data3.txt

{'Reference': ['teness implies all give and little or no return, it is well to recall Coleridge\'s definition of a gentleman: "We feel the gentlemanly character present with us," he said, "whenever, under all circumstances of social intercourse, the trivial, not less than the important, through the whole detail of his manners and deportment, and with the ease of a habit, a person shows respect to others in such a way as at the same time implies, in his own feelings, and habitually, an assured anticipation of reciprocal respect from them to himself. In short, the gentlemanly character arises out of the feeling of equality acting as a habit, yet flexible to the varieties of rank, and modified without being disturbed or superseded by them." Definitions of a gentleman are numerous, and some of them famous; but we do not find such copiousness for choice in definitions of a lady. Perhaps it has been understood all along that the admirable and just characteristics of a gentleman should of necessity be those also of a lady, with the', 'ERVATION PROVES THE EXISTENCE OF A PSYCHIC WORLD,\nas real as the world known to our physical senses.\n``And now, because the soul acts at a distance by some power that belongs\nto it, are we authorized to conclude that it exists as something real,\nand that it is not the result of functions of the brain?\n``Does light really exist?\n``Does heat exist?\n``Does sound exist?\n``No.\n``They are only manifestations produced by movement.\n``What we call light is a sensation produced upon our optic nerve\nby the vibrations of ether, comprising between 400 and 756 trillions\nper second, undulations that are themselves very obscure.\n``What we call heat is a sensation produced by vibrations between 350\nand and{sic} 600 trillions.\n``The sun lights up space, as much at midnight as at midday.\nIts temperature is nearly 270 degrees below zero.\n``What we call sound is a sensation produced upon our auditory nerve\nby silent vibrations of the air, themselves comprising between 32,000\nand 36,000 a second.\n', "this truth opens up a vast field for re-examination. It means that we must study all the possible data that can be causes of crime,--the man's heredity, the man's physical and moral <p vii> make-up, his emotional temperament, the surroundings of his youth, his present home, and other conditions,--all the influencing circumstances. And it means that the effect of different methods of treatment, old or new, for different kinds of men and of causes, must be studied, experimented, and compared. Only in this way can accurate knowledge be reached, and new efficient measures be adopted.\nAll this has been going on in Europe for forty years past, and in limited fields in this country. All the branches of science that can help have been working,--anthropology, medicine, psychology, economics, sociology, philanthropy, penology. The law alone has abstained. The science of law is the one to be served by all this. But the public in general and the legal profession in particular have remained either ignorant of", "estimates, and changes the relative sizes of many of\nthe world's economies.\nConcise descriptions of the major religions mentioned in the Factbook\nhave been added to the Notes and Definitions. France 's redesignation\nof some of its overseas possessions caused the five former Indian Ocean\nisland possessions making up Iles Eparses to be incorporated into the\nFrench Southern and Antarctic Lands, while two new Caribbean entities,\nSt. Barthelemy and St. Martin, were created.\nRevision of some individual country maps, first introduced in the 2001\nedition, is continued in this edition. The revised maps include\nelevation extremes and a partial geographic grid. Several regional maps\nhave also been updated to reflect boundary changes and place name\nspelling changes.\nAbbreviations: This information is included in Appendix A:\nAbbreviations, which includes all abbreviations and acronyms used in\nthe Factbook, with their expansions.\nAcronyms: An acronym is an abbreviation coined from the initial letter\nof each ", 's can be\nmade, what is their order of precedence, which can be debated, what is\ntheir effect, etc., the common law of the land is settled by the\npractice of the U. S. House of Representatives, and not by that of the\nEnglish Parliament, the U. S. Senate, or any other body.\nWhile in extreme cases there is no difficulty in deciding the question\nas to whether the practice of Congress determines the common\nparliamentary law, yet between these extremes there must necessarily be\na large number of doubtful cases upon which there would be great\ndifference of opinion, and to avoid the serious difficulties always\narising from a lack of definiteness in the law, every deliberative\nassembly should imitate our legislative bodies in adopting Rules of\nOrder for the conduct of their business.* [Where the practice of\nCongress differs from that of Parliament upon a material point, the\ncommon law of this country follows the practice of Congress. Thus in\nevery American deliberative assembly having no rules for conducting\nbusin', "of this kind, of overtones and undertones that illuminate the hackish psyche.\nBut there is more. Hackers, as a rule, love wordplay and are very conscious and inventive in their use of language. These traits seem to be common in young children, but the conformity-enforcing machine we are pleased to call an educational system bludgeons them out of most of us before adolescence. Thus, linguistic invention in most subcultures of the modern West is a halting and largely unconscious process. Hackers, by contrast, regard slang formation and use as a game to be played for conscious pleasure. Their inventions thus display an almost unique combination of the neotenous enjoyment of language-play with the discrimination of educated and powerful intelligence. Further, the electronic media which knit them together are fluid, `hot' connections, well adapted to both the dissemination of new slang and the ruthless culling of weak and superannuated specimens. The results of this process give us perhaps a uniquely inten", 'of tobacco, let us try it." They take a match and light it, and then puff away. "We will learn to smoke; do you like it Johnny?" That lad dolefully replies: "Not very much; it tastes bitter;" by and by he grows pale, but he persists and he soon offers up a sacrifice on the altar of fashion; but the boys stick to it and persevere until at last they conquer their natural appetites and become the victims of acquired tastes.\nI speak "by the book," for I have noticed its effects on myself, having gone so far as to smoke ten or fifteen cigars a day; although I have not used the weed during the last fourteen years, and never shall again. The more a man smokes, the more he craves smoking; the last cigar smoked simply excites the desire for another, and so on incessantly.\nTake the tobacco-chewer. In the morning, when he gets up, he puts a quid in his mouth and keeps it there all day, never taking it out except to exchange it for a fresh one, or when he is going to eat; oh! yes, at intervals during the da', "effectively stopped growing and changing. Originally, this was due to a desire to freeze the file temporarily to facilitate the production of Steele-1983, but external conditions caused the `temporary' freeze to become permanent.\nThe AI Lab culture had been hit hard in the late 1970s by funding cuts and the resulting administrative decision to use vendor-supported hardware and software instead of homebrew whenever possible. At MIT, most AI work had turned to dedicated LISP Machines. At the same time, the commercialization of AI technology lured some of the AI Lab's best and brightest away to startups along the Route 128 strip in Massachusetts and out West in Silicon Valley. The startups built LISP machines for MIT; the central MIT-AI computer became a [45]TWENEX system rather than a host for the AI hackers' beloved [46]ITS.\nThe Stanford AI Lab had effectively ceased to exist by 1980, although the SAIL computer continued as a Computer Science Department resource until 1991. Stanford became a majo", "eth headlong.\nSa'dí.\n43.\nA man who has learnt little grows old like an ox: his flesh grows, but his knowledge does not grow.\nDhammapada.\n44.\nUnsullied poverty is always happy, while impure wealth brings with it many sorrows.\nChinese.\n45.\nBoth white and black acknowledge women's sway, So much the better and the wiser too, Deeming it most convenient to obey, Or possibly they might their folly rue.[6]\nPersian.\n[6] Cf. Pope:\nWould men but follow what the sex advise, All things would prosper, all the world grow wise.\n46.\nWe are never so much disposed to quarrel with others as when we are dissatisfied with ourselves.\nHazlitt.\n47.\nNo one is more profoundly sad than he who laughs too much.\nRichter.\n48.\nThe heaven that rolls around cries aloud to you while it displays its eternal beauties, and yet your eyes are fixed upo", "\n1. ... K-Q3\n\n2. P-B3 K-B3\n\n3. K-B4 and wins.\n\nThis settles all typical end-games of King and pawn against King. There is, however, one exception to the rules set out, namely, when a ROOK'S PAWN is concerned. Here the isolated King always succeeds in drawing if he can reach the corner where the pawn has to queen, for he cannot be driven out again. The Rook's pawn affords another opportunity for the weaker side to draw. Diagram 55 will illustrate this, and similar positions are of frequent occurrence in practice. Here Black draws with 1. ... K-B5. As he threatens to capture the pawn, White must play 2. P-R4. Then after the reply K-B4, White is still unable to cut the opponent off from the corner with K-Kt7, as the loss of the pawn is still threatened through K-Kt5. And after 3. P-R5 Black attains the position which is typical for this end-game, namely the opposition against the King on the Rook's file. The latter cannot escape without giving up the contested corner, and the game is drawn. 3. ... K-B3; 4. K-R7, K-B2; 5. K-R8, K-B1; 6. P-R6, K-B2; 7. P-R7, K-B1: and White is stalemated.\n\n\n---------------------------------------\n8 | | | | | | | | |\n|---------------------------------------|\n7 | | | | | | | | |\n|---------------------------------------|\n6 | ^K | | | | | | | |\n|---------------------------------------|\n5 | | | | | | | | |\n|---------------------------------------|\n4 | | | | | | | | |\n|---------------------------------------|\n3 | | | | #K | | | | |\n|---------------------------------------|\n2 | ^P | | | | | | | |\n|---------------------------------------|\n1 | | | | | | | | |\n---------------------------------------\nA B C D E F G H\n\nDiag. 55", 's actually unfair to the young\nchildren in the home to set the wrong example by being discourteous to\nthe servants. They will only have to fight, later, to conquer the petty\nsnobbishness that stands between them and their entrance into good\nsociety.\nTHE INVISIBLE BARRIER\nIn the sixteenth century French women servants were arrested and placed\nin prison for wearing clothes similar to those worn by their "superiors"\nIt developed that they had made the garments themselves, copying them\nfrom the original models, sometimes sitting up all night to finish the\ngarment. But the court ruled that it made no difference whether they had\nmade them themselves or not; they had worn clothes like their\nmistresses\', and they must be punished! We very much wiser people of the\ntwentieth century smile when we read of these ridiculous edicts of a\nlong-ago court, but we placidly continue to condemn the shop-girl and the\nworking-girl if she dares to imitate Parisienne importations.\nIt is very often the same in the househo', 'the wife of the grantor is to sign, her name should follow that\nof her husband.\nIf one or both cannot write, the signature can be made in this\nway:\nHis\nGeorge X Jones.\nMark.\nWitness..............\nIn some states one or more witnesses are required to the signature\nof the grantor; in others, witnesses are not necessary, except\nwhere a "mark" is made.\nAn important part of a deed is the Acknowledgment. This is the act\nof acknowledging before a notary public, justice or other official\nproperly qualified to administer an oath, that the signatures are\ngenuine and made voluntarily.\nThe acknowledgment having been taken, the official stamps the\npaper with his seal and signs it.\nIn some states the law requires that a wax or paper seal be\nattached to the paper, while in others a circular scroll, made\nwith the pen, with the letters "L.S." in the center answer the\npurpose.\nWhen the foregoing essentials are complied with the deed must be\ndelivered to the grantee. The del', 'mp;c.. 9; have no business there, have nothing to do with, intrude &c. 24.\nbring in head and shoulders, drag in head and shoulders, lug in head and shoulders.\nAdj. irrelative, irrespective, unrelated; arbitrary; independent, unallied; unconnected, disconnected; adrift, isolated, insular; extraneous, strange, alien, foreign, outlandish, exotic.\nnot comparable, incommensurable, heterogeneous; unconformable &c. 83. irrelevant, inapplicable; not pertinent, not to the, purpose; impertinent, inapposite, beside the mark, a propos de bottes; aside from the purpose,, away from the purpose,, foreign to the purpose, beside the purpose, beside the question, beside the transaction, beside the point; misplaced &c. (intrusive) 24; traveling out of the record.\nremote, far-fetched, out of the way, forced, neither here nor there, quite another thing; detached, segregate; disquiparant.\nmultifarious; discordant &c.. 24.\nincidental, parenthetical, obiter dicta, episodic.', '24 hours and it is ready for use. Dose, internally, one teaspoonful for adults. Bathe the affected parts well. This is a great remedy for aches and pains, Rheumatism, Neuralgia, and all nervous and inflammatory diseases.\nCURE FOR SORE THROAT IN ALL ITS DIFFERENT FORMS.--Two ozs. Cayenne Pepper, one oz. common Salt, one-half pint of Vinegar. Warm over a slow fire and gargle the throat and mouth every hour. Garlic and Onion poultice applied to the outside. Castor Oil, one spoonful to keep the bowels open.\nDROPS OF LIFE.--One oz. Gum Opium, one drm. Gum Kino, forty grs. Gum Camphor, one-half ounce Nutmeg powdered, one pint French Brandy. Let stand from one to ten days. Dose, from 30 to 40 drops for an adult; children, half doses. This is one of the most valuable preparations in the Materia Medica, and will in some dangerous hours, when all hope is fled, and the system is racked with pain, be the soothing balm which cures the most dangerous disease to which the human body is liable--flux, dysentery', "ele-1983, but external conditions caused the `temporary' freeze to become permanent.\nThe AI Lab culture had been hit hard in the late 1970s by funding cuts and the resulting administrative decision to use vendor-supported hardware and software instead of homebrew whenever possible. At MIT, most AI work had turned to dedicated LISP Machines. At the same time, the commercialization of AI technology lured some of the AI Lab's best and brightest away to startups along the Route 128 strip in Massachusetts and out West in Silicon Valley. The startups built LISP machines for MIT; the central MIT-AI computer became a [45]TWENEX system rather than a host for the AI hackers' beloved [46]ITS.\nThe Stanford AI Lab had effectively ceased to exist by 1980, although the SAIL computer continued as a Computer Science Department resource until 1991. Stanford became a major [47]TWENEX site, at one point operating more than a dozen TOPS-20 systems; but by the mid-1980s most of the interesting software work was being", 'in a mysterious way," commonly with the property of another.\nSpring beckons! All things to the call respond; The trees are leaving and cashiers abscond.\nPhela Orm\nABSENT, adj. Peculiarly exposed to the tooth of detraction; vilifed; hopelessly in the wrong; superseded in the consideration and affection of another.\nTo men a man is but a mind. Who cares What face he carries or what form he wears? But woman\'s body is the woman. O, Stay thou, my sweetheart, and do never go, But heed the warning words the sage hath said: A woman absent is a woman dead.\nJogo Tyree\nABSENTEE, n. A person with an income who has had the forethought to remove himself from the sphere of exaction.\nABSOLUTE, adj. Independent, irresponsible. An absolute monarchy is one in which the sovereign does as he pleases so long as he pleases the assassins. Not many absolute monarchies are left, most of them having been replaced by limited monarchies, where the sovereign\'s power for evil (and for good) i', 'n the day.\nIf we further analyse our vague, uneasy aspiration, we shall, I think, see that it springs from a fixed idea that we ought to do something in addition to those things which we are loyally and morally obliged to do. We are obliged, by various codes written and unwritten, to maintain ourselves and our families (if any) in health and comfort, to pay our debts, to save, to increase our prosperity by increasing our efficiency. A task sufficiently difficult! A task which very few of us achieve! A task often beyond our skill! yet, if we succeed in it, as we sometimes do, we are not satisfied; the skeleton is still with us.\nAnd even when we realise tat the task is beyond our skill, that our powers cannot cope with it, we feel that we should be less discontented if we gave to our powers, already overtaxed, something still further to do.\nAnd such is, indeed, the fact. The wish to accomplish something outside their formal programme is common to all men who in the course of evolution have ', 's--Clytie--Hero and Leander XIV. Minerva and Arachne--Niobe XV. The Graeae and Gorgons--Perseus and Medusa--Atlas--Andromeda XVI. Monsters: Giants--Sphinx--Pegasus and Chimaera--Centaurs --Griffin--Pygmies XVII. The Golden Fleece--Medea XVIII. Meleager and Atalanta XIX. Hercules--Hebe and Ganymede XX. Theseus and Daedalus--Castor and Pollux--Festivals and Games XXI. Bacchus and Ariadne XXII. The Rural Deities--The Dryads and Erisichthon --Rhoecus--Water Deities--Camenae--Winds XXIII. Achelous and Hercules--Admetus and Alcestis--Antigone--Penelope XXIV. Orpheus and Eurydice--Aristaeus--Amphion--Linus --Thamyris--Marsyas--Melampus--Musaeus XXV. Arion--Ibycus--Simonides--Sappho XXVI. Endymion--Orion--Aurora and Tithonus--Acis and Galatea XXVII. The Trojan War XXVIII. The Fall of Troy--Return of the Greeks--Orestes and Electra XXIX. Adventures of Ulysses--The Lotus-eaters--The Cyclopes', 'r description as they seemed to\nneed or as pleased me, and in one or two instances I have gathered\nin an incident from another version. At all times, among my friends,\nboth young and old, English or American, I have always found eager\nlisteners to the beautiful legends and fairy tales of Japan, and in\ntelling them I have also found that they were still unknown to the\nvast majority, and this has encouraged me to write them for the\nchildren of the West.\nY. T. O.\nTokio, 1908.\n\nCONTENTS.\nMY LORD BAG OF RICE\nTHE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW\nTHE STORY OF URASHIMA TARO, THE FISHER LAD\nTHE FARMER AND THE BADGER\nTHE "shinansha," OR THE SOUTH POINTING CARRIAGE\nTHE ADVENTURES OF KINTARO, THE GOLDEN BOY\nTHE STORY OF PRINCESS HASE\nTHE STORY OF THE MAN WHO DID NOT WISH TO DIE\nTHE BAMBOO-CUTTER AND THE MOON-CHILD\nTHE MIRROR OF MATSUYAMA\nTHE GOBLIN OF ADACHIGAHARA\nTHE SAGACIOUS MONKEY AND THE BOAR\nTHE HAPPY HUNTER AND THE SKILLFUL FISHER\nTHE STORY OF THE OLD MAN WHO MADE WITHERED', 'The best players at present are considered to be Newell\nBanks and Alfred Jordan.\nPART I: THE GAME OF CHESS\nI\nTHE RULES OF THE GAME\nBOARD AND MEN\nThe game of Chess is played by two armies who oppose each other\non a square board or battlefield of sixty-four alternate white\nand black squares. Each army has sixteen men; one King, one\nQueen, two Rooks (or Castles), two Bishops, two Knights and eight\nPawns. The Generals of the two armies are the two players\nthemselves. The men of one side are of light color and are called\nWhite, those of the other side are of dark color and are called\nBlack.\nThe object of the game is to capture the opposing King. When this\nis done the battle is ended, the side losing whose King is\ncaptured. To understand what is meant by the capture of the King\nit is first necessary to become acquainted with the laws\naccording to which the different men move on the board.\nTo start with, the board must be placed so that ', 'his right hand launched it against the charioteer, and struck him at the same moment from his seat and from existence! Phaeton, with his hair on fire, fell headlong, like a shooting star which marks the heavens with its brightness as it falls, and Eridanus, the great river, received him and cooled his burning frame. The Italian Naiads reared a tomb for him, and inscribed these words upon the stone:\n"Driver of Phoebus\' chariot Phaeton, Struck by Jove\'s thunder, rests beneath this stone. He could not rule his father\'s car of fire, Yet was it much so nobly to aspire"\n[Footnote: See Proverbial Expressions]\nHis sisters, the Heliades, as they lamented his fate, were turned into poplar trees, on the banks of the river, and their tears', "attle with Sir Launcelot\nXV. The Round Table\nXVI. Sir Palamedes\nXVII. Sir Tristram\nXVIII. Perceval\nXIX. The Sangreal, or Holy Graal\nXX. The Sangreal (Continued)\nXXI. The Sangreal (Continued)\nXXII. Sir Agrivain's Treason\nXXIII. Morte d'Arthur\nTHE MABINOGEON\nIntroductory Note\nI. The Britons\nII. The Lady of the Fountain\nIII. The Lady of the Fountain (Continued)\nIV. The Lady of the Fountain (Continued)\nV. Geraint, the Son of Erbin\nVI. Geraint, the Son of Erbin (Continued)\nVII. Geraint, the Son of Erbin (Continued)\nVIII. Pwyll, Prince of Dyved\nIX. Branwen, the Daughter of Llyr\nX. Manawyddan\nXI. Kilwich and Olwen\nXII. Kilwich and Olwen (Continued)\nXIII. Taliesin\nHERO MYTHS OF THE BRITISH RACE\nBeowulf\nCuchulain, Champion of Ireland\nHereward the Wake\nRobin Hood\nGLOSSARY\n\nKING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS\nCHAPTER I\nINTRODUCTION\nOn the decline of the Roman power, about five centuries after\nChrist, the countries ", "23. HAVING RISEN EARLY, as we have already advised (see 3), and having given due attention to the bath, and made a careful toilet, it will be well at once to see that the children have received their proper ablutions, and are in every way clean and comfortable. The first meal of the day, breakfast, will then be served, at which all the family should be punctually present, unless illness, or other circumstances, prevent.\n\n24. AFTER BREAKFAST IS OVER, it will be well for the mistress to make a round of the kitchen and other offices, to see that all are in order, and that the morning's work has been properly performed by the various domestics. The orders for the day should then be given, and any questions which the domestics desire to ask, respecting their several departments, should be answered, and any special articles they may require, handed to them from the store-closet.\n\n\nIn those establishments where there is a housekeeper, it will not be so necessary for the mistress, personally, to perform the above-named duties."], 'Religion': ['None', 'nce to Paine\'s footnote (itself altered in some editions!), in which he says: "If this has happened within such a short space of time, notwithstanding the aid of printing, which prevents the alteration of copies individually; what may not have happened in a much greater length of time, when there was no printing, and when any man who could write, could make a written copy, and call it an original, by Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John.\nNothing appears to me more striking, as an illustration of the far-reaching effects of traditional prejudice, than the errors into which some of our ablest contemporary scholars have fallen by reason of their not having studied Paine. Professor Huxley, for instance, speaking of the freethinkers of the eighteenth century, admires the acuteness, common sense, wit, and the broad humanity of the best of them, but says "there is rarely much to be said for their work as an example of the adequate treatment of a grave and difficult investigation," and that they shared with their adve', 'ed, unsown cloak.\nHe ate only once a day, and never something cooked. He fasted for\nfifteen days. He fasted for twenty-eight days. The flesh waned from\nhis thighs and cheeks. Feverish dreams flickered from his enlarged\neyes, long nails grew slowly on his parched fingers and a dry, shaggy\nbeard grew on his chin. His glance turned to icy when he encountered\nwomen; his mouth twitched with contempt, when he walked through a city\nof nicely dressed people. He saw merchants trading, princes hunting,\nmourners wailing for their dead, whores offering themselves, physicians\ntrying to help the sick, priests determining the most suitable day for\nseeding, lovers loving, mothers nursing their children--and all of this\nwas not worthy of one look from his eye, it all lied, it all stank,\nit all stank of lies, it all pretended to be meaningful and joyful and\nbeautiful, and it all was just concealed putrefaction. The world tasted\nbitter. Life was torture.\nA goal stood before Siddhartha, a single goal: to become empty,', 'ount. He thought so little about it that he overlooked any mention to the family. Much later he was questioned by my youngest brother Bishnu, who noticed the large deposit on a bank statement.\n"Why be elated by material profit?" Father replied. "The one who pursues a goal of evenmindedness is neither jubilant with gain nor depressed by loss. He knows that man arrives penniless in this world, and departs without a single rupee."\n[Illustration: MY FATHER, Bhagabati Charan Ghosh, A Disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya--see father1.jpg]\nEarly in their married life, my parents became disciples of a great master, Lahiri Mahasaya of Benares. This contact strengthened Father\'s naturally ascetical temperament. Mother made a remarkable admission to my eldest sister Roma: "Your father and myself live together as man and wife only once a year, for the purpose of having children."\nFather first met Lahiri Mahasaya through Abinash Babu, {FN1-8} an employee in the Gorakhpur office of the Bengal-Nagpur Rail', "in polite\nstudies.'\nCHAP. VII. Tsze-hsia said, 'If a man withdraws his mind from\nthe love of beauty, and applies it as sincerely to the love of the\nvirtuous; if, in serving his parents, he can exert his utmost strength;\nif, in serving his prince, he can devote his life; if, in his intercourse\nwith his friends, his words are sincere:-- although men say that he\nhas not learned, I will certainly say that he has.'\nCHAP. VIII. 1. The Master said, 'If the scholar be not grave, he\nwill not call forth any veneration, and his learning will not be solid.\n2. 'Hold faithfulness and sincerity as first principles.\n3. 'Have no friends not equal to yourself.\n4. 'When you have faults, do not fear to abandon them.'\nCHAP. IX. The philosopher Tsang said, 'Let there be a careful\nattention to perform the funeral rites to parents, and let them be\nfollowed when long gone with the ceremonies of sacrifice;-- then\nthe virtue of the people will resume its proper excellence.' \nCHAP. X. 1. Tsze-ch'in asked Tsze-kung,", 'MATTER AND SPIRIT XIV. RELIGION BY SEPARATION FROM THE QUALITIES XV. RELIGION BY ATTAINING THE SUPREME XVI. THE SEPARATENESS OF THE DIVINE AND UNDIVINE XVII. RELIGION BY THE THREEFOLD FAITH XVIII. RELIGION BY DELIVERANCE AND RENUNCIATION \nCHAPTER I\nDhritirashtra: Ranged thus for battle on the sacred plain-- On Kurukshetra--say, Sanjaya! say What wrought my people, and the Pandavas?\nSanjaya: When he beheld the host of Pandavas, Raja Duryodhana to Drona drew, And spake these words: "Ah, Guru! see this line, How vast it is of Pandu fighting-men, Embattled by the son of Drupada, Thy scholar in the war! Therein stand ranked Chiefs like Arjuna, like to Bhima chiefs, Benders of bows; Virata, Yuyudhan, Drupada, eminent upon his car, Dhrishtaket, Chekitan, Kasi\'s stout lord, Purujit, Kuntibhoj, and Saivya, With Yudhamanyu, and Uttamauj Subhadra\'s child; and Drupadi\'s;-all famed! All mounted on their shining chariots! On our side, too,--thou', 'fe and children,\nperceiving it, began to cry after him to return; but the man put\nhis fingers in his ears, and ran on, crying, Life! life! eternal\nlife! [Luke 14:26] So he looked not behind him, but fled towards\nthe middle of the plain. [Gen. 19:17]\n{19} The neighbours also came out to see him run [Jer. 20:10];\nand, as he ran, some mocked, others threatened, and some cried\nafter him to return; and, among those that did so, there were two\nthat resolved to fetch him back by force. The name of the one was\nObstinate and the name of the other Pliable. Now, by this time,\nthe man was got a good distance from them; but, however, they were\nresolved to pursue him, which they did, and in a little time they\novertook him. Then said the man, Neighbours, wherefore are ye come?\nThey said, To persuade you to go back with us. But he said, That\ncan by no means be; you dwell, said he, in the City of Destruction,\nthe place also where I was born: I see it to be so; and, dying\nthere, sooner or later, you will sink low', "to continue more or less during the rest of Marcus's reign. During these wars, in 169, Verus died. We have no means of following the campaigns in detail; but thus much is certain, that in the end the Romans succeeded in crushing the barbarian tribes, and effecting a settlement which made the empire more secure. Marcus was himself comanander-in-chief, and victory was due no less to his own ability than to his wisdom in choice of lieutenants, shown conspicuously in the case of Pertinax. There were several important battles fought in these campaigns; and one of them has become celebrated for the legend of the Thundering Legion. In a battle against the Quadi in 174, the day seemed to he going in favour of the foe, when on a sudden arose a great storm of thunder and rain the lightning struck the barbarians with terror, and they turned to rout. In later days this storm was said to have been sent in answer to the prayers of a legion which contained many Christians, and the name Thundering Legion should he given to", 'ld\nManse. And now--because, beyond my deserts, I was happy enough\nto find a listener or two on the former occasion--I again seize\nthe public by the button, and talk of my three years\' experience\nin a Custom-House. The example of the famous "P. P. , Clerk of\nthis Parish," was never more faithfully followed. The truth\nseems to be, however, that when he casts his leaves forth upon\nthe wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling aside\nhis volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understand\nhim better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates. Some\nauthors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge themselves in\nsuch confidential depths of revelation as could fittingly be\naddressed only and exclusively to the one heart and\nmind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at large\non the wide world, were certain to find out the divided segment\nof the writer\'s own nature, and complete his circle of existence\nby bringing him into communion with it. It is scarcely decorous,\nhowever,', 's: 5:24 And Enoch walked with God: and he was not; for God took him.\n5:25 And Methuselah lived an hundred eighty and seven years, and begat Lamech.\n5:26 And Methuselah lived after he begat Lamech seven hundred eighty and two years, and begat sons and daughters: 5:27 And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years: and he died.\n5:28 And Lamech lived an hundred eighty and two years, and begat a son: 5:29 And he called his name Noah, saying, This same shall comfort us concerning our work and toil of our hands, because of the ground which the LORD hath cursed.\n5:30 And Lamech lived after he begat Noah five hundred ninety and five years, and begat sons and daughters: 5:31 And all the days of Lamech were seven hundred seventy and seven years: and he died.\n5:32 And Noah was five hundred years old: and Noah begat Shem, Ham, and Japheth.\n6:1 And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, 6:2 Th', 'None', 'satisfy the longing of the heart. The shallowness of our inner experience, the hollowness of our worship, and that servile imitation of the world which marks our promotional methods all testify that we, in this day, know God only imperfectly, and the peace of God scarcely at all.\nIf we would find God amid all the religious externals we must first determine to find Him, and then proceed in the way of simplicity. Now as always God discovers Himself to "babes" and hides Himself in thick darkness from the wise and the prudent. We must simplify our approach to Him. We must strip down to essentials (and they will be found to be blessedly few). We must put away all effort to impress, and come with the guileless candor of childhood. If we do this, without doubt God will quickly respond.\nWhen religion has said its last word, there is little that we need other than God Himself. The evil habit of seeking God-and effectively prevents us from finding God in full revelation. In the "and" lies our gr', 'blacken his name and secure his removal, instigated a suit against him for having mismanaged an inheritance left to his children by his first wife. The children themselves appeared in his defence, however, and expressed their complete satisfaction with his administration of their property; and the trumped up charge was wholly disproved. But his enemies still wanted to have him removed and, choosing a new method of attack, forwarded a petition to the king in which they claimed that "Master Hans Chrestensen Sthen because of weakness and old age was incompetent to discharge his duties as a pastor", and asked for his removal to the parishes of Tygelse and Klagstrup. Though the king is reported to have granted the petition, other things seem to have intervened to prevent its execution, and the ill-used pastor appears to have remained at Malmø until his death, the date of which is unknown.\nSthen\'s fame as a poet and hymnwriter rests mainly on two thin volumes of poetry. A Small Handbook, Containi', 'as to the Tao have the happiness of attaining to it; those with whom he agrees as to its manifestation have the happiness of attaining to it; and those with whom he agrees in their failure have also the happiness of attaining (to the Tao). (But) when there is not faith sufficient (on his part), a want of faith (in him) ensues (on the part of the others).\n24. He who stands on his tiptoes does not stand firm; he who stretches his legs does not walk (easily). (So), he who displays himself does not shine; he who asserts his own views is not distinguished; he who vaunts himself does not find his merit acknowledged; he who is self- conceited has no superiority allowed to him. Such conditions, viewed from the standpoint of the Tao, are like remnants of food, or a tumour on the body, which all dislike. Hence those who pursue (the course) of the Tao do not adopt and allow them.\n25. 1. There was something undefined and complete, coming into existence before Heaven and Earth. How still it was and formless,', 'ly little bows and little arrows that looked like children\'s playthings, but upon these tiny arrows there was a small drop of poison which would kill an elephant or a man as quickly and as surely as a Winchester rifle. Their defense was by means of poison and traps. They would steal through the darkness of the forest and, waiting in ambush, let fly their deadly arrows before they could be discovered. They dug ditches and carefully covered them over with leaves. They fixed spikes in the ground and tipped them with the most deadly poison, and then covered them. Into these ditches and on these spikes man and beast would fall or step to their death.\nA lady once writing to a young man in the navy who was almost a stranger, thought "Shall I close this as anybody would, or shall I say a word for my Master?" and, lifting up her heart for a moment, she wrote, telling him that his constant change of scene and place was an apt illustration of the word, "Here we have no continuing city," and asked if he c', ', day by day, so\nChrist is able\nin heaven now to do what He could not do when He was on earth--to keep in the closest fellowship with every believer throughout the whole world. Glory be to God! You know that text in Ephesians: "He that descended is the same also that ascended, that He might fill all things." Why was my Lord Jesus taken up to heaven away from the life of earth? Because the life of earth is a life confined to localities, but the life in heaven is a life in which there is no limit and no bound and no locality, and Christ was taken up to heaven, that, in the power of God, of the omnipresent God, He might be able to fill every individual here and be with every individual believer.\nThat is what my heart wants to realize by faith; that is a possibility, that is a promise, that is my birthright, and I want to have it, and I want by the grace of God to say, "Jesus, I will not rest until Thou hast revealed Thyself fully to my soul."\nThere are often very blessed expe', 'to one of them publicly was already sufficient to set him off as one in imminent need of psychiatrical attention. Belief in them had become a mark of inferiority, like the allied belief in madstones, magic and apparitions.\nBut though the theology of Christianity had thus sunk to the lowly estate of a mere delusion of the rabble, propagated on that level by the ancient caste of sacerdotal parasites, the ethics of Christianity continued to enjoy the utmost acceptance, and perhaps even more acceptance than ever before. It seemed to be generally felt, in fact, that they simply must be saved from the wreck--that the world would vanish into chaos if they went the way of the revelations supporting them. In this fear a great many judicious men joined, and so there arose what was, in essence, an absolutely new Christian cult--a cult, to wit, purged of all the supernaturalism superimposed upon the older cult by generations of theologians, and harking back to what was conceived to be the pure ethical doc', 'r guided by the example of Christ in the treatment of enemies; therefore they cannot be agreeable to the will of God, and therefore their overthrow by a spiritual regeneration of their subjects is inevitable.\n"We regard as unchristian and unlawful not only all wars, whether offensive or defensive, but all preparations for war; every naval ship, every arsenal, every fortification, we regard as unchristian and unlawful; the existence of any kind of standing army, all military chieftains, all monuments commemorative of victory over a fallen foe, all trophies won in battle, all celebrations in honor of military exploits, all appropriations for defense by arms; we regard as unchristian and unlawful every edict of government requiring of its subjects military service.\n"Hence we deem it unlawful to bear arms, and we cannot hold any office which imposes on its incumbent the obligation to compel men to do right on pain of imprisonment or death. We therefore voluntarily exclude ourselves from every legisl', "refore\nbe not lifted up by any skill or knowledge that thou hast; but\nrather fear concerning the knowledge which is given to thee. If\nit seemeth to thee that thou knowest many things, and\nunderstandest them well, know also that there are many more\nthings which thou knowest not. Be not high-minded, but rather\nconfess thine ignorance. Why desirest thou to lift thyself above\nanother, when there are found many more learned and more skilled\nin the Scripture than thou? If thou wilt know and learn anything\nwith profit, love to be thyself unknown and to be counted for\nnothing.\n4. That is the highest and most profitable lesson, when a man\ntruly knoweth and judgeth lowly of himself. To account nothing\nof one's self, and to think always kindly and highly of others,\nthis is great and perfect wisdom. Even shouldest thou see thy\nneighbor sin openly or grievously, yet thou oughtest not to\nreckon thyself better than he, for thou knowest not how long\nthou shalt keep thine integrity. All of us are weak and frail;\nhol", '" (John 6:38) "My teaching is not Mine" (John 7:16) "I am not come of Myself" (John 7:28) "I do nothing of Myself" (John 8:28) "I have not come of Myself, but He sent Me" (John 8: 42). "I seek not Mine own glory" (John 8:50) "The words that I say, I speak not from Myself" (John 14: 10). "The word which ye hear is not Mine" (John 14: 24).\nThese words open to us the deepest roots of Christ\'s life and work. They tell us how it was that the Almighty God was able to work His mighty redemptive work through Him. They show what Christ counted the state of heart which became Him as the Son of the Father. They teach us what the essential nature and life is of that redemption which Christ accomplished and now communicates. It is this: He was nothing, that God might be all. He resigned Himself with His will and His powers entirely for the Father to work in Him. Of His own power, His own will, and His own glory, of His whole mission with all His works and His teaching, of all this He said, It is not I; I am nothing', 'down in hell, and yet Thou art there also. For if I go down into hell, Thou art there. I could not be then, O my God, could not be at all, wert Thou not in me; or, rather, unless I were in Thee, of whom are all things, by whom are all things, in whom are all things? Even so, Lord, even so. Whither do I call Thee, since I am in Thee? or whence canst Thou enter into me? for whither can I go beyond heaven and earth, that thence my God should come into me, who hath said, I fill the heaven and the earth.\nDo the heaven and earth then contain Thee, since Thou fillest them? or dost Thou fill them and yet overflow, since they do not contain Thee? And whither, when the heaven and the earth are filled, pourest Thou forth the remainder of Thyself? or hast Thou no need that aught contain Thee, who containest all things, since what Thou fillest Thou fillest by containing it? for the vessels which Thou fillest uphold Thee not, since, though they were broken, Thou wert not poured out. And when Thou art poured out on u', 'hem all into the lions\' den.\n"And the lions had the mastery of them, and brake all their bones in pieces, or ever they came at the bottom of the pit."\nWhat had the wives and little children done? How had they offended King Darius, the believer in Jehovah? Who protected Daniel? Jehovah! Who failed to protect the innocent wives and children? Jehovah!\nTHE STORY OF JOSEPH.\nPharaoh had a dream, and this dream was interpreted by Joseph.\nAccording to this interpretation there was to be in Egypt seven years of plenty, followed by seven years of famine. Joseph advised Pharaoh to buy all the surplus of the seven plentiful years and store it up against the years of famine.\nPharaoh appointed Joseph as his minister or agent, and ordered him to buy the grain of the plentiful years.\nThen came the famine. The people came to the king for help. He told them to go to Joseph and do as he said.\nJoseph sold corn to the Egyptians until all their money was gone -- until he had ', 'of speech, out of indignation at his malicious disposition towards Adam. Besides this, he inserted poison under his tongue, and made him an enemy to men; and suggested to them, that they should direct their strokes against his head, that being the place wherein lay his mischievous designs towards men, and it being easiest to take vengeance on him, that way. And when he had deprived him of the use of his feet, he made him to go rolling all along, and dragging himself upon the ground. And when God had appointed these penalties for them, he removed Adam and Eve out of the garden into another place. \nCHAPTER 2.\nConcerning The Posterity Of Adam, And The Ten Generations From Him To The Deluge,\n1. Adam and Eve had two sons: the elder of them was named Cain; which name, when it is interpreted, signifies a possession: the younger was Abel, which signifies sorrow. They had also daughters. Now the two brethren were pleased with different c'], 'Romance': ['Bennet," as she entered the room, "we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her twice! Only think of that, my dear; he actually danced with her twice! and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her! But, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the Boulanger--"\n"If he had had any compassion for me," cried her husband impatiently, "he would not have danced half so ', 'sly."\n"Only one more, papa; only for Mr. Elton. Poor Mr. Elton! You like Mr. Elton, papa,--I must look about for a wife for him. There is nobody in Highbury who deserves him--and he has been here a whole year, and has fitted up his house so comfortably, that it would be a shame to have him single any longer--and I thought when he was joining their hands to-day, he looked so very much as if he would like to have the same kind office done for him! I think very well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I have of doing him a service."\n"Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very good young man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want to shew him any attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That will be a much better thing. I dare say Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to meet him."\n"With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time," said Mr. Knightley, laughing, "and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much better thing. Invite him to ', "How Sir Launcelot was received of King Bagdemagus' daughter, and how he made his complaint to her father.\nAND soon as Sir Launcelot came within the abbey yard, the daughter of King Bagdemagus heard a great horse go on the pavement. And she then arose and yede unto a window, and there she saw Sir Launcelot, and anon she made men fast to take his horse from him and let lead him into a stable, and himself was led into a fair chamber, and unarmed him, and the lady sent him a long gown, and anon she came herself. And then she made Launcelot passing good cheer, and she said he was the knight in the world was most welcome to her. Then in all haste she sent for her father Bagdemagus that was within twelve mile of that Abbey, and afore even he came, with a fair fellowship of knights with him. And when the king was alighted off his horse he yode straight unto Sir Launcelot's chamber", 'None', 'None', 's, as being Sir Walter, in her apprehension, entitled to a great deal of compassion and consideration under his present difficulties.\nThey must retrench; that did not admit of a doubt. But she was very anxious to have it done with the least possible pain to him and Elizabeth. She drew up plans of economy, she made exact calculations, and she did what nobody else thought of doing: she consulted Anne, who never seemed considered by the others as having any interest in the question. She consulted, and in a degree was influenced by her in marking out the scheme of retrenchment which was at last submitted to Sir Walter. Every emendation of Anne\'s had been on the side of honesty against importance. She wanted more vigorous measures, a more complete reformation, a quicker release from debt, a much higher tone of indifference for everything but justice and equity.\n"If we can persuade your father to all this," said Lady Russell, looking over her paper, "much may be done. If he will adopt these regulation', "assist him in counting his gold.\n'I don't want your help,' she snapped; 'I can get them for myself.'\n'I beg your pardon!' I hastened to reply.\n'Were you asked to tea?' she demanded, tying an apron over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful of the leaf poised over the pot.\n'I shall be glad to have a cup,' I answered.\n'Were you asked?' she repeated.\n'No,' I said, half smiling. 'You are the proper person to ask me.'\nShe flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair in a pet; her forehead corrugated, and her red under-lip pushed out, like a child's ready to cry.\nMeanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged between us. I began to doubt whether he were a servant or not: his dress and speech were both rude, entirely devoid of the superiority observab", 'brown, spring out of the thicket with a goatherd after it, calling to it and uttering the usual cries to make it stop or turn back to the fold. The fugitive goat, scared and frightened, ran towards the company as if seeking their protection and then stood still, and the goatherd coming up seized it by the horns and began to talk to it as if it were possessed of reason and understanding: "Ah wanderer, wanderer, Spotty, Spotty; how have you gone limping all this time? What wolves have frightened you, my daughter? Won\'t you tell me what is the matter, my beauty? But what else can it be except that you are a she, and cannot keep quiet? A plague on your humours and the humours of those you take after! Come back, come back, my darling; and if you will not be so happy, at any rate you will be safe in the fold or with your companions; for if you who ought to keep and lead them, go wandering astray, what will become of them?"\nThe goatherd\'s talk amused all who heard it, but especially the canon, who said to him, "As you live, brother, take it easy, and be not in such a hurry to drive this goat back to the fold; for, being a female, as you say, she will follow her natural instinct in spite of all you can do to prevent it. Take this morsel and drink a sup, and that will soothe your irritation, and in the meantime the goat will rest herself," and so saying, he handed him the loins of a cold rabbit on a fork.\nThe goatherd took it with thanks, and drank and calmed himself, and then said, "I should be sorry if your wo', 'me here as I stand. Shoot again, Umlilwane--shoot again, if you dare. Hau! Hear my `word.\' You have slain my dog--my white hunting dog, the last of his breed--who can outrun every other hunting dog in the land, even as the wind outstrippeth the crawling ox-wagon, and you have shed my blood, the blood of a chief. You had better first have cut off your right hand, for it is better to lose a hand than one\'s mind. This is my `word,\' Umlilwane--bear it in memory, for you have struck a chief--a man of the House of Gcaleka."\n[Umlilwane: "Little Fire"--Kafirs are fond of bestowing nicknames. This one referred to its bearer\'s habitually short temper.]\n"Damn the House of Gcaleka, anyway," said Carhayes, with a sneer as the savage, having vented his denunciation, stalked scowlingly away with his compatriots. "Look here, isidenge," [fool], he continued. "This is my word. Keep clear of me, for the next time you fall foul of me I\'ll shoot you dead. And now, Eustace," turni', 'm grasp my hair and my shoulder: he had closed with a desperate thing. I really saw in him a tyrant, a murderer. I felt a drop or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck, and was sensible of somewhat pungent suffering: these sensations for the time predominated over fear, and I received him in frantic sort. I don\'t very well know what I did with my hands, but he called me "Rat! Rat!" and bellowed out aloud. Aid was near him: Eliza and Georgiana had run for Mrs. Reed, who was gone upstairs: she now came upon the scene, followed by Bessie and her maid Abbot. We were parted: I heard the words -\n"Dear! dear! What a fury to fly at Master John!"\n"Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion!"\nThen Mrs. Reed subjoined -\n"Take her away to the red-room, and lock her in there." Four hands were immediately laid upon me, and I was borne upstairs.\n\nCHAPTER II\nI resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and', 'tic revolutionary hydra, but in the obstinacy of traditionalism clogging progress," etc., etc. He read another article, too, a financial one, which alluded to Bentham and Mill, and dropped some innuendoes reflecting on the ministry. With his characteristic quickwittedness he caught the drift of each innuendo, divined whence it came, at whom and on what ground it was aimed, and that afforded him, as it always did, a certain satisfaction. But today that satisfaction was embittered by Matrona Philimonovna\'s advice and the unsatisfactory state of the household. He read, too, that Count Beist was rumored to have left for Wiesbaden, and that one need have no more gray hair, and of the sale of a light carriage, and of a young person seeking a situation; but these items of information did not give him, as usual, a quiet, ironical gratification. Having finished the paper, a second cup of coffee and a roll and butter, he got up, shaking the crumbs of the roll off his waistcoat; and, squaring his broad chest, he smiled', 'None', '/p>\n"That poor devil who escaped from Dartmoor five days ago."\nDick smiled.\n"Is that your news?"\n"Yes."\n"There have been several escapes lately."\n"But they\'ve all been caught in no time; this chap ain\'t, and by gum, lad, if he come\'d my way I\'d help him out. I don\'t believe they\'ll get him; at least I hopes not."\n"They\'ll have him right enough," said Dick. "A convict at large is a danger to all on the moor."\n"This one ain\'t," said Brack. "\'Sides, he may be innocent."\n"Innocent men don\'t get into Princetown," said Dick.\n"That\'s just where yer wrong," said Brack. "I\'ve a brother in there now, and he\'s innocent, I\'ll swear it."\nDick maintained a diplomatic silence.\n"Of course you\'ll not believe it, but it\'ll come out some day. He was on a man-o-warsman, and they lagged him for knocking a petty officer overboard; the chap was drowned, but Bill swore he never had a hand in it, and I believes him. At the trial it came out Bill had a dow', 'hey reach\ntheir fifteenth year. Then they go to work.\nIn the Home of the Students we arose when\nthe big bell rang in the tower and we went\nto our beds when it rang again. Before we\nremoved our garments, we stood in the\ngreat sleeping hall, and we raised our right\narms, and we said all together with the\nthree Teachers at the head:\n"We are nothing. Mankind is all. By the grace\nof our brothers are we allowed our lives.\nWe exist through, by and for our brothers\nwho are the State. Amen."\nThen we slept. The sleeping halls were white\nand clean and bare of all things save one hundred beds.\nWe, Equality 7-2521, were not happy in\nthose years in the Home of the Students.\nIt was not that the learning was too hard\nfor us. It was that the learning was too easy.\nThis is a great sin, to be born with a\nhead which is too quick. It is not good\nto be different from our brothers, but it\nis evil to be superior to them. The Teachers\ntold us so, and they frowned when they looked upon us.\nSo we fought against thi', 'None', 'el\nvulgo, he determinado de sacar a luz al Ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la\nMancha, al abrigo del clarísimo nombre de Vuestra Excelencia, a quien, con\nel acatamiento que debo a tanta grandeza, suplico le reciba agradablemente\nen su protección, para que a su sombra, aunque desnudo de aquel precioso\nornamento de elegancia y erudición de que suelen andar vestidas las obras\nque se componen en las casas de los hombres que saben, ose parecer\nseguramente en el juicio de algunos que, continiéndose en los límites de su\nignorancia, suelen condenar con más rigor y menos justicia los trabajos\najenos; que, poniendo los ojos la prudencia de Vuestra Excelencia en mi\nbuen deseo, fío que no desdeñará la cortedad de tan humilde servicio.\nMiguel de Cervantes Saavedra.\n\nPRÓLOGO\nDesocupado lector: sin juramento me podrás creer que quisiera que este\nlibro, como hijo del entendimiento, fuera el más hermoso, el más gallardo y\nmás discreto que pudiera imaginarse. Pero no he podido yo contravenir al\norden de naturalez', "his hand, the golden Papa has a letter; and after he has made his excuse for disturbing us in our Infernal Region with the common mortal Business of the house, he addresses himself to the three young Misses, and begins, as you English begin everything in this blessed world that you have to say, with a great O. 'O, my dears,' says the mighty merchant, 'I have got here a letter from my friend, Mr.----'(the name has slipped out of my mind; but no matter; we shall come back to that; yes, yes--right-all-right). So the Papa says, 'I have got a letter from my friend, the Mister; and he wants a recommend from me, of a drawing-master, to go down to his house in the country.' My-soul-bless-my-soul! when I heard the golden Papa say those words, if I had been big enough to reach up to him, I should have put my arms round his neck, and pressed him to my bosom in a long and grateful hug! As it was, I only bounced upon my chair. My seat was on thorns, and my soul was on fire to speak but I held my tongue, and let Papa go o", 'a skeleton frame. His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils. You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man\'s skull. His skin, which is stretched across his bones like a drumhead, is not white, but a nasty yellow. His nose is so little worth talking about that you can\'t see it side-face; and THE ABSENCE of that nose is a horrible thing TO LOOK AT. All the hair he has is three or four long dark locks on his forehead and behind his ears."\nThis chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man, very slow at imagining things. His words were received with interest and amazement; and soon there were other people to say that they too had met a man in dress-clothes with a death\'s head on his shoulders. Sensible men who had wind of the story began by saying that Joseph Buquet had been the victim of a joke played by one of his assistants. And then, one after the other, there came a series of incidents so curious and so inexplicable that the very shrewdest people began to feel uneasy.', 'he truth. Let me go, you don\'t understand what will happen. My brothers-"\nThe Lord Cleric punched her. Her head flew back and a spray of blood wet the dry mud and spattered over the leaves concealing me. Face wet with tears and whimpering, she tried to crawl toward the trees and dragged up clumps of earth with her fingernails.\n"You must let me go." The words sounded muffled, like she had a mouthful of something foul.\nThe Lord Cleric executed a neat half turn and stamped on her thigh. There was a sharp snap, like I\'d picked up a twig and yanked on the ends until the fibers split apart and cracked open. The fairy\'s leg buckled into an unnatural shape and she screamed. The sound was guttural, a direct translation of pain to sound. I slapped a hand over my mouth to smother my own shriek. Not because of the broken bone, I\'d seen and heard tons of those, but because I\'d caught the Lord Clerics profile and recognized the handsome face. The Lord Cleric dragged the fairy back into the centre of th', 'beneath the rose-\ntrees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-\nbranch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr.\nLuther Burbank\'s far-off prodigies.\nIn the centre of this enchanted garden Madame\nNilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin,\na reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow\nbraids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin\nchemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul\'s\nimpassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension\nof his designs whenever, by word or glance, he\npersuasively indicated the ground floor window of the\nneat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing.\n"The darling!" thought Newland Archer, his glance\nflitting back to the young girl with the lilies-of-the-\nvalley. "She doesn\'t even guess what it\'s all about."\nAnd he contemplated her absorbed young face with a\nthrill of possessorship in which pride in his own masculine\ninitiation was mingled with a tender reverence for\nher abysmal purity. "We\'ll read Faust together', 'nfining clothing and bending naturally, was slender and lithesome, but full of curves which told that the bud of childhood was just beginning to open into the blossom of early maturity--about fifteen or sixteen years old, Donald guessed her to be.\nAt her feet lay an overturned kettle the contents from which, a simple stew, was sending up a cloud of steam from the rough floor, and explained the reason for the misty eyes and tenderly nursed ankle.\nThe whole picture was graven on his mind in a single glance; but, the next instant the sunniest, most appealing of smiles broke through the girl\'s pain-drawn tears.\n"Yo\' ... yo\' looked so funny a-fallin\' over thet thar dawg, an\' a-rollin\' on the floor," her words bubbled forth.\n"I\'m glad that you have something to laugh about, but dev ... deucedly sorry that I made you burn yourself, child," answered Donald, awkwardly. "It must hurt like the ... the mischief," he added, as he stepped forward to examine the injury with a quick return to his ', "nd Baron Osborne of Kiveton, in Yorkshire; Lord High Treasurer\nof England, one of His Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council,\nand Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter.\nMy Lord,\nThe gratitude of poets is so troublesome a virtue to great men,\nthat you are often in danger of your own benefits: for you are\nthreatened with some epistle, and not suffered to do good in\nquiet, or to compound for their silence whom you have obliged.\nYet, I confess, I neither am or ought to be surprised at this\nindulgence; for your lordship has the same right to favour\npoetry, which the great and noble have ever had--\nCarmen amat, quisquis carmine digna gerit.\nThere is somewhat of a tie in nature betwixt those who are born\nfor worthy actions, and those who can transmit them to posterity;\nand though ours be much the inferior part, it comes at least\nwithin the verge of alliance; nor are we unprofitable members\nof the commonwealth, when we animate others to those virtues,\nwhich we copy and describe from you.\n", 'the summer with unimpaired cheerfulness, confiding to me that he secured his luncheons free at the soda counter. He came frequently to see me, bringing always a pocketful of chewing gum, which he assured me was excellent to allay the gnawings of hunger, and later, as my condition warranted it, small bags of gum-drops and other pharmacy confections.\nMcWhirter it was who got me my berth on the Ella. It must have been about the 20th of July, for the Ella sailed on the 28th. I was strong enough to leave the hospital, but not yet physically able for any prolonged exertion. McWhirter, who was short and stout, had been alternately flirting with the nurse, as she moved in and out preparing my room for the night, and sizing me up through narrowed eyes.\n"No," he said, evidently following a private line of thought; "you don\'t belong behind a counter, Leslie. I\'m darned if I think you belong in the medical profession, either. The British army\'d suit you."\n"The - what?"\n"You know - Kipling ide'], 'Satire': ['"I didn\'t mean so bad as that, Aleck; I didn\'t really mean immoral piety, I only meant--meant--well, conventional piety, you know; er--shop piety; the--the--why, YOU know what I mean. Aleck--the--well, where you put up that plated article and play it for solid, you know, without intending anything improper, but just out of trade habit, ancient policy, petrified custom, loyalty to--to--hang it, I can\'t find the right words, but YOU know what I mean, Aleck, and that there isn\'t any harm in it. I\'ll try again. You see, it\'s this way. If a person--"\n"You have said quite enough," said Aleck, coldly; "let the subject be dropped."\n"I\'M willing," fervently responded Sally, wiping the sweat from his forehead and looking the thankfulness he had no words for. Then, musingly, he apologized to himself. "I certainly held threes-- I KNOW it--but I drew and didn\'t fill. That\'s where I\'m so often weak in the game. If I had stood pat--but I didn\'t. I never do. I don\'t know enough."\nConfessedly defea', 'down and wrote out a prescription,\nand folded it up and gave it me, and I put it in my pocket and went out.\nI did not open it. I took it to the nearest chemist\'s, and handed it in.\nThe man read it, and then handed it back.\nHe said he didn\'t keep it.\nI said:\n"You are a chemist?"\nHe said:\n"I am a chemist. If I was a co-operative stores and family hotel\ncombined, I might be able to oblige you. Being only a chemist hampers\nme."\nI read the prescription. It ran:\n"1 lb. beefsteak, with\n1 pt. bitter beer\nevery 6 hours.\n1 ten-mile walk every morning.\n1 bed at 11 sharp every night.\nAnd don\'t stuff up your head with things you don\'t understand."\nI followed the directions, with the happy result - speaking for myself -\nthat my life was preserved, and is still going on.\nIn the present instance, going back to the liver-pill circular, I had the\nsymptoms, beyond all mistake, the chief among them being "a general\ndisinclination to work of any kind."\nWhat I suffer in that way no ', 'managers of big city shops once lifted the rule prescribing certain modes for their female working staffs--if they should give their women clerks a free hand in choosing their own wardrobes for store hours--well, you know how women are!\nNevertheless and to the contrary notwithstanding, I will admit while I am on this phase of my topic that there likewise is something to be said in dispraise of my own sex too. In the other--and better half of this literary double sketch-team act, my admired and talented friend, Mrs. Mary Roberts Rinehart, cites chapter and verse to prove the unaccountable vagaries of some men in the matter of dress. There she made but one mistake--a mistake of under-estimation. She mentioned specifically some men; she should have included all men.\nThe only imaginable reason why any rational he-biped of adult age clings to the habiliments ordained for him by the custom and the tailors of this generation, is because he is used to them. A man can stand anything once he gets used to', "I cannot tell; but conclude they\nwere all lost. For my own part, I swam as fortune directed me, and\nwas pushed forward by wind and tide. I often let my legs drop, and\ncould feel no bottom; but when I was almost gone, and able to\nstruggle no longer, I found myself within my depth; and by this\ntime the storm was much abated. The declivity was so small, that I\nwalked near a mile before I got to the shore, which I conjectured\nwas about eight o'clock in the evening. I then advanced forward\nnear half a mile, but could not discover any sign of houses or\ninhabitants; at least I was in so weak a condition, that I did not\nobserve them. I was extremely tired, and with that, and the heat\nof the weather, and about half a pint of brandy that I drank as I\nleft the ship, I found myself much inclined to sleep. I lay down\non the grass, which was very short and soft, where I slept sounder\nthan ever I remembered to have done in my life, and, as I reckoned,\nabout nine hours; for when I awaked, it was just day-light. I\natte", "evil give to him with his own hands, and told him he could cure anybody with it and fetch witches whenever he wanted to just by saying something to it; but he never told what it was he said to it. Niggers would come from all around there and give Jim anything they had, just for a sight of that five-center piece; but they wouldn't touch it, because the devil had had his hands on it. Jim was most ruined for a servant, because he got stuck up on account of having seen the devil and been rode by witches.\nWell, when Tom and me got to the edge of the hilltop we looked away down into the village and could see three or four lights twinkling, where there was sick folks, maybe; and the stars over us was sparkling ever so fine; and down by the village was the river, a whole mile broad, and awful still and grand. We went down the hill and found Joe Harper and Ben Rogers, and two or three more of the boys, hid in the old tanyard. So we unhitched a skiff and pulled down the river two mile and a half, to the big scar", 'a corresponding sneer--the hour for parting came; and the grief of that moment was considerably lessened by the admirable discourse which Miss Pinkerton addressed to her pupil. Not that the parting speech caused Amelia to philosophise, or that it armed her in any way with a calmness, the result of argument; but it was intolerably dull, pompous, and tedious; and having the fear of her schoolmistress greatly before her eyes, Miss Sedley did not venture, in her presence, to give way to any ebullitions of private grief. A seed-cake and a bottle of wine were produced in the drawing-room, as on the solemn occasions of the visits of parents, and these refreshments being partaken of, Miss Sedley was at liberty to depart.\n"You\'ll go in and say good-by to Miss Pinkerton, Becky!" said Miss Jemima to a young lady of whom nobody took any notice, and who was coming downstairs with her own bandbox.\n"I suppose I must," said Miss Sharp calmly, and much to the wonder of Miss Jemima; and the latter having knocked', 'lemen, "we ask you if you do not deeply love the King of the Bulgarians?"\n"Not at all," said he; "for I have never seen him."\n"What! he is the best of kings, and we must drink his health."\n"Oh! very willingly, gentlemen," and he drank.\n"That is enough," they tell him. "Now you are the help, the support, the defender, the hero of the Bulgarians. Your fortune is made, and your glory is assured."\nInstantly they fettered him, and carried him away to the regiment. There he was made to wheel about to the right, and to the left, to draw his rammer, to return his rammer, to present, to fire, to march, and they gave him thirty blows with a cudgel. The next day he did his exercise a little less badly, and he received but twenty blows. The day following they gave him only ten, and he was regarded by his comrades as a prodigy.\nCandide, all stupefied, could not yet very well realise how he was a hero. He resolved one fine day in spring to go for a walk, marching straight before hi', 'med full at George G. Goodchild, Esq., a look of intense astonishment.\n"Get out!" repeated the president.\nHendrik Rutgers turned like a flash to the cashier and said, sharply: "Didn\'t you hear? Get out!"\n"You!" shouted Mr. George G. Goodchild.\n"Who? Me?" Hendrik\'s incredulity was abysmal.\n"Yes! You!" And the president, dangerously flushed, advanced threateningly toward the insolent beast.\n"What?" exclaimed Hendrik Rutgers, skeptically. "Do you mean to tell me you really are the jackass your wife thinks you?"\nFearing to intrude upon private affairs, the cashier discreetly left the room. The president fell back a step. Had Mrs. Goodchild ever spoken to this creature? Then he realized it was merely a fashion of speaking, and he approached, one pudgy fist uplifted. The uplift was more for rhetorical effect than for practical purposes, which has been a habit with most uplifts since money-making became an exact science. But Hendrik smiled pleasantly', "d be startled at me instead of at the other man, was too many for me; I couldn't make head or tail of it. And that she should seem to consider me a spectacle, and totally overlook her own merits in that respect, was another puzzling thing, and a display of magnanimity, too, that was surprising in one so young. There was food for thought here. I moved along as one in a dream.\nAs we approached the town, signs of life began to appear. At intervals we passed a wretched cabin, with a thatched roof, and about it small fields and garden patches in an indifferent state of cultivation. There were people, too; brawny men, with long, coarse, uncombed hair that hung down over their faces and made them look like animals. They and the women, as a rule, wore a coarse tow-linen robe that came well below the knee, and a rude sort of sandal, and many wore an iron collar. The small boys and girls were always naked; but nobody seemed to know it. All of these people stared at me, talked about me, ran into the huts and fetc", '"Is he really an anarchist, then?" she asked.\n"Only in that sense I speak of," replied Syme; "or if you prefer it, in that nonsense."\nShe drew her broad brows together and said abruptly--\n"He wouldn\'t really use--bombs or that sort of thing?"\nSyme broke into a great laugh, that seemed too large for his slight and somewhat dandified figure.\n"Good Lord, no!" he said, "that has to be done anonymously."\nAnd at that the corners of her own mouth broke into a smile, and she thought with a simultaneous pleasure of Gregory\'s absurdity and of his safety.\nSyme strolled with her to a seat in the corner of the garden, and continued to pour out his opinions. For he was a sincere man, and in spite of his superficial airs and graces, at root a humble one. And it is always the humble man who talks too much; the proud man watches himself too closely. He defended respectability with violence and exaggeration. He grew passionate in his praise of tidiness and propriety. All', 'in a mysterious way," commonly with the property of another.\nSpring beckons! All things to the call respond; The trees are leaving and cashiers abscond.\nPhela Orm\nABSENT, adj. Peculiarly exposed to the tooth of detraction; vilifed; hopelessly in the wrong; superseded in the consideration and affection of another.\nTo men a man is but a mind. Who cares What face he carries or what form he wears? But woman\'s body is the woman. O, Stay thou, my sweetheart, and do never go, But heed the warning words the sage hath said: A woman absent is a woman dead.\nJogo Tyree\nABSENTEE, n. A person with an income who has had the forethought to remove himself from the sphere of exaction.\nABSOLUTE, adj. Independent, irresponsible. An absolute monarchy is one in which the sovereign does as he pleases so long as he pleases the assassins. Not many absolute monarchies are left, most of them having been replaced by limited monarchies, where the sovereign\'s power for evil (and for good) i', "rtain ladies said that they could distinguish in his tongue the\nslightest possible foreign accent. Nevertheless it was conceded to him\nthat he knew England as only an Englishman can know it. During the\nlast year or two he had 'come up' as the phrase goes, and had come up\nvery thoroughly. He had been blackballed at three or four clubs, but\nhad effected an entrance at two or three others, and had learned a\nmanner of speaking of those which had rejected him calculated to leave\non the minds of hearers a conviction that the societies in question\nwere antiquated, imbecile, and moribund. He was never weary of\nimplying that not to know Mr Alf, not to be on good terms with Mr Alf,\nnot to understand that let Mr Alf have been born where he might and\nhow ho might he was always to be recognized as a desirable\nacquaintance, was to be altogether out in the dark. And that which he\nso constantly asserted, or implied, men and women around him began at\nlast to believe and Mr Alf became an acknowledged something in the\ndifferent", 's controlled by her it was coldly received and blindly rejected by the governing powers, and there was left only the slower, subtler, but none the less sure, process of working its way among the people to burst in time in rebellion and the destruction of the conservative forces that would repress it.\nIn the opening years of the nineteenth century the friar orders in the Philippines had reached the apogee of their power and usefulness. Their influence was everywhere felt and acknowledged, while the country still prospered under the effects of the vigorous and progressive administrations of Anda and Vargas in the preceding century. Native levies had fought loyally under Spanish leadership against Dutch and British invaders, or in suppressing local revolts among their own people, which were always due to some specific grievance, never directed definitely against the Spanish sovereignty. The Philippines were shut off from contact with any country but Spain, and even this communication was restricted and ca', '"So much pettiness," he explained; "so much intrigue! And really, when one has an idea--a novel, fertilising idea--I don\'t want to be uncharitable, but--"\nI am a man who believes in impulses. I made what was perhaps a rash proposition. But you must remember, that I had been alone, play-writing in Lympne, for fourteen days, and my compunction for his ruined walk still hung about me. "Why not," said I, "make this your new habit? In the place of the one I spoilt? At least, until we can settle about the bungalow. What you want is to turn over your work in your mind. That you have always done during your afternoon walk. Unfortunately that\'s over--you can\'t get things back as they were. But why not come and talk about your work to me; use me as a sort of wall against which you may throw your thoughts and catch t', "ine at Veneerings, expressly to meet the Member, the Engineer, the Payer-off of the National Debt, the Poem on Shakespeare, the Grievance, and the Public Office, and, dining, discovered that all of them were the most intimate friends Veneering had in the world, and that the wives of all of them (who were all there) were the objects of Mrs Veneering's most devoted affection and tender confidence.\nThus it had come about, that Mr Twemlow had said to himself in his lodgings, with his hand to his forehead: 'I must not think of this. This is enough to soften any man's brain,'--and yet was always thinking of it, and could never form a conclusion.\nThis evening the Veneerings give a banquet. Eleven leaves in the Twemlow; fourteen in company all told. Four pigeon-breasted retainers in plain clothes stand in line in the hall. A fifth retainer, proceeding up the staircase with a mournful air--as who should say, 'Here is another wretched creature come to dinner; such is life!'--announces, 'Mis-ter Twemlow!'", 'ung lady excitedly, "leave the room this instant; and don\'t dare to come back until you get leave."\nThe boy\'s countenance fell, and he sulkily went out without a word.\n"Is anything wrong?" said the matron, putting away her book with the unconcerned resignation of an experienced person who foresees a storm in a teacup. "Where is Sidney?"\n"Gone! Gone! Deserted me! I--" The young lady\'s utterance failed, and she threw herself upon an ottoman, sobbing with passionate spite.\n"Nonsense! I thought Sidney had more sense. There, Henrietta, don\'t be silly. I suppose you have quarrelled."\n"No! No!! No!!!" cried Henrietta, stamping on the carpet. "We had not a word. I have not lost my temper since we were married, mamma; I solemnly swear I have not. I will kill myself; there is no other way. There\'s a curse on me. I am marked out to be miserable. He--"\n"Tut, tut! What has happened, Henrietta? As you have been married now nearly six weeks, you can hardly be surprised at a little t', 'ed; he dragged his thick legs, in faded baby-blue pajamas, from under\nthe khaki blanket; he sat on the edge of the cot, running his fingers through\nhis wild hair, while his plump feet mechanically felt for his slippers. He\nlooked regretfully at the blanket--forever a suggestion to him of freedom and\nheroism. He had bought it for a camping trip which had never come off. It\nsymbolized gorgeous loafing, gorgeous cursing, virile flannel shirts.\nHe creaked to his feet, groaning at the waves of pain which passed behind his\neyeballs. Though he waited for their scorching recurrence, he looked blurrily\nout at the yard. It delighted him, as always; it was the neat yard of a\nsuccessful business man of Zenith, that is, it was perfection, and made him\nalso perfect. He regarded the corrugated iron garage. For the\nthree-hundred-and-sixty-fifth time in a year he reflected, "No class to that\ntin shack. Have to build me a frame garage. But by golly it\'s the only thing\non the place that isn\'t up-to-date!" While he stare', "o longer, I found\nmyself within my depth; and, by this time, the storm was much abated.\nThe declivity was so small that I walked near a mile before I got to the\nshore, which I conjectured was about eight o'clock in the evening. I\nthen advanced forward near half a mile, but could not discover any sign\nof houses or inhabitants; at least, I was in so weak a condition, that I\ndid not observe them. I was extremely tired, and with that, and the\nheat of the weather, and about half a pint of brandy that I drank as I\nleft the ship, I found myself much inclined to sleep. I lay down on the\ngrass, which was very short and soft, where I slept sounder than ever I\nremembered to have done in my life, and, as I reckoned, about nine\nhours; for, when I awaked, it was just daylight. I attempted to rise,\nbut was not able to stir: for as I happened to lie on my back, I found\nmy arms and legs were strongly fastened on each side to the ground; and\nmy hair, which was long and thick, tied down in the same manner. I\nlikewise felt se", 'Guide--Church Magnificence--"Women not\nAdmitted"--How the Genoese Live--Massive Architecture--A Scrap of Ancient\nHistory--Graves for 60,000\nCHAPTER XVIII.\nFlying Through Italy--Marengo--First Glimpse of the Famous Cathedral--\nDescription of some of its Wonders--A Horror Carved in Stone----An\nUnpleasant Adventure--A Good Man--A Sermon from the Tomb--Tons of Gold\nand Silver--Some More Holy Relics--Solomon\'s Temple\nCHAPTER XIX\n"Do You Wiz zo Haut can be?"--La Scala--Petrarch and Laura--Lucrezia\nBorgia--Ingenious Frescoes--Ancient Roman Amphitheatre--A Clever\nDelusion--Distressing Billiards--The Chief Charm of European Life--An\nItalian Bath--Wanted: Soap--Crippled French--Mutilated English--The Most\nCelebrated Painting in the World--Amateur Raptures--Uninspired Critics--\nAnecdote--A Wonderful Echo--A Kiss for a Franc\nCHAPTER XX\nRural Italy by Rail--Fumigated, According to Law--The Sorrowing\nEngli', "needed it: the bold originality, the extraordinary character, the seductive nature, and the vastness of the enterprise provoked comment everywhere and advertised it in every household in the land. Who could read the program of the excursion without longing to make one of the party? I will insert it here. It is almost as good as a map. As a text for this book, nothing could be better:\nEXCURSION TO THE HOLY LAND, EGYPT, THE CRIMEA, GREECE, AND INTERMEDIATE POINTS OF INTEREST. BROOKLYN, February 1st, 1867\nThe undersigned will make an excursion as above during the coming season, and begs to submit to you the following programme:\nA first-class steamer, to be under his own command, and capable of accommodating at least one hundred and fifty cabin passengers, will be selected, in which will be taken a select company, numbering not more than three-fourths of the ship's capacity. There is good reason to believe that this company can be easily made up in this immediate vicinity, of mutual friends and acquaintances.\nThe steamer will be provided with ", 'rself as too ignorant to be able in some fashion, however small, to help me. Every man who has lived in the world and mixed with his fellow men will have remarked something which has remained hidden from the eyes of others; and therefore I beg of you not to deprive me of your comments, seeing that it cannot be that, should you read my book with attention, you will have NOTHING to say at some point therein.\nFor example, how excellent it would be if some reader who is sufficiently rich in experience and the knowledge of life to be acquainted with the sort of characters which I have described herein would annotate in detail the book, without missing a single page, and undertake to read it precisely as though, laying pen and paper before him, he were first to peruse a few pages of the work, and then to recall his own life, and the lives of folk with whom he has come in contact, and everything which he has seen with his own eyes or has heard of from others, and to proceed to annotate, in so far as may tally', "A Technical Guide To This Technical Guide |\n| |\n\nWORDS IN BOLDFACE\n(enclosed in double <<angle braces>> for the ASCII version)\n\nThese are terms that are defined in *Building\nYour Cyber Word Power*. Check there for anything that\nbaffles you.\n\nSometimes there's a double-anglebrace-enclosed term in the\ntext that refers to a chapter subheading, and then you\nmust practice your <<haqr smarts>> in order to find it.\nIf all else fails, you could ask Bruce Sterling at his\nsecret email address-- [email\xa0protected]. He will know.\n\nTHE SHURIKEN AWARDS\n\nWe may sometimes succumb to the temptation to rate things the\nway snotty critics do, by awarding stars. However, we will\naward them as *shuriken*, a cyber kinda star:\n\n^ ^ ^\n< X > < X > < X >\nv v v\n\nA shuriken is a throwing star-- a shiny-steel, sharp-edged,\nsharp-pointed weapon from Japan (which is cyberpunk's\noriginal home in certain misty urban legends). The shuriken\nitself as an assault weapon would rate one-half shuriken on a\nscale of four. A hydrogen bomb would rate five shuriken.\nYou get the idea.\n\nOccasionally we may add Propeller Beanies to the Shuriken:\n\n<<<o>>> <<<o>>> <<<o>>>\n__|_ _|_ _|__\n/___\\ /___\\ /___\\\n\nThis indicates nerdly interest over and above a cyberpunk\nrating. Propeller head is an ancient term for <<nerd>>.\nThe real name for that key on the Macintosh is not COMMAND,\nbut PROPELLER, and this is why.\n\n/| |\\\n| | ||\n\n| | _/_ O ||", 'yeres of age; ye Countesse of Granby, twenty-six; her doter, ye Lady Helen, fifteen; as also these two maides of honor, to-wit, ye Lady Margery Boothy, sixty-five, and ye Lady Alice Dilberry, turned seventy, she being two yeres ye queenes graces elder.\n\nI being her maites cup-bearer, had no choice but to remaine and beholde rank forgot, and ye high holde converse wh ye low as uppon equal termes, a grete scandal did ye world heare thereof.\n\nIn ye heat of ye talk it befel yt one did breake wind, yielding an exceding mightie and distresfull stink, whereat all did laugh full sore, and then--\n\n\nYe Queene.--Verily in mine eight and sixty yeres have I not heard the fellow to this fart. Meseemeth, by ye grete sound and clamour of it, it was male; yet ye belly it did lurk behinde shoulde now fall lean and flat against ye spine of him yt hath bene delivered of so stately and so waste a bulk, where as ye guts of them yt doe quiff-splitters bear, stand comely still and rounde. Prithee let ye author confess ye offspring. Will my Lady Alice testify?'], 'Science': ['. Nor have I been disappointed; in this and in all other perplexing cases I have invariably found that our knowledge, imperfect though it be, of variation under domestication, afforded the best and safest clue. I may venture to express my conviction of the high value of such studies, although they have been very commonly neglected by naturalists.\nFrom these considerations, I shall devote the first chapter of this Abstract to Variation under Domestication. We shall thus see that a large amount of hereditary modification is at least possible, and, what is equally or more important, we shall see how great is the power of man in accumulating by his Selection successive slight variations. I will then pass on to the variability of species in a state of nature; but I shall, unfortunately, be compelled to treat this subject far too briefly, as it can be treated properly only by giving long catalogues of facts. We shall, however, be enabled to discuss what circumstances are most favourable to variation. In the ', "unt of vapor for animals and vegetables to flourish.\n5. Venus has the brightest lustre of our planets which is caused from enormous amount of vapor. It is carried over its orbit at about 67,000,000 miles from the sun, which requires 224 7/10 days to complete its course. Rotates once every 23 hours and 21 minutes. Diameter, 7,700 miles.\n6. The earth is carried over its orbit; main distance being 93,000,000 miles from the sun, which requires one year to complete its course, which is 680,000,000 miles:\nMILES Earth's diameter 8,000 Greater or equatorial 7,925 Less or polar 7,899 Difference on comparison 26\nThe earth rotates once every 23 hours, 56 minutes, and 4 seconds; has one satellite, which is carried over its orbit at a distance of 238,850 miles from the earth. Its diameter is 2,160 miles. The moon completes its orbit in 29 days, 12 hours, 44 minutes, and 2 seconds. Its currents touch the earth and cause the tide; also affects some plants of the phenomena verita; these plants are", "this truth opens up a vast field for re-examination. It means that we must study all the possible data that can be causes of crime,--the man's heredity, the man's physical and moral <p vii> make-up, his emotional temperament, the surroundings of his youth, his present home, and other conditions,--all the influencing circumstances. And it means that the effect of different methods of treatment, old or new, for different kinds of men and of causes, must be studied, experimented, and compared. Only in this way can accurate knowledge be reached, and new efficient measures be adopted.\nAll this has been going on in Europe for forty years past, and in limited fields in this country. All the branches of science that can help have been working,--anthropology, medicine, psychology, economics, sociology, philanthropy, penology. The law alone has abstained. The science of law is the one to be served by all this. But the public in general and the legal profession in particular have remained either ignorant of", 'that differences of opinion are\nscarcely likely to arise as to its applicability in practice.\n*** A refinement and modification of these views does not become\nnecessary until we come to deal with the general theory of relativity,\ntreated in the second part of this book.\n\nSPACE AND TIME IN CLASSICAL MECHANICS\nThe purpose of mechanics is to describe how bodies change their\nposition in space with "time." I should load my conscience with grave\nsins against the sacred spirit of lucidity were I to formulate the\naims of mechanics in this way, without serious reflection and detailed\nexplanations. Let us proceed to disclose these sins.\nIt is not clear what is to be understood here by "position" and\n"space." I stand at the window of a railway carriage which is\ntravelling uniformly, and drop a stone on the embankment, without\nthrowing it. Then, disregarding the influence of the air resistance, I\nsee the stone descend in a straight line. A pedestrian who observes\nthe misdeed from the footpath notices th', 'he\nancients denominated destiny, nature, or providence, which we\ncall the voices of the dead, and whose power it is impossible to\noverlook, although we ignore their essence. It would seem, at\ntimes, as if there were latent forces in the inner being of\nnations which serve to guide them. What, for instance, can be\nmore complicated, more logical, more marvellous than a language?\nYet whence can this admirably organised production have arisen,\nexcept it be the outcome of the unconscious genius of crowds?\nThe most learned academics, the most esteemed grammarians can do\nno more than note down the laws that govern languages; they would\nbe utterly incapable of creating them. Even with respect to the\nideas of great men are we certain that they are exclusively the\noffspring of their brains? No doubt such ideas are always\ncreated by solitary minds, but is it not the genius of crowds\nthat has furnished the thousands of grains of dust forming the\nsoil in which they have sprung up?\nCrowds, doubtless, are always uncon', 'ble\nby law? I came out this morning with a certain amount of money in my\npocket, and I find I have spent just half of it. In fact, if you will\nbelieve me, I take home just as many shillings as I had pounds, and half\nas many pounds as I had shillings. It is monstrous!\'" Can you say\nexactly how much money Jorkins had spent on those presents?\n11.--THE CYCLISTS\' FEAST.\n\'Twas last Bank Holiday, so I\'ve been told,\nSome cyclists rode abroad in glorious weather.\nResting at noon within a tavern old,\nThey all agreed to have a feast together.\n"Put it all in one bill, mine host," they said,\n"For every man an equal share will pay."\nThe bill was promptly on the table laid,\nAnd four pounds was the reckoning that day.\nBut, sad to state, when they prepared to square,\n\'Twas found that two had sneaked outside and fled.\nSo, for two shillings more than his due share\nEach honest man who had remained was bled.\nThey settled later with those rogues, no doubt.\n', 'these transformations all the other physical properties of a substance save weight are likely to change, the inquiry arises, Does the weight also change? Much careful experimenting has shown that it does not. The weight of the products formed in any change in matter always equals the weight of the substances undergoing change.\n~Law of conservation of matter.~ The important truth just stated is frequently referred to as the law of conservation of matter, and this law may be briefly stated thus: Matter can neither be created nor destroyed, though it can be changed from one form into another.\n~Classification of matter.~ At first sight there appears to be no limit to the varieties of matter of which the world is made. For convenience in study we may classify all these varieties under three heads, namely, mechanical mixtures, chemical compounds, and elements.\n[Illustration: Fig. 1]\n~Mechanical mixtures.~ If equal bulks of common salt and iron filings', 'oils deserve\nmention. The "cold-drawn" Arachis oil (pea-nut or earth-nut oil) has a\npleasant flavour, resembling that of kidney beans. The "cold-drawn" Sesamé\noil has an agreeable taste, and is considered equal to Olive oil for\nedible purposes. The best qualities are rather difficult to obtain; those\nusually sold being much inferior to Peach-kernel and Olive oils.\nCotton-seed oil is the cheapest of the edible ones. Salad oil, not sold\nunder any descriptive name, is usually refined Cotton-seed oil, with\nperhaps a little Olive oil to impart a richer flavour.\nThe solid fats sold as butter and lard substitutes, consist of deodorised\ncocoanut oil, and they are excellent for cooking purposes. It is claimed\nthat biscuits, &c., made from them may be kept for a much longer period,\nwithout showing any trace of rancidity, than if butter or lard had been\nused. They are also to be had agreeably flavoured by admixture with\nalmond, walnut, &c., "cream."\nThe better quality oils are quite as wholesome as the bes', 'None', 'chanic. The editor of a newspaper was always a printer and often composed his articles as he set them in type; so "composing" came to mean typesetting, and one who sets type is a compositor. Now James needed an apprentice. It happened then that young Benjamin, at the age of thirteen, was bound over by law to serve his brother.\nJames Franklin printed the "New England Courant", the fourth newspaper to be established in the colonies. Benjamin soon began to write articles for this newspaper. Then when his brother was put in jail, because he had printed matter considered libelous, and forbidden to continue as the publisher, the newspaper appeared in Benjamin\'s name.\nThe young apprentice felt that his brother was unduly severe and, after serving for about two years, made up his mind to run away. Secretly he took passage on a sloop and in three days reached New York, there to find that the one printer in the town, William Bradford, could give him no work. Benjamin then set out for Philadelphia. By boat', 'ts had been seeking a panacea for all the ills to which flesh is heir, indeed for something which would enable men even to defy Death, and the subtle new spirit was eagerly proclaimed as the long-looked-for cure-all, if not the very aqua vitæ itself. Physicians introduced it to their patients, and were lavish in their praises of its curative powers. The following is quoted from the writings of Theoricus, a prominent German of the sixteenth century, as an example of medical opinion of alcohol in his day:--\n"It sloweth age, it strengtheneth youth, it helpeth digestion, it cutteth phlegme, it cureth the hydropsia, it healeth the strangurie, it pounces the stone, it expelleth gravel, it keepeth the head from whirling, the teeth from chattering, and the throat from rattling; it keepeth the weasen from stiffling, the stomach from wambling, and the heart from swelling; it keepeth the hands from shivering, the sinews from shrinking, the veins from crumbling, the bones from aching, and the marrow', 't instigated by love of knowledge]\nIn fact, the history of physical science teaches (and we cannot too carefully take the lesson to heart) that the practical advantages, attainable through its agency, never have been, and never will be, sufficiently attractive to men inspired by the inborn genius of the interpreter of nature, to give them courage to undergo the toils and make the sacrifices which that calling requires from its votaries. That which stirs their pulses is the love of knowledge and the joy of the discovery of the causes of things sung by the old poets--the supreme delight of extending the realm of law and order ever farther towards the unattainable goals of the infinitely great and the infinitely small, between which our little race of life is run. In the course of this work, the physical philosopher, sometimes intentionally, much more often unintentionally, lights upon something which proves to be of practical value. Great is the rejoicing of those who are benefited thereby; and, for the ', "t as though I had stumbled into the eighteenth century and were calling on Giambattista Vico. After a brief inspection by a young man with the appearance of a secretary, I was told that I was expected, and admitted into a small room opening out of the hall. Thence, after a few moments' waiting, I was led into a much larger room. The walls were lined all round with bookcases, barred and numbered, filled with volumes forming part of the philosopher's great library. I had not long to wait. A door opened behind me on my left, and a rather short, thick-set man advanced to greet me, and pronouncing my name at the same time with a slight foreign accent, asked me to be seated beside him. After the interchange of a few brief formulae of politeness in French, our conversation was carried on in Italian, and I had a better opportunity of studying my host's air and manner. His hands he held clasped before him, but frequently released them, to make those vivid gestures with which Neapolitans frequently clinch their phrase.", 'ical and chemical condition in which it moves.\nIt is comprehensible that a person could not have arrived at such a\nfar-reaching change of view by continuing to follow the old beaten\npaths, but only by introducing some sort of new idea. Indeed,\nEinstein arrived at his theory through a train of thought of great\noriginality. Let me try to restate it in concise terms.\nTHE EARTH AS A MOVING CAR\nEveryone knows that a person may be sitting in any kind of a vehicle\nwithout noticing its progress, so long as the movement does not vary\nin direction or speed; in a car of a fast express train objects fall\nin just the same way as in a coach that is standing still. Only when\nwe look at objects outside the train, or when the air can enter the\ncar, do we notice indications of the motion. We may compare the earth\nwith such a moving vehicle, which in its course around the sun has\na remarkable speed, of which the direction and velocity during a\nconsiderable period of time may be regarded as constant. In place\nof the a', "that many details of structure in man could not be explained through natural selection, I invented sexual selection; I gave, however, a tolerably clear sketch of this principle in the first edition of the 'Origin of Species,' and I there stated that it was applicable to man. This subject of sexual selection has been treated at full length in the present work, simply because an opportunity was here first afforded me. I have been struck with the likeness of many of the half-favourable criticisms on sexual selection, with those which appeared at first on natural selection; such as, that it would explain some few details, but certainly was not applicable to the extent to which I have employed it. My conviction of the power of sexual selection remains unshaken; but it is probable, or almost certain, that several of my conclusions will hereafter be found erroneous; this can hardly fail to be the case in the first treatment of a subject. When naturalists have become familiar with the idea of sexual selection, it wi", 'for I should soon have got over my disgust; and the practice would have been invaluable for all my future work. This has been an irremediable evil, as well as my incapacity to draw. I also attended regularly the clinical wards in the hospital. Some of the cases distressed me a good deal, and I still have vivid pictures before me of some of them; but I was not so foolish as to allow this to lessen my attendance. I cannot understand why this part of my medical course did not interest me in a greater degree; for during the summer before coming to Edinburgh I began attending some of the poor people, chiefly children and women in Shrewsbury: I wrote down as full an account as I could of the case with all the symptoms, and read them aloud to my father, who suggested further inquiries and advised me what medicines to give, which I made up myself. At one time I had at least a dozen patients, and I felt a keen interest in the work. My father, who was by far the best judge of character whom I ever knew, declared that I', 'gement to the very\nvaluable Journals of Poggendorff and Schweigger. Less\nexclusively national than their Gallic compeer, they present a\npicture of the actual progress of physical science throughout\nEurope. Indeed, we have been often astonished to see with what\ncelerity every thing, even moderately valuable in the scientific\npublications of this country, finds its way into their pages.\nThis ought to encourage our men of science. They have a larger\naudience, and a wider sympathy than they are perhaps aware of;\nand however disheartening the general diffusion of smatterings of\na number of subjects, and the almost equally general indifference\nto profound knowledge in any, among their own countrymen, may be,\nthey may rest assured that not a fact they may discover, nor a\ngood experiment they may make, but is instantly repeated,\nverified, and commented upon, in Germany, and, we may add too, in\nItaly. We wish the obligation were mutual. Here, whole branches\nof continental discovery are unstudied, and indeed almos', 'None', 'ing epitome, and as a strict interpreter, my methods (which are, as will be seen, within the reach of all), my ideas, and the whole body of my works and discoveries; and despite the obvious difficulty which such an attempt would appear to present, he has succeeded most wonderfully in achieving the most lucid, complete, and vital exposition of these matters that I could possibly have wished.\nJean-Henri Fabre.\nSérignan, Vaucluse, November 12, 1911.\nCONTENTS.\nPREFACE.\nINTRODUCTION. \nCHAPTER 1.\nTHE INTUITION OF NATURE. \nCHAPTER 2.\nTHE PRIMARY TEACHER. \nCHAPTER 3.\nCORSICA. \nCHAPTER 4.\nAT AVIGNON.', 'boiling water, and after cooling for a few minutes, it is placed in a vessel containing finely chopped ice (Fig. 10). The mercury column falls rapidly, but finally remains stationary, and at this level another scratch is made on the tube and the point is marked 32°. The space between these two points, which represent the temperatures of boiling water and of melting ice, is divided into 180 equal parts called degrees. The thermometer in use in the United States is marked in this way and is called the Fahrenheit thermometer after its designer. Before the degrees are etched on the thermometer the open end of the tube is sealed.\n[Illustration: FIG. 9.--Determining one of the fixed points of a thermometer.]\nThe Centigrade thermometer, in use in foreign countries and in all scientific work, is similar to the Fahrenheit except that the fixed points are marked 100° and 0°, and the interval between the points is divided into 100 equal parts instead of into 180.\nThe boiling point of\n', 'Gratiolet appears to overlook inherited habit, and even to some extent habit in the individual; and therefore he fails, as it seems to me, to give the right explanation, or any explanation at all, of many gestures and expressions. As an illustration of what he calls symbolic movements, I will quote his remarks (p. 37), taken from M. Chevreul, on a man playing at billiards. "Si une bille devie legerement de la direction que le joueur pretend zlui imprimer, ne l\'avez-vous pas vu cent fois la pousser du regard, de la tete et meme des epaules, comme si ces mouvements, purement symboliques, pouvaient rectifier son trajet? Des mouvements non moins significatifs se produisent quand la bille manque d\'une impulsion suffisante. Et cliez les joueurs novices, ils sont quelquefois accuses au point d\'eveiller le sourire sur les levres des spectateurs." Such movements, as it appeirs to me, may be attributed simply to habit. As often as a man has wished to move an object to one side, he has always pushed it to that side when forwards, he has pushed it forwards; and if he has wished to arrest it, he has pulled backwards. Therefore, when a man sees his ball travelling in a wrong direction, and he intensely wishes it to go in another direction, he cannot avoid, from long habit, unconsciously performing movements which in other cases he has found effectual.\nAs an instance of sympathetic movements Gratiolet gives (p. 212) the following case:--"un jeune chien A oreilles droites, auquel son maitre presente de loin quelque viande appetissante, fixe avec ardeur ses yeux sur cet objet dont il suit tous les mouvements, et pendant que les yeux regardent, les deux oreilles se portent en avant comme si cet objet pouvait etre entendu." ', "ociatie cu functionarea creierului.\nTeoria explica' principiul de functionare al creierului, animal sau uman, pina la\na fi in stare sa faca un proiect logic functional, adica un proiect de dispozitiv\nlogic, care poate sintetiza functiile de baza ale creierului animal sau uman.\nDe fapt, creierul este tratat ca un produs tehnologic. Astfel, se definesc\ncerintele fundamentale dar si deficientele fundamentale de proiectare. Sunt\nexplicate problemele si solutiile legate de implementarea tehnologica a\ncreierului, in multiplele lui variante. \nTeoria sugereaza faptul ca proiectantul, in decursul zecilor de milenii, a facut\nmai multe variante tehnologice care se pot recunoaste in realitatea externa. Se\nanalizeaza daca prin evolutie se poate trece sau nu, de la un creier de animal la\nun creier de om.\nSunt tratate si problemele de proiectare sau tehnologice, cunoscute sub denumirea\nde deficiente/boli psihice (in forme patologice sau nu).\nTeoria trateaza intr-un mod stiintific si asa zisele ", 'the\nbrain. In fact, it does not, for the long-headed are not\nlong-brained, nor are the short-headed short-brained. Second, the\nsize and disposal of the sinuses, the state of nutrition in\nchildhood have far more to do with the "bumps" of the head than\nbrain or character. The bump of philoprogenitiveness has in my\nexperience more often been the result of rickets than a sign of\nparental love.\n[1] It is to be remembered that phrenology had a good standing at\none time, though it has since lapsed into quackdom. This is the\nhistory of many a "short cut" into knowledge. Thus the wisest men\nof past centuries believed in astrology. Paracelsus, who gave to\nthe world the use of Hg in therapeutics, relied in large part for\nhis diagnosis and cures upon alchemy and astrology.\nWithout meaning to pun, we may dismiss the claims of palmistry\noffhand. Normally the lines of the hand do not change from birth\nto death, but character does change. The hand, its shape and its\ntexture are markedly influenced by illness,[1] toil'], 'Science Fiction': ["was warmly discussed, which procured it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of partisans. The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the imagination. The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings. And the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the only medium through which these giants (against which terrestrial animals, such as elephants or rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be produced or developed.\nThe industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from this point of view. The Shipping and Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd's List, the Packet-Boat, and the Maritime and Colonial Review, all papers devoted to insurance companies which threatened to raise their rates of premium, were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been pronounced. The United States were the first in the field; and in New York they made preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this narwhal. A frigate of great speed, the Abraham Lincoln, was put in comm", "thought of it. It's\nplain enough, and helps the paradox delightfully. We cannot see\nit, nor can we appreciate this machine, any more than we can the\nspoke of a wheel spinning, or a bullet flying through the air.\nIf it is travelling through time fifty times or a hundred times\nfaster than we are, if it gets through a minute while we get\nthrough a second, the impression it creates will of course be\nonly one-fiftieth or one-hundredth of what it would make if it\nwere not travelling in time. That's plain enough.' He passed\nhis hand through the space in which the machine had been. `You\nsee?' he said, laughing.\nWe sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute or so. Then\nthe Time Traveller asked us what we thought of it all.\n`It sounds plausible enough to-night,' said the Medical Man;\n'but wait until to-morrow. Wait for the common sense of the\nmorning.'\n`Would you like to see the Time Machine itself?' asked the Time\nTraveller. And therewith, taking the lamp in his hand, he led\nthe way down", '"Very useful things indeed they are, sir," said Mrs. Hall.\n"And I\'m very naturally anxious to get on with my inquiries."\n"Of course, sir."\n"My reason for coming to Iping," he proceeded, with a certain deliberation of manner, "was ... a desire for solitude. I do not wish to be disturbed in my work. In addition to my work, an accident--"\n"I thought as much," said Mrs. Hall to herself.\n"--necessitates a certain retirement. My eyes--are sometimes so weak and painful that I have to shut myself up in the dark for hours together. Lock myself up. Sometimes--now and then. Not at present, certainly. At such times the slightest disturbance, the entry of a stranger into the room, is a source of excruciating annoyance to me--it is well these things should be understood."\n"Certainly, sir," said Mrs. Hall. "And if I might make so bold as to ask--"\n"That I think, is all," said the stranger, with that quietly irresistible ', 'o recall some of the mental habits of those departed days. At most terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. And early in the twentieth century came the great disillusionment.\nThe planet Mars, I scarcely need remind the reader, revolves about the sun at a mean distance of 140,000,000 miles, and the light and heat it receives from the sun is barely half of that received by this world. It must be, if the nebular hypothesis has any truth, older than our world; and long before this earth ceased to be molten, life upon its surface must have begun its course. The fact that it is scarcely one seventh of the volume of the earth must have accelerated its cooling to the temperature a', 'hey reach\ntheir fifteenth year. Then they go to work.\nIn the Home of the Students we arose when\nthe big bell rang in the tower and we went\nto our beds when it rang again. Before we\nremoved our garments, we stood in the\ngreat sleeping hall, and we raised our right\narms, and we said all together with the\nthree Teachers at the head:\n"We are nothing. Mankind is all. By the grace\nof our brothers are we allowed our lives.\nWe exist through, by and for our brothers\nwho are the State. Amen."\nThen we slept. The sleeping halls were white\nand clean and bare of all things save one hundred beds.\nWe, Equality 7-2521, were not happy in\nthose years in the Home of the Students.\nIt was not that the learning was too hard\nfor us. It was that the learning was too easy.\nThis is a great sin, to be born with a\nhead which is too quick. It is not good\nto be different from our brothers, but it\nis evil to be superior to them. The Teachers\ntold us so, and they frowned when they looked upon us.\nSo we fought against thi', 'same day another important personage fell into the hands of the Southerners. This was no other than Gideon Spilen, a reporter for the New York Herald, who had been ordered to follow the changes of the war in the midst of the Northern armies.\nGideon Spilett was one of that race of indomitable English or American chroniclers, like Stanley and others, who stop at nothing to obtain exact information, and transmit it to their journal in the shortest possible time. The newspapers of the Union, such as the New York Herald, are genuine powers, and their reporters are men to be reckoned with. Gideon Spilett ranked among the first of those reporters: a man of great merit, energetic, prompt and ready for anything, full of ideas, having traveled over the whole world, soldier and artist, enthusiastic in council, resolute in action, caring neither for trouble, fatigue, nor danger, when in pursuit of information, for himself first, and then for his journal, a perfect treasury of knowledge on all sorts of curious subj', 'however, that this thought did not occur to me until the following day removes any possible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration of this episode might possibly otherwise entitle me.\nI do not believe that I am made of the stuff which constitutes heroes, because, in all of the hundreds of instances that my voluntary acts have placed me face to face with death, I cannot recall a single one where any alternative step to that I took occurred to me until many hours later. My mind is evidently so constituted that I am subconsciously forced into the path of duty without recourse to tiresome mental processes. However that may be, I have never regretted that cowardice is not optional with me.\nIn this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was the center of attraction, but whether I thought or acted first I do not know, but within an instant from the moment the scene broke upon my view I had whipped out my revolvers and was charging down upon the entire army of warriors, shooting', 'Inside, her anxiety increased. The arrangements were old-fashioned and rough. There was even a female attendant, to whom she would have to announce her wants during the voyage. Of course a revolving platform ran the length of the boat, but she was expected to walk from it to her cabin. Some cabins were better than others, and she did not get the best. She thought the attendant had been unfair, and spasms of rage shook her. The glass valves had closed, she could not go back. She saw, at the end of the vestibule, the lift in which she had ascended going quietly up and down, empty. Beneath those corridors of shining tiles were rooms, tier below tier, reaching far into the earth, and in each room there sat a human being, eating, or sleeping, or producing ideas. And buried deep in the hive was her own room. Vashti was afraid.\n"O Machine!" she murmured, and caressed her Book, and was comforted.\nThen the sides of the vestibule seemed to melt together, as do the passages that we see in dreams, the l', "parody of bacterial plasmid exchange, so fast that, by the time the windfall tax demands are served, the targets don't exist anymore, even though the same staff are working on the same software in the same Mumbai cubicle farms.\nWelcome to the twenty-first century.\nThe permanent floating meatspace party Manfred is hooking up with is a strange attractor for some of the American exiles cluttering up the cities of Europe this decade - not trustafarians, but honest-to-God political dissidents, draft dodgers, and terminal outsourcing victims. It's the kind of place where weird connections are made and crossed lines make new short circuits into the future, like the street cafes of Switzerland where the pre Great War Russian exiles gathered. Right now it's located in the back of De Wildemann's, a three-hundred-year old brown cafe with a list of brews that runs to sixteen pages and wooden walls stained the color of stale beer. The air is thick with the smells of tobacco, brewer's yeast, and melatonin sp", 'ore to share our meal. To satisfy my conscience, I ate for both.\nThe old cook and housekeeper was nearly out of her mind. After taking so much trouble, to find her master not appear at dinner was to her a sad disappointment--which, as she occasionally watched the havoc I was making on the viands, became also alarm. If my uncle were to come to table after all?\nSuddenly, just as I had consumed the last apple and drunk the last glass of wine, a terrible voice was heard at no great distance. It was my uncle roaring for me to come to him. I made very nearly one leap of it--so loud, so fierce was his tone. \nCHAPTER 2\nTHE MYSTERIOUS PARCHMENT\n[Illustration: Runic Glyphs]\n"I Declare," cried my uncle, striking the table fiercely with his fist, "I declare to you it is Runic--and contains some wonderful secret, which I must get at, at any price."\nI was about to reply when he stopped me.\n"Sit down," he said, ', 'None', '\'re good, you\'re good.\n\nChapter Two\nI came out of the bathroom with 30 seconds left on the ticker, and started walking briskly towards the conference room. Miranda was trotting immediately behind.\n"What\'s the meeting about?" I asked, nodding to Drew Roberts as I passed his office.\n"He didn\'t say," Miranda said.\n"Do we know who else is in the meeting?"\n"He didn\'t say," Miranda said.\nThe second-floor conference room sits adjacent to Carl\'s office, which is at the smaller end of our agency\'s vaguely egg-shaped building. The building itself has been written up in Architectural Digest, which described it as a "Four-way collision between Frank Gehry, Le Corbousier, Jay Ward and the salmonella bacteria." It\'s unfair to the salmonella bacteria. My office is stacked on the larger arc of the egg on the first floor, along with the offices of all the other junior agents. After today, a second-floor, little-arc office was ', 'only differed on some point of science," he thought; and being a man of no scientific passions (except in the matter of conveyancing), he even added: "It is nothing worse than that!" He gave his friend a few seconds to recover his composure, and then approached the question he had come to put. "Did you ever come across a protege of his--one Hyde?" he asked.\n"Hyde?" repeated Lanyon. "No. Never heard of him. Since my time."\nThat was the amount of information that the lawyer carried back with him to the great, dark bed on which he tossed to and fro, until the small hours of the morning began to grow large. It was a night of little ease to his toiling mind, toiling in mere darkness and beseiged by questions.\nSix o\'clock struck on the bells of the church that was so conveniently near to Mr. Utterson\'s dwelling, and still he was digging at the problem. Hitherto it had touched him on the intellectual side alone; but now his imagination also was engaged, or rather enslaved; and as he lay and toss', 'Joy\'s eyes were upon mine.\n"Darling! I didn\'t have the least idea. Why, it\'s going to be wonderful! Never a dull moment!"\nI kissed my bride, after which she said, "I think I could do with a drink, sweetheart."\n"Your wish is my command."\nI got up and started toward the liquor supply inside the house. Joy\'s soft call stopped me.\n"What is it, angel?" I inquired.\n"Not just a drink, sweet. Bring the bottle."\nI went into the kitchen and got a bottle of brandy. But upon returning, I discovered I\'d neglected to bring glasses.\nBut Joy took the bottle from me in a rather dazed manner, knocked off the neck against a leg of the bench and tipped the bottle to her beautiful lips. She took a pull of brandy large enough to ward off the worst case of pneumonia and then passed the bottle to Bag Ears.\n"Drink hearty, pal," she murmured, and sort of sank down into herself.\nI never got my turn at the bott', 'ring accidents, was an adventure for volunteers.\nThe population of the United States was stabilized at forty-million souls.\nOne bright morning in the Chicago Lying-in Hospital, a man named Edward K. Wehling, Jr., waited for his wife to give birth. He was the only man waiting. Not many people were born a day any more.\nWehling was fifty-six, a mere stripling in a population whose average age was one hundred and twenty-nine.\nX-rays had revealed that his wife was going to have triplets. The children would be his first.\nYoung Wehling was hunched in his chair, his head in his hand. He was so rumpled, so still and colorless as to be virtually invisible. His camouflage was perfect, since the waiting room had a disorderly and demoralized air, too. Chairs and ashtrays had been moved away from the walls. The floor was paved with spattered dropcloths.\nThe room was being redecorated. It was being redecorated as a memorial to a man who had voluntee', "hin, so that we bent towards one another and spared our words. I stood out against it with all my might, was rather for scuttling the boat and perishing together among the sharks that followed us; but when Helmar said that if his proposal was accepted we should have drink, the sailor came round to him.\nI would not draw lots however, and in the night the sailor whispered to Helmar again and again, and I sat in the bows with my clasp-knife in my hand, though I doubt if I had the stuff in me to fight; and in the morning I agreed to Helmar's proposal, and we handed halfpence to find the odd man. The lot fell upon the sailor; but he was the strongest of us and would not abide by it, and attacked Helmar with his hands. They grappled together and almost stood up. I crawled along the boat to them, intending to help Helmar by grasping the sailor's leg; but the sailor stumbled with the swaying of the boat, and the two fell upon the gunwale and rolled overboard together. They sank like stones. I remember laughing", "ecrets.\nAfter all, Theseus damn well was.\n*\nShe'd taken us a good fifteen AUs towards our destination before something scared her off course. Then she'd skidded north like a startled cat and started climbing: a wild high three-gee burn off the ecliptic, thirteen hundred tonnes of momentum bucking against Newton's First. She'd emptied her Penn tanks, bled dry her substrate mass, squandered a hundred forty days' of fuel in hours. Then a long cold coast through the abyss, years of stingy accounting, the thrust of every antiproton weighed against the drag of sieving it from the void. Teleportation isn't magic: the Icarus stream couldn't send us the actual antimatter it made, only the quantum specs. Theseus had to filterfeed the raw material from space, one ion at a time. For long dark years she'd made do on pure inertia, hording every swallowed atom. Then a flip; ionizing lasers strafing the space ahead; a ramscoop thrown wide in a hard brake. The weight of a trillion trilli", "versary of his single garment, belt and weapon, and transferred them to my own frame. This done, I felt some slight renewal of confidence. At least I was partly clothed and armed.\nI examined the dagger with much interest. A more murderous weapon I have never seen. The blade was perhaps nineteen inches in length, double-edged, and sharp as a razor. It was broad at the haft, tapering to a diamond point. The guard and pommel were of silver, the hilt covered with a substance somewhat like shagreen. The blade was indisputably steel, but of a quality I had never before encountered. The whole was a triumph of the weapon-maker's art, and seemed to indicate a high order of culture.\nFrom my admiration of my newly acquired weapon, I turned again to my victim, who was beginning to show signs of returning consciousness. Instinct caused me to sweep the grasslands, and in the distance, to the south, I saw a group of figures moving toward me. They were surely men, and armed men. I caught the flash of the sunlig", 'you\'ve got bad luck when future chance events won\'t go your way. Scientific investigations into this have been inconclusive, but everyone knows that some people are lucky and others aren\'t. All we\'ve got are hints and glimmers, the fumbling touch of a rudimentary talent. There\'s the evil eye legend and the Jonah, bad luck bringers. Superstition? Maybe; but ask the insurance companies about accident prones. What\'s in a name? Call a man unlucky and you\'re superstitious. Call him accident prone and that\'s sound business sense. I\'ve said enough.\n"All the same, search the space-flight records, talk to the actuaries. When a ship is working perfectly and is operated by a hand-picked crew of highly trained men in perfect condition, how often is it wrecked by a series of silly errors happening one after another in defiance of probability?\n"I\'ll sign off with two thoughts, one depressing and one cheering. A single Chingsi wrecked our ship and our launch. What could a whole planetful of them do?', "buying mareridtbane for 800 gold per plant. His initial reccy had netted him five plants. That brought the total expected take from the dungeon up to 4,400 gold for 20 minutes, or 13,200 gold per hour -- which, at the day's exchange, was worth about $30, or 285 Renminbi.\nWhich was -- he thought for a second -- more than 71 bowls of dumplings.\nJackpot.\nHis hands flew over the mice, taking direct control over the squad. He'd work out the optimal path through the dungeon now, then head out to the Huoda internet cafe and see who he could find to do runs with him at this. With any luck, they could take -- his eyes rolled up as he thought again -- a million gold out of the dungeon if they could get the whole cafe working on it. They'd dump the gold as they went, and by the time Coca Cola's systems administrators figured out anything was wrong, they'd have pulled almost $3000 out of the game. That was a year's rent, for one night's work. His hands trembled as he flipp", 'sult of its peculiar method of feeding, which consists in cropping off the tender vegetation with its razorlike talons and sucking it up from its two mouths, which lie one in the palm of each hand, through its arm-like throats.\nIn addition to the features which I have already described, the beast was equipped with a massive tail about six feet in length, quite round where it joined the body, but tapering to a flat, thin blade toward the end, which trailed at right angles to the ground.\nBy far the most remarkable feature of this most remarkable creature, however, were the two tiny replicas of it, each about six inches in length, which dangled, one on either side, from its armpits. They were suspended by a small stem which seemed to grow from the exact tops of their heads to where it connected them with the body of the adult.\nWhether they were the young, or merely portions of a composite creature, I did not know.\nAs I had been scrutinizing this weird monstrosity the balance of the he', 'Report back!"\nDiane strained her ears for possible re-transmission of the Niccola\'s signals, which would indicate the Plumie\'s willingness to try conversation. But she suddenly raised her hand and pointed to the radar-graph instrument. It repeated the positioning of dots which were stray meteoric matter in the space between worlds in this system. What had been a spot--the Plumie ship--was now a line of dots. Baird pressed the button.\n"Radar reporting!" he said curtly. "The Plumie ship is heading for us. I\'ll have relative velocity in ten seconds."\nHe heard the skipper swear. Ten seconds later the Doppler measurement became possible. It said the Plumie plunged toward the Niccola at miles per second. In half a minute it was tens of miles per second. There was no re-transmission of signals. The Plumie ship had found itself discovered. Apparently it considered itself attacked. It flung itself into a headlong dash for the Niccola.\n* * * * *\nTime pa', 'rd part of the column. Far ahead, he knew, were the Knights Templars, who had taken the advance. Behind the Templars rode the mailed knights of Brittany and Anjou. These were followed by King Guy of Jerusalem and the host of Poitou.\nHe himself, Sir Robert de Bouain, was riding with the Norman and English troops, just behind the men of Poitou. Sir Robert turned slightly in his saddle. To his right, he could see the brilliant red-and-gold banner of the lion-hearted Richard of England--gules, in pale three lions passant guardant or. Behind the standard-bearer, his great war horse moving with a steady, measured pace, his coronet of gold on his steel helm gleaming in the glaring desert sun, the lions of England on his firm-held shield, was the King himself.\nFurther behind, the Knights Hospitallers protected the rear, guarding the column of the hosts of Christendom from harassment by the Bedouins.\n"By our Lady!" came a voice from his left. "Three days out from Acre, and the accursed Saracens still elude us."\nSir Robert de '], 'Sexuality': ['very dress might serve as a pall for your coffin.\nAnd I felt life rising within me like a subterranean lake, expanding and overflowing; my blood leaped fiercely through my arteries; my long-restrained youth suddenly burst into active being, like the aloe which blooms but once in a hundred years, and then bursts into blossom with a clap of thunder.\nWhat could I do in order to see Clarimonde once more? I had no pretext to offer for desiring to leave the seminary, not knowing any person in the city. I would not even be able to remain there but a short time, and was only waiting my assignment to the curacy which I must thereafter occupy. I tried to remove the bars of the window; but it was at a fearful height from the ground, and I found that as I had no ladder it would be useless to think of escaping thus. And, furthermore, I could descend thence only by night in any event, and afterward how should I be able to find my way through the inextricable labyrinth of streets? All these difficulties, which', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None', 'None'], 'Short Story': ['ndscape in the Paris spring salon of 1926. And so numerous are the recorded troubles in insane asylums that only a miracle can have stopped the medical fraternity from noting strange parallelisms and drawing mystified conclusions. A weird bunch of cuttings, all told; and I can at this date scarcely envisage the callous rationalism with which I set them aside. But I was then convinced that young Wilcox had known of the older matters mentioned by the professor.\nII. The Tale of Inspector Legrasse.\nThe older matters which had made the sculptor\'s dream and bas-relief so significant to my uncle formed the subject of the second half of his long manuscript. Once before, it appears, Professor Angell had seen the hellish outlines of the nameless monstrosity, puzzled over the unknown hieroglyphics, and heard the ominous syllables which can be rendered only as "Cthulhu" ; and all this in so stirring and horrible a connexion that it is small wonder he pursued young Wilcox with queries and demands for data.', '"I didn\'t mean so bad as that, Aleck; I didn\'t really mean immoral piety, I only meant--meant--well, conventional piety, you know; er--shop piety; the--the--why, YOU know what I mean. Aleck--the--well, where you put up that plated article and play it for solid, you know, without intending anything improper, but just out of trade habit, ancient policy, petrified custom, loyalty to--to--hang it, I can\'t find the right words, but YOU know what I mean, Aleck, and that there isn\'t any harm in it. I\'ll try again. You see, it\'s this way. If a person--"\n"You have said quite enough," said Aleck, coldly; "let the subject be dropped."\n"I\'M willing," fervently responded Sally, wiping the sweat from his forehead and looking the thankfulness he had no words for. Then, musingly, he apologized to himself. "I certainly held threes-- I KNOW it--but I drew and didn\'t fill. That\'s where I\'m so often weak in the game. If I had stood pat--but I didn\'t. I never do. I don\'t know enough."\nConfessedly defea', "ople who were unfailingly polite racked their brains for compliments to give to the parents--and finally hit upon the ingenious device of declaring that the baby resembled his grandfather, a fact which, due to the standard state of decay common to all men of seventy, could not be denied. Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were not pleased, and Benjamin's grandfather was furiously insulted.\nBenjamin, once he left the hospital, took life as he found it. Several small boys were brought to see him, and he spent a stiff-jointed afternoon trying to work up an interest in tops and marbles--he even managed, quite accidentally, to break a kitchen window with a stone from a sling shot, a feat which secretly delighted his father.\nThereafter Benjamin contrived to break something every day, but he did these things only because they were expected of him, and because he was by nature obliging.\nWhen his grandfather's initial antagonism wore off, Benjamin and that gentleman took enormous pleasure in one another's ", 'very dress might serve as a pall for your coffin.\nAnd I felt life rising within me like a subterranean lake, expanding and overflowing; my blood leaped fiercely through my arteries; my long-restrained youth suddenly burst into active being, like the aloe which blooms but once in a hundred years, and then bursts into blossom with a clap of thunder.\nWhat could I do in order to see Clarimonde once more? I had no pretext to offer for desiring to leave the seminary, not knowing any person in the city. I would not even be able to remain there but a short time, and was only waiting my assignment to the curacy which I must thereafter occupy. I tried to remove the bars of the window; but it was at a fearful height from the ground, and I found that as I had no ladder it would be useless to think of escaping thus. And, furthermore, I could descend thence only by night in any event, and afterward how should I be able to find my way through the inextricable labyrinth of streets? All these difficulties, which', 'Inside, her anxiety increased. The arrangements were old-fashioned and rough. There was even a female attendant, to whom she would have to announce her wants during the voyage. Of course a revolving platform ran the length of the boat, but she was expected to walk from it to her cabin. Some cabins were better than others, and she did not get the best. She thought the attendant had been unfair, and spasms of rage shook her. The glass valves had closed, she could not go back. She saw, at the end of the vestibule, the lift in which she had ascended going quietly up and down, empty. Beneath those corridors of shining tiles were rooms, tier below tier, reaching far into the earth, and in each room there sat a human being, eating, or sleeping, or producing ideas. And buried deep in the hive was her own room. Vashti was afraid.\n"O Machine!" she murmured, and caressed her Book, and was comforted.\nThen the sides of the vestibule seemed to melt together, as do the passages that we see in dreams, the l', 'ss Cushing? We may take it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must have some strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then? It must have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her, perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, why should she call the police in? She might have buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That is what she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. But if she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. There is a tangle here which needs straightening to." He had been talking in a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house.\n"I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he.\n"In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I have another small business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn from Miss Cushing. You will fin', "ch of delicate pink dust in the hole. I\nput my finger in, to feel it, and said OUCH! and took it out again. It\nwas a cruel pain. I put my finger in my mouth; and by standing first on\none foot and then the other, and grunting, I presently eased my misery;\nthen I was full of interest, and began to examine.\nI was curious to know what the pink dust was. Suddenly the name of it\noccurred to me, though I had never heard of it before. It was FIRE! I\nwas as certain of it as a person could be of anything in the world. So\nwithout hesitation I named it that--fire.\nI had created something that didn't exist before; I had added a new\nthing to the world's uncountable properties; I realized this, and was\nproud of my achievement, and was going to run and find him and tell him\nabout it, thinking to raise myself in his esteem--but I reflected, and\ndid not do it. No--he would not care for it. He would ask what it was\ngood for, and what could I answer? for if it was not GOOD for something,\nbut only beautiful, merely bea", "h easier than a baby, you see.\nOf course I never mention it to them any more--I am too wise,--but I keep watch of it all the same.\nThere are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.\nBehind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day.\nIt is always the same shape, only very numerous.\nAnd it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don't like it a bit. I wonder--I begin to think--I wish John would take me away from here!\nIt is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise, and because he loves me so.\nBut I tried it last night.\nIt was moonlight. The moon shines in all around just as the sun does.\nI hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes in by one window or another.\nJohn was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and watched the moonlight on that undulating wall-paper till I felt creepy.\nThe faint figure behind seemed to sh", 'Joy\'s eyes were upon mine.\n"Darling! I didn\'t have the least idea. Why, it\'s going to be wonderful! Never a dull moment!"\nI kissed my bride, after which she said, "I think I could do with a drink, sweetheart."\n"Your wish is my command."\nI got up and started toward the liquor supply inside the house. Joy\'s soft call stopped me.\n"What is it, angel?" I inquired.\n"Not just a drink, sweet. Bring the bottle."\nI went into the kitchen and got a bottle of brandy. But upon returning, I discovered I\'d neglected to bring glasses.\nBut Joy took the bottle from me in a rather dazed manner, knocked off the neck against a leg of the bench and tipped the bottle to her beautiful lips. She took a pull of brandy large enough to ward off the worst case of pneumonia and then passed the bottle to Bag Ears.\n"Drink hearty, pal," she murmured, and sort of sank down into herself.\nI never got my turn at the bott', 'e case of a stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to so old a friend?"\nAgain I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious anger.\n"If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you must leave the room."\nI have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understood them. But now all my professional instincts were aroused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at least was his in a sick room.\n"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child, and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I will examine your symptoms and treat you for them."\nHe looked at me with venomous eyes.\n"If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least have someone in whom I have confidence," said he.\n"Then you have none in me?"\n"In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and, after all, you are only a general practiti', 'ring accidents, was an adventure for volunteers.\nThe population of the United States was stabilized at forty-million souls.\nOne bright morning in the Chicago Lying-in Hospital, a man named Edward K. Wehling, Jr., waited for his wife to give birth. He was the only man waiting. Not many people were born a day any more.\nWehling was fifty-six, a mere stripling in a population whose average age was one hundred and twenty-nine.\nX-rays had revealed that his wife was going to have triplets. The children would be his first.\nYoung Wehling was hunched in his chair, his head in his hand. He was so rumpled, so still and colorless as to be virtually invisible. His camouflage was perfect, since the waiting room had a disorderly and demoralized air, too. Chairs and ashtrays had been moved away from the walls. The floor was paved with spattered dropcloths.\nThe room was being redecorated. It was being redecorated as a memorial to a man who had voluntee', "The Purloined Letter\nThe Thousand-and-Second Tale of Scheherezade\nA Descent into the Maelström\nVon Kempelen and his Discovery\nMesmeric Revelation\nThe Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar\nThe Black Cat\nThe Fall of the House of Usher\nSilence -- a Fable\nThe Masque of the Red Death\nThe Cask of Amontillado\nThe Imp of the Perverse\nThe Island of the Fay\nThe Assignation\nThe Pit and the Pendulum\nThe Premature Burial\nThe Domain of Arnheim\nLandor's Cottage\nWilliam Wilson\nThe Tell-Tale Heart\nBerenice\nEleonora", 'None', 'you\'ve got bad luck when future chance events won\'t go your way. Scientific investigations into this have been inconclusive, but everyone knows that some people are lucky and others aren\'t. All we\'ve got are hints and glimmers, the fumbling touch of a rudimentary talent. There\'s the evil eye legend and the Jonah, bad luck bringers. Superstition? Maybe; but ask the insurance companies about accident prones. What\'s in a name? Call a man unlucky and you\'re superstitious. Call him accident prone and that\'s sound business sense. I\'ve said enough.\n"All the same, search the space-flight records, talk to the actuaries. When a ship is working perfectly and is operated by a hand-picked crew of highly trained men in perfect condition, how often is it wrecked by a series of silly errors happening one after another in defiance of probability?\n"I\'ll sign off with two thoughts, one depressing and one cheering. A single Chingsi wrecked our ship and our launch. What could a whole planetful of them do?', 'When I shot some of his prize turkeys with it, he did not punish me; he complimented me on my marksmanship. I killed my first bear in the Caucasus when I was ten. My whole life has been one prolonged hunt. I went into the army--it was expected of noblemen\'s sons--and for a time commanded a division of Cossack cavalry, but my real interest was always the hunt. I have hunted every kind of game in every land. It would be impossible for me to tell you how many animals I have killed."\nThe general puffed at his cigarette.\n"After the debacle in Russia I left the country, for it was imprudent for an officer of the Czar to stay there. Many noble Russians lost everything. I, luckily, had invested heavily in American securities, so I shall never have to open a tearoom in Monte Carlo or drive a taxi in Paris. Naturally, I continued to hunt--grizzliest in your Rockies, crocodiles in the Ganges, rhinoceroses in East Africa. It was in Africa that the Cape buffalo hit me and laid me up for six months. As soon', 'voice says. "Do you want us to check the basement, to see if they have a freezer or food storage units?"\nThe boss lady is scrolling through her palm computer. "Jason and Rodrigio can do that. Download their records, Kayla."\n"Yes; Ma\'am." Kayla walks over to the table. "I need to download your records."\xa0\n"I thought medical records were confidential."\nThe boss lady snorts indignantly. "That was a relic of the old free world. We got rid of that nonsense when we took over. Medical records are transparent, so health officials can determine if people are engaging in unhealthy activities. Give Kayla your bracelet."\nThere is a pleading look in Kayla\'s eyes as she makes eye contact with Zack.\nZack doesn\'t want to make things difficult for her. He removes his bracelet and turns it over to her to download. The bracelets were originally worn by seriously ill senior citizens and automatically notified ambulance crews of heart attacks or other medical emergencies. Their funct', "AN ENCOUNTER\nIT WAS Joe Dillon who introduced the Wild West to us. He had a little library made up of old numbers of The Union Jack , Pluck and The Halfpenny Marvel . Every evening after school we met in his back garden and arranged Indian battles. He and his fat young brother Leo, the idler, held the loft of the stable while we tried to carry it by storm; or we fought a pitched battle on the grass. But, however well we fought, we never won siege or battle and all our bouts ended with Joe Dillon's war dance of victory. His parents went to eight- o'clock mass every morning in Gardiner Street and the peaceful odour of Mrs. Dillon was prevalent in the hall of the house. But he played too fiercely for us who were younger and more timid. He looked like some kind of an Indian when he capered round the garden, an old tea-cosy on his head, beating ", 'work. If you occasionally find the posture uncomfortable, do not think of it as false or artificial; it is real because it is difficult.\nIt allows the target to feel honoured by the dignity of the archer.\nElegance is not the most comfortable of postures, but it is the best posture if the shot is to be perfect.\nElegance is achieved when everything superfluous has been discarded, and the archer discovers simplicity and concentration; the simpler and more sober the posture, the more beautiful.\nThe snow is lovely because it has only one colour, the sea is lovely because it appears to be a completely flat surface, but both sea and snow are deep and know their own qualities.\n6. How to hold the Arrow\nTo hold the arrow is to be in touch with your own intention.\nYou must look along the whole length of the arrow, check that the feathers guiding its flight are well placed, and make sure that the point is sharp.\nEnsure that it is straight and that it has not b', 'Report back!"\nDiane strained her ears for possible re-transmission of the Niccola\'s signals, which would indicate the Plumie\'s willingness to try conversation. But she suddenly raised her hand and pointed to the radar-graph instrument. It repeated the positioning of dots which were stray meteoric matter in the space between worlds in this system. What had been a spot--the Plumie ship--was now a line of dots. Baird pressed the button.\n"Radar reporting!" he said curtly. "The Plumie ship is heading for us. I\'ll have relative velocity in ten seconds."\nHe heard the skipper swear. Ten seconds later the Doppler measurement became possible. It said the Plumie plunged toward the Niccola at miles per second. In half a minute it was tens of miles per second. There was no re-transmission of signals. The Plumie ship had found itself discovered. Apparently it considered itself attacked. It flung itself into a headlong dash for the Niccola.\n* * * * *\nTime pa', 're specialists, but his specialism is omniscience. We will suppose that a minister needs information as to a point which involves the Navy, India, Canada and the bimetallic question; he could get his separate advices from various departments upon each, but only Mycroft can focus them all, and say offhand how each factor would affect the other. They began by using him as a short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential. In that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an instant. Again and again his word has decided the national policy. He lives in it. He thinks of nothing else save when, as an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I call upon him and ask him to advise me on one of my little problems. But Jupiter is descending to-day. What on earth can it mean? Who is Cadogan West, and what is he to Mycroft?"\n"I have it," I cried, and plunged among the litter of papers upon the sofa. "Yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogen West was the young man who was f', 'rd part of the column. Far ahead, he knew, were the Knights Templars, who had taken the advance. Behind the Templars rode the mailed knights of Brittany and Anjou. These were followed by King Guy of Jerusalem and the host of Poitou.\nHe himself, Sir Robert de Bouain, was riding with the Norman and English troops, just behind the men of Poitou. Sir Robert turned slightly in his saddle. To his right, he could see the brilliant red-and-gold banner of the lion-hearted Richard of England--gules, in pale three lions passant guardant or. Behind the standard-bearer, his great war horse moving with a steady, measured pace, his coronet of gold on his steel helm gleaming in the glaring desert sun, the lions of England on his firm-held shield, was the King himself.\nFurther behind, the Knights Hospitallers protected the rear, guarding the column of the hosts of Christendom from harassment by the Bedouins.\n"By our Lady!" came a voice from his left. "Three days out from Acre, and the accursed Saracens still elude us."\nSir Robert de ', 'vents which caused the utmost excitement not only in Cornwall but throughout the whole west of England. Many of my readers may retain some recollection of what was called at the time "The Cornish Horror," though a most imperfect account of the matter reached the London press. Now, after thirteen years, I will give the true details of this inconceivable affair to the public.\nI have said that scattered towers marked the villages which dotted this part of Cornwall. The nearest of these was the hamlet of Tredannick Wollas, where the cottages of a couple of hundred inhabitants clustered round an ancient, moss-grown church. The vicar of the parish, Mr. Roundhay, was something of an archaeologist, and as such Holmes had made his acquaintance. He was a middle-aged man, portly and affable, with a considerable fund of local lore. At his invitation we had taken tea at the vicarage and had come to know, also, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, an independent gentleman, who increased the clergyman\'s scanty resources by taking', 'Professor Carbonic was diligently at work in his spacious laboratory, analyzing, mixing and experimenting. He had been employed for more than fifteen years in the same pursuit of happiness, in the same house, same laboratory, and attended by the same servant woman, who in her long period of service had attained the plumpness and respectability of two hundred and ninety pounds.\n[Illustration: The electric current lighted up everything in sight!]\n"Mag Nesia," called the professor. The servant\'s name was Maggie Nesia--Professor Carbonic had contracted the title to save time, for in fifteen years he had not mounted the heights of greatness; he must work harder and faster as life is short, and eliminate such shameful waste of time as putting the "gie" on Maggie.\n"Mag Nesia!" the professor repeated.\nThe old woman rolled slowly into the room.\n"Get\n'], 'Short Story Collection': ['ng you."\n"Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.\n"The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you."\n"Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor," murmured Holmes without opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-sea fishes.\n"Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858. Contralto--hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in London--quite so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person, wrote', '"I didn\'t mean so bad as that, Aleck; I didn\'t really mean immoral piety, I only meant--meant--well, conventional piety, you know; er--shop piety; the--the--why, YOU know what I mean. Aleck--the--well, where you put up that plated article and play it for solid, you know, without intending anything improper, but just out of trade habit, ancient policy, petrified custom, loyalty to--to--hang it, I can\'t find the right words, but YOU know what I mean, Aleck, and that there isn\'t any harm in it. I\'ll try again. You see, it\'s this way. If a person--"\n"You have said quite enough," said Aleck, coldly; "let the subject be dropped."\n"I\'M willing," fervently responded Sally, wiping the sweat from his forehead and looking the thankfulness he had no words for. Then, musingly, he apologized to himself. "I certainly held threes-- I KNOW it--but I drew and didn\'t fill. That\'s where I\'m so often weak in the game. If I had stood pat--but I didn\'t. I never do. I don\'t know enough."\nConfessedly defea', "ould often say, Mrs. Bargrave, you are not only the best, but the only friend I have in the world, and no circumstances of life shall ever dissolve my friendship. They would often condole each other's adverse fortunes, and read together Drelincourt upon Death, and other good books; and so, like two Christian friends, they comforted each other under their sorrow.\nSome time after, Mr. Veal's friends got him a place in the custom-house at Dover, which occasioned Mrs. Veal, by little and little, to fall off from her intimacy with Mrs. Bargrave, though there was never any such thing as a quarrel; but an indifferency came on by degrees, till at last Mrs. Bargrave had not seen her in two years and a half; though above a twelvemonth of the time Mrs. Bargrave hath been absent from Dover, and this last half year has been in Canterbury about two months of the time, dwelling in a house of her own.\nIn this house, on the 8th of September, 1705, she was sitting alone in the forenoon, thinking over her unfortun", 'ly analyzing the mysteries of the human mind; such tales of illusion and banter as "The Premature Burial" and "The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether"; such bits of extravaganza as "The Devil in the Belfry" and "The Angel of the Odd"; such tales of adventure as "The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym"; such papers of keen criticism and review as won for Poe the enthusiastic admiration of Charles Dickens, although they made him many enemies among the over-puffed minor American writers so mercilessly exposed by him; such poems of beauty and melody as "The Bells," "The Haunted Palace," "Tamerlane," "The City in the Sea" and "The Raven." What delight for the jaded senses of the reader is this enchanted domain of wonder-pieces! What an atmosphere of beauty, music, color! What resources of imagination, construction, analysis and absolute art! One might almost sympathize with Sarah Helen Whitman, who, confessing to a half faith in the old superstition of the significance of anagrams, found, in the transposed letter', 'marks upon the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road. Apparently, therefore, it was the young man himself who had fastened the door. But how did he come by his death? No one could have climbed up to the window without leaving traces. Suppose a man had fired through the window, he would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with a revolver inflict so deadly a wound. Again, Park Lane is a frequented thoroughfare; there is a cab stand within a hundred yards of the house. No one had heard a shot. And yet there was the dead man and there the revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosed bullets will, and so inflicted a wound which must have caused instantaneous death. Such were the circumstances of the Park Lane Mystery, which were further complicated by entire absence of motive, since, as I have said, young Adair was not known to have any enemy, and no attempt had been made to remove the money or valuables in the room.\nAll day I turned these facts over in my mind, endeavo', 'rely delivered from the black vapour which disturbed it. Pray do me the favour to tell me why you were so melancholy, and wherefore you are no longer so."\nThe king of Tartary continued for some time as if he had been meditating and contriving what he should answer; but at last replied, "You are my sultan and master; but excuse me, I beseech you, from answering your question." "No, dear brother," said the sultan, "you must answer me, I will take no denial." Shaw- zummaun, not being able to withstand these pressing entreaties, replied, "Well then, brother, I will satisfy you, since you command me ;" and having told him the story of the queen of Samarcand\'s treachery "This," said he, "was the cause of my grief; judge whether I had not sufficient reason for my depression."\n"O! my brother," said the sultan, (in a tone which shewed what interest he took in the king of Tartary\'s affliction), "what a horrible event do you tell me! I commend you for punishing the traitors who offered you such an outrage.', 'called them to consider themselves prisoners, and to deliver up the sack, or be cut in pieces.\n"Prisoners, say you?" said the man who could blow, "suppose you first have a little dance together in the air," and holding one nostril, and blowing through the other, he sent the regiments flying head over heels, over the hills and far away. But a sergeant who had nine wounds and was a brave fellow, begged not to be put to so much shame. And the blower let him down easily, so that he came to no harm, and he bade him go to the king and tell him that whatever regiments he liked to send more should be blown away just the same. And the king, when he got the message, said,\n"Let the fellows be; they have some right on their side." So the six comrades carried home their treasure, divided it among them, and lived contented till they died.\nCLEVER GRETHEL\nTHERE was once a cook called Grethel, who wore shoes with red heels, and when she went out in them she gave herself great airs, and though', "The Purloined Letter\nThe Thousand-and-Second Tale of Scheherezade\nA Descent into the Maelström\nVon Kempelen and his Discovery\nMesmeric Revelation\nThe Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar\nThe Black Cat\nThe Fall of the House of Usher\nSilence -- a Fable\nThe Masque of the Red Death\nThe Cask of Amontillado\nThe Imp of the Perverse\nThe Island of the Fay\nThe Assignation\nThe Pit and the Pendulum\nThe Premature Burial\nThe Domain of Arnheim\nLandor's Cottage\nWilliam Wilson\nThe Tell-Tale Heart\nBerenice\nEleonora", 'None', "was immediately carried into the house and laid upon the bed. The family physician was telephoned for. The powder marks around the wound could be seen by all. In his confusion and excitement, the butler felt that he ought to notify his master of what had happened before sending for the police. Nobody in the house knew where Mr. Whittall was dining that night, and the butler started telephoning around to his clubs, and to the houses of his most intimate friends in the endeavour to find him. He could not get any word of him. He was still at the telephone when Mr. Whittall returned home. This would be about eleven. Mr. Whittall's first act was to telephone to the local police station. He upbraided the butler for not having done so at once. A few minutes later the police were in the house.\nMrs. Whittall's own maid had identified the revolver as one belonging to her mistress. She had testified that she had seen nothing strange in the behaviour of her mistress before she left the house. So far as she could ", 'is, Colonel Lamon and others, and he promptly chose Colonel Lamon, who alone accompanied him on his journey from Harrisburg to Philadelphia and thence to Washington.\nBefore leaving the room Governor Curtin asked Colonel Lamon whether he was armed, and he answered by exhibiting a brace of fine pistols, a huge bowie knife, a black jack, and a pair of brass knuckles. Curtin answered: "You\'ll do," and they were started on their journey after all the telegraph wires had been cut. We awaited through what seemed almost an endless night, until the east was purpled with the coming of another day, when Colonel Scott, who had managed the whole scheme, reunited the wires and soon received from Colonel Lamon this dispatch: "Plums delivered nuts safely," which gave us the intensely gratifying information that Lincoln had arrived in Washington.\nOf all the Presidents of the United States, and indeed of all the great statesmen who have made their indelible impress upon the policy of the Republic, Abraham Lincoln', "AN ENCOUNTER\nIT WAS Joe Dillon who introduced the Wild West to us. He had a little library made up of old numbers of The Union Jack , Pluck and The Halfpenny Marvel . Every evening after school we met in his back garden and arranged Indian battles. He and his fat young brother Leo, the idler, held the loft of the stable while we tried to carry it by storm; or we fought a pitched battle on the grass. But, however well we fought, we never won siege or battle and all our bouts ended with Joe Dillon's war dance of victory. His parents went to eight- o'clock mass every morning in Gardiner Street and the peaceful odour of Mrs. Dillon was prevalent in the hall of the house. But he played too fiercely for us who were younger and more timid. He looked like some kind of an Indian when he capered round the garden, an old tea-cosy on his head, beating ", "Introduction \nStory Of King Shahryar and His Brother  a. Tale of the Bull and the Ass \n1. Tale of the Trader and the Jinni  a. The First Shaykh's Story\n b. The Second Shaykh's Story\n c. The Third Shaykh's Story \n2. The Fisherman and the Jinni  a. Tale of the Wazir and the Sage Duban  ab. Story of King Sindibad and His Falcon \n ac. Tale of the Husband and the Parrot \n ad. Tale of the Prince and the Ogress \n b. Tale of the Ensorcelled Prince \n3. The Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad a. The First Kalandar's Tale \n b. The Second Kalandar's Tale  ba. Tale of the Envier and the Envied \n c. The Third Kalandar's Tale \n d. The Eldest Lady's Tale \n e. Tale of the Portress \n Conclusion of the Story of the Porter and the Three Ladies \n4. Tale of the Three Apples \n5. Tale of Nur Al-din Ali and his Son \n6. The Hunchback's Tale  a. The Nazarene Broker's Story \n b. The Reeve's Tale \n c. Tale of the Jewish Doctor \n d. Tale of the Tailor \n e. The Barber's Tale of Himself  ea. The Barber's Tale of his First Brother \n eb. The Barber's Tale of his Second Brother \n ec. The Barber's Tale of his Third Brother \n ed. The Barber's Tale of his Fourth Brother \n ee. The Barber's Tale of his Fifth Brother \n ef. The Barber's Tale of his Sixth Brother \n The End of the Tailor's Tale\n", "Prelude \nJe Ne Parle Pas Francais\nBliss\nThe Wind Blows\nPsychology\nPictures\nThe Man Without A Temperament\nMr. Reginald Peacock's Day\nSun And Moon\nFeuille D'album\nA Dill Pickle\nThe Little Governess\nRevelations\nThe Escape", 'This it is and nothing more."\nPresently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,\n"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;\nBut the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,\nAnd so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,\nThat I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door--\nDarkness there and nothing more.\nDeep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,\nDoubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;\nBut the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,\nAnd the only word there spoken was the whispered word,\n"Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,\n"Lenore!"--\nMerely this and nothing more.\nBack into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,\nSoon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.\n"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;\nLet me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore--\nLet my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--', 'ts, they made such an impression upon his countenance, that the sultan could not but take notice of it, and said thus to himself: "What can be the matter with the king of Tartary, that he is so melancholy; has he any cause to complain of his reception? No, surely; I have received him as a brother whom I love, so that I can charge myself with no omission in that respect. Perhaps it grieves him to be at such a distance from his dominions, or from the queen, his wife: Alas! if that be the matter, I must forthwith give him the presents I designed for him, that he may return to Samarcande when he pleases.\' Accordingly, next day Schahriar sent him a part of those presents, being the greatest rarities and the richest things that the Indies could afford. At the same time he endeavoured to divert his brother every day by new objects of pleasure, and the finest treats, which, instead of giving the king of Tartary any ease, did only increase his sorrow.\nOne day, Schahriar having appointed a great hunting-match, a', 'en: for this generosity in the heathen is unwonted; and fickle-mindedness has ever been an attribute of the worshippers of Baal."\n"\'That they are fickle-minded and treacherous is as true as the Pentateuch," said Buzi-Ben-Levi, "but that is only toward the people of Adonai. When was it ever known that the Ammonites proved wanting to their own interests? Methinks it is no great stretch of generosity to allow us lambs for the altar of the Lord, receiving in lieu thereof thirty silver shekels per head !"\n"Thou forgettest, however, Ben-Levi," replied Abel-Phittim, "that the Roman Pompey, who is now impiously besieging the city of the Most High, has no assurity that we apply not the lambs thus purchased for the altar, to the sustenance of the body, rather than of the spirit."\n"Now, by the five corners of my beard!" shouted the Pharisee, who belonged to the sect called The Dashers (that little knot of saints whose manner of _dashing _and lacerating the feet against the pavement was long a thorn ', "THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS (1839)George Pope Morris\n\nTHE ANGEL OF THE ODD (1844)Edgar Allan Poe\n\n\nTHE SCHOOLMASTER'S PROGRESS (1844)Caroline M.S. Kirkland\n\n\nTHE WATKINSON EVENING (1846)Eliza Leslie\n\n\nTITBOTTOM'S SPECTACLES (1854)George William Curtis\n\n\nMY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME (1859)Edward Everett Hale\n\n\nA VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS (1861)Oliver Wendell Holmes\n\n\nTHE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY (1865)Mark Twain\n\n\nELDER BROWN'S BACKSLIDE (1885)Harry Stillwell Edwards\n\n\nTHE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER (1886)Richard Malcolm Johnston\n\n\nTHE NICE PEOPLE (1890)Henry Cuyler Bunner\n\n\nTHE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT (1897)Frank Richard Stockton\n\n\nCOLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF (1901)Bret Harte\n\n\nTHE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES (1902)O. Henry\n\n\nBARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE (1905)\nGeorge Randolph Chester\n\n\nA CALL (1906)\nGrace MacGowan Cooke\n\n\nHOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON (1911)\nWilliam James Lampton\n\n\nGIDEON (1914)\nWells Hastings\n", 'ed" or some language to that effect. Henderson, the first mate, now took the matter up, being justly indignant, as well as the whole ship\'s crew, at a speech evincing so base a degree of heartless atrocity. He spoke plainly, seeing himself upheld by the men, told the captain he considered him a fit subject for the gallows, and that he would disobey his orders if he were hanged for it the moment he set his foot on shore. He strode aft, jostling Block (who turned pale and made no answer) on one side, and seizing the helm, gave the word, in a firm voice, Hard-a-lee! The men flew to their posts, and the ship went cleverly about. All this had occupied nearly five minutes, and it was supposed to be hardly within the bounds of possibility that any individual could be saved- allowing any to have been on board the boat. Yet, as the reader has seen, both Augustus and myself were rescued; and our deliverance seemed to have been brought about by two of those almost inconceivable pieces of good fortune which are attribute', "The Devil in the Belfry\nLionizing\nX-ing a Paragrab\nMetzengerstein\nThe System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether\nThe Literary Life of Thingum Bob, Esq.\nHow to Write a Blackwood article\nA Predicament\nMystification\nDiddling\nThe Angel of the Odd\nMellonia Tauta\nThe Duc de l'Omlette\nThe Oblong Box\nLoss of Breath\nThe Man That Was Used Up\nThe Business Man\nThe Landscape Garden\nMaelzel's Chess-Player\nThe Power of Words\nThe Colloquy of Monas and Una\nThe Conversation of Eiros and Charmion\nShadow.--A Parable", 'stle in the air, especially if the magician had anything to do with it! I would much sooner come and help you to build real houses."\nThe traveller in the dusty brown cloak still shook his head.\n"Little ladies in gold and silver gowns can only build castles in the air," he said.\n"Do the people who live in your houses never build castles in the air?" asked the Princess.\n"I never thought of asking them," answered the great builder. "I have been too much occupied in building their real houses."\n"Then let us go and ask them now," said the Princess; and she came down from her castle in the air, and stepped once more on to the dusty road, and held out her little white hand to the traveller. Her castle in the air vanished like a puff of smoke the moment she stepped out of it.\n"What would be the use of that?" asked the traveller, smiling. He took the little white hand, however, for no one could have refused that much to such a very charming Princess.\n"Why," said the Pri', 'actice in our\nneighborhood."\n"I know you did, sir," I replied. "But what was a poor traveling\nportrait-painter like my husband, who lives by taking likenesses\nfirst in one place and then in another, to do? Our bread depended\non his using his eyes, at the very time when you warned him to\nlet them have a rest."\n"Have you no other resources? No money but the money Mr. Kerby\ncan get by portrait-painting?" asked the doctor.\n"None," I answered, with a sinking at my heart as I thought of\nhis bill for medical attendance.\n"Will you pardon me?" he said, coloring and looking a little\nuneasy, "or, rather, will you ascribe it to the friendly interest\nI feel in you, if I ask whether Mr. Kerby realizes a comfortable\nincome by the practice of his profession? Don\'t," he went on\nanxiously, before I could reply--"pray don\'t think I make this\ninquiry from a motive of impertinent curiosity!"\nI felt quite satisfied that he could have no improper motive for\nasking the question, and so answered it at once plainly and\n', 'tions, thoughts, and emotions. But dreams, being familiar, are credible; it is admitted that people do dream; we reach the less credible as we advance to the less familiar. For, if we think for a moment, the alleged events of ghostdom--apparitions of all sorts--are precisely identical with the every-night phenomena of dreaming, except for the avowed element of sleep in dreams.\nIn dreams, time and space are annihilated, and two severed lovers may be made happy. In dreams, amidst a grotesque confusion of things remembered and things forgot, we see the events of the past (I have been at Culloden fight and at the siege of Troy); we are present in places remote; we behold the absent; we converse with the dead, and we may even (let us say by chance coincidence) forecast the future. All these things, except the last, are familiar to everybody who dreams. It is also certain that similar, but yet more vivid, false experiences may be produced, at the word of the hypnotiser, in persons under the hypnotic'], 'Thriller': ["his hand, the golden Papa has a letter; and after he has made his excuse for disturbing us in our Infernal Region with the common mortal Business of the house, he addresses himself to the three young Misses, and begins, as you English begin everything in this blessed world that you have to say, with a great O. 'O, my dears,' says the mighty merchant, 'I have got here a letter from my friend, Mr.----'(the name has slipped out of my mind; but no matter; we shall come back to that; yes, yes--right-all-right). So the Papa says, 'I have got a letter from my friend, the Mister; and he wants a recommend from me, of a drawing-master, to go down to his house in the country.' My-soul-bless-my-soul! when I heard the golden Papa say those words, if I had been big enough to reach up to him, I should have put my arms round his neck, and pressed him to my bosom in a long and grateful hug! As it was, I only bounced upon my chair. My seat was on thorns, and my soul was on fire to speak but I held my tongue, and let Papa go o", 'a skeleton frame. His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils. You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man\'s skull. His skin, which is stretched across his bones like a drumhead, is not white, but a nasty yellow. His nose is so little worth talking about that you can\'t see it side-face; and THE ABSENCE of that nose is a horrible thing TO LOOK AT. All the hair he has is three or four long dark locks on his forehead and behind his ears."\nThis chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man, very slow at imagining things. His words were received with interest and amazement; and soon there were other people to say that they too had met a man in dress-clothes with a death\'s head on his shoulders. Sensible men who had wind of the story began by saying that Joseph Buquet had been the victim of a joke played by one of his assistants. And then, one after the other, there came a series of incidents so curious and so inexplicable that the very shrewdest people began to feel uneasy.', 'the summer with unimpaired cheerfulness, confiding to me that he secured his luncheons free at the soda counter. He came frequently to see me, bringing always a pocketful of chewing gum, which he assured me was excellent to allay the gnawings of hunger, and later, as my condition warranted it, small bags of gum-drops and other pharmacy confections.\nMcWhirter it was who got me my berth on the Ella. It must have been about the 20th of July, for the Ella sailed on the 28th. I was strong enough to leave the hospital, but not yet physically able for any prolonged exertion. McWhirter, who was short and stout, had been alternately flirting with the nurse, as she moved in and out preparing my room for the night, and sizing me up through narrowed eyes.\n"No," he said, evidently following a private line of thought; "you don\'t belong behind a counter, Leslie. I\'m darned if I think you belong in the medical profession, either. The British army\'d suit you."\n"The - what?"\n"You know - Kipling ide', "this nervous little chap.\nThere was a tray of drinks on a table beside him, from which he filled himself a stiff whisky-and-soda. He drank it off in three gulps, and cracked the glass as he set it down.\n'Pardon,' he said, 'I'm a bit rattled tonight. You see, I happen at this moment to be dead.'\nI sat down in an armchair and lit my pipe.\n'What does it feel like?' I asked. I was pretty certain that I had to deal with a madman.\nA smile flickered over his drawn face. 'I'm not mad - yet. Say, Sir, I've been watching you, and I reckon you're a cool customer. I reckon, too, you're an honest man, and not afraid of playing a bold hand. I'm going to confide in you. I need help worse than any man ever needed it, and I want to know if I can count you in.'\n'Get on with your yarn,' I said, 'and I'll tell you.'\nHe seemed to brace himself for a great effort, and then started on the queerest rigmarole. I didn't get hold of it at first, and I had to stop and ask him questions. But here is the gis", 'When I shot some of his prize turkeys with it, he did not punish me; he complimented me on my marksmanship. I killed my first bear in the Caucasus when I was ten. My whole life has been one prolonged hunt. I went into the army--it was expected of noblemen\'s sons--and for a time commanded a division of Cossack cavalry, but my real interest was always the hunt. I have hunted every kind of game in every land. It would be impossible for me to tell you how many animals I have killed."\nThe general puffed at his cigarette.\n"After the debacle in Russia I left the country, for it was imprudent for an officer of the Czar to stay there. Many noble Russians lost everything. I, luckily, had invested heavily in American securities, so I shall never have to open a tearoom in Monte Carlo or drive a taxi in Paris. Naturally, I continued to hunt--grizzliest in your Rockies, crocodiles in the Ganges, rhinoceroses in East Africa. It was in Africa that the Cape buffalo hit me and laid me up for six months. As soon', "age to the door of her private retreat, and was about to knock when he was deterred by the words which he could clearly hear. \nChapter III\nFRANCIS HAMMERTON, if we are to think of him by his true name, had not considered the probability that Mrs. Benson might not be the sole occupant of the house, his mind having been concentrated upon aspects of his position which threatened more definite hazards.\nActually, the woman whose voice he heard was a next-door neighbour, Miss Janet Brown, who had looked in with no further purpose than to return a borrowed flat-iron. But it happened that she was already informed of the exciting incident of the afternoon, and when Mrs. Benson detained her for a cup of the tea which could be cheaply obtained by adding fresh water to the leaves in the lodger's teapot, and naturally mentioned the good fortune which had walked in less than two hours before Janet was quick to see the connection bet", 'ulled up at the kerb.\nThe driver leant over the shining apron which partially protected him from the weather, and shouted:\n"Is Miss Beale there?"\nThe girl started in surprise, taking a step toward the cab.\n"I am Miss Beale," she said.\n"Your editor has sent me for you," said the man briskly.\nThe editor of the Megaphone had been guilty of many eccentric acts. He had expressed views on her drawing which she shivered to recall. He had aroused her in the middle of the night to sketch dresses at a fancy dress ball, but never before had he done anything so human as to send a taxi for her. Nevertheless, she would not look at the gift cab too closely, and she stepped into the warm interior.\nThe windows were veiled with the snow and the sleet which had been falling all the time she had been in the theatre. She saw blurred lights flash past, and realised that the taxi was going at a good pace. She rubbed the windows and tried to look out after a while. Then she e', '"Look sharp, Marco! The quadruple knot!"\nBefore he had even time to stand on the defensive, Rudolf Kesselbach was tied up in a network of cords that cut into his flesh at the least attempt which he made to struggle. His arms were fixed behind his back, his body fastened to the chair and his legs tied together like the legs of a mummy.\n"Search him, Marco."\nMarco searched him. Two minutes after, he handed his chief a little flat, nickel-plated key, bearing the numbers 16 and 9.\n"Capital. No morocco pocket-case?"\n"No, governor."\n"It is in the safe. Mr. Kesselbach, will you tell me the secret cypher that opens the lock?"\n"No."\n"You refuse?"\n"Yes."\n"Marco!"\n"Yes, governor."\n"Place the barrel of your revolver against the gentleman\'s temple."\n"It\'s there."\n"Now put your finger to the trigger."\n"Ready."\n"Well, Kesselbach, old chap, do you intend to speak?"\n"No."\n"I\'ll give you ten secon', 'sort of thing?" he asked. "Just say the word, if they give you trouble or cheek, and I\'ll have them kicked out whoever they are, from the manager downwards."\n"Oh, thank you," she said hurriedly, "everybody is most polite and nice." She held out her hand. "I am afraid I must go now. A--a friend is waiting for me."\n"One minute, Miss White." He licked his lips, and there was an unaccustomed embarrassment in his manner. "Maybe you\'ll come along one night after the show and have a little supper. You know I\'m very keen on you and all that sort of thing."\n"I know you\'re very keen on me and all that sort of thing," said Maisie White, a note of irony in her voice, "but unfortunately I\'m not very keen on supper and all that sort of thing."\nShe smiled and again held out her hand.\n"I\'ll say good night now."\n"Do you know, Maisie----" he began.\n"Good night," she said and brushed past him.\nHe looked after her as she disappeared into the darkness, a little frown gather', 'and wife, I should think," he said thoughtfully, "yet one never can tell!"\nInvoluntarily they all three glanced towards the man. He was well preserved and his little imperial and short grey moustache were trimmed with military precision, yet his hair was almost white, and his age could scarcely be less than sixty. In his way he was quite as interesting as the girl. His eyes, underneath his thick brows, were dark and clear, and his features were strong and delicately shaped. His hands were white and very shapely, the fingers were rather long, and he wore two singularly handsome rings, both set with strange stones. By the side of the table rested the stick upon which he had been leaning during his passage through the room. It was of smooth, dark wood polished like a malacca cane, and set at the top with a curious, green, opalescent stone, as large as a sparrow\'s egg. The eyes of the three men had each in turn been arrested by it. In the electric light which fell softly upon the upper part of it, the sto', 'er who had thus adorned his habitation--a law-writer perhaps or an author, or perchance even a poet--when I perceived the number that I was seeking inscribed on a shabby door in a high wall. There was no bell or knocker, so, lifting the latch, I pushed the door open and entered.\nBut if the court itself had been a surprise, this was a positive wonder, a dream. Here, within earshot of the rumble of Fleet Street, I was in an old-fashioned garden enclosed by high walls and, now that the gate was shut, cut off from all sight and knowledge of the urban world that seethed without. I stood and gazed in delighted astonishment. Sun-gilded trees and flower beds gay with blossom; lupins, snapdragons, nasturtiums, spiry foxgloves, and mighty hollyhocks formed the foreground; over which a pair of sulphur-tinted butterflies flitted, unmindful of a buxom and miraculously clean white cat which pursued them, dancing across the borders and clapping her snowy paws fruitlessly in mid-air. And the background was no less won', 't is to be done?\n"I see only one way out of the difficulty: Let us divide the spoils. A half-million for you; a half-million for me. Is not that a fair division? In my opinion, it is an equitable solution, and an immediate one. I will give you three days time to consider the proposition. On Thursday morning I shall expect to read in the personal column of the Echo de France a discreet message addressed to M. Ars. Lup, expressing in veiled terms your consent to my offer. By so doing you will recover immediate possession of the ticket; then you can collect the money and send me half a million in a manner that I will describe to you later.\n"In case of your refusal, I shall resort to other measures to accomplish the same result. But, apart from the very serious annoyances that such obstinacy on your part will cause you, it will cost you twenty-five thousand francs for supplementary expenses.\n"Believe me, monsieur, I remain your devoted servant, ARSENE LUPIN."\nIn a fit of exasp', 'e provinces, most likely. Well----"\nHe laid down the letters and picked up the watch--a fine gold-cased hunter--and released the back. Within that was an inscription, engraved in delicate lettering. The inspector let out an exclamation.\n"Ah!" he said. "I half suspected that from his appearance. One of ourselves! Look at this--\'Presented to Superintendent Robert Hannaford, on his retirement, by the Magistrates of Sellithwaite.\' Sellithwaite, eh?--where\'s that, now?"\n"Yorkshire," replied one of the men standing close by. "South-West Riding."\nMatherfield closed the watch and laid it by.\n"Well," he remarked, "that\'s evidently who he is--ex-Superintendent Hannaford, of Sellithwaite, Yorkshire, stopping at Malter\'s Hotel. I\'ll have to go round there. Mr. Hetherwick, as you were the last man to see him alive, I wish you\'d go with me--it\'s on your way to the Temple."\nSomething closely corresponding to curiosity, not morbid, but compelling, made Hetherwick accede to t', 'well said," replied Mr. Campbell, heartily. "And now to come\nto the material, or (to make a quibble) to the immaterial. I have here\na little packet which contains four things." He tugged it, as he spoke,\nand with some great difficulty, from the skirt pocket of his coat. "Of\nthese four things, the first is your legal due: the little pickle money\nfor your father\'s books and plenishing, which I have bought (as I have\nexplained from the first) in the design of re-selling at a profit to\nthe incoming dominie. The other three are gifties that Mrs. Campbell and\nmyself would be blithe of your acceptance. The first, which is round,\nwill likely please ye best at the first off-go; but, O Davie, laddie,\nit\'s but a drop of water in the sea; it\'ll help you but a step, and\nvanish like the morning. The second, which is flat and square and\nwritten upon, will stand by you through life, like a good staff for the\nroad, and a good pillow to your head in sickness. And as for the last,\nwhich is cubical, that\'ll see you, it\'s my pra', 'ght for it; and so we waited. I had, I felt, gained an advantage in the last few seconds, for I knew my danger and understood the situation. Now, I thought, is the test of my courage-the enduring test: the fighting test may come later!\nThe old woman raised her head and said to me in a satisfied kind of way:\n"A very fine ring, indeed-a beautiful ring! Oh, me! I once had such rings, plenty of them, and bracelets and earrings! Oh! for in those fine days I led the town a dance! But they\'ve forgotten me now! They\'ve forgotten me! They? Why they never heard of me! Perhaps their grandfathers remember me, some of them!" and she laughed a harsh, croaking laugh. And then I am bound to say that she astonished me, for she handed me back the ring with a certain suggestion of old-fashioned grace which was not without its pathos.\nThe old man eyed her with a sort of sudden ferocity, half rising from his stool, and said to me suddenly and hoarsely:\n"Let me see!"\nI was about to hand the ring ', 'as open at the top,\nand he had distinctly heard the jingling of a hansom bell.\nHe threw open the bottom sash and leaned out. A hansom cab was waiting at\nthe entrance to the flats. Wrayson glanced once more instinctively\ntowards the clock. Who on earth of his neighbours could be keeping a cab\nwaiting outside at that hour in the morning? With the exception of Barnes\nand himself, they were most of them early people. Once more he looked out\nof the window. The cabman was leaning forward in his seat with his head\nresting upon his folded arms. He was either tired out or asleep. The\nattitude of the horse was one of extreme and wearied dejection. Wrayson\nwas on the point of closing the window when he became aware for the first\ntime that the cab had an occupant. He could see the figure of a man\nleaning back in one corner, he could even distinguish a white-gloved hand\nresting upon the apron. The figure was not unlike the figure of Barnes,\nand Barnes, as he happened to remember, always wore white gloves in the\nevening', '"You must remember I am a Greek, and the modern Greek is no philosopher. You must remember, too, that I am a petted child of fortune, and have had everything I wanted since I was a baby."\n"You are a fortunate devil," said the other, turning back to his desk, and taking up his pen.\nFor a moment Kara did not speak, then he made as though he would say something, checked himself, and laughed.\n"I wonder if I am," he said.\nAnd now he spoke with a sudden energy.\n"What is this trouble you are having with Vassalaro?"\nJohn rose from his chair and walked over to the fire, stood gazing down into its depths, his legs wide apart, his hands clasped behind him, and Kara took his attitude to supply an answer to the question.\n"I warned you against Vassalaro," he said, stooping by the other\'s side to light his cigar with a spill of paper. "My dear Lexman, my fellow countrymen are unpleasant people to deal with in certain moods."\n"He was so obliging at first," said Lexma', 'gates.\n"What cart?" asked Bibot, roughly.\n"Driven by an old hag. . . . A covered cart . . ."\n"There were a dozen . . ."\n"An old hag who said her son had the plague?"\n"Yes . . ."\n"You have not let them go?"\n"MORBLEU!" said Bibot, whose purple cheeks had suddenly become white with fear.\n"The cart contained the CI-DEVANT Comtesse de Tourney and her two children, all of them traitors and condemned to death." "And their driver?" muttered Bibot, as a superstitious shudder ran down his spine.\n"SACRE TONNERRE," said the captain, "but it is feared that it was that accursed Englishman himself--the Scarlet Pimpernel." \nCHAPTER II\nDOVER: "THE FISHERMAN\'S REST"\nIn the kitchen Sally was extremely busy--saucepans and frying-pans were standing in rows on the gigantic hearth, the huge stock-pot stood in a corner, and the jack turned with slow deliberation, and presented alternately to the glow ', 'r sandwiches on white bread she said, "So, tell me Paul, why are you getting fired tomorrow?"\n"I\'m not really entirely sure," he said, although this was a stalling tactic. He knew pretty well why he was getting fired; he just didn\'t quite know how to put it into words. It\'d only been a couple of hours since his high school friend and CEO had told him what was happening. "I mean, they gave me reasons, but they\'re not really reasons. They\'re not things I did wrong."\n"What does that mean? They didn\'t like your looks?"\n"Yeah, basically," said Paul. "More to the point, they didn\'t like the look of how I was doing things. What I mean is, I\'m not a tech guy right? I\'m an artist and a writer. I\'m used to working at home and scribbling away and meeting my deadlines. So when I helped start this company, I figured it would be mostly the same. I figured I\'d sit in my office and do my work and hit my deadlines and go to my meetings and all that."\n"But you didn\'t do that?" asked Chloe as she pla', "like soldiering?'\n'Right enough,' I said, 'though this isn't just the kind of war I would have picked myself. It's a comfortless, bloody business. But we've got the measure of the old Boche now, and it's dogged as does it. I count on getting back to the front in a week or two.'\n'Will you get the battalion?' he asked. He seemed to have followed my doings pretty closely.\n'I believe I've a good chance. I'm not in this show for honour and glory, though. I want to do the best I can, but I wish to heaven it was over. All I think of is coming out of it with a whole skin.'\nHe laughed. 'You do yourself an injustice. What about the forward observation post at the Lone Tree? You forgot about the whole skin then.'\nI felt myself getting red. 'That was all rot,' I said, 'and I can't think who told you about it. I hated the job, but I had to do it to prevent my subalterns going to glory. They were a lot of fire-eating young lunatics. If I had sent one of them he'd have gone on his knees t", 'Oh no! He\'s gone back to be present at the King\'s coronation; a ceremony which, I should say, he\'ll not enjoy much. But, Bert, old man, don\'t despair! He won\'t marry the fair Antoinette--at least, not unless another plan comes to nothing. Still perhaps she--" He paused and added, with a laugh: "Royal attentions are hard to resist--you know that, don\'t you, Rudolf?"\n"Confound you!" said I; and rising, I left the hapless Bertram in George\'s hands and went home to bed.\nThe next day George Featherly went with me to the station, where I took a ticket for Dresden.\n"Going to see the pictures?" asked George, with a grin.\nGeorge is an inveterate gossip, and had I told him that I was off to Ruritania, the news would have been in London in three days and in Park Lane in a week. I was, therefore, about to return an evasive answer, when he saved my conscience by leaving me suddenly and darting across the platform. Following him with my eyes, I saw him lift his hat and accost a graceful, fashion', 'd"--expressive Americanism, that,--under any handicap. She was a woman with a "job"; Captain Woodhouse had never before met one such.\nAgain, here was a woman who tried none of the stale arts and tricks of coquetry; no eyebrow strategy or maidenly simpering about Jane Gerson. Once sure Woodhouse was what she took him to be, a gentleman, the girl had established a frank basis of comradeship that took no reckoning of the age-old conventions of sex allure and sex defense. The unconventionality of their meeting weighed nothing with her. Equally there was not a hint of sophistication on the girl\'s part.\nSo the afternoon sped, and when the sun dropped over the maze of spires and chimney pots that was Paris, each felt regret at parting.\n"To Egypt, yes," Woodhouse ruefully admitted. "A dreary deadly \'place in the sun\' for me. To have met you, Miss Gerson; it has been delightful, quite."\n"I hope," the girl said, as Woodhouse handed her into a taxi, "I hope that if that war comes it will find', 'nal low, rounded mound, a menhir or a dolmen, and (if such may be termed features) great pits that opened in the earth like cold craters, which the countryfolk termed avens. A strange, bleak land, inhospitable, wind-harried, haunted, the home of seven howling devils of desolation...\nRain at length interned the traveller for three days in a little place called Meyrueis, which lies sweetly in the valley of the Jonte, at its confluence with the Butézon, long leagues remote from railroads and the world they stitch together--that world of unrest, uncertainty and intrigue which in those days seemed no better than a madhouse.\nThe break in the monotony of daily footfaring proved agreeable. It suited one well to camp for a space in that quaint town, isolate in the heart of an enchanted land, with which one was in turn enchanted, and contemplate soberly the grave issues of Life and Death.\nHere (said Duchemin) nothing can disturb me; and it is high time for me to be considering what I am to m'], 'Travel': ['down and wrote out a prescription,\nand folded it up and gave it me, and I put it in my pocket and went out.\nI did not open it. I took it to the nearest chemist\'s, and handed it in.\nThe man read it, and then handed it back.\nHe said he didn\'t keep it.\nI said:\n"You are a chemist?"\nHe said:\n"I am a chemist. If I was a co-operative stores and family hotel\ncombined, I might be able to oblige you. Being only a chemist hampers\nme."\nI read the prescription. It ran:\n"1 lb. beefsteak, with\n1 pt. bitter beer\nevery 6 hours.\n1 ten-mile walk every morning.\n1 bed at 11 sharp every night.\nAnd don\'t stuff up your head with things you don\'t understand."\nI followed the directions, with the happy result - speaking for myself -\nthat my life was preserved, and is still going on.\nIn the present instance, going back to the liver-pill circular, I had the\nsymptoms, beyond all mistake, the chief among them being "a general\ndisinclination to work of any kind."\nWhat I suffer in that way no ', 'and sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six. Half an hour later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr. Fogg\'s usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England-- all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a club which comprises the princes of English trade and finance.\n"Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery?"\n"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money."\n"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands on the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports of America and the Continent, and he\'ll be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers."\n"But have you got the robber\'s description?" asked Stuart.\n"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph', 'cked their nuts for a season, "what do you say?"\n"I\'ll think the matter over, and talk with my wife," said Mr. Shelby. "Meantime, Haley, if you want the matter carried on in the quiet way you speak of, you\'d best not let your business in this neighborhood be known. It will get out among my boys, and it will not be a particularly quiet business getting away any of my fellows, if they know it, I\'ll promise you."\n"O! certainly, by all means, mum! of course. But I\'ll tell you. I\'m in a devil of a hurry, and shall want to know, as soon as possible, what I may depend on," said he, rising and putting on his overcoat.\n"Well, call up this evening, between six and seven, and you shall have my answer," said Mr. Shelby, and the trader bowed himself out of the apartment.\n"I\'d like to have been able to kick the fellow down the steps," said he to himself, as he saw the door fairly closed, "with his impudent assurance; but he knows how much he has me at advantage. If anybody had ever said to me th', 'the actual composition of the volume for\na small fee. It is only necessary that the young lady\'s name should\nappear on the title page."\n"That\'s true," said Corky. "Sam Patterson would do it for a hundred\ndollars. He writes a novelette, three short stories, and ten thousand\nwords of a serial for one of the all-fiction magazines under different\nnames every month. A little thing like this would be nothing to him.\nI\'ll get after him right away."\n"Fine!"\n"Will that be all, sir?" said Jeeves. "Very good, sir. Thank you, sir."\nI always used to think that publishers had to be devilish intelligent\nfellows, loaded down with the grey matter; but I\'ve got their number\nnow. All a publisher has to do is to write cheques at intervals, while\na lot of deserving and industrious chappies rally round and do the real\nwork. I know, because I\'ve been one myself. I simply sat tight in the\nold apartment with a fountain-pen, and in due season a topping, shiny\nbook came along.\nI happened to be down at Corky\'s place when', 'st"). When a bad piece of road or a steep ascent forced us to dismount he would bring his horse to a walk, roll a cigarette, and draw invidious comparisons between our steeds. His tone, however, changed when we reached a decline or long stretch of reasonably good road. Then he would cut across country to head us off, or shout after us at the top of his voice, "Yavash-yavash" ("Slowly, slowly"). On the whole we found them good-natured and companionable fellows, notwithstanding their interest in baksheesh which we were compelled at last, in self-defense, to fix at one piaster an hour. We frequently shared with them our frugal, and even scanty meals; and in turn they assisted us in our purchases and arrangements for lodgings, for their word, we found, was with the common people an almost unwritten law. Then, too, they were of great assistance in crossing streams where the depth would have necessitated the stripping of garments; although their fiery little steeds sometimes objected to having an extra rid', 'None', "was worse than pretty! I made a memorandum of her during service, as she sat under the dark carved-oak canopy, with this Latin inscription over her head:\nCarlton cum Dolby Letania IX Solidorum Super Flumina Confitebor tibi Duc probati\nThere ought to be a law against a woman's making a picture of herself, unless she is willing to allow an artist to 'fix her' properly in his gallery of types.\nA black-and-white sketch doesn't give any definite idea of this charmer's charms, but sometime I'll fill it in--hair, sweet little hat, gown, and eyes, all in golden brown, a cape of tawny sable slipping off her arm, a knot of yellow primroses in her girdle, carved-oak background, and the afternoon sun coming through a stained-glass window. Great Jove! She had a most curious effect on me, that girl! I can't explain it--very curious, altogether new, and rather pleasant. When one of the choir-boys sang 'Oh for the wings of a dove!' a tear rolled out of one of her lovely eyes and down her smooth brown che", 'had come into being first\nof all men, contrived a device of the following kind:--Taking two new-\nborn children belonging to persons of the common sort he gave them to\na shepherd to bring up at the place where his flocks were, with a\nmanner of bringing up such as I shall say, charging him namely that no\nman should utter any word in their presence, and that they should be\nplaced by themselves in a room where none might come, and at the\nproper time he should bring them she-goats, and when he had satisfied\nthem with milk he should do for them whatever else was needed. These\nthings Psammetichos did and gave him this charge wishing to hear what\nword the children would let break forth first after they had ceased\nfrom wailings without sense. And accordingly it came to pass; for\nafter a space of two years had gone by, during which the shepherd went\non acting so, at length, when he opened the door and entered, both\nchildren fell before him in entreaty and uttered the word /bekos/,\nstretching forth their hands. At firs', 'dren fell, and were picked up to be rewarded by a blow. One child, who had lost her parents, screamed steadily and with increasing shrillness, as though verging towards a fit; an official kept her by him, but no one else seemed so much as to remark her distress; and I am ashamed to say that I ran among the rest. I was so weary that I had twice to make a halt and set down my bundles in the hundred yards or so between the pier and the railway station, so that I was quite wet by the time that I got under cover. There was no waiting-room, no refreshment room; the cars were locked; and for at least another hour, or so it seemed, we had to camp upon the draughty, gaslit platform. I sat on my valise, too crushed to observe my neighbours; but as they were all cold, and wet, and weary, and driven stupidly crazy by the mismanagement to which we had been subjected, I believe they can have been no happier than myself. I bought half-a-dozen oranges from a boy, for oranges and nuts were the only refection to be had. As onl', 'uld neither see nor represent anything relative to an idolatrous people save in accordance with the special interests of their own church; or from Spanish historians who had never set foot upon the territory of which they wrote, and who consequently repeated with heightened color the legends, traditions, and exaggerations of others. "The general opinion may be expressed," says Janvier, in his "Mexican Guide," "in regard to the writings concerning this period that, as a rule, a most gorgeous superstructure of fancy has been raised upon a very meagre foundation of fact. As romance, information of this highly imaginative sort is entertaining, but it is not edifying." One would be glad to get at the other side of the Aztec story, which, we suspect, would place the chivalric invaders in a very different light from that of their own boastful records, and also enable us to form a more just and truthful opinion of the aborigines themselves. That their numbers, religious sacrifices, and barbaric excesses are generally', 'to us if, instead of helping us to live, she helps us to starve.\nSoc. And by a parity of reasoning, sheep and cattle may fail of being wealth if, through want of knowledge how to treat them, their owner loses by them; to him at any rate the sheep and the cattle are not wealth?\nCrit. That is the conclusion I draw.\nSoc. It appears, you hold to the position that wealth consists of things which benefit, while things which injure are not wealth?\nCrit. Just so.\nSoc. The same things, in fact, are wealth or not wealth, according as a man knows or does not know the use to make of them? To take an instance, a flute may be wealth to him who is sufficiently skilled to play upon it, but the same instrument is no better than the stones we tread under our feet to him who is not so skilled . . . unless indeed he chose to sell it?\nCrit. That is precisely the conclusion we should come to.[8] To persons ignorant of their use[9] flutes are wealth as saleable, but as possessions not for s', 'which he was reading slip into his soup.\n"I tell you what, Cayley," he said, "if you don\'t crush this young brother of yours, I will. This is a matter of life or death, and I must have a clear head to think it out."\n"I was only saying," cried Jim desperately. But his brother stopped him.\n"Hold your tongue, Jim," he said. "We\'ve worry enough to go on with just at present. I mean it, my lad. If you\'ve anything important to proclaim, leave it to me to give you the tip when to splutter at it. I\'m solemn."\nWhen Don Alfredo said he was "solemn," it often meant that he was on the edge of a most unbrotherly rage. And so Jim concentrated upon his dinner. He made wry faces at Mrs. Jumbo and her strokings, and even found fault with the soup when she asked him sweetly if it were not excellent. All this to relieve his feelings.\nThe two engineers left Jim to finish his dinner by himself. Jim\'s renewed effort of "I say, Alf!" was quenched by the upraised hands of both engineers.', '\nR OF CAEN.\n"L\'homme qui passe," in France they call\n\nThe man who thrives\nBy grinding knives--\n\nWho never stays at home at all,\nBut always must be moving on.\n\nHe\'s glad to find\nSome knives to grind,\n\nBut when they\'re finished he\'ll be gone.\nWith dog behind to turn the wheel,\n\nHe grinds the knife\nFor farmer\'s wife,\n\nAnd pauses now the edge to feel:\nThe dog behind him hears the sound\n\nOf cheerful chat\nOn this and that,\n\nAnd fears no knife is being ground.\nThe man makes jokes with careless smile,\n\nHe doesn\'t mind\nThe dog behind,\n\nBut goes on talking all the while.\nCHOCOLATE AND MILK.\nLittle Lili, whose age isn\'t three years quite,\nWent one day with Mamma for a long country walk,\nKeeping up, all the time, such a chatter and ta', "needed it: the bold originality, the extraordinary character, the seductive nature, and the vastness of the enterprise provoked comment everywhere and advertised it in every household in the land. Who could read the program of the excursion without longing to make one of the party? I will insert it here. It is almost as good as a map. As a text for this book, nothing could be better:\nEXCURSION TO THE HOLY LAND, EGYPT, THE CRIMEA, GREECE, AND INTERMEDIATE POINTS OF INTEREST. BROOKLYN, February 1st, 1867\nThe undersigned will make an excursion as above during the coming season, and begs to submit to you the following programme:\nA first-class steamer, to be under his own command, and capable of accommodating at least one hundred and fifty cabin passengers, will be selected, in which will be taken a select company, numbering not more than three-fourths of the ship's capacity. There is good reason to believe that this company can be easily made up in this immediate vicinity, of mutual friends and acquaintances.\nThe steamer will be provided with ", 'Which in different places are part absorbed by the earth,\nPart reach the sea, and being received within the plain\nOf its freer waters, beat the shore for banks.\n\n[page]\nCONCORD RIVER.\n"Beneath low hills, in the broad interval\nThrough which at will our Indian rivulet\nWinds mindful still of sannup and of squaw,\nWhose pipe and arrow oft the plough unburies,\nHere, in pine houses, built of new-fallen trees,\nSupplanters of the tribe, the farmers dwell."\n^Emerson^.\nThe Musketaquid, or Grass-ground River, though probably as old as\nthe Nile or Euphrates, did not begin to have a place in civilized\nhistory, until the fame of its grassy meadows and its fish\nattracted settlers out of England in 1635, when it received the\nother but kindred name of ^Concord^ from the first plantation on\nits banks, which appears to have been commenced in a spirit of\npeace and harmony. It will be Grass-ground River as long as g', "iltà possa far velo all'ardore dei suoi raggi, tu, stattene fermo e non permettere che i vizii che porta seco abbiano a corrompere la più bella delle tue doti, quella che per te è legge sacra, l'ospitalità.\nFummo da un amico invitati a fare la conoscenza di Ziber pacha, che in quel momento più che mai attirava l'attenzione della politica e dei curiosi in Egitto. È questi nativo del Darfur dove sempre visse. Uomo di intelligenza non comune e di spiriti belligeri, seppe col senno e colle armi conquistare tutta quanta quell'estesa provincia, che poi mediante trattati sottomise al Governo egiziano, ritirandosi lui in Cairo ove ebbe cortesie, onori, e titolo di pacha. Ora per ragioni di politica e di amministrazione tutto quanto quel paese si mise in rivolta, e capo dell'insurrezione è Suleiman, il figlio di Ziber pacha. Questi stesso ci raccontò tutta la storia che in pochi termini ci venne tradotta. Non capivo la sua lingua, ma dal modo con cui si es", 'ndarmes, and innumerable features typically and\npicturesquely French, induced me easily to believe myself back in the\nbewildering whirl of the Boulevard des Capucines or des Italiennes.\nWhether the narrow streets of the native city are clean or dirty,\nwhether garbage heaps lie festering in the broiling sun, sending their\ndisgusting effluvia out to annoy the sense of smell at every turn, the\nmunicipality cares not a little bit. Indifference to the well-being of\nthe native pervades it; there is present no progressive prosperity.\nEvery second person I met was, or seemed to be, a Government official.\nHe was dressed in immaculate white clothes of the typical ugly French\ncut, trimmed elaborately with an ad libitum decoration of gold braid\nand brass buttons. All was so different from Singapore and Hong-Kong,\nand one did not feel, in surroundings which made strongly for the\n_laissez-faire_ of the Frenchman in the East, ashamed of the fact that\nhe was an Englishman.\nThree days north lies Hong-Kong, an all-', 'y too glad to accept, for I had already found that I could not obtain work in the shipyard without first paying fifty dollars to a society, and as for a ship to command--there were not enough ships to go round. Nearly all our tall vessels had been cut down for coal-barges, and were being ignominiously towed by the nose from port to port, while many worthy captains addressed themselves to Sailors\' Snug Harbor.\nThe next day I landed at Fairhaven, opposite New Bedford, and found that my friend had something of a joke on me. For seven years the joke had been on him. The "ship" proved to be a very antiquated sloop called the Spray, which the neighbors declared had been built in the year 1. She was affectionately propped up in a field, some distance from salt water, and was covered with canvas. The people of Fairhaven, I hardly need say, are thrifty and observant. For seven years they had asked, "I wonder what Captain Eben Pierce is going to do with the old Spray?" The day I appeared there ', 'that he did not like to cross the lakes "in littlum canoe," but nevertheless, "just as we say, it made no odds to him."\nMoosehead Lake is twelve miles wide at the widest place, and thirty miles long in a direct line, but longer as it lies. Paddling near the shore, we frequently heard the pe-pe of the olive-sided flycatcher, also the wood pewee and the kingfisher. The Indian reminding us that he could not work without eating, we stopped to breakfast on the main shore southwest of Deer Island. We took out our bags, and the Indian made a fire under a very large bleached log, using white pine bark from a stump, though he said that hemlock was better, and kindling with canoe birch bark. Our table was a large piece of freshly peeled birch bark, laid wrong side up, and our breakfast consisted of hard-bread, fried pork, and strong coffee well sweetened, in which we did not miss the milk.\nWhile we were getting breakfast a brood of twelve black dippers,[2] half grown, came paddling by within thr', "n several occasions\nthis has necessitated journeys out of Sydney on the writer's part. With\nthe object of making inquiries into the fish supply of Melbourne, also,\na special visit was paid to that city. And further, in order to gain an\ninsight into vineyard work and cellar management, an instructive time\nwas passed at Dr. T. Fiaschi's magnificent Tizzana vineyard on the\nHawkesbury River.\nIt may seem to savour somewhat of boldness, yet I hazard the opinion\nthat the real development of Australia will never actually begin till\nthis wilful violation of her people's food-life ceases. For let us\nsuppose that the semi-tropical character of our Australian life was\nduly appreciated by one and all. If such were the case--and I would it\nwere so--there would be a wonderful change from the present state of\naffairs. But as it is, the manners and customs of the Australians are a\nperpetual challenge to the range of temperature in which they live.\nIndeed, the form of food they indulge in proves incontestably\nthat they have", 'ng for it. We thus bade good-bye for good to the Salesians, and left the great basin of the Sangrador River (elev. 2,050 ft.).\nWe travelled over sparsely wooded country to 2,350 ft. Tobacco-coloured soil was still under our feet, yellow spattered lava, then again reddish soil, wonderfully rich and fertile, if only it could be cultivated. The country was here peculiar for its many undulations until we arrived on the rim of a large basin, extending from north-west to south-east, of great campos, with stunted vegetation at first, but later with a truly luxuriant growth of vigorous-looking Jtauba preta (Oreodaphne Hookeriana Meissn.), with thick deep green foliage.\nWe crossed two streamlets flowing north. On going uphill we travelled on masses of volcanic pellets (elev. 2,500 ft.). To the south we could see a number of hills, the sides of which showed the great effects of erosion by wind and water. Nearly all those hill ranges extended from east to west. A long depression could be observed cutting them from north to south.\nThat was a fine day for cloud effects, especially along the horizon, where they displayed horizontal lines, while they had great ball-like tops. Higher up, to the north-west, was feathery mist turning the sky to a delicate pale blue. A heavy, immense stratum of cloud in four perfectly parallel terraces extended on the arc from west to north.\nWe descended into a cuvette with the usual cluster of vegetation in the', "ans un état bien misérable.\nAu Pérou, il déplorera la corruption générale, fruit de la richesse, et suivie du désastre d'une guerre sanglante et malheureuse.\nLe lecteur, comme le voyageur, saura tirer parti pour son pays de toutes ces observations.\nCHAPITRE PREMIER\nPortugal.\nLe départ. -- Le Tage. -- Lisbonne. -- La ville. -- Les oeuvres catholiques. -- L'église de Saint-Roch. -- Le cloître de Bélem. -- La Casa Pia. -- La navigation. -- Un mineur qu'on voudrait détrousser. -- Le steamer le Niger. -- Ses dimensions. -- Les passagers.\nCe n'est pas sans émotion que le voyageur au long cours quitte le sol natal. Les parents, les amis se présentent à son esprit et semblent vouloir le retenir; l'imagination accumule les difficultés, les périls, et s'efforce de l'arrêter. Puis la pensée de la Providence qui veille sur toutes ses cr&", "nt, and Marquette the priest, crossed the country and reached the banks of the Mississippi. They went by way of the Great Lakes; and from Green Bay, in canoes, by way of Fox River and the Wisconsin. Marquette had solemnly contracted, on the feast of the Immaculate Conception, that if the Virgin would permit him to discover the great river, he would name it Conception, in her honor. He kept his word. In that day, all explorers traveled with an outfit of priests. De Soto had twenty-four with him. La Salle had several, also. The expeditions were often out of meat, and scant of clothes, but they always had the furniture and other requisites for the mass; they were always prepared, as one of the quaint chroniclers of the time phrased it, to 'explain hell to the savages.'\nOn the 17th of June, 1673, the canoes of Joliet and Marquette and their five subordinates reached the junction of the Wisconsin with the Mississippi. Mr. Parkman says: 'Before them a wide and rapid current coursed athwart their way, by the "], 'War': ['CHUAN, adding that there were two other CHUAN besides. This has brought forth a theory, that the bulk of these 82 chapters consisted of other writings of Sun Tzu -- we should call them apocryphal -- similar to the WEN TA, of which a specimen dealing with the Nine Situations [15] is preserved in the T`UNG TIEN, and another in Ho Shin\'s commentary. It is suggested that before his interview with Ho Lu, Sun Tzu had only written the 13 chapters, but afterwards composed a sort of exegesis in the form of question and answer between himself and the King. Pi I-hsun, the author of the SUN TZU HSU LU, backs this up with a quotation from the WU YUEH CH`UN CH`IU: "The King of Wu summoned Sun Tzu, and asked him questions about the art of war. Each time he set forth a chapter of his work, the King could not find words enough to praise him." As he points out, if the whole work was expounded on the same scale as in the above- mentioned fragments, the total number of chapters could not fail to be considerable. Then the numero', "Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles's, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy of s", 'o recall some of the mental habits of those departed days. At most terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. And early in the twentieth century came the great disillusionment.\nThe planet Mars, I scarcely need remind the reader, revolves about the sun at a mean distance of 140,000,000 miles, and the light and heat it receives from the sun is barely half of that received by this world. It must be, if the nebular hypothesis has any truth, older than our world; and long before this earth ceased to be molten, life upon its surface must have begun its course. The fact that it is scarcely one seventh of the volume of the earth must have accelerated its cooling to the temperature a', "onderful world of ours. If this internal\nmolten mass came bursting out and cooled very\nquickly it became granite; less quickly copper,\nless quickly silver, less quickly gold, and, after\ngold, diamonds were made.\nSaid the old priest, ``A diamond is a congealed\ndrop of sunlight.'' Now that is literally scientifically\ntrue, that a diamond is an actual deposit\nof carbon from the sun. The old priest told Ali\nHafed that if he had one diamond the size of\nhis thumb he could purchase the county, and if\nhe had a mine of diamonds he could place his\nchildren upon thrones through the influence of\ntheir great wealth.\nAli Hafed heard all about diamonds, how much\nthey were worth, and went to his bed that night\na poor man. He had not lost anything, but he\nwas poor because he was discontented, and\ndiscontented because he feared he was poor. He\nsaid, ``I want a mine of diamonds,'' and he lay\nawake all night.\nEarly in the morning he sought out the priest.\nI know by experience that a priest is very cross\nwhen awake", "this nervous little chap.\nThere was a tray of drinks on a table beside him, from which he filled himself a stiff whisky-and-soda. He drank it off in three gulps, and cracked the glass as he set it down.\n'Pardon,' he said, 'I'm a bit rattled tonight. You see, I happen at this moment to be dead.'\nI sat down in an armchair and lit my pipe.\n'What does it feel like?' I asked. I was pretty certain that I had to deal with a madman.\nA smile flickered over his drawn face. 'I'm not mad - yet. Say, Sir, I've been watching you, and I reckon you're a cool customer. I reckon, too, you're an honest man, and not afraid of playing a bold hand. I'm going to confide in you. I need help worse than any man ever needed it, and I want to know if I can count you in.'\n'Get on with your yarn,' I said, 'and I'll tell you.'\nHe seemed to brace himself for a great effort, and then started on the queerest rigmarole. I didn't get hold of it at first, and I had to stop and ask him questions. But here is the gis", 'but you must find me a prize instead, or I alone among the\nArgives shall be without one. This is not well; for you behold,\nall of you, that my prize is to go elsewhither."\nAnd Achilles answered, "Most noble son of Atreus, covetous beyond\nall mankind, how shall the Achaeans find you another prize? We\nhave no common store from which to take one. Those we took from\nthe cities have been awarded; we cannot disallow the awards that\nhave been made already. Give this girl, therefore, to the god,\nand if ever Jove grants us to sack the city of Troy we will\nrequite you three and fourfold."\nThen Agamemnon said, "Achilles, valiant though you be, you shall\nnot thus outwit me. You shall not overreach and you shall not\npersuade me. Are you to keep your own prize, while I sit tamely\nunder my loss and give up the girl at your bidding? Let the\nAchaeans find me a prize in fair exchange to my liking, or I will\ncome and take your own, or that of Ajax or of Ulysses; and he to\nwhomsoever I may come shall rue my coming. But of ', 'he doctor, bending down over her as they were walking home. "It isn\'t like you, Nell, to be censorious. What\'s she been doing?--making eyes at young McLean?"\nHe might have judged better than that, had he reflected an instant. He never yet had thought of his daughter except as a mere child, and he did not mean for an instant to intimate that her growing interest in the young lieutenant was anything more than a "school-girl" fancy. She was old enough, however, to take his thoughtless speech au sérieux, and it hurt her.\n"Papa!" was her one, indignant word of remonstrance. She would not even defend herself against such accusation.\n"I know!--I understand--I didn\'t mean it except as the merest joke, my child," he hurriedly interposed. "I thought you\'d laugh at the idea."\nBut she would not speak of it, and he quickly sought to change the subject, never even asking other reason for her apparent aversion to Miss Forrest. It was true that the speedy coming of Dr. and Mrs. Gra', 'avery of the aboriginals is outweighed by the intelligence of the\ninvaders and their superior force of character. During the second\ncentury of the Mohammedan era, when the inhabitants of Arabia went forth\nto conquer the world, one adventurous army struck south. The first\npioneers were followed at intervals by continual immigrations of Arabs\nnot only from Arabia but also across the deserts from Egypt and Marocco.\nThe element thus introduced has spread and is spreading throughout the\nSoudan, as water soaks into a dry sponge. The aboriginals absorbed the\ninvaders they could not repel. The stronger race imposed its customs and\nlanguage on the negroes. The vigour of their blood sensibly altered the\nfacial appearance of the Soudanese. For more than a thousand years the\ninfluence of Mohammedanism, which appears to possess a strange\nfascination for negroid races, has been permeating the Soudan, and,\nalthough ignorance and natural obstacles impede the progress of new\nideas, the whole of the black race is gradually ado', "made me one of their own. I shall never be able to repay all the loving thoughts and deeds of that family and shall remember them while I live. My chum's mother I call Mother too. It is to her that I have dedicated this book.\nAfter my delightful few days of leave, things moved fast. I was back in Dover just two days when I, with two hundred other men, was sent to Winchester. Here we were notified that we were transferred to the Queen's Royal West Surrey Regiment.\nThis news brought a wild howl from the men. They wanted to stop with the Fusiliers. It is part of the British system that every man is taught the traditions and history of his regiment and to know that his is absolutely the best in the whole army. In a surprisingly short time they get so they swear by their own regiment and by their officers, and they protest bitterly at a transfer.\nPersonally I didn't care a rap. I had early made up my mind that I was a very small pebble on the beach and that it was up to me to obey ord", 'y yes sure."\nHe looked at her again, and then dropped his eyes. He had lashes.\n"I\'m awful," he said sadly. "I\'m diff\'runt. I don\'t know why I make faux pas. \'Cause I don\'t care, I s\'pose." Then, recklessly: "I been smoking too much. I\'ve got t\'bacca heart."\nMyra pictured an all-night tobacco debauch, with Amory pale and reeling from the effect of nicotined lungs. She gave a little gasp.\n"Oh, Amory, don\'t smoke. You\'ll stunt your growth!"\n"I don\'t care," he persisted gloomily. "I gotta. I got the habit. I\'ve done a lot of things that if my fambly knew"he hesitated, giving her imagination time to picture dark horrors"I went to the burlesque show last week."\nMyra was quite overcome. He turned the green eyes on her again. "You\'re the only girl in town I like much," he exclaimed in a rush of sentiment. "You\'re simpatico."\nMyra was not sure that she was, but it sounded stylish though vaguely improper.\nThick dusk had descended outside, and as the limousine made', "othing she paused from time to time to listen for sounds from the next apartment.\nWhat was her neighbor doing now? Had he read of the discovery of the man's body in the street? Perhaps he had fled already? Not a sound was to be heard there. He did not look in the least like what Jane imagined a murderer would, yet certainly the circumstances pointed all too plainly to his guilt. She had seen two men dash around the corner, one in pursuit of the other. One of them had come back alone. Not long afterward a body--the body of the other man--had been found with a bullet in his heart. It must have been a murder.\nWhat ought she to do about it? Was it her duty to tell her mother and Dad about what she had seen? Mother, she knew, would be horrified and would caution her to say nothing to any one, but Dad was different. He had strict ideas about right and justice. He would insist on hearing every word she had to tell. More than likely he would decide that it was her duty to give the information to the aut", "ed himself upon the confidence of his neighbours that, while he\nwas absolutely without resources, there was no difficulty in his\nborrowing the money required for his share of the capital. The\nundertaking did not prove a success. Lincoln had no business experience\nand no particular business capacity, while his partner proved to be\nuntrustworthy. The partner decamped, leaving Lincoln to close up the\nbusiness and to take the responsibility for the joint indebtedness. It\nwas seventeen years before Lincoln was able, from his modest earnings as\na lawyer, to clear off this indebtedness. The debt became outlawed in\nsix years' time but this could not affect Lincoln's sense of the\nobligation. After the failure of the business, Lincoln secured work as\ncounty surveyor. In this, he was following the example of his\npredecessor Washington, with whose career as a surveyor the youngster\nwho knew Weems's biography by heart, was of course familiar. His new\noccupation took him through the county and brought him into personal\nrel", "nfederates would have made a great mistake in attacking us at all in such a position, if we had been prepared to receive them. But this want of preparation prevented us from taking advantage of the opportunity, and inflicting a crushing defeat upon the South. By it the war was prolonged, and every village and hamlet in the West had its house of mourning.\nImmediately in the right rear of General Sherman was camped the veteran division of General McClernand. About two miles further back, and about a mile from the river, was stationed the reserve, consisting of two divisions, Hurlbut's and W. H. L. Wallace's, formerly C. F. Smith's. Across Owl Creek, and seven or eight miles off, was camped General Lew Wallace's division. It was so far away as not to be in easy supporting distance.\nOn April 1st, our division was marched to an open field, and there carefully reviewed by General Grant. This was our first sight of the victor of Donelson. Friday, the 4th of April, was a sloppy day, and just before sund", 'obviously disregards all the canons and unities and other things which every well-bred dramatist is bound to respect that his work is really unworthy of serious criticism (orthodox). Indeed he knows no more about the dramatic art than, according to his own story in "The Man of Destiny," Napoleon at Tavazzano knew of the Art of War. But both men were successes each in his way--the latter won victories and the former gained audiences, in the very teeth of the accepted theories of war and the theatre. Shaw does not know that it is unpardonable sin to have his characters make long speeches at one another, apparently thinking that this embargo applies only to long speeches which consist mainly of bombast and rhetoric. There never was an author who showed less predilection for a specific medium by which to accomplish his results. He recognized, early in his days, many things awry in the world and he assumed the task of mundane reformation with a confident spirit. It seems such a small job at twenty to set the times', "ements. Germany, with her submarine policy of ruthlessness, changed the Atlantic Ocean into another No Man's Land across which every American soldier had to pass at the mercy of the enemy before he could arrive at the actual battle-front.\nThis was the peril of the troop ship. This was the tremendous advantage which the enemy held over our armies even before they reached the field. This was the unprecedented condition which the United States and Allied navies had to cope with in the great undertaking of transporting our forces overseas.\nAny one who has crossed the ocean, even in the normal times before shark-like Kultur skulked beneath the water, has experienced the feeling of human helplessness that comes in mid-ocean when one considers the comparative frailty of such man-made devices as even the most modern turbine liners, with the enormous power of the wilderness of water over which one sails.\nIn such times one realises that safety rests, first upon the kindliness of the elements; secon", 'wn, the firing, which had grown fiercer and fiercer, gradually died out.\nHe was intently straining his ears, when to his surprise the afternoon sun began to flash upon the weapons of armed men, and once more his hopes revived in the belief that the French were being driven back; but to his astonishment and dismay, as they came more and more into sight, a halt seemed to have been called, and they too settled down into a bivouac, and communications by means of mounted men took place between them and the halted party higher up the valley; the young rifleman, by using great care, watching the going to and fro unseen.\nEvening was coming on, and Pen Gray was still watching and wondering whether it would be possible to take advantage of the darkness, when it fell, to try and pass down the valley, circumvent the enemy, and overtake their friends, when the wounded boy\'s eyes unclosed, and he lay gazing wonderingly in his comrade\'s eyes.\n"Better, Punch?" said Pen softly.\n"What\'s the matter?"', "perambulator and some hot and dusty children lagging fretfully behind; some rustic sightseers draining the last dregs of the daylight in an effort to make out from their guide-books which of these reverend piles was which; a policeman and a builder's cart. Of course the club was a strange one, both of my own being closed for cleaning, a coincidence expressly planned by Providence for my inconvenience. The club which you are 'permitted to make use of' on these occasions always irritates with its strangeness and discomfort. The few occupants seem odd and oddly dressed, and you wonder how they got there. The particular weekly that you want is not taken in; the dinner is execrable, and the ventilation a farce. All these evils oppressed me to-night. And yet I was puzzled to find that somewhere within me there was a faint lightening of the spirits; causeless, as far as I could discover. It could not be Davies's letter. Yachting in the Baltic at the end of September! The very idea made one shudder. Cowes, with a ple", 'have been "hallucinated," and proceeds to give the theory of sensory hallucination. She forgets that, by her own showing, there is no reason to suppose that anybody has been hallucinated at all. Someone (unknown) has met a nurse (unnamed) who has talked to a soldier (anonymous) who has seen angels. But that is not evidence; and not even Sam Weller at his gayest would have dared to offer it as such in the Court of Common Pleas. So far, then, nothing remotely approaching proof has been offered as to any supernatural intervention during the Retreat from Mons. Proof may come; if so, it will be interesting and more than interesting.\nBut, taking the affair as it stands at present, how is it that a nation plunged in materialism of the grossest kind has accepted idle rumours and gossip of the supernatural as certain truth? The answer is contained in the question: it is precisely because our whole atmosphere is materialist that we are ready to credit anything--save the truth. Separate a man from ', 'as you like. All you got to do is sit down and wait as quiet as you can. Then pretty soon you\'ll find out I was right."\nHis comrade grunted stubbornly. For a moment he seemed to be searching for a formidable reply. Finally he said: "Well, you don\'t know everything in the world, do you?"\n"Didn\'t say I knew everything in the world," retorted the other sharply. He began to stow various articles snugly into his knapsack.\nThe youth, pausing in his nervous walk, looked down at the busy figure. "Going to be a battle, sure, is there, Jim?" he asked.\n"Of course there is," replied the tall soldier. "Of course there is. You jest wait \'til to-morrow, and you\'ll see one of the biggest battles ever was. You jest wait."\n"Thunder!" said the youth.\n"Oh, you\'ll see fighting this time, my boy, what\'ll be regular out-and-out fighting," added the tall soldier, with the air of a man who is about to exhibit a battle for the benefit of his friends.\n"Huh!" said the loud one from a cor', "ng purposes, at a scale of one per seven officers. It was impossible for everyone to read at the same time. We used to sit over the fire for warmth and the three nearest to the lamp could manage to see sufficiently in the evenings to read the few Tauchnitz editions we had been able to purchase through a tradesman, who was allowed into the barracks twice a week.\nAs nearly all great-coats and waterproofs had been taken away from prisoners at the time of their capture, we felt the effects of the cold pretty considerably. Roll-calls took place at 8 a.m. and 9.30 p.m., generally out of doors. We often went on these roll-calls in the early days with our blankets over our shoulders. A welcome supply of soldiers' great-coats was sent through the American Embassy about Christmas time. During the first winter there were about 250 Russians, 200 French, 120 English and a few Belgian officers in the camp.\nThat first winter was by far the worst of the three I spent there. We had not got to understand the true", 'ry in our advance on Nu-Yok.\nFortunately our contact guard had been able to leap into the upper branches of a tree without being discovered by the Bad Bloods, for their discipline was lax and their guard careless. She overheard enough of the conversation of their Bosses around the camp fire beneath her to indicate the general nature of the Han plans.\nAfter several hours she was able to leap away unobserved through the topmost branches of the trees, and after putting several miles between herself and their camp, she ultrophoned a full report to her Contact Boss back in the Wyoming Valley. My own Ultrophone Field Boss picked up the message and brought the graph record of it to me at once.\nHer report was likewise picked up by the Bosses of the various Gang units in our line, and we had called a council to discuss our plans by word of mouth.\nWe were gathered in a sheltered glade on the eastern slope of First Mountain on a balmy night in May. Far to the east, across the forested slopes ', 'ore Nicholas had not worn well. At the age of seven he had been an extraordinarily beautiful child, but after that he had gone all to pieces; and now, at the age of twenty-five, it would be idle to deny that he was something of a mess. For the three years preceding his twenty-fifth birthday, restricted means and hard work had kept his figure in check; but with money there had come an ever-increasing sleekness. He looked as if he fed too often and too well.\nAll this, however, Sally was prepared to forgive him, if he would only make a good speech. She could see Mr. Faucitt leaning back in his chair, all courteous attention. Rolling periods were meat and drink to the old gentleman.\nFillmore spoke.\n"I\'m sure," said Fillmore, "you don\'t want a speech... Very good of you to drink our health. Thank you."\nHe sat down.\nThe effect of these few simple words on the company was marked, but not in every case identical. To the majority the emotion which they brought was one of unmixed reli', 'rybody belong to a gang nowadays?"\n"Naturally," she said, frowning. "If you don\'t belong to a gang, where and how do you live? Why have you not found and joined a gang? How do you eat? Where do you get your clothing?"\n"I\'ve been eating wild game for the past two weeks," I explained, "and this clothing I--er--ah--." I paused, wondering how I could explain that it must be many hundred years old.\nIn the end I saw I would have to tell my story as well as I could, piecing it together with my assumptions as to what had happened. She listened patiently; incredulously at first, but with more confidence as I went on. When I had finished, she sat thinking for a long time.\n"That\'s hard to believe," she said, "but I believe it." She looked me over with frank interest.\n"Were you married when you slipped into unconsciousness down in that mine?" she asked me suddenly. I assured her I had never married. "Well, that simplifies matters," she continued. "You see, if you were technically classe'], 'Western': ['e crack of a shot, and the sheriffs gun dropped from his hand. All eyes turned in the direction of the entrance. There stood Texas Pete, his shooting iron smoking in his hand.\n"You damn pole-cat!" he exclaimed, his eyes on Gum. "Come on, Bull; this ain\'t no place for quiet young fellers like us."\nBull wheeled Blazes and rode slowly through the doorway, with never a glance toward the sheriff; nor could he better have shown his utter contempt for the man. There had always been bad blood between them. Smith had been elected by the lawless element of the community and at the time of the campaign Bull had worked diligently for the opposing candidate who had been backed by the better element, consisting largely of the cattle owners, headed by Elias Henders.\nWhat Bull\'s position would have been had he not been foreman for Henders at the time was rather an open question among the voters of Hendersville, but the fact remained that he had been foreman and that he had worked to such good purpose for', 'with a keener interest, for she had seen a great deal of merciless riding since she came West and it always angered her. The cowpunchers used "hoss-flesh" rather than horses, a distinction that made her hot. If a horse were not good enough to be loved it was not good enough to be ridden. That was one of her maxims. She stepped closer to the window. Certainly that pony had been cruelly handled for the little grey gelding swayed in rhythm with his panting; from his belly sweat dripped steadily into the dust and the reins had chafed his neck to a lather. Marianne flashed into indignation and that, of course, made her scrutinize the rider more narrowly. He was perfect of that type of cowboy which she detested most: handsome, lithe, childishly vain in his dress. About his sombrero ran a heavy width of gold-braid; his shirt was blue silk; his bandana was red; his boots were shop-made beauties, soft and flexible; and on his heels glittered--gilded spurs!\n"And I\'ll wager," thought the indignant Maria', 'dim old shop and the noisy, bustling city beset him strongly, despite his years of a life unfitting him for the hardships of the prairies and mountains. Being able to read Greek and Latin was no asset on the open trail; although schoolmasters would be needed in that new country.\n"I know how you feel, Mr. Boyd. Have you seen your father since you landed?"\nTom reluctantly shook his head. "It would only reopen the old bitterness and lead to further estrangement. No man shall ever speak to me again as he did--not even him. If you should see him, Jarvis, tell him I asked you to assure him of my affection."\n"I shall be glad to do that," replied the clerk. "You missed him by only two days. He asked for you and wished you success, and said your home was open to you when you returned to resume your studies. I think, in his heart, he is proud of you, but too stubborn to admit it." As he spoke he chanced to glance through the window of the store. "Don\'t look around," he warned. "I want to tell you t', 'Is thet all yeh want o\' me? \'Cause ef \'tis I got t\' git on t\' camp. It\'s a good five mile yet, an\' I \'ain\'t hed no grub sence noon."\nThe tears suddenly rushed to the girl\'s eyes as the horror of being alone in the night again took possession of her. This dreadful man frightened her, but the thought of the loneliness filled her with dismay.\n"Oh!" she cried, forgetting her insulted dignity, "you\'re not going to leave me up here alone, are you? Isn\'t there some place near here where I could stay overnight?"\n"Thur ain\'t no palace hotel round these diggin\'s, ef that\'s what you mean," the man leered at her. "You c\'n come along t\' camp \'ith me ef you ain\'t too stuck up."\n"To camp!" faltered Margaret in dismay, wondering what her mother would say. "Are there any ladies there?"\nA loud guffaw greeted her question. "Wal, my woman\'s thar, sech es she is; but she ain\'t no highflier like you. We mostly don\'t hev ladies to camp, But I got t\' git on. Ef you want to go too, you better light', 'gone from camp to camp in Idaho--some too strange, too horrible for credence--and with every rumor the fame of Kells had grown, and also a fearful certainty of the rapid growth of a legion of evil men out on the border. But no one in the village or from any of the camps ever admitted having seen this Kells. Had fear kept them silent? Joan was amazed that Roberts evidently knew this man.\nKells dismounted and offered his hand. Roberts took it and shook it constrainedly.\n"Where did we meet last?" asked Kells.\n"Reckon it was out of Fresno," replied Roberts, and it was evident that he tried to hide the effect of a memory.\nThen Kells touched his hat to Joan, giving her the fleetest kind of a glance. "Rather off the track aren\'t you?" he asked Roberts.\n"Reckon we are," replied Roberts, and he began to lose some of his restraint. His voice sounded clearer and did not halt. "Been trailin\' Miss Randle\'s favorite hoss. He\'s lost. An\' we got farther \'n we had any idee. Then my hoss wen', 'counterpane!"\nDoctor Ward sighed, as he shook his head. "I don\'t pretend to know now all you mean."\nCalhoun whirled on him fiercely, with a vigor which his wasted frame did not indicate as possible.\n"Listen, then, and I will tell you what John Calhoun means--John Calhoun, who has loved his own state, who has hated those who hated him, who has never prayed for those who despitefully used him, who has fought and will fight, since all insist on that. It is true Tyler has offered me again to-day the portfolio of secretary of state. Shall I take it? If I do, it means that I am employed by this administration to secure the admission of Texas. Can you believe me when I tell you that my ambition is for it all--all, every foot of new land, west to the Pacific, that we can get, slave or free? Can you believe John Calhoun, pro-slavery advocate and orator all his life, when he says that he believes he is an humble instrument destined, with God\'s aid, and through the use of such inst', 'und a heap. Say, how about dinner? You got it started? I\'m gettin\' powerful hungry."\nJune knew the subject was closed. She might have pushed deeper into her father\'s reticence, but some instinct shrank from what she might uncover. There could be only pain in learning the secret he so carefully hid.\nThere had been no discussion of it between them, nor had it been necessary to have any. It was tacitly understood that they would have little traffic with their neighbors, that only at rare intervals would Pete drive to Meeker, Glenwood Springs, or Bear Cat to dispose of furs he had trapped and to buy supplies. The girl\'s thoughts and emotions were the product largely of this isolation. She brooded over the mystery of her father\'s past till it became an obsession in her life. To be brought into close contact with dishonor makes one either unduly sensitive or callously indifferent. Upon June it had the former effect.\nThe sense of inferiority was branded upon her. She had seen girls giggling at t', 'uiet, incessant eye? Such an eye as this did the pony keep upon\nwhatever man took the rope. The man might pretend to look at the\nweather, which was fine; or he might affect earnest conversation\nwith a bystander: it was bootless. The pony saw through it. No\nfeint hoodwinked him. This animal was thoroughly a man of the\nworld. His undistracted eye stayed fixed upon the dissembling foe,\nand the gravity of his horse-expression made the matter one of\nhigh comedy. Then the rope would sail out at him, but he was\nalready elsewhere; and if horses laugh, gayety must have abounded\nin that corral. Sometimes the pony took a turn alone; next he had\nslid in a flash among his brothers, and the whole of them like a\nschool of playful fish whipped round the corral, kicking up the\nfine dust, and (I take it) roaring with laughter. Through the\nwindow-glass of our Pullman the thud of their mischievous hoofs\nreached us, and the strong, humorous curses of the cow-boys. Then\nfor the first time I noticed a man who sat on the high gate', 'some one had drawn up her window shades. Carley promptly pulled them down and settled herself comfortably. Then she heard a woman speak, not particularly low: "I thought people traveled west to see the country." And a man replied, rather dryly. "Wal, not always." His companion went on: "If that girl was mine I\'d let down her skirt." The man laughed and replied: "Martha, you\'re shore behind the times. Look at the pictures in the magazines."\nSuch remarks amused Carley, and later she took advantage of an opportunity to notice her neighbors. They appeared a rather quaint old couple, reminding her of the natives of country towns in the Adirondacks. She was not amused, however, when another of her woman neighbors, speaking low, referred to her as a "lunger." Carley appreciated the fact that she was pale, but she assured herself that there ended any possible resemblance she might have to a consumptive. And she was somewhat pleased to hear this woman\'s male companion forcibly voice her own convictions. In fact', 'He found his companions dining, and joining them, he made a good meal, and at its conclusion all hands repaired to the bar again, and indulged in several more drinks.\nJesse then startled his companions by pulling out his big wad of bills, and paying the landlord for their fare.\nThe moment the gang got him alone, Frank whispered:\n"Where did you get the roll, Jess?"\n"From Jack Wright," laughed the outlaw.\n"Tell us about it!"\n"Certainly. It was the easiest game I ever played, and I got $5,000 out of it, too. Ha, ha, ha!"\nLooks of intense astonishment appeared on the faces of his friends.\nHe then explained what he had done.\nA roar of delight went up from the gang when he finished.\n"Bully for you, Jess!"\n"Oh, Lord, what a game!"\n"You\'ve done splendidly."\n"What a roasting for the bank!"', 'tire to the life of a country gentleman.\nHis sister\'s voice cut into his musing. She had two tones. One might be called her social register. It was smooth, gentle--the low-pitched and controlled voice of a gentlewoman. The other voice was hard and sharp. It could drive hard and cold across a desk, and bring businessmen to an understanding that here was a mind, not a woman.\nAt present she used her latter tone. Vance Cornish came into a shivering consciousness that she was sitting beside him. He turned his head slowly. It was always a shock to come out of one of his pleasant dreams and see that worn, hollow-eyed, impatient face.\n"Are you forty-nine, Vance?"\n"I\'m not fifty, at least," he countered.\nShe remained imperturbable, looking him over. He had come to notice that in the past half-dozen years his best smiles often failed to mellow her expression. He felt that something disagreeable was coming.\n"Why did Cornwall run away this morning? I hoped to take him on a trip."', "he\nwas a restless, headstrong girl, even then, who liked to astonish her\nfriends. Later, when I knew her, she was always doing something\nunexpected. She gave one of her town houses for a Suffrage headquarters,\nproduced one of her own plays at the Princess Theater, was arrested for\npicketing during a garment-makers' strike, etc. I am never able to believe\nthat she has much feeling for the causes to which she lends her name and\nher fleeting interest. She is handsome, energetic, executive, but to me\nshe seems unimpressionable and temperamentally incapable of enthusiasm.\nHer husband's quiet tastes irritate her, I think, and she finds it worth\nwhile to play the patroness to a group of young poets and painters of\nadvanced ideas and mediocre ability. She has her own fortune and lives her\nown life. For some reason, she wishes to remain Mrs. James Burden.\nAs for Jim, no disappointments have been severe enough to chill his\nnaturally romantic and ardent disposition. This disposition, though it\noften made him s", 'h telegraphed and wrote, begging piteously to be permitted to accompany them on the long journey by way of San Francisco, and so it had finally been settled. The colonel\'s household were now at regimental headquarters up at Prescott, and Angela was quite happy at Camp Sandy. She had been there barely four weeks when Neil Blakely, pale, fragile-looking, and still far from strong, went to report for duty at his captain\'s quarters and was met at the threshold by his captain\'s daughter.\nExpecting a girl friend, Kate Sanders, from "down the row," she had rushed to welcome her, and well-nigh precipitated herself upon a stranger in the natty undress uniform of the cavalry. Her instant blush was something beautiful to see. Blakely said the proper things to restore tranquillity; smilingly asked for her father, his captain; and, while waiting for that warrior to finish shaving and come down to receive him, was entertained by Miss Wren in the little army parlor. Looking into her wondrous eyes and happy, blushing ', 'ended this Mormon Elder by being a friend to that woman."\n"Ma\'am, is it true--what he says?" asked the rider of Jane, but his quiveringly alert eyes never left the little knot of quiet men.\n"True? Yes, perfectly true," she answered.\n"Well, young man, it seems to me that bein\' a friend to such a woman would be what you wouldn\'t want to help an\' couldn\'t help....What\'s to be done to you for it?"\n"They intend to whip me. You know what that means--in Utah!"\n"I reckon," replied the rider, slowly.\nWith his gray glance cold on the Mormons, with the restive bit-champing of the horses, with Jane failing to repress her mounting agitations, with Venters standing pale and still, the tension of the moment tightened. Tull broke the spell with a laugh, a laugh without mirth, a laugh that was only a sound betraying fear.\n"Come on, men!" he called.\nJane Withersteen turned again to the rider.\n"Stranger, can you do nothing to save Venters?"\n"Ma\'am, you ask me', 'o, no; go on; don\'t wait for me," he answered. But neither Charley nor I was inclined to do that.\nDick was soon on his feet again, while we assisted him, in spite of what he had said, to get up his horse. The animal\'s leg did not appear to be strained, and Dick quickly again climbed into the saddle.\n"Thank you, my dear boys," he exclaimed, "it must not happen again; I am a heavy weight for my brute, and, if he comes down, you must go on and let me shift for myself."\nWe made no reply, for neither Charley nor I was inclined to desert our brave friend. The rest of the party had dashed by, scarcely observing what had taken place, the Indians taking the lead. It was impossible to calculate how many miles we had gone. Night was coming on, making the glare to the eastward appear brighter and more terrific. The mules were still instinctively following us, but we were distancing them fast, though we could distinguish their shrieks of terror amid the general uproar.\nThe hill for which we wer', '-except as they might have been reminded of the dreary distance from the glitter and the tinsel of the East. The mountains, distant and shining, would have meant nothing to them; the strong, pungent aroma of the sage might have nauseated them.\nBut Miss Benham had caught her first glimpse of Manti and the surrounding country from a window of her berth in the car that morning just at dawn, and she loved it. She had lain for some time cuddled up in her bed, watching the sun rise over the distant mountains, and the breath of the sage, sweeping into the half-opened window, had carried with it something stronger--the lure of a virgin country.\nAunt Agatha Benham, chaperon, forty--maiden lady from choice--various uncharitable persons hinted humorously of pursued eligibles--found Rosalind gazing ecstatically out of the berth window when she stirred and awoke shortly after nine. Agatha climbed out of her berth and sat on its edge, yawning sleepily.\n"This is Manti, I suppose," she said acridly, shov', 'tracks. Now is the time when the wild mustangs and the buffaloes go southward, and the Indians follow in the chase. The Kiowas are all right, for we arranged with them for the road, but the Apaches and Comanches know nothing of it, and we don\'t dare let them see us. We have finished our part, and are ready to leave this region; hurry up with yours, and do likewise. Remember there\'s danger, and good-by."\nSam looked gravely after his retreating form, and pointed to a footprint near the spring where we had paused for parting. "He\'s quite right to warn us of Indians," he said.\n"Do you mean this footprint was made by an Indian?"\n"Yes, an Indian\'s moccasin. How does that make you feel?"\n"Not at all."\n"You must feel or think something."\n"What should I think except that an Indian has been here?"\n"Not afraid?"\n"Not a bit."\n"Oh," cried Sam, "you\'re living up to your name of Shatterhand; but I tell you that Indians are not so easy to shatter; you don\'t know', 'k of his uncle recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable anger took hold of him.\n"The d--d fool!" he exclaimed, hotly. "Meeting Bain wasn\'t much, Uncle Jim. He dusted my boots, that\'s all. And for that I\'ve got to go on the dodge."\n"Son, you killed him--then?" asked the uncle, huskily.\n"Yes. I stood over him--watched him die. I did as I would have been done by."\n"I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin\'. But now we can\'t stop to cry over spilt blood. You\'ve got to leave town an\' this part of the country."\n"Mother!" exclaimed Duane.\n"She\'s away from home. You can\'t wait. I\'ll break it to her--what she always feared."\nSuddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.\n"My God! Uncle, what have I done?" His broad shoulders shook.\n"Listen, son, an\' remember what I say," replied the elder man, earnestly. "Don\'t ever forget. You\'re not to blame. I\'m glad to see you take it this way, because maybe you\'ll never grow hard a', 'outh, plenty of money and an adoring family? What else was there to wish for? Thus far she had never taken any of her mild love affairs with the least seriousness and had no idea of "settling down," as she expressed it, for at least ten years to come. So what was there for Frieda to do but each day to grow fairer and more charming, like a lovely wax doll that had come to life and taken upon itself the airs and graces of a really grown-up person. Because Jack objected, Frieda some time ago had given up her former fashion of wearing her heavy yellow hair in a Psyche knot, and in these months at the ranch when no strangers were about had returned to her old childish custom of two long braids. On dress occasions, however, her coiffure, copied after a Paris model, could again be made bewilderingly lovely.\nOn this particular occasion Frieda had unfortunately neglected to attire herself for the role which she was about to play, as she happened to be wearing an old blue and white middy blouse and a short duck ', 'right. They rose by slopes and ledges, steep and rough, and at last ended in the thousand-foot cliffs of the buttes, running sheer and unbroken for many miles. During all the rest of our trip they were to be our companions, the only constant factors in the tumult of lesser peaks, precipitous canons, and twisted systems in which we were constantly involved.\nThe sky was sun-and-shadow after the rain. Each and every Arizonan predicted clearing.\n"Why, it almost never rains in Arizona," said Jed Parker. "And when it does it quits before it begins."\nNevertheless, about noon a thick cloud gathered about the tops of the Galiuros above us. Almost immediately it was dissipated by the wind, but when the peaks again showed, we stared with astonishment to see that they were white with snow. It was as though a magician had passed a sheet before them the brief instant necessary to work his great transformation. Shortly the sky thickened again, and it began to rain.\nTravel had been precarious befo', 'I\'ve about concluded that he ain\'t comin\'. An\' so I come over to Dry Bottom to find a man."\n"You\'ve found one," smiled the stranger.\nStafford drew out a handful of double eagles and pressed them into the other\'s hand. "I\'m goin\' over to the Two Diamond now," he said. "You\'d better wait a day or two, so\'s no one will get wise. Come right to me, like you was wantin\' a job."\nHe started toward the hitching rail for his pony, hesitated and then walked back.\n"I didn\'t get your name," he smiled.\nThe stranger\'s eyes glittered humorously. "It\'s Ferguson," he said quietly.\nStafford\'s eyes widened with astonishment. Then his right hand went out and grasped the other\'s.\n"Well, now," he said warmly, "that\'s what I call luck."\nFerguson smiled. "Mebbe it\'s luck," he returned. "But before I go over to work for you there\'s got to be an understandin\'. I c\'n shoot some," he continued, looking steadily at Stafford, "but I ain\'t runnin\' around the country shootin\' men witho', 'e were striving to read a human mind.\n"The curtain ain\'t up," said the sheriff, "but I reckon that the stage is set and that they\'s gunna be an entrance pretty pronto."\n"Here\'s somebody coming," said Georgia, gesturing toward the farther end of the street.\n"Yeah," said the sheriff, "but he\'s comin\' too slow to mean anything."\n"Slow and earnest wins the race," said another.\nThey were growing impatient; like a crowd at a bullfight, when the entrance of the matador is delayed too long.\n"We\'re wasting the day," said Milman to his family. "That\'s a long ride ahead of us."\n"Don\'t go now," said Georgia. "I\'ve got a tingle in my finger tips that says something is going to happen."\nOther voices were rising, jesting, laughing, when some one called out something at the farther end of the veranda, and instantly there was a wave of silence that spread upon them all.\n"What is it?" whispered Milman to the sheriff.\n"Shut up!" said the sheriff. "They say th', 'up in her like\na strong tide. Some one to lean on, some one who loved her, some one to\nhelp her in this hour when fatality knocked at the door of her\nyouth--how she needed that!\n"It might be bad for me--to tell me, but tell me, anyhow," she said,\nfinally, answering as some one older than she had been an hour ago--to\nsomething feminine that leaped up. She did not understand this impulse,\nbut it was in her.\n"No!" declared Moore, with dark red staining his face. He slapped the\nlasso against his saddle, and tied it with clumsy hands. He did not look\nat her. His tone expressed anger and amaze.\n"Dad says I must marry Jack," she said, with a sudden return to her\nnatural simplicity.\n"I heard him tell that months ago," snapped Moore.\n"You did! Was that--why?" she whispered.\n"It was," he answered, ringingly.\n"But that was no reason for you to be--be--to stay away from me," she\ndeclared, with rising spirit.\nHe laughed shortly.\n"Wils, didn\'t you like me any more after dad said that?" she querie'], "Women's Studies": ["h easier than a baby, you see.\nOf course I never mention it to them any more--I am too wise,--but I keep watch of it all the same.\nThere are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.\nBehind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day.\nIt is always the same shape, only very numerous.\nAnd it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don't like it a bit. I wonder--I begin to think--I wish John would take me away from here!\nIt is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise, and because he loves me so.\nBut I tried it last night.\nIt was moonlight. The moon shines in all around just as the sun does.\nI hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes in by one window or another.\nJohn was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and watched the moonlight on that undulating wall-paper till I felt creepy.\nThe faint figure behind seemed to sh", 'ion, and perhaps enabled him to popularize his subject, but for his Satanic contempt for all academic dignitaries and persons in general who thought more of Greek than of phonetics. Once, in the days when the Imperial Institute rose in South Kensington, and Joseph Chamberlain was booming the Empire, I induced the editor of a leading monthly review to commission an article from Sweet on the imperial importance of his subject. When it arrived, it contained nothing but a savagely derisive attack on a professor of language and literature whose chair Sweet regarded as proper to a phonetic expert only. The article, being libelous, had to be returned as impossible; and I had to renounce my dream of dragging its author into the limelight. When I met him afterwards, for the first time for many years, I found to my astonishment that he, who had been a quite tolerably presentable young man, had actually managed by sheer scorn to alter his personal appearance until he had become a sort of walking repudiation of Oxford an', 'it, as he laid down the manuscript and said:\n"You must be very proud of your family, Miss Hilbery."\n"Yes, I am," Katharine answered, and she added, "Do you think there\'s anything wrong in that?"\n"Wrong? How should it be wrong? It must be a bore, though, showing your things to visitors," he added reflectively.\n"Not if the visitors like them."\n"Isn\'t it difficult to live up to your ancestors?" he proceeded.\n"I dare say I shouldn\'t try to write poetry," Katharine replied.\n"No. And that\'s what I should hate. I couldn\'t bear my grandfather to cut me out. And, after all," Denham went on, glancing round him satirically, as Katharine thought, "it\'s not your grandfather only. You\'re cut out all the way round. I suppose you come of one of the most distinguished families in England. There are the Warburtons and the Mannings--and you\'re related to the Otways, aren\'t you? I read it all in some magazine," he added.\n"The Otways are my cousins," Katharine replied.', 'e all over the world, I should say to it, that its first work is to form a fitting character with which to pass through life and do the great work of woman. There is much in starting right. A stumble in the start often defeats the race, while a good strike at the onset often wins the victory. There is no more alarming feature in the Girlhood of our times than its apparent indifference to the great work before it. Multitudes of girls are as thoughtless and giddy as the lambs that sport on the lea. They seem scarcely to cast a prophetic glance before. They live as though life was a theater, good for nothing but its acting. I know there is much reason why girls do live so, why they are so heedless of the grandeur that swells into eternal glory before them. I know they have been taught by the customs of society, by the follies of their elders, to regard themselves as the playthings of men, the ornaments of society, rather than the helpers of themselves and their race, and the solid substance of the social fabric.', 'of libertine. Woman, first and foremost, was\nhis game. Every woman attracted him. No woman held him. Any new woman,\nhowever plain, immediately eclipsed her predecessor, however beautiful.\nThe fact that amorous interests took precedence over all others was\nquite enough to make him vaguely unpopular with men. But as in addition,\nhe was a physical type which many women find interesting, it is likely\nthat an instinctive sex-jealousy, unformulated but inevitable, biassed\ntheir judgment. He was a typical business man; but in appearance he\nrepresented the conventional idea of an artist. Tall, muscular,\ngraceful, hair thick and a little wavy, beard pointed and golden-brown,\neyes liquid and long-lashed, women called him "interesting." There was,\nmoreover, always a slight touch of the picturesque in his clothes; he\nwas master of the small amatory ruses which delight flirtatious women.\nIn brief, men were always divided in their own minds in regard to Ralph\nAddington. They knew that, constantly, he broke every canon ', "mbition urged me to higher aims, and self-conceit assured me that, in disregarding its voice, I was burying my talent in the earth, and hiding my light under a bushel. My mother had done her utmost to persuade me that I was capable of great achievements; but my father, who thought ambition was the surest road to ruin, and change but another word for destruction, would listen to no scheme for bettering either my own condition, or that of my fellow mortals. He assured me it was all rubbish, and exhorted me, with his dying breath, to continue in the good old way, to follow his steps, and those of his father before him, and let my highest ambition be to walk honestly through the world, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, and to transmit the paternal acres to my children in, at least, as flourishing a condition as he left them to me.\n'Well! - an honest and industrious farmer is one of the most useful members of society; and if I devote my talents to the cultivation of my farm, and the improve", 'ightly and joyfully as one who commonly and habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was preoccupied. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life.\nShe wanted to live. She was vehemently impatient--she did not clearly know for what--to do, to be, to experience. And experience was slow in coming. All the world about her seemed to be--how can one put it? --in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. She wanted to know. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking', '\nThey must sacrifice their beauty\nWho would do their civic duty,\nWho the polling booth would enter,\nWho the ballot box would use;\nAs they drop their ballots in it\nMen and women in a minute,\nLose their charm, the antis tell us,\nBut--the men have less to lose.\n\nPartners\n\n("Our laws have not yet reached the point of holding that property which\nis the result of the husband\'s earnings and the wife\'s savings becomes\ntheir joint property.... In this most important of all partnerships\nthere is no partnership property."--_Recent decision of the New York\nSupreme Court_.)\n\nLady, lovely lady, come and share\n\nAll my care;\nOh how gladly I will hurry\nTo confide my every worry\n(And they\'re very dark and drear)\n\nIn your ear.\n\nLady, share the praise I obtain\n\nNow and again;\nThough I\'m shy, it doesn\'t matter,', 'e attempting to live under conditions of dire poverty, and the island, with its population of 1,000, would now offer an excellent example, not of overpopulation, but of human selfishness.\nMy contentions are that poverty is neither solely nor indeed generally related to economic pressure on the soil; that there are many causes of poverty apart altogether from overpopulation; and that in reality overpopulation does not exist in those countries where Malthusians claim to find proofs of social misery due to a high birthrate.\nIf overpopulation in the economic sense occurred in a closed country, whose inhabitants were either unable or unwilling to send out colonies, it is obvious that general poverty and misery would result. This might happen in small islands, but it is of greater interest to know what does happen.\nSection 5. NO EVIDENCE OF OVERPOPULATION\nIn a closed country, producing all its own necessities of life and incapable of expansion, a high birth-rate would eventually', "ly. The broad man stepped forward quickly and shook hands with Molly. Then he took a critical look at Victoria. The three young men struggled for an absurd little bag which Molly always dropped at the right moment.\n'How do you do, Mrs Fulton,' said the broad man stretching out his hand. Victoria took it hesitatingly.\n'Don't you remember me?' he said. 'My name's Cairns. Major Cairns. You know. Travancores. Met you at His Excellency's hop.'\nOf course she remembered him. He was so typical. Anybody could have told his profession and his rank at sight. He had a broad humorous face, tanned over freckled pink. Since he left Wellington he had grown a little in every direction and had become a large middle aged boy. Victoria took him in at one look. A square face such as that of Cairns, distinctly chubby, framing grey blue eyes, was as easily recalled as forgotten. She took in his forehead, high and likely to become higher as his hair receded; his straight aggressive nose; his little rough moustac", 'them in logical order when the bell rang sharply. It was one of those clock-work bells, and always went off as a clock might go if it tried to strike twelve all at once.\nHenry Maxwell sat at his desk and frowned a little. He made no movement to answer the bell. Very soon it rang again; then he rose and walked over to one of his windows which commanded the view of the front door. A man was standing on the steps. He was a young man, very shabbily dressed.\n"Looks like a tramp," said the minister. "I suppose I\'ll have to go down and--"\nHe did not finish his sentence but he went downstairs and opened the front door. There was a moment\'s pause as the two men stood facing each other, then the shabby-looking young man said:\n"I\'m out of a job, sir, and thought maybe you might put me in the way of getting something."\n"I don\'t know of anything. Jobs are scarce--" replied the minister, beginning to shut the door slowly.\n"I didn\'t know but you might perhaps be able to give me a li', 'o whose advice she wickedly imputes all the sufferings of her much injured daughter, the late Lady Belmont. The chief purport of her writing I will acquaint you with; the letter itself is not worthy your notice.\nShe tells me that she has, for many years past, been in continual expectation of making a journey to England, which prevented her writing for information concerning this melancholy subject, by giving her hopes of making personal inquiries; but family occurrences have still detained her in France, which country she now sees no prospect of quitting. She has, therefore, lately used her utmost endeavors to obtain a faithful account of whatever related to her ill-advised daughter; the result of which giving her some reason to apprehend, that, upon her death-bed, she bequeathed an infant orphan to the world, she most graciously says, that if you, with whom she understands the child is placed, will procure authentic proofs of its relationship to her, you may sent it to Paris, where she will properly p', 'mptoms, then you are afflicted with Dyspepsia, and should endeavor to obtain relief. "Dyspeptic Ley" is a certain cure. It is easily prepared, and should be taken by everyone who is afflicted with any of the above distressing symptoms.\nThe same chapter tells how to cure Ague, Intermittent Fever, Neuralgia, Sick Headache, Neuralgic Headache, Rheumatism, Dysentery, Epileptic Fits, Hysteria, Bleeding of the Lungs, Coughs, Bowel Complaint, Scrofula, Worms, Sore Eyes, Cholera, Piles, Warts, Corns, Deafness, Inverted Toe-nail, etc.\nAll these diseases are described, together with the best method of treating them. \nChapter eleven\nteaches how to Prepare Nourishment for the Sick Room. Very few people know how to prepare nourishment for the sick. This chapter teaches how to prepare a great number of nourishing dishes. Every lady should know how to prepare food for the sick, as at some time or other there is almost certain to ', "nged carefully in patterns by the admired cockney art of carpet gardening and a sandpit, imported from the seaside for the delight of the children, but speedily deserted on its becoming a natural vermin preserve for all the petty fauna of Kingsland, Hackney and Hoxton. A bandstand, an unfinished forum for religious, anti-religious and political orators, cricket pitches, a gymnasium, and an old fashioned stone kiosk are among its attractions. Wherever the prospect is bounded by trees or rising green grounds, it is a pleasant place. Where the ground stretches far to the grey palings, with bricks and mortar, sky signs, crowded chimneys and smoke beyond, the prospect makes it desolate and sordid.\nThe best view of Victoria Park is from the front window of St. Dominic's Parsonage, from which not a single chimney is visible. The parsonage is a semi-detached villa with a front garden and a porch. Visitors go up the flight of steps to the porch: tradespeople and members of the family go down by a door under the", 'sadly, "and shall I ever get back?"\nIntense heat, bitter cold, terrible storms, shipwrecks, fevers, all such agreeable topics had been drummed into me until I felt much as I imagine one would feel if shut in a cave of midnight darkness and told that all sorts of horrors were waiting to gobble one up.\nThe morning was beautiful and the bay never looked lovelier. The ship glided out smoothly and quietly, and the people on deck looked for their chairs and rugs and got into comfortable positions, as if determined to enjoy themselves while they could, for they did not know what moment someone would be enjoying themselves at their expense.\nWhen the pilot went off everybody rushed to the side of the ship to see him go down the little rope ladder. I watched him closely, but he climbed down and into the row boat, that was waiting to carry him to the pilot boat, without giving one glance back to us. It was an old story to him, but I could not help wondering if the ship should go down, whether there', "-Chancroids.\nXXVI. THE CURABILITY OF VENEREAL DISEASE 174\nGonorrhea May Be Practically Cured in Every Case in Man--Extensive Gonorrheal Infection in Woman Difficult to Cure--Positive Cure in Syphilis Impossible to Guarantee.\nXXVII. VENEREAL PROPHYLAXIS 177\nNecessity for Douching Before and After Suspicious Intercourse--Formulæ for Douches--Precautions Against Non-venereal Sources of Infection--Syphilis Transmitted by Dentist's Instruments--Manicurists and Syphilis--Promiscuous Kissing a Source of Syphilitic Infection.\nXXIII. ALCOHOL, SEX AND VENEREAL DISEASE 181\nAlcoholic Indulgence and Venereal Disease--A Champagne Dinner and Syphilis--Percentage of Cases of Venereal Infection Due to Alcohol--Artificial Stimulation of Sex Instinct in Man and in Woman--Reckless Sexual Indulgence Due to Alcohol--Alcohol as an Aid to Seduction.\nXXIX. MARRIAGE AND GONORRHEA 187\nDecision of Physician Regarding Marriage of Patients Infected with Gonorrhea or Syphilis--A", 'Just us three. Maybe we can really\nfind something. May be cinnabar in it."\n"May be indigo," Jeff suggested, with his lazy smile.\nIt was early yet; we had just breakfasted; and leaving word\nthat we\'d be back before night, we got away quietly, not wishing\nto be thought too gullible if we failed, and secretly hoping to\nhave some nice little discovery all to ourselves.\nIt was a long two hours, nearer three. I fancy the savage could\nhave done it alone much quicker. There was a desperate tangle\nof wood and water and a swampy patch we never should have\nfound our way across alone. But there was one, and I could see\nTerry, with compass and notebook, marking directions and trying\nto place landmarks.\nWe came after a while to a sort of marshy lake, very big, so\nthat the circling forest looked quite low and dim across it. Our\nguide told us that boats could go from there to our camp--but\n"long way--all day."\nThis water was somewhat clearer than that we had left, but\nwe could no', 'the Panama Annual Chautauqua.\nShe could have a job selling dry-goods behind the counter in the Hub Store, but that meant loss of caste.\nShe could teach dancing--but she couldn\'t dance particularly well. And that was all that she could do.\nShe had tried to find work as office-woman for Dr. Mayberry, the dentist; in the office of the Panama Wood-Turning Company; in the post-office; as lofty enthroned cashier for the Hub Store; painting place-cards and making "fancy-work" for the Art Needlework Exchange.\nThe job behind the counter in the Hub Store was the only one offered her.\n"If I were only a boy," sighed Una, "I could go to work in the hardware-store or on the railroad or anywhere, and not lose respectability. Oh, I hate being a woman."\n§\xa03\nUna had been trying to persuade her father\'s old-time rival, Squire Updegraff, the real-estate and insurance man, that her experience with Captain Golden would make her a perfect treasure in the office. Sq', '. If the man that ought to exemplify it is found walking up Fifth Avenue or on Halstead Street or along El Camino Real, he cannot be discovered as a farmer. He may be discovered as an ignorant person, or he may be found to be a college-bred man; but in neither case would the fact be logically inclusive or uninclusive of his function as farmer.\nThe same is almost as exactly true for his wife and his daughter. If one should ask in any group of average people whether the farmer\'s daughter as they have known her is a poor little undeveloped child, silent and shy, or a hearty buxom lass, healthy and strong and up to date, some in the group would say the latter and some the former. Both varieties exist and can by searching be found along the countryside. But it is nothing essentially rural that has developed either the one set of characteristics or the other. To be convinced of this, one who knows this country well has but to read a book like "Folk of the Furrow," by Christopher Holdenby, a picture of rural ', "tience with its burden and\nits limitations. The change you desire you work for conservatively, if\nat all. The women who opposed the first movement for women's rights in\nthis country might deplore the laws that gave a man the power to beat\nhis wife--but as a matter of fact few men did beat their wives, and\npopular opinion was a powerful weapon. They might deplore the laws of\nproperty--but few of them were deeply touched by them. The husband,\nthe child, the home, the social circle, the church, these things were\ninfinitely more interesting and important to them than diplomas,\nrights to work, rights to property, rights to vote. All the sentiments\nin the revolting women's program seemed trivial, cold, profitless\nbeside the realities of life as they dreamed them and struggled to\nrealize them.\nIt is this same intuitive loyalty to her Business of Being a Woman,\nher unwillingness to have it tampered with, that is to-day the great\nobstacle to our Uneasy Woman putting her program of relief into force.\nAnd it is the e", 't of lunatics; and whereas they used to condemn poor distempered wretches to straw and darkness, stripes and a strait waistcoat, they now send them to sunshine and green fields, to wander in gardens among birds and flowers, and soothe them with soft music and kind flattering speech.\nALDA.\nYou laugh at me! perhaps I deserve it.\nMEDON.\nNo, in truth; I am a little amused, but most honestly attentive: and perhaps wish I could think more like you. But to proceed: I allow that with this view of the case, you could not well have chosen your illustrations from real life; but why not from history?\nALDA.\nAs far as history could guide me, I have taken her with me in one or two recent publications, which all tend to the same object. Nor have I here lost sight of her; but I have entered on a land where she alone is not to be trusted, and may make a pleasant companion but a most fallacious guide. To drop metaphor: history informs us that such things have been done or have occurred;', 'exquisitely pure skin, and her tender blue eyes. On the other, he would have discovered a bright little creature, who would have fascinated and perplexed him at one and the same time. If he had been questioned about her by a stranger, he would have been at a loss to say positively whether she was dark or light: he would have remembered how her eyes had held him, but he would not have known of what color they were. And yet, she would have remained a vivid picture in his memory when other impressions, derived at the same time, had vanished. "There was one little witch among them, who was worth all the rest put together; and I can\'t tell you why. They called her Emily. If I wasn\'t a married man--" There he would have thought of his wife, and would have sighed and said no more.\nWhile the girls were still admiring Francine, the clock struck the half-hour past eleven.\nCecilia stole on tiptoe to the door--looked out, and listened--closed the door again--and addressed the meeting with the irresistible ', "t your age I had no more taste for it than you have: but there's a proper season for every thing. However, though I tell you this for a warning, perhaps you may do without it; for, by what I hear, the rising generation's got to a much greater pitch since my time.'\nHe then added, he must advise him, as a friend, to be upon his guard, as his Cousin, Clermont Lynmere, who was coming home from Eton school next Christmas for the holidays, would turn out the very mirror of scholarship; for he had given directions to have him study both night and day, except what might be taken off for eating and sleeping: 'Because,' he continued, 'having proved the bad of knowing nothing in my own case, I have the more right to intermeddle with others. And he will thank me enough when once he has got over his classics. And I hope, my dear little boy, you see it in the same light too; which, however, is what I can't expect.'\nThe house was now examined; the fair little Indiana took possession of her apartment; Miss Marg"]}