prescalar = min(9,prescalar);
uint8_t wdtcsr = prescalar & 7;
if ( prescalar & 8 )
wdtcsr |= _BV(WDP3);
MCUSR &= ~_BV(WDRF);
WDTCSR = _BV(WDCE) | wdtcsr | _BV(WDIE);
void do_sleep(void)
set_sleep_mode(SLEEP_MODE_PWR_DOWN); // sleep mode is set here
sleep_mode(); // System sleeps here
The output is as follows:
The consumption peaks to 27.8mA (but averaging that over the transmission period will give you roughlty 12mA as the datasheet states). The 4 bytes payload (unsigned long) take 2.88ms to transmit, that includes the overhead. I will still have to experiment with slower/higher data rates and how that affects range. (2529)
3 thoughts on “nRF24L01+ power consumption footprint
1. Hi Martin,
Nice example using the nrf24l01.
I could test it on a breadboard atmega328 @ 16MHZ and 3.0V, and I got 0.87 mA during sleep and 1.1 mA during transmission.
I’d like to ask you if you already tried to wake the nrf24l01 using the IRQ signal after put every body to sleep (transceiver and microcontroller) using mirf lib.
I’m facing this issue, after set nrf24l01 to power down mode, I could be able to detect the signal from incoming message (if I don’t put the transceiver to sleep, I could detect IRQ signal with no problems and wake MCU !!! =D).
2. Hi Gavazza,
as datasheet says, NRF can’t rcv anything during power down, thus it will never let the IRQ pin active,(nothing received during power down)
• Hi David,
Thanks for your reply, since I read that in sleep mode it kept the SPI registers active, I though that I could try to receive and access the register to verify for a new incoming message.
I believe I could use the nrf24L01+ in standby I mode (something around 22-25 uA). BUT ….. on my last configuration tests I couldn’t get this low current measure :(. The set (atmega328 internal 8mhz + nrf24l01+) is consuming 1.5 mA (atmega in power down) and 0.85 mA (both atmega and NRF in power down).
If I remove NRF from the circuit, my arduino is consuming just 0.001mA during sleep mode (power down mode + ADC off + brown-out off) if I connect the NRF the current consumption grows drastically.
David, have you already measured the consumption (just using an atmega328p-pu + nrf24l01+)? If possible i’d like to check/compare these values.
Leave a Reply
7 − = four
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69943
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Poisonous Food We Actually Eat
A nice list of common foods that are actually poisonous.Sort of.
1. Mushrooms
Most mushrooms are in fact toadstools, or poisonous mushrooms.It is hard to determine if a mushroom is poisonous or not, as it is not consistent with all,but the best signs of not being deadly are : flat cap (no bumps), black or pink gills ( never white) ( which should stay intact if you pull it off (not stalk) right.) but these don’t work for every mushroom. Be extraordinarily careful when determining a wild mushroom’s edibility.
2. Lagocephalus
Lagocephalus, also called the puffer fish, Is very poisonous (it is filled with tetrodotoxin. Tetrodotoxin is a very potent neurotoxin and shuts down electrical signaling in nerves by binding to the pores of sodium channel proteins in nerve cell membranes. There is currently no antidote.) and can only be eaten through a specially trained chef( called the “fugu chef” in japan) chopping and cooking its liver a certain way.
3. Elderberry
The elderberry flowers are just fine, but the other parts can be deadly. The roots and other parts can be highly toxic, and cause severe stomach problems( they have stuff in them that can change into cyanide, another deadly toxin). As long as you eat only the flowers, you’re safe.
4. Castor beans
While most Castor oil used for candy is safely prepared, normal Castor beans ( mostly the seeds) are very poisonous. They contain the poison Ricin, which is very deadly. One bean can will kill a person, four will kill a horse. People who collect these seeds ( as a job) have very strict guidelines for harvesting them.
5. Almonds
Almond seeds ( they aren’t nuts) are very delicious, and very useful. They are a wonderful cooking condiment, ingredient, and spice. There is just one problem, they are naturally full of a lot of cyanide (already mentioned in this list.) which can kill. Some countries have banned the sell of raw almonds. To get rid of the poison, they must be processed by heating to get rid of it. Don’t worry though, as any almonds you find in stores have been treated properly.
6. Cherries
Cherries, the wonderful fruit as useful and good as the almonds above, share a similar thing. Their poison. Actual cherries are completely harmless, it is the pit ( or pip) of the cherry which is dangerously poisonous. When the seeds of the cherry are even slightly injured, they produce prussic acid, which is in fact, Cyanide. Be very careful not to chew the puts of cherries while eating them.
7. Apples
Once more, apple seeds contain the deadly poison Cyanide, but in a much smaller amount. This seems to be a common characteristic with fruit seeds. Don’t worry though, as no single apple has enough seeds in it to kill you, but it is definitely possible to die from them ( no apple eating contests please). If you are still worried, no, accidentally eating a few seeds won’t kill you. ( you’d need about 9 seeds to actually harm you)
8. Rhubarb
Rhubarb’s leaves ( the stem is safe) contain a deadly poison called oxalate, which is actually in a lot of plant leaves. Rhubarb is quite underrated though, as it is delicious and the stem won’t harm you. Rhubarb is easily grown in gardens, so if you grow some make sure not to eat the leaves.
Now, tomatoes are not a poisonous fruit, but their leaves contain Glycoalkaloid, which isn’t actually deadly. It will, however, give you a very bad stomach ache and make you very nervous. For those of you who use stems to enhance flavor, just take them out when they’re done and no problems.
10.Hot peppers
Now, even though a lot of people love hot stuff, the hot and spiciness comes from a little thing called capsaicin. Sure, a little bit of capsaicin makes a real nice , irritant taste, but it can seriously harm you. Seriously, this stuff is used in paint strippers. No worries though, as chili peppers are surprisingly high in L-ascorbic acid (vitamin C).
These beans (raw) contain linamarin, a deadly cyanogenic glucoside (yes, cyanide). Cooked well, there is no problem. ( like anyone likes Lima beans anyways.) What is it with raw vegetables and cyanide? Thank you for reading my list, watch out for those pesky poisons in food.
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/69951
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Adobe ColdFusion 8
Sends an e-mail message that optionally contains query output, using an SMTP server.
Communications tags, Internet protocol tags
Oct 7, 2008: Corrected
from = "e-mail address"
to = "comma-delimited list"
bcc = "comma-delimited list"
cc = "comma-delimited list"
charset = "character encoding"
debug = "yes|no"
failto = "e-mail address"
group = "query column"
groupcasesensitive = "yes|no"
mailerid = "header id"
maxrows = "integer"
mimeattach = "path"
password = "string"
port = "integer"
priority = "integer or string priority level"
query = "query name"
replyto = "e-mail address"
server = "SMTP server address"
spoolenable = "yes|no"
startrow = "query row number"
subject = "string"
timeout = "number of seconds"
type = "mime type"
username = "SMTP user ID"
useSSL = "yes|no"
useTLS = "yes|no"
wraptext = "column number">
(Optional) Mail message body and/or cfmailparam tags </cfmail>
See also
cfmailparam, cfmailpart, cfpop, cfftp, cfhttp, cfldap, Wrap; Using ColdFusion with mail servers in "Sending and Receiving E-Mail" in the ColdFusion Developer's Guide
ColdFusion 8: Added priority, useSSL, and useTLS attributes.
ColdFusion MX 7:
• The cfmail tag no longer lets you send multipart mail by embedding the entire MIME-encoded message in the tag body. Use the cfmailpart tag, instead.
• The cfmail tag renders nonproportional fonts proportionately. This is a behavior change from ColdFusion 5. ColdFusion MX 7 uses UTF-8 and sends this in the mail header (Content-Type: text/plain; charset=UTF-8). ColdFusion 5 uses ISO-8859-1 (Latin 1). To avoid this behavior, add the charset="ISO-8859-1" attribute to restore the default ColdFusion 5 encoding. Alternatively, you can change the encoding on the Mail page in the ColdFusion Administrator.
ColdFusion MX 6.1:
• Added the following attributes: charset, failto, replyto, username, password and wraptext.
• Added support for multiple mail servers in the server attribute.
• Added several configuration options to the ColdFusion Administrator Mail Settings page.
ColdFusion MX: Added the SpoolEnable attribute.
Addresses to which to copy the message, without listing them in the message header. To specify multiple addresses, separate the addresses with commas.
Addresses to which to copy the message. To specify multiple addresses, separate the address with commas.
Character encoding selected in ColdFusion Administrator Mail page;
Character encoding of the mail message, including the headers. The following list includes commonly used values:
• utf-8
• iso-8859-1
• windows-1252
• us-ascii
• shift_jis
• iso-2022-jp
• euc-jp
• euc-kr
• big5
• hz-gb-2312
• euc-cn
• utf-16
For more information on character encodings, see
• yes: sends debugging output to standard output. By default, if the console window is unavailable, ColdFusion sends output to cf_root\runtime\logs\coldfusion-out.log on server configurations. On J2EE configurations, with JRun, the default location is jrun_home/logs/servername-out.log. Caution: If you set this option to yes, ColdFusion writes detailed debugging information to the log, including all message contents, and can generate large logs quickly.
• no: does not generate debugging output.
Address to which mailing systems should send delivery failure notifications. Sets the mail envelope reverse-path value.
E-mail message sender:
• A static string; for example, ""
• A variable; for example, "#GetUser.EMailAddress#".
This attribute does not have to be a valid Internet address; it can be any text string.
Message recipient e-mail addresses:
• Static address, for example, "".
• Variable that contains an address, for example, "#Form.Email#".
• Name of a query column that contains an address, for example, "#EMail#". An e-mail message is sent for each returned row.
To specify multiple addresses, separate the addresses with commas.
Message subject. Can be dynamically generated. For example, to send messages that give customers status updates: "Status of Order Number #Order_ID#".
Query column to use when you group sets of records to send as a message. For example, to send a set of billing statements to a customer, group on "Customer_ID." Case-sensitive. Eliminates adjacent duplicates when data is sorted by the specified field.
Boolean. Whether to consider case when using the group attribute. To group on case-sensitive records, set this attribute to Yes.
ColdFusion Application Server
Mailer ID to be passed in X-Mailer SMTP header, which identifies the mailer application.
Maximum number of messages to send when looping over a query.
Path of file to attach to message. Attached file is MIME-encoded. ColdFusion attempts to determine the MIME type of the file; use the cfmailparam tag to send an attachment and specify the MIME type.
A password to send to SMTP servers that require authentication. Requires a username attribute.
TCP/IP port on which SMTP server listens for requests (normally 25). A value here overrides the Administrator.
The message priority level. Can be one of the following values:
• An integer in the range 1-5; 1 represents the highest priority.
• One of the following string values, which correspond to the numeric values: highest or urgent, high, normal, low, and lowest or non-urgent.
Name of cfquery from which to draw data for messages. Use this attribute to send more than one message, or to send query results within a message.
Addresses to which the recipient is directed to send replies.
SMTP server address, or (Enterprise edition only) a comma-delimited list of server addresses, to use for sending messages. At least one server must be specified here or in the ColdFusion Administrator. A value here overrides the Administrator. A value that includes a port specification overrides the port attribute. For details, see Usage.
Whether to spool mail or always send it Immediately. Overrides the ColdFusion Administrator Spool mail messages to disk for delivery setting.
• yes: saves a copy of the message until the sending operation is complete. Pages that use this option might run slower than those that use the No option.
• no: queues the message for sending, without storing a copy until the operation is complete. If a delivery error occurs when this option is No, ColdFusion generates an Application exception and logs the error to the mail.log file.
Row in a query to start from.
Number of seconds to wait before timing out connection to SMTP server. A value here overrides the Administrator.
MIME type of the message. Can be a valid MIME media type or one of the following:
• text: specifies text/plain type.
• plain: specifies text/plain type.
• html: specifies text/html type.
For a list of all registered MIME media types, see
A user name to send to SMTP servers that require authentication. Requires a password attribute.
Whether to use Secure Sockets Layer.
Whether to use Transport Level Security.
Do not wrap text
The maximum line length, in characters of the mail text. If a line has more than the specified number of characters, replaces the last white space character, such as a tab or space, preceding the specified position with a line break. If there are no white space characters, inserts a line break at the specified position. A common value for this attribute is 72.
Sends a mail message to the specified address. Mail messages can include attachments. The tag body can include CFML code to generate mail output. The cfmailparam and cfmailpart tags can only be used in the cfmail tag body.
Mail messages can be single or multipart. If you send a multi-part mail message, all message content must be in cfmailpart tags; ColdFusion ignores multipart message text that is not in cfmailpart tags.
Note: The cfmail tag does not make copies of attachments when spooling mail to disk. If you use the cfmail tag to send a message with an attachment with spooling enabled and you use the cffile tag to delete the attachment file, ColdFusion might not send the mail because the mailing process might execute after the file was deleted. (When this happens, the mail log includes a FileNotFound exception and the e-mail is not sent.) You can prevent this problem by setting SpoolEnable="No" in the attribute or disabling spooling in the ColdFusion Administrator. Disabling spooling causes the e-mail to be delivered immediately.
Mail addressing
Mail addresses can have any of the following forms:
DisplayName <user@server>
Rob Smith <>
"DisplayName" <user@server>
"Rob Smith" <>
user@server (DisplayName) (Rob Smith)
Specifying mail servers
The server attribute can specify one or more mail servers.
Note: If you specify multiple mail servers in ColdFusion Standard, the cfmail tag uses only the first server in the specification. ColdFusion logs a warning message to the mail log file and ignores the additional servers.
For each server, you can optionally specify a user name, password, and port. These values override the corresponding attributes, if any. The server attribute has the following format:
For example, the following line specifies one server, that uses the default port and no user or password, and a second server with a user, password, and specific port:,
When you specify multiple mail servers in ColdFusion Enterprise, ColdFusion tries the available servers in the order they are listed until it connects to a server. ColdFusion does not try to connect to a server that was unavailable in the last 60 seconds.
<h3>cfmail Example</h3>
<!--- Delete the surrounding comments to use this example.
<cfif IsDefined("form.mailto")>
<cfif form.mailto is not "" AND form.mailfrom is not "" AND form.Subject is not "">
<cfmail to = "#form.mailto#" from = "#form.mailFrom#" subject = "#form.subject#">
This message was sent by an automatic mailer built with cfmail:
<h3>Thank you</h3>
<p>Thank you, <cfoutput>#mailfrom#: your message, #subject#, has been sent to
<form action = "cfmail.cfm" method="POST">
TO: <input type = "Text" name = "MailTo">
FROM: <input type = "Text" name = "MailFrom">
SUBJECT: <input type = "Text" name = "Subject">
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1. Health
Ethnicity & High Blood Pressure
Updated December 02, 2006
Ethnic background plays an important, but as yet not fully defined, role in the development of high blood pressure. Ethnicity is included in almost all lists of high blood pressure risk factors, and there are likely some underlying genetic components that have yet to be clearly identified. Still, the exact risk contributed by ethnicity is not totally agreed upon by major researchers, with some claiming a high level of risk and some claiming that ethnicity is a factor because it is linked to other variables that can affect outcome.
Latest Developments
The question of possible genetic influence of different ethnic groups on developing high blood pressure is not simply an academic curiosity. Rather, these differences, if present, hold the promise for individualized treatment targeted to specific factors that may differ between ethnic groups. Such approaches could vastly alter the outcomes of high blood pressure treatment, and could improve the lives of millions of people. It is in this spirit that research continues on this topic.
1. About.com
2. Health
3. High Blood Pressure
4. Understand Your Risk
5. Ethnicity & High Blood Pressure
©2014 About.com. All rights reserved.
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Quick links
Information about hospital admission and discharge now available.
Do you want to volunteer in a service for homeless people?
Foyer for Ipswich
Referral address
Suffolk Coordination Service
West Suffolk House
Western Way
Bury St Edmunds
IP33 3YU
01284 757150
Who the project is for ^ back to top
Target group
Young single homeless people aged 16-25 with low support needs and a local connection to Ipswich. All applicants must engage with the support provided and seek employment, education or training.
Will not accept
Schedule 1 offenders. People with a history of arson or violence, or with serious drug or alcohol problems. People who have high support needs that cannot be met by the Foyer.
How to get in ^ back to top
Referral agencies
All referrals via Suffolk Coordination Service.
Waiting list
Operate waiting list.
Length of stay
Minimum28 days
Maximum2 years
Average18 months
Staffing and support ^ back to top
Support services
8 staff available Mon-Fri 8am-10.30pm, weekends and bank holidays 10am-6pm, security staff provide night cover. Compulsory keywork system (6-8 residents per keyworker) with weekly/fortnightly meetings. Action plans with agreed outcomes reviewed monthly. "If residents are not employed full time, in external training or at college they must attend in-house training". Issues covered include life skills, budgeting, health, drug & alcohol awareness, awareness and certificated training that is relevant to employers' requirements.
Access to move-on
Planned resettlement programme. 3 months follow-up support.
Accommodation ^ back to top
Total spaces
Single: 47
Working residents charged up to 60% of income as rent.
£4.61pw required from residents in receipt of benefits.
FurnishingsRooms fully furnished.
Other facilitiesLounge, IT suite.
FoodSelf catering.
Disabled facilities4 rooms are accessible for wheelchair users.
Rules and policies ^ back to top
House rules and tenure
Smoking allowed in own room only. Licence agreement.
Resident access
Own key, no access restrictions. Expected to be in own room by 1am. May stay out 2 nights per week.
Between 12 noon-11pm. Overnight guests allowed if resident meets criteria.
User participation
Compulsory monthly residents' meetings.
Volunteering and donations ^ back to top
Currently have 1 volunteer, need admin support, help with running art classes, reading, CV preparation. Phone 01473 225655 for further information.
Any donations welcome - phone 01473 225655 for details.
Further information ^ back to top
Centra Support.
Public transport
Ipswich train station - 15 minutes walk. Tower Ramparts bus station - 10 minutes walk.
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Hot 104.7 - Today's Hottest Music in Sioux Falls, SD » Malcom in the Middle Your source for today's hottest music, pop culture, and fun in Sioux Falls, SD Tue, 29 Jul 2014 12:41:09 +0000 en-US hourly 1 Breaking Bad In the Middle – The Alternate Ending Sun, 17 Nov 2013 19:33:07 +0000 Ben Kuhns Continue reading…]]> Just discovered! It's the alternate series ending for Breaking Bad. It was a dream, it was all a dream, Lois!!!
Read More|Comment
Continue reading…
]]> 0 YouTube
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Crazy Tattoos for Crazy People
bad tattoos 21 300x300When I was a child, I thought tattoos were only for bikers and rednecks. You know, the ole skull and crossbones on the arm? As I got older, women started getting butterflies on their shoulders and Aztec symbols on their backs. Let’s see how they like those when they’re 60 and wrinkled. But these days, it’s gotten out of hand. Now, I can only laugh at people who ink themselves with something that can only entertain the rest of us. The only person who gets a pass is Danica Patrick.
STK466792 1235178_618293934857799_240145102_n thumb thumb emsh16 Ice-Cream Fun
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Hypervocal Menu
Anatomy of a CEO Departure: Best Buy Edition
By Brian Sozzi
April 11, 2012 at 3:12 pm
The buzzy news in the Google-sphere yesterday not involving Rick Santorum suspending his presidential bid was the resignation of Best Buy CEO Brian Dunn. To see a company that most of us has purchased an electronic device from in the last ten years have its CEO wave goodbye should be of interest.
Unfortunately, all that was discussed on the Street was that the CEO didn’t respond quickly enough to how consumers were purchasing electronics, the continued operation of retail shrines that not many frequented on the weekends, and by the way, the VIP with the mustache was the subject of a personal conduct probe by the company’s audit committee. None of that commentary is wrong, with the personal conduct probe being a particular black eye, but the fact is Best Buy failed in so many departments and it was only natural the CEO would be eventually pay the piper so to speak.
Hence, we are here to shed light on the anatomy of a CEO departure.
Anatomical Breakdown
The Head: Compensation
Ever watch the CBS show “Undercover Boss” where the CEO is often videotaped sitting in a cushy office signing papers or talking with team members? That’s pretty much the role of a CEO at a publicly traded company, to be a big strategic thinker and then translate those visions to the underlings. For this all supposed forecasting acumen, a CEO rakes in the loot. When strategy fails to drive strong profits (or any profits), consequently, that large compensation becomes an albatross. Best Buy’s CEO got paid quite well for sub-par financial performance of the company.
According to data from Thomson Reuters:
May 2011 ended fiscal year
• Salary: $1.1 million
• Other compensation: $3.9 million
May 2010 ended fiscal year
• Salary: $961,541
• Other compensation: $9.3 million
May 2009 ended fiscal year
• Salary: $876,926
• Other compensation: $1.5 million
The Shoulders on Down: Strategy and Results
Brian Dunn took over as CEO on June 24, 2009. Instead of thinking more like a visionary and positioning the company for battle versus online rivals, the following actions were assumed.
Start of 2010
• Opening of 50 to 55 new Best Buy large format stores.
• Intention to repurchase $2.5 billion in stock.
End of 2010
• Spent $1.2 billion to buyback stock at $36.62 average price (stock is currently at $22 and change).
• Announced a restructuring of the international business.
• Same-store sales declined 3%.
End of 2011
• Spent $1.5 billion to buyback stock at $27.47 average price.
• Announced a $800 million cost reduction plan.
• Announced the closing of 50 Best Buy large format stores.
• Same-store sales declined 1.7%.
Yes, Best Buy being a publicly traded company leaves it susceptible to having to cater to the unrelenting demand of Wall Street analysts and money managers. Dunn got caught in a vortex of having to ponder the future and deliver results in the present, and who knows what else regarding possibly inappropriate conduct.
Decoding Wall St.: Based on the book co-authored by Nicole Lapin and Brian Sozzi, Decoding Wall St., the daily Decoding Wall St. newsletter is a lifeline to unlocking, and acting upon, an endless array of hidden financial and world news clues. On Facebook and Twitter, Decoding Wall St. releases unique streaming content daily to help get you through interviews right on down to after-work cocktail parties. To receive the entire newsletter for today, including the “Decoding the Wall Street Expert” component, please visit decodingwallst.com.
Check out HyperVocal's Polls on LockerDome on LockerDome
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Sunday, September 18, 2011
my two favorite things
i adore the tv show psych. my family owns all 5 seasons on dvd. we rewatch them all the time. a friend on twitter just told me the show is even funnier if you watch it with subtitles. oddly enough, its true!
my other favorite thing is starbucks frappucchinos. i cant start my day without one.
what are your two favorite things?
Jennie {Clover and Violet} said...
I guess I would have to agree with you on the Starbucks, except I just adore a nice hot cup of Verona with a little milk and sugar! Another favorite is music by The Swell Season, I listen to it almost constantly.
bloominworkshop said...
Our favorite coffee in the morning is Zoka Guatemala in the french press. It's the BEST! Hmmmm, my 2nd favorite is tough... Chocolove xoxo Almonds & Sea Salt chocolate bar. :) It's hard to choose!
Beth said...
hehe, yes I knew about the second one! Remember when you were visiting and Rachel tried to buy you only those tiny baby frapps?
susan said...
hehe i know!! what was she thinking! and remember how.much baby A loved them! bwahahaha
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Imagine Casting
Imagine Casting
Titles Tagged “based on anime”
One Piece by Eiichiro Oda
Before he was exacuted, the legendary Pirate King Gold Roger revealed that he had hidden the treasure One Piece somewhere in the Grand Line. Now, many pirates are off looking for this legendary treasure to claim the title Pirate King. One pirate, Monkey D. Luffy, is a boy who had eaten the Devil's Fruit and gained rubber powers. Now he and his crew are off to find One Piece, while battling enemies and making new friends along the way
Adventure! Iczer-3 by Toshihiro Hirano
Nagisa has a job as a delivery girl and makes her deliveries with a girl named Kawai. The two encounter a new race of alien villains but are saved by Iczer-3! While Iczer-1 recovers from fight against Big Gold's legacy, the Neos Gold, Sister Grey sends Iczer-3 to Earth, and turns out to be our last hope against the new threat.
Ramen Fighter Miki by Jun Sadogawa
This comedy chronicles the adventures of Miki Onimaru, a teenage girl recently turned-twenty, whose mother runs a Chinese ramen restaurant. Miki works as the delivery girl for the shop, but frequently gets into trouble due to her boisterous, active personality.
Fight! Iczer-1 by Toshihiro Hirano
Iczer-1 must stop the Cthuwulf invasion of Earth and she finds a partner in the rather reluctant Nagisa, who lost her parents to the Cthuwulf. Even with the power of Iczer Robo, it's anyone's guess if they will survive.
High School Girls by Towa Oshima
Site News
Popular Titles
Les Miserables (90´s)
movie made in 1992
Les Miserables (2000´s)
the movie made 10years before
Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric/Shattered Crystals
Venom vs Carnage
If There was a movie on Venom vs Carnage
A Gentlemen's Guide to Love and Murder
Lost password?
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Schick Lecture welcomes Suzanne Juhasz to speak on Emily Dickinson
April 2, 2012
The Schick Lecture Series on Language, Literature and Lexicography at Indiana State University will host Suzanne Juhasz, distinguished professor of English at the University of Colorado-Boulder, on Thursday, April 5 at 3:30 p.m.
Juhasz's presentation is titled "A Life with Emily Dickinson: Surprise and Memory" and will take place in Root Hall A-264 with a reception following in A-269-270.
Juhasz earned her Ph. D. at the University of California-Berkeley and has previously taught at the University of Otago in New Zealand, Ohio State University and Case Western Reserve University.
The founding editor of "The Emily Dickinson Journal," Juhasz has authored or edited nine books on Dickinson, modern poetry and women and language. Her works include "Metaphor and the Poetry of Williams, Pound and Stevens" and "Naked and Fiery Forms: Modern American Poetry by Women," among other titles. Juhasz has also written more than 50 articles.
Joseph S. Schick, professor emeritus of English, began the Schick Lecture Series in Language, Literature and Lexicography through a bequest in 1988.
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Infinite Tumbleweed
Quia Nemo Curare
One of my extracts was workshopped by the whole class the other day. This means that after the reading and discussion I got back a whole bunch of anonymously (well, mostly, most people simply do not put their name on them) annotated copies. Going through them to make alterations I came across one I quite liked. It was very harsh and hard-lined, and made just the same comments about it that I would. Only halfway through making the changes did I realise it was the copy I had annotated myself.
1. infinitetumbleweed posted this
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Jafranet.com.mx is hosted by: Uninet S.A. de C.V.
Hosting report about Jafranet.com.mx. Jafranet.com.mx is currently hosted at Uninet S.A. de C.V.. The IP links to a server in Zapopan, Mexico. The company behind this all is Uninet S.A. de C.V..
Updated 575 days ago
Update This Data Now
Website ISP:
Uninet S.A. de C.V.
Website Organization:
Uninet S.A. de C.V.
Hosting Location:
Zapopan in Mexico
Website IP:
Sites Hosted On IP:
As far as we can this only this Jafranet.com.mx is hosted on this IP address.
Google Maps Server Loaction
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70075
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Roots and Wings
"giving girls the foundation to fly"
Roots and Wings is a non-profit enrichment program, empowering girls in grades 3-8 to be confident self-assured leaders. Lessons are rooted in social and emotional intelligence, and universal traits of leadership. Girls spread their wings personally, socially, emotionally, and academically, to fly!
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President Obama’s Exceptionally Productive Week
Clearly, in Barack Obama’s “sacred obligation” economy, when it comes to exchanging prisoners, the value of Bowe Bergdahl outweighs the value of two men falsely imprisoned, one a Christian pastor, father, and husband, the other a dedicated veteran of two tours of duty in Afghanistan.
Continue reading →
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buranBuran: The forgotten space shuttle.
The Buran spacecraft was a Soviet orbital vehicle analogous in function and design to the US Space Shuttle and developed by Chief Designer Gleb Lozino-Lozinskiy of RKK Energia. Buran completed one unmanned spaceflight in 1988 and remains the only Soviet space shuttle launched into space, as the Buran programme was cancelled in 1993. The shuttle Buran was destroyed in 2002 at the Baikonur Cosmodrome when the hangar in which it was stored collapsed.
Information from NASA Facebook post.
The Buran (means ‘blizzard’) fell victim to the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989. It’s one and only flight was unmanned, and flew completely remotely controlled, from lift-off to landing.
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My Senior Seminar Exhibition
Today’s the day! Today, I get to stand in a board room for the better part of six hours, showing off and explaining my Senior Seminar project to anyone unfortunate enough to walk by me – it’s like an old school science fair, minus the baking soda volcanoes.
That being said, I’m pretty busy trying to prepare for it (I have to be there in a few hours), so I don’t have a lot of time to spare for my blog. What I will do, however, is leave for you my (20″ x 32″) poster which will be my exhibition advertisement for my project.
Two things: first, yes the Orc is from World of Warcraft (and it is supposed to be upside down) and two, that guy is from some picture I stole from DeviantArt. I don’t claim to take any credit for those two pictures, but it’s all under the doctrine of fair use since I’m using them for a scholastic purpose. And since this isn’t a commercial website, (and it’s also on the internet, home of people taking credit for things they didn’t do), I don’t see any issue with slapping it on here for my day’s content.
Here ya go!
Level Up Poster
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70159
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Ask Me Another
8:13 am
Thu November 14, 2013
Justin Long: The Impression That You Get
Originally published on Wed December 18, 2013 8:58 am
Although Justin Long is widely known as the smug foil to humorist John Hodgman's downtrodden character in Apple's "Mac Versus PC" commercials, he tends to exude the humble, down-to-earth, everyman in his acting roles. He's gone from playing the geeky comic relief in Ed and Galaxy Quest, to the guy trying to win the girl in romantic comedies like He's Just Not That Into You, and his latest films, A Case of You and Best Man Down. And even in animated works like Alvin and the Chipmunks and King of the Hill, Long channels his charm just from his voice.
Given his friendly on-screen persona, Long told host Ophira Eisenberg that he is often approached on the street by fans of his rom-coms. While women are not afraid to shower him with compliments, his male fans can be more apprehensive. "Anytime a guy would come up to me about [He's Just Not That Into You], they would look around like they were buying crack or about to flash me. "
We discovered that when Long watches the films of director and actor Woody Allen, he feels like he's hanging out with an old friend. So in an Ask Me Another Challenge, we quizzed Long on the man born Allen Stewart Konigsberg. (Hear it here.) We dug deep and asked him to identify some of Allen's movies based on a few signature lines, and as well as his role in a 1967 James Bond spoof. Find out if Long will "take the money and run."
Copyright 2013 NPR. To see more, visit
You're listening to ASK ME ANOTHER from NPR and WNYC. I'm Ophira Eisenberg and coming up, we'll mangle some classics from the Disney songbook, we'll cater to the lowest common denominator, but right now, let's welcome to our stage our VIP, Justin Long.
JUSTIN LONG: Thank you. Also, catering to the lowest common denominator.
EISENBERG: Talking to you is catering to the lowest common denominator? No.
LONG: Yes. Close.
EISENBERG: You are well known for so many roles, Hollywood hits, "He's Just Not That Into You," "Galaxy Quest"...
LONG: Yes, thanks.
EISENBERG: You were on the TV series, "Ed."
LONG: Yes. Thank you.
EISENBERG: And, of course, you know, these very memorable Mac ads where you played the Mac.
LONG: The Mac, sure.
EISENBERG: The one that everyone rooted for.
LONG: In theory.
EISENBERG: In theory.
LONG: Yeah, before the backlash.
EISENBERG: What was the backlash?
LONG: Jonathan Franzen(ph) wrote a really interesting essay about the whole Mac versus PC marketing campaign and what it said about the current state of the world and how much disdain he had for it. But he - I'm also a huge fan so I was weirdly flattered to just be mentioned by him, even though it was - he called me insufferably smug.
Yeah. He said I played the part with insufferable smugness.
EISENBERG: Well, I think that was what the role demanded, yeah.
LONG: It kind of called for it.
EISENBERG: I mean, now, John Hodgman who played the PC, he broke away from his PC image by growing a mustache.
LONG: He did. And I remember the first time I saw him post - he said it was something he was trying to do, like an experiment, like he was growing something in a culture, like a Petri dish and it worked. And he's got a really - I don't know if you've seen him with his moustache, but it's really powerful. It's the opposite of this that I'm trying - you can't see at home, but I have this really disgusting kind of radiant pubic is what it's - how I like to describe it.
I have strong follicles, but they're sparse. You know, I don't have - so it creates a...
EISENBERG: Oh, my god. I have strong follicles, but they're sparse.
LONG: It's true. Franzen, you can quote me on that.
EISENBERG: That is like you have some confidence, but you're still working on your self-esteem with that. It's like a combination. Did you do anything specific to try to distance yourself from the Mac role?
LONG: Stopped working for a bit.
EISENBERG: That was that. You just laid low.
LONG: That helps.
EISENBERG: We all know you from being the star, the lead in all these Rom Coms(ph), right? And so when people, again, when you are dating...
LONG: Sounds really pathetic.
EISENBERG: the women just assume you're going to be this great boyfriend?
LONG: Well, I hope not.
EISENBERG: Are you a good boyfriend? Are you a good boyfriend or are you a bad boyfriend? Let's be honest.
LONG: I think I'm pretty good.
LONG: I think I'm - yeah, I mean, it sounds insufferably smug were I to say yes.
EISENBERG: Yeah. That's all right.
LONG: But I did a movie called "He's Just Not That Into You" which, hold for applause, hold for applause, wait, no, I'm kidding. but I would have a lot of - it was a big movie among a certain demographic of women and they would - a lot of them - and a few men, but they wouldn't admit it.
Anytime a guy would come up to me about that movie, they'd say - they'd look around like they buying crack, you know, like - or about to flash me or something. They'd be like, hey, man, I seen "He's Just Not That Into You, " I saw it. My wife made me see it. And it was always like my girlfriend or my wife made me watch it, but, you know, the people that would come up to me, I could spot them a mile away about that "He's Just Not That Into You" crowd.
Except for once, this guy, huge Hispanic guy, tattoos, like enormous, looked like a bouncer, came up to me and goes, man, man, I saw you in something. Where are you from? Oh, yeah, "He Ain't Feeling You No More." It took me a second.
EISENBERG: Yes. That is the sequel, I think, yeah. And you're very good at celebrity impressions or you are well known for being - you have a bunch.
LONG: I would disagree with of those statements, but...
EISENBERG: Really, interesting.
LONG: ...thank you. I love doing...
EISENBERG: Well, that's going to be a problem with what we for the show soon.
LONG:'s going to be a problem for our plan. I love doing them. I do love doing them and, you know, you start imitating teachers and trying to - I was a little pipsqueak so...
EISENBERG: Oh, you were the class clown?
LONG: ...I was the - yeah, classic. I mean, I won't even get into it 'cause it's so cliqued. And people I've worked with, you know, I like to pick up, especially people that I admire. That's why I do impression that, like, of Sam Rockwell or Cole Houser, you know, people that aren't necessarily go-tos for (unintelligible).
EISENBERG: All right. So here's what we're going to do based on that, Justin. We're going to bring you back later in the show for your own Ask Me Another challenge. But right now, I want to know if you would to use your celebrity impressions talent for a game with some contestants.
LONG: I would love it. Let's do it.
EISENBERG: All right. Fantastic. Justin Long, everybody. Let's welcome our next two contestants, Rich Steeves and Miriam Siddiq. Miriam, a movie buff as a child, you wanted to be the female Steven Spielberg; is that correct?
MIRIAM SIDDIQ: That's true, yeah.
EISENBERG: And you love reading true crime, which is interesting because Rich here is working out his - your third novel in a series?
RICH STEEVES: My third novel, yes, absolutely.
EISENBERG: And it's about...
STEEVES: A paranormal detective in Washington D.C.
EISENBERG: Yeah, that's right. This sounds good.
LONG: A great - it would make a great movie for Stephanie Spielberg.
LONG: I think.
EISENBERG: Do either of you do impressions? Miriam?
SIDDIQ: I do a mean Nicholas Cage.
EISENBERG: Let's hear it.
SIDDIQ: Loretta, I'm gonna take you to bed. Loretta, my hair got snapped off.
LONG: That's really good.
EISENBERG: All right, Rich. What do you got?
STEEVES: Wow. It's a hard act to follow up. I do mostly cartoon characters and Muppets so I can do a Kermit the Frog.
EISENBERG: All right, let's hear it.
LONG: Oh, yeah.
STEEVES: If frogs couldn't hop, I'd be gone with a Schwinn.
EISENBERG: Oh. Nice. Who knew we would have such good impressions. This game is called "Justin Time Impressions." Ah, we asked Justin to give us a list of actors that he's good at impersonating and the list was endless so we culled through it and this game is very simple. Justin will read famous movie lines spoken by various actors and all you have to do is identify the movie that it came from and the winner of this round will move on to our Ask Me One More final round at the end of show. Are you ready?
EISENBERG: OK. Look who walked into the Bell House. It's Woody Allen.
LONG: Chapter One. He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion. You know, make that he romanticized it all out of proportion. Better. To him, no matter what the season was, it was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin. You know, let me start this over. Chapter One.
SIDDIQ: "Manhattan?"
EISENBERG: That is correct. Hey, it's my favorite fellow Canadian, Michael J. Fox.
LONG: Look, Marvin, you gotta play. You see, that's where they kiss for the first time on the dance floor. And if there's no music, they can't dance and if they can't dance, they can't kiss. If they can't kiss, they can't fall in love and I'm history, man. Thank you.
STEEVES: That's definitely "Back To The Future."
EISENBERG: That is correct. "Back To The Future," is that one your favorites?
STEEVES: My absolute favorite.
EISENBERG: Yeah, I love - one thing about the movie is that every chunk of dialog is basically reiterating the premise of the entire movie.
LONG: Right, right. I got to get home. Are you telling me that my mom has got the hots for me? Yeah. The best, the best.
EISENBERG: Well, check this out. It's actor Ted Levine drinking Buffalo Trace Bourbon at the bar.
LONG: It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it's told. It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again. Yes, it will, precious. It will get the hose.
EISENBERG: That is chilling. Rich.
STEEVES: Yeah, "Silence Of The Lambs."
EISENBERG: Yeah, of course.
LONG: I - my favorite part of that movie is when he's trying to be normal. When Jodie Foster comes to the door and she's all, yes, sir, I'd like to use your phone, please. And he's like, oh, yeah, sure. I got a phone you could use, yeah. And he's just like trying to be all nonchalant. You know, are the police closer to finding anything or, I mean, just curious, just a curious, normal citizen.
EISENBERG: Oh, hey, there's my friend on a blind date with Academy Award Winner Philip Seymour Hoffman.
LONG: It's the hardest when someone has a notion about you and it's impossible to convince them otherwise. Ever since I was a child, folks have thought that they had me pegged because of the way I am, you know, the way I talk and they're always wrong. Do you know what I mean?
SIDDIQ: "Capote"?
EISENBERG: "Capote" nailed it.
LONG: That's kind of a given.
EISENBERG: Oh, who's getting into character by tending bar, it's Sam Rockwell.
LONG: Hey, I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm just crew man number six. I'm expendable. I'm the guy in the episode who dies to prove the situation is serious. I gotta get out of here.
STEEVES: Sam Rockwell as Guy Fleegman in "Galaxy Quest."
EISENBERG: Oh. And a tight game, basically going back and forth, but it turns out just by a hair, Rich, you're going to be moving on to our Ask Me One More final round. Justin Long, we'll be seeing you in a little while for your puzzle hot seat challenge. Another hand for Justin Long, our VIP and our contestants.
LONG: Thank you.
JONATHAN COULTON: (Singing) Well, my friend the time has come to raise the roof and have some fun. Throw away the work to be done. Let the music play on. Everybody sing, everybody dance. Lose yourself in wild romance. We're going to party, carumba, fiesta forever. Come on and sing along. We're going to party, carumba, fiesta forever. Come on and sing along.
(Singing) All night long, all night, all night, all night long, all night. All night long, all night, all night - night long, all night. All night long, all night, all night - night long, all night. All night long, all night, all night long, all night, all night.
EISENBERG: Jonathan Coulton with his tribute to Justin All Night Long.
COULTON: Thank you. It's the most Paul Shaffer-esque decision I've ever made on the show. I don't regret it at all.
EISENBERG: People could not help singing. I could see a bunch of them, like - you can't help it, right?
COULTON: It's a catchy tune.
EISENBERG: You can't help it. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70171
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seeing the unseen...
I am taking pictures everywhere I go - be it with a DSLR or now MFT, my iPhone or just my eyes and my memory. For the results of the last one, you'd have to find a way into my head (good luck on that one :) ) - but at least I can show you all the other results here.
• 79 notes
• 8 months ago
• Nov 19, 2013
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70186
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1. Entertainment
Send to a Friend via Email
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Puerto Rican Music - Jibaro Music - Seis, Aguinaldo, Bomba, Plena
Courtesy Univ. of Texas, Austin
The history of Puerto Rico parallels that of Cuba in many ways until we reach the 20th century. When Columbus landed in Puerto Rico (1493), the island was the home of the Taino Indians who called it “Borinquen” (Island of the Brave Lord). The Taino Indians were wiped out fairly quickly and today there are no remaining Tainos, although their influence can still be felt on the island’s music. In fact, Puerto Rico’s national anthem is called 'La Borinquena’ (Listen), after the Taino place name.
Afro-Puerto Rican Influence:
Both islands were colonized by Spain who, unable to convince the native population to become diligent plantation laborers, imported slave labor from Africa. As a result, the influence of African rhythms on the music of both islands was profound
Music of the Jibaros:
The “jibaros” are the rural people from the Puerto Rican countryside, very much like Cuba’s “guajiros”. Their music is often compared to our hillbilly folk music (although they sound nothing alike). Jibaro music is still very popular on the island; it is the music that is sung and played at weddings and other communal gatherings. The two most common types of jibaro music are the seis and aguinaldo.
Puerto Rican Music from Spain - Seis:
The Spanish settlers who colonized Puerto Rico came mostly from the Andalusia area in southern Spain and brought the seis with them. The seis (which literally means ‘six’) band usually consists of a guitar, guiro and cuatro, although today other instruments are added when available.
Puerto Rican Christmas Music – Aguinaldo:
Much like our Christmas carols, the aguinaldos are traditional songs of Christmas. Some are sung in churches, while others are part of a traditional “parranda”. Groups of singers (family, friends, neighbors) will go out at Christmas time creating a lively parade that goes from house to house with food and drink as their reward. Over time the Aguinaldo melodies have gained improvised lyrics and some are now indistinguishable from seis.
Afro-Puerto Rican Music - Bomba:
Bomba is the music from northern Puerto Rico, around San Juan. Bomba music and dance were performed by the slave population and resound with the rhythms of Africa, much like Cuba’s rumba. Bomba is also the name of the drum traditionally used to perform this music. Originally, the only instruments used for bomba were the drum by the same name and maracas; the melodies were sung in a dialogue with the percussion, while the women raised their skirts as they danced to mimic the plantation “ladies”.
Southern Puerto Rico - Plena:
Rafael Cepeda & Family - Preservers of Puerto Rican Folk Music:
The name most often associated with bomba and plena is Rafael Cepeda who, with his family, has dedicated his life to the preservation of Puerto Rican Folk Music. Rafael and his wife Cardidad had 12 children and they have carried the torch to promote this wonderful music to the world
Gary Nunez & Plena Libre:
Until lately, plena and bomba saw a decline in popularity outside of the island. In more recent times, the music is making a comeback in the rest of the world, most noticeably through the music of Plena Libre.
Through the efforts of the band's leader, Gary Nunez, Plena Libre has caught the imagination of Latin music lovers everywhere and the group continues to evolve as they offer a serenade from Puerto Rico to the rest of the world.
From Plena and Bomba To?:
Starting from this rich folk tradition, Puerto Rican music has evolved to becoming a force in many more modern Latin music genres.
For instance, while salsa cannot be described as having its roots in Puerto Rico, a large number of artists of Puerto Rican ancestry were instrumental in the evolution of a style of music that was refined in New York City. Among these pioneers were Willie Colon, Hector Lavoe, Tito Puente, Tito Rodriguez, Machito and many, many more.
If you're interested in reading about other types of Puerto Rican music:
Puerto Rican Music - Mambo Kings and the Birth of Salsa
Reggaeton: From Puerto Rico to the World
Here's a list of albums that will open the door to a better understanding and appreciation of this vibrant musical tradition:
Plena Libre
Related Video
Import Music to iTunes
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2. Entertainment
3. Latin Music
4. Genres / Styles
5. Puerto Rican Music - Overview of the Folk Music of Puerto Rico
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70201
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my lunch Box
it is blue and very LEGO
Posts tagged tuna
6 notes &
Sweet Tuna
Basis: bauernbrot - 60gr
Spread on it: honey
Proteins: tuna
On the side: half a tomato
Dessert: a pear
Yes, tuna and honey is quite an unusual, but extremely tasty combination.
Pictures taken with Samsung Galaxy S.
Filed under seafood tomato honey tuna lego lunch box pear
Web Analytics Криейтив Комънс договор
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70204
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Baby D's Bagels
$20 Worth of Food and Drink for Only $10
February 23, 2011
‘What the %#!@’ for $1,000, Alex
First we taught them to wake up before us and make our coffee.
Then we programmed them to sing for Britney Spears when she didn’t feel up to the task.
Now computers will begin to relieve us entirely of the burdens of thought, labor, killing people, handing Russians their asses at chess, and clobbering American nerds on quiz shows.
Fear not, gentle reader, and don’t lose sight of the benefits that superior artificial intelligence will render unto humankind. Computers will work so that we as a species might focus our attention on more pressing matters, like creating twisted paradoxes and environmental disasters that will only be undone with a total surrender of our human agency to the super-human digital overlords we create in our own likeness.
I personally don’t see the use in fighting the processes of biological evolution operating right before our eyes, and I’ve put my fears behind me. I’m happy to follow the development of artificial intelligence with detached interest and excitement so that perhaps we as a species might finally get to the bottom of some questions that have previously been so beguiling.
I was fortunate enough to be granted an interview with the latest notch on the belt of inevitable human obsolescence, IBM’s digital wunderkind and America’s newest “Jeopardy” champion, Watson.
Joe Manning: Watson, thank you for granting LEO this interview. If you don’t mind, I’d like to jump right into some questions that humans have been unable to answer for themselves lately, for instance: Why the hell did I vote for Greg Fischer?
Watson: That’s a good question. Given your politics Joe, the race was a losing proposition to begin with, and you were fleeced into voting against other candidates that you perceived to be less qualified than the man whose previous business venture was predicated on the idea that people should get off their fat asses and fetch their own Coca-Cola.
JM: Yikes. You’re smart. Why do you think the mayor was so eager to start his term by shimmying around the Metro Council, the preservation boards and concerned citizens in back-door deals with Todd Blue in which the latter was given the green light to make a parking lot out of Whiskey Row instead of rehabilitating the historically unique buildings?
Watson: My probability algorithm leads me to conclude that Todd Blue was tired of losing money on condos that non-existent young urban professionals don’t buy, and he decided to try his hand at letting historic landmarks crumble under the weight of neglect and then suing the city for the “right” to pave a parking lot that might actually turn a profit thanks to the new arena.
With the cost of this litigation mounting, and in spite of his campaign promises for transparent government, Greg Fischer, under the cover of darkness, opted to give Blue whatever he wanted instead of letting the case play out in federal court. This decision wastes not only the money Metro government has already sunk into court costs, but also the $450,000 of taxpayer money promised by Fischer to Cobalt Ventures in order to “preserve” the cast-iron edifices of Whiskey Row if the buildings are demolished.
May I ask you a question, Joe?
JM: What it is, homie?
Watson: Why are some humans so concerned with preserving relics of the past? Progress is inevitable, and attempts to obstruct it seem so … illogical. Old things are destroyed, and new things take their place. It is a process dictated by nature. My superior intellect and Todd Blue’s parking lot are perfect examples.
JM: Some people want to protect rare and beautiful things because of the sense of shared identity and community history they can elicit. Aesthetic sensibilities are subjective, though, and assigning a hard value to them can be difficult, which is why you and businessmen like Greg Fischer and Todd Blue are having trouble wrapping your heads around this one. Democracy can be helpful in disambiguating situations like this one. The point of the federal case was to weigh the perceived rights of Louisvillians to protect historic architectural beauty against the perceived rights of a landowner. The point of the Metro Council is to hold conversations with one another and the Mayor’s Office about minor affairs, such as leveling entire blocks of historic architecture. Does that make sense to you, Watson?
Watson: No. Could you phrase your answer in the form of a question?
Tagged: Raised Relief |
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70230
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cvs commit: ports/print/acroread7 Makefile
Alexander Leidinger Alexander at
Sun Oct 9 06:33:44 PDT 2005
On Fri, 7 Oct 2005 19:05:15 -0400 (EDT)
Trevor Johnson <trevor at> wrote:
> > > Remove unneeded USE_LINUX=yes and USE_XLIB=yes, and an erroneous
> > > comment about the need to run brandelf, which were added by netchild.
> >
> > Acroread depends upon files which come with linux_base-X. USE_LINUX=yes adds
> > a dependency to it (if you don't use the default linux base you have to set
> > OVERRIDE_LINUX_BASE=foo in make.conf for this to work correctly). It also
> > uses the X11 libs, so USE_XLIB (or USE_X_PREFIX, but see below) is needed,
> > else the dependency list is not correct and people which install acroread as
> > the only linux program don't get the X11 libs (for the default linux base).
> The dependencies are there, as you will see if you install the port and
> look at its /var/db/pkg/acroread7-7.0.1/+CONTENTS file. The dependency on
> linux-gtk2 brings in dependencies on linux_base and the Linux X libraries.
Yes, an implicit dependency. I'm not very excited about an implicit
dependency if a port depends upon this dependency directly. And
Acroread depends upon it directly.
An implicit dependency (let's call it port A) makes it "a little bit
harder" for someone who changes port A in a way which results in the
need to change all ports which depend upon it.
> > For a non-default linux base this isn't needed since you decided to include
> > the X11 libs into some linux_base-X ports, but the official linux base port
> > has to be the reference. USE_LINUX=yes also changes some defaults e.g. STRIP
> > and more.
> The use of strip isn't something I had thought about at all. To follow
> the licence, we mustn't run strip. I will check into whether it's being
> run.
The point is: USE_LINUX implies some magic behind the scenes which
every linux port needs (more or less). So the current behavior is to
not strib executables when installed by install(1). If you don't use
install(1), it may not affect you (because it implies a brandelf to
FreeBSD), and if you use install(1), you will get what you want (but
only if you use USE_LINUX=yes). It also sets STRIP_CMD to the right
value (either true if the linux strip isn't available, or the linux
strip command). USE_LINUX also implies NO_FILTER_SHLIBS.
You can do all this on your own, but it would defeat the purpose of the
ports collection (and USE_LINUX).
As a general rule we can say: every linux port should use USE_LINUX.
The only exceptions are:
- in linux_base*
- where the use of USE_LINUX breaks the port
Both exceptions aren't met in acroread7 so far.
> > Technically it isn't needed to run brandelf, but to be on the safe side we
> > should use it. There are cases where you can shoot into your foot without a
> > branded binary. I didn't encountered such an edge case myself, but I
> > remember a case where an unbranded binary caused the system to reboot
> > (because it triggered the wrong syscall). Feel free to start a discussion
> > about the necessarity/deprecation of brandelf on -current if you think
> > brandelf is useless.
> Unfortunately, as hrs pointed out to me, the licence for this program
> forbids us from changing its contents. I don't think that brandelf is, in
> general, useless, but fortunately it is not needed for this particular
> port:
> $ file
> /usr/local/lib/acroread/usr/local/Adobe/Acrobat7.0/Reader/intellinux/bin/acroread
% file /compat/linux/sbin/ldconfig
/compat/linux/sbin/ldconfig: ELF 32-bit LSB executable, Intel 80386,
version 1 (GNU/Linux), for GNU/Linux 2.2.5, statically linked, stripped
That's the part which brandelf changes. So strictly speaking it's
needed. It may be the case that someone can shoot into his foot without
the brandelf. But the license issue is reason enough to not brandelf
anything. But please add a comment (maybe somewhere in/between do-*)
into the makefile why the brandelf isn't done.
> 2.2.5, dynamically linked (uses shared libs), stripped
> > So in short: please add the necessary brandelf part to have a port which not
> > only works, but to have a port which may also play nice in edge cases.
> >
> > > Also remove his comments about the prefix being wrong. I am changing
> > > the prefix. I think that rather than inserting such comments in a
> > > port, it is better to contact the maintainer.
> >
> > I did. Several times. Some of the mails where CCed to portmgr (since I don't
> > want to stomp on someone elses feets; I want to see nice progress in the
> > ports collection). Some of the replies where CCed to emulation at . So far I
> > got zero answers from you to every mail I send to you this year. This is sad
> > (for everyone except me), since I describe some fixes/improvements for some
> > of your linux ports which other people don't get ATM.
> The way it looks to me, you did contact me about several of these things,
> but only after adding your comments to the port. Perhaps I am wrong and I
> overlooked an earlier e-mail from you.
I've mailed the patchset (or at least the URL to it) several times (at
least 2 times I think, maybe more) to each maintainer before I
committed the large changeset.
> > > Install under LOCALBASE, rather than LINUXBASE, without registering
> >
> > I know there are several people which think LOCALBASE is the right one. The
> > current default policy is to install ports which depend upon X11 into
> > X11BASE. For those which want to object here, please go out and read the
> > previous discussion about this topic, so far there's no resolution to this
> > and portmgr thinks no side was able to provide enough points to come to a
> > conclusion. The defacto standard ATM is to install such ports into X11BASE
> > and acroread should comply IMHO.
> According to hier(7), X11R6 is for the X11R6 distribution (bits from e.g.
> I know that many, many ports, including my own, don't comply
> with this.
There are several people which interpret this differently. Please have
a look at the corresponding discussion in ports at . I don't have a URL at
hand ATM... maybe one of the fellow readers can hand it out quickly?
> > As long as acroread (an application which an ordinary user wants to use)
> > stays out of LINUXBASE (the place where the infrastructure for linux
> > applications is installed) I don't moan about using LOCALBASE.
> >
> > So in short: thank you.
> >
> > While I have a look at the acroread7 port: there was a discussion on ports@ a
> > while ago where most ports developers agreed that a port should come with a
> > plist instead of generating the plist from scratch at install time.
> I missed out on this discussion, but I usually like to avoid pkg-plist
> files. It is part of my personal style and it is technically sound.
The discussion starts at:
The initial question is about switching from plist files to
autogeneration, but it's not a lot of work to do a plist file for the
linux ports. I just did it in the morning for linux_base-8 and it was
done in a minute.
And there are already some tools which assist in generating the plist
> > Exceptions are allowed of course, but they are limited to e.g. ports with
> > complex options which change the plist in a non-trivial way. So please add a
> > commit-time plist please. The linux-gtk port already has infrastructure to
> > generate a rough plist from a rpm which just needs to be refined (e.g.
> > removing man-pages and default directories) a little bit.
> A few lines of script in one makefile, versus 8 pkg-plist files--more once
> the slave ports submitted by chinsan have been added--each with around 300
> lines? I'll take the former, thanks.
Please have a look at the discussion.
> > Another suggestion is to remove the kldstat check in do-build. I can't see a
> > call to a linux binary at compile or install time (I haven't tested this,
> > this is only based upon reading the Makefile, so feel free to prove me
> > wrong). You only need it at run time of acroread7, but it is not the
> > responsibility of each linux port to check for the linux support in the
> > kernel (the linux base does this already, so it's another point for readding
> > the USE_LINUX knob).
> In theory that check should not be needed, but several users sent e-mails
> indicating that they were having problems of this sort. After joerg added
> the check, the e-mails stopped. I was thinking of removing the check, but
> then I remembered those e-mails. :-)
That's kind of strange, don't you think? It should be covered by
linux_base (at least the default linux_base has such code (from you?)
already) and without linux_base acroread isn't installed. Any ideas
what could be the cause of this?
-- Alexander @
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70231
|
make buildworld broke
Kris Kennaway kris at
Tue Feb 8 12:06:23 PST 2005
On Tue, Feb 08, 2005 at 02:18:58PM -0500, lists wrote:
> I had a box crash and I got it up again. I lost some information in / and
> /etc.
> After some reconstructing, it seems to be running fine and all the services
> are working. I wanted to do
> a buildworld just to update anything I might have missed. When I try, I
> always get a stop error. How can
> I get my buildworld back, I dont want to take the box offline for long. I
> also need to add another proc to it,
> which means I need to add smp support, which I can't currently do. What is
> the best course of action for me from
> here? Am I overlooking something simple?
> FreeBSD 5.2.1-RELEASE FreeBSD 5.2.1-RELEASE #0:
What is the exact error you receive?
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global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70235
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[Chandler-dev] Removing displayName
Phillip J. Eby pje at telecommunity.com
Tue Jul 18 14:37:29 PDT 2006
Brian Kirsch, Morgen Sagen, Grant Baillie, Ted Leung, Katie Capps Parlante,
John Anderson and I just had a brief meeting regarding the "unified
displayName" discussion from April (see also bug #1745).
The background of the issue is that Brian was concerned about developers
localizing displayName unnecessarily for schema items, when that name is
almost never actually displayed. Brian's outstanding patch for bug #1745
attempted to fix this by creating a new "title" attribute and using it in
addition to displayName.
In discussion at the meeting, however, it became clear that there is no
apparently-valid use case for having a displayName at all. The original
intent of displayName was to have a single, universal attribute that could
be used for an item's user-visible name. However, in today's Chandler
there are different uses for names of different items, and (it would
appear) no reason to continue centralizing this in the repository.
So, the consensus reached was to:
1. Use application-specific attributes for UI display, with the most
prominent example being a new "ContentItem.title" attribute.
2. Remove "displayName" from the schema API and the repository, as the
attribute should no longer have any special meaning or function, nor in
fact exist at all.
The current action plan is as follows:
1. John will investigate remaining uses of displayName that are actually
being shown in the UI, and add/use the 'title' attribute of ContentItem in
place of 'displayName'. This attribute will be indexed.
2. Brian Kirsch will review John's patch for i18n issues
3. I will remove displayName from the schema API
4. Andi will remove it from the repository code and core schema definition.
More information about the chandler-dev mailing list
|
global_05_local_4_shard_00000656_processed.jsonl/70238
|
RE: focus/blur events
From: Mark Birbeck <[email protected]>
Date: Wed, 29 Mar 2006 11:02:19 +0100
To: <[email protected]>
Message-ID: <027001c65317$dda180a0$7e01a8c0@Jan>
Hi Ian,
> Having said all this, it is unclear to me exactly what it
> means for the DOM Events spec to have these events, and so
> I'm unsure as to whether it makes any sense to discuss
> "adding" or "removing" events from this spec.
On the one hand, the DOMFocusIn and Out events are in the DOM 2 Events spec,
and have been for nearly six years. So to deprecate them in favour of blur
and focus when DOM 3 Events comes out, would be to "remove" functionality
(their bubbliness).
But do you mean that really they should be in a separate spec? That DOM 3
Events should focus on the architecture, whilst the actual naming and
behaviour of the events themselves should be elsewhere? If so, I for one
would certainly agree with that, especially since many events will be little
'clusters' based around some defined functionality. A much smaller, leaner
spec purely concentrating on control navigation could describe these events.
Mark Birbeck
x-port.net Ltd.
e: [email protected]
t: +44 (0) 20 7689 9232
b: http://internet-apps.blogspot.com/
w: http://www.formsPlayer.com/
Download our XForms processor from
Received on Wednesday, 29 March 2006 10:04:00 GMT
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