text:
Broken Necks/The Philosopher’s Benefit

"Have you anything especially important to do next Saturday night?" inquired Feodor Mishkin. The journalist's usually choleric voice was weary and his huge body sagged with the heat.

"Important, Mishkin? It all depends on how you use the adjective. I have long ago stopped doing important things."

"Don't try to talk to me philosophies, please. I ask you a simple question. Yes or no."

"Why?"

“Why! Why! I should know better than to try to talk to you on a hot day. If it was for me I wouldn't have bothered myself for a minute. Are you coming or not?"

"It all depends, Mishkin, on what and where you're talking about."

"The benefit! You haven't heard from the benefit? It don't matter how many years you are a newspaperman, you manage to keep ignorant of everything that's going on."

"So you are having a benefit?"

"I am having a benefit! Thanks. Who told you that? Please, if you're going to be insulting write some editorials. I am having no benefit. The benefit is for Lefkowitz's son."

"The one who is a philosopher?"

"The one who is a loafer, a dumb head and a fool. You and I have different opinions about people."

"What has happened to Lefkowitz's son that he is being given a benefit? Has he been run over?"

"Nothing has happened except that in another month he will starve to death and disgrace the West Side. The benefit is Saturday night and you can buy two tickets for $2. Bernstein's sisters are going to sing and—you'll enjoy."

"Who is giving the benefit, Mishkin? You?”

"Me! I should give benefits for such a fool like Lefkowitz's son. Who is giving the benefit? Nobody. He has forced it to be, that's all."

"But I thought he was so unpopular. You told me once."

"Listen, can you let a philosopher die no matter how unpopular he is? Unpopular? Yes? Everybody hates him. And why shouldn't they? When he goes to a Socialist picnic he makes a speech that the masses ain't of any consequence. When he attends a meeting in honor of Sholom Ash—you know who he is? The greatest dramatist in America. What does he do? He makes another speech saying the dramas he writes are fit for little children and no more. He's a philosopher, that's all."

"Why give him a benefit? Why not get him a job instead?"

"Lefkowitz's son a job? You are crazy, nothing else. Who will he work for? Simonson who wants to take him in his store he calls an idiot. And when they finally get him a job in the Public Library he starts insulting everybody who takes out a book he don't approve of. 'You must be without sense to waste your time,' he says, 'reading such kind of books,' he says, 'an intelligent man or woman wouldn't ask for such a book,' he says, 'why don't you read Leibnitz or somebody with some sense to him?' he says."

"Then why this concern about him. Why not let him go his own way, Mishkin, instead of bamboozling your friends into attending a benefit in his honor?"

"In his honor, aha! Who says he's going to get any honor? It's a benefit and if we raise a few hundred dollars everybody will be satisfied. As usual, you don't understand what I'm saying. I'm saying that Lefkowitz's son has been a philosopher for ten years. Everybody hates him because he insults them all and he looks down on everything they do and if you say anything he laughs in our face and answers you, ‘aha! What of it? Do you think such little things are important?' So what are you going to do?”?

"You are right, Mishkin, I don't understand the thing at all."

“It don't surprise me, so don't be so upset. If you were a member of the intelligentsia you would understand how it is embarrassing for a philosopher to starve to death in your back yard. Everybody is to him a commercial maniac. And everybody else is to him a low brow and a fool. And if you say to him, ‘go to work,' what does he answer you. ‘Ha, why should I work? Only fools work. I use my brain.' ”

“I begin to see, Mishkin. He has become a myth.”

"You begin to see! You are like Lefkowitz's son. You use your brain. The whole thing is that the West Side don't want it said that Lefkowitz's son, a great philosopher, had to die of starvation. That's all.”

"What has he written in the way of philosophy?"

"What has he written? Who says he writes? Nothing. Speeches insulting people, that's his philosophy writing. If you come Saturday night you can judge for yourself."

"He's going to recite something?"

"At his own benefit do you think he wouldn't recite? A lot you know of him. He's already read me the speech."

"It should be interesting listening to a pessimist unbend in grateful acknowledgements. I think I'll go.”

"You can stay away if you want to hear grateful acknowledgments. It's going to be a disgrace bigger than any he has made. The speech he has written and is going to recite is an insult to the whole human race. He takes for his subject the idea that he should be living in such a neighborhood that makes it necessary for a philosopher like him to have benefits given in order that he should be able to keep alive. The whole speech is about benefits like that."

"Mishkin, I suspect that you nurse a secret admiration for Lefkowitz's son?"

"You suspect! Go on, suspect. Lefkowitz's son means as much to me as my shoestring and no more."

"Then why do you waste your time selling tickets to his benefit?"

"Because, there are a lot of people like you I want to come to this benefit to Lefkowitz's son for one reason. And after he has gotten through with his insults you will understand why."

title: Broken Necks/The Philosopher’s Benefit


text: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 6/Chapter 31

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


text:
Page:The lay of the Nibelungs; (IA nibelungslay00hortrich).pdf/245

XVI]

In all he put his hand to he won the prize from all.

Straightway his sword he loosen’d and let his quiver fall;

Against a bough of linden he let his stout spear rest;

Close by the flowing fountain now stood the stately guest.

And herein also Siegfried did manifest his worth:

He laid his shield beside him where flow’d the fountain forth,

But, greatly as he thirsted, the hero tasted not

Before the king had drunken: base thanks from him he got.

Cool was the spring of water, and clean, and bright, and good;

And Gunther bent him downwards to the refreshing flood;

As soon as he had quenchéd his thirst, away he came;

Then ready was bold Siegfried and would have done the same.

His courtesy and breeding, then met with their reward:

For Hagen to the background withdrew his bow and sword.

Then back again ran quickly to where he found the spear,

And looked to find a token the hero’s coat did bear.

And whilst the noble Siegfried drank of the rippling flood

He stabb’d him through the cross-mark, and through the wound his blood

Straight from his heart outspurted, and Hagen’s shirt was wet;

So foul a misdeed never befell a hero yet.

He left the lance within him close to his heart stuck tight;

And grimly then did Hagen betake himself to flight,

As in his life he never from mortal man did flee.

The stalwart Siegfried, feeling how sorely smit was he,


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Page:The Necromancer, or, The Tale of the Black Forest Vol. 1.djvu/143

 conversed with their departed relations, through his assistance.

Amongst those who related such strange things of Volkert, was a woman, whose husband had died suddenly some months ago, and entreated her, before he expired, not to give her daughter in marriage to a certain tradesman who had courted her. The girl doated on the young man, and he likewise was exceeding fond of her; the distress this young couple felt, at that sad and cruel prohibition, cannot be expressed by words; their grief was unspeakable when they were thus unexpectedly removed for ever from the happiness of being united by the bonds of holy wedlock, just when they flattered themselves to have reached the aim of their fondest wishes.

Volkert was quartered in the same street, where the unhappy girl's mother lived. She requested him to find out, by means of his supernatural skill, what reason might have in-


text:
Broken Necks/Black Umbrellas

Little people hurry along in the dark street, their heads tucked away under black umbrellas that float jerkily like expiring balloons. Over them are the great buildings and the rain.

The day is darkened and the city is without faces. A symmetrical stream of little black arcs stretches from the distance to foreground as if emerging from a tunnel. The little people drift with precision through the wash of the rain, bundled together by the great buildings and the sacred puerilities. The tops of their umbrellas run like waves, clinging to each other, eddying blindly at the crossings and careening on again with precision.

All day long the umbrellas have been moving their black and endless little current through the rain—a monotone of precisions, an unvarying symbol of the unvarying. Beneath them the dresses of women stretch themselves into thin triangles and the trousers of men reach in unchanging diagonals for the pavement.

The little people clothed themselves in the morning with much care and there was a stir in the bedrooms of the city, a standing before mirrors and a determination to have, some day, more captivating pieces of cloth to hide themselves in. Now the little triangles and diagonals make a swarm of patterns identical as the rain, and, like the rain, the little people are pouring out of yesterday into tomorrow.

Life with its head hidden in an umbrella—little people with bits of black cloth giving half outline to the impenetrable cells they exchange at death for wooden boxes—the rain drums and chatters about them and the day, like a dark mirror, ignores them. The great buildings, magnificent grandfathers of the little black-arched umbrellas, stand dutifully excluding the rain. Electric lights already spray their circles of yellow mist upon the air. The stunted little sky of the city—the corridor of trade and restaurant signs that almost brushes the tops of the black umbrellas—is prematurely ablaze. A checkerboard flight of windows gleams out of the spatula-topped skyscrapers. The eyes of people wandering beyond the dripping webs of umbrellas catch sudden glimpses through the yellow spaces of the checker- board of little puppet worlds inhabited by parts of furniture and unexpected faces.

Thus the city looks and moves under an umbrella in the street. I move with it, an old dream like a fawning beggar at my elbow. It is the dream of the urge of life. It follows me with the eyes of dead years. I have already given to this dream too many alms. Yet it fawns for more. Sorrowful dream of the urge of life, insatiable mendicant at my elbow, its lips cajole, but its eyes, deep and empty as a skull’s, stare with many deaths. We walk on and the rain carries a whimpering into my heart—the whimpering of an old dream asking alms.

I invent names for the half-hidden faces and give meanings to them. Adjectives are an antidote for the companion at my elbow, and perhaps some day, wearied of listening to them, he will abandon me.

There is a kinship among the black umbrellas bumping and scraping at each other. I observe this. And yet, beneath them there are only solitudes. The trousers of men and skirts of women move in solitude—precise little solitudes as identical as the black umbrellas and the rain.

Walking before me under an umbrella is a young woman. Her face, hidden from the rain, is that of a rouged nun, as are the faces of the young women of the city who mask their vacuity with roses. She has been hurrying, but now she moves more slowly. I invent a name for her and a meaning. She is unaware of this, for it is the common fancy of little people swarming in streets that their solitudes are impenetrable. Within them they move, brazenly giving themselves to the outrageous underworlds of thought.

So the young woman walks before me in the street, locked in her little depths, surrounded by the secret names and images of her yesterdays and tomorrows. I walk, following at her elbow as an old dream like a fawning beggar follows at mine. For it has occurred to me that the young woman is peering out of her solitude. She has become aware of the halloo of the rain as if it had just started.

It is obvious that she has been moving, aimlessly preoccupied, through the downpour, her words following lazily upon the pretty tracks of memory. And then the words suddenly jumbled and the pretty tracks became a circle ina void. It is this that makes hurrying little people abruptly slow their step and look up from the ground—as if to recover something.

The young woman, deserted by her solitude, looked quickly about her and perceived only the solitudes of others which, though identical, are always meaningless. I observe and understand. She has for the moment escaped from a cell, a pleasing enough cell of remembered and expected destinations, to find herself free in a world of cells. Umbrellas run by her. Legs and arms thrust themselves senselessly about her. It is a matter of little enough importance—a young woman standing bewildered in the rain. Yet I remain at her elbow. There is in her bewilderment opportunity for the employment of adjectives.

Something has amazed her. In her unoccupied brain the little world darting about under her eyes reflects itself as an unoccupied world; an unoccupied world stripped of destinations. In the umbrellas alone there seems a startling kinship and an even more startling superiority of purpose. They, perhaps, have meanings, but the little people under them have none. Their destinations have deserted them and they are moving with an incongruous hurry, having neither beginnings nor endings.

For moments the young woman stares. I do not know her thought, but I know that a lonesomeness has fastened upon her, that having lost her solitude she has lost the oblivious kinship of people in crowds. The intricate little furniture of life, her minutie of preoccupation, have vanished from her as if a light that was shining on them had been shut off. So for—this instant during which I have been observing her she is free of the world and there is in her the terrible premonition—for the world beats remorselessly on without her. The black umbrellas float jerkily like expiring balloons. The long V-shaped stretch of people crawls with continuous patience out of distance into distance. "Nowhere, nowhere," chatters the rain, and in the mouth of the young woman life lies suddenly tasteless. An old dream like a fawning beggar is at her elbow—the dream of the urge of life that but a moment ago was the reality of realities.

We walk on and the young woman, surrounded by an unaccountable emptiness, listens with foreign ears to the rain and with scrutinizing eyes regards the fantastic rim of her umbrella. The contours and noises of life seem not like the contours and noises of life, but like haphazard lines and sounds without content. I employ my adjectives and she, lost in a curious despair, feels the pain, the nostalgia for the unknown, slowly distend her breasts and sink thin-edged into the depths of her body. As she tries to think, little fears burst excitedly in warm clouds in her throat; keen mists lacerate and darken the little channels of her senses. Then words form themselves, and she is saying:

"I want something. Something."

The rain drums and chatters about us. The tides of umbrellas careen with precision along the base of the great buildings and the lights of the city, like bits of vivid pasteboard, drift over us in the downpour. The echo of the cry that rises from all endings burns in my heart. Cry of the dead, passionless fever of the emptied senses reaching for life beyond contours, I listen to the echo of its murmur in a city street and stare into a tangle of trousers and skirts. Life is a crafty beggar, masking its dead eyes with new darknesses.

Despair with thin fingers caresses the heart of the young woman and her senses sweep furtively the horizon of her little world and she searches in vain for the face of her longing. "Nowhere, nowhere," chatters the rain. The great buildings and the little black umbrellas say a nowhere and the long crowd in the street—the long crowd in the street runs away.

I know the thought of the young woman. It has hurried hopefully to the man from whose arms she has come. She images again the delicious, thrilling hour of his talk and caresses. But as she thinks of them quickly, frightenedly, they become a part of the puppet worlds that lie within lights shining out of building windows.

We walk on and the young woman stares into the dark mirror of the rain whose odors and lines give fugitive forms to the mystery of space. Under her umbrella the rouge of her cheeks, like a mask, slips away and her face is white. There is a whiteness in her heart, the gathering of fear of one who waits for unexpected things. The echo of the words of longing swims sickeningly in her body. From the underworld of her thought demoniac impulses raise a dizzying babble. Inanimate, they burst into wild flight and yet leave her motionless. The words of her longing have gone into her fingers and I watched her closed hand shiver; into her legs that plunge with violence beneath her skirt. She feels them almost coming to life in her breasts. So she is walking swiftly again, flying from an emptiness.

We walk on until the block is ended and the young woman pauses to smile expectantly into a shop window. She breathes deeply and moves her umbrella aside so that the rain may wet her face. I know of what she is thinking. There is a curious sense of guilt— the confused shame of little people who turn their backs for a moment upon life as upon a beggar, and for a moment give words to the cry that rises from all endings.

The young woman, penitent and again alive, whispers to herself it was the man from whose arms she has come. For there was no other something. Is not love one of the finalities? So her thoughts are again with him. Again he talks and caresses and there comes to her the glow, the keen yearning for satiety —for some completion—that she calls by the name of love.

There was nothing else she wanted. The rain made her dizzy. And yet the memory of the terror and elation that for an instant, beneath the black umbrellas, created a vacuum of her solitude clings to her like the ghost of a mysterious infidelity.

Away from the shop and it, too, is gone. The little black-arched umbrellas swarm about us as if trying to fly over each other. Under them are the faces of people safely and intelligently locked in little solitudes. The rain drums and chatters about them, dropping walls from their umbrellas and burying them deeper in their secret destinations. To the young woman the thing in the street is again explicable. It requires neither words nor thought. It is rain and people, buildings and umbrellas, ights and a shining pavement, and out of it rises the swift urge of life.

We walk on and her hand touches mine. Her fingers close prettily over it. We talk and her words are eager. She has been thinking of me, she says, and her eyes lie avidly. She struggles against a confidence, wondering what there is to tell. It blurts forth then adroitly in a laugh, a laugh that belongs to the orchestra of sweet sounds.

I am so happy, she says. I am so happy. The joy of return has made her buoyant, return into her solitude with its familiar little furniture, among which I stand, a decoration of the moment. She has forgotten the beggar who fawned in the rain at her elbow and things are explicable, things are clear, and have names and swing vividly through the dark day.

We walk on, hands together, and an old dream whimpers in my heart.

title: Broken Necks/Black Umbrellas


text:
Page:The Necromancer, or, The Tale of the Black Forest Vol. 1.djvu/144

 duced her departed husband to forbid his daughter, on his death-bed, to marry the man of her choice, though he had not only never had the least objection against that union, but also had always looked upon it with the greatest satisfaction. Volkert promised to take the matter into consideration, and answered, some days after, that the deceased himself must be applied to.

The poor girl was very much frightened at this declaration, however, the hope of being at last united to the darling of her lovesick heart, revived her spirits, and she consented at length to suffer the rest of her parent to be disturbed. The mother refused for a considerable time to consent to it, however, at last she agreed to Volkert's proposal, and the day, or rather the night, for the execution of the conjuration was fixed.—The mother, added the Austrian, has related to me the whole transaction, and I will let her speak herself.


text:
Page:The Necromancer, or, The Tale of the Black Forest Vol. 1.djvu/145

 "It was on a Saturday," said the good old woman, "when we were assembled in a back room, the same wherein my late husband had breathed his last, myself, my daughter, her lover, and two of my neighbours being present; at eleven o'clock we began to sing, as Volkert had ordered us, penetential hymns and psalms 'till the clock struck twelve, when we left off singing and Volkert entered the room, clad in a white garment, barefoot, and with a pale and disordered countenance; under his arm he carried a black carpet, a naked sword, and a crucifix, and in each hand a lighted taper. As soon as he entered the room, he beckoned us to rise, and made a sign not to utter a word; then he placed a table in the middle of the room, covered it with the black carpet, and put the crucifix and the tapers upon it, holding the sword in his hand: This done, he took out of his pocket a bottle with consecrated water, and sprinkled us and the floor with it.—After we had pulled off our shoes and


text:
Page:The Necromancer, or, The Tale of the Black Forest Vol. 1.djvu/146

 stockings, he burned perfumes in a chaffing-dish, and began the conjuration, mumbling many mysterious words, and brandishing his sword as if fighting with an invisible enemy; at once the combat seemed to cease, he grew quiet, and turning towards us who had been standing round him, exclaimed, "I have succeeded, he is coming!"

"A thick smoke overdarkened suddenly the room, the lights were extinguished, and a shiny figure, resembling in a most striking manner my deceased husband, appeared."

"Ask him," said the Necromancer, "ask him before he vanishes."

"I shuddered, seized with horror, and was unable to utter a single word: My daughter was in the same situation: The phantom gave us a ghastly look, shaking his head, as if denying something. The Ne-


text:
Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/42

 risen like a cloud of steam leaving a drear, unfertile waste of land good for naught. The poor African people fared even worse, for while gazing bewildered at the wild antics of the sun, their faces were scorched and their bodies were scorched and they transmitted forever after to all succeeding generations the scourge of being hopelessly black! As a memorial of this famous adventure, the name of the river Eridanus, into which Phaethon had fallen, was given to one of the star groups in the sky. This was also supposed to be a consolation to Apollo, who grieved so deeply at the death of his son and all the unfortunate consequences of his adventure that he offered to allow any other god on Olympus the privilege of driving the sun on its daily course from east to west, but no other god could do this, nor were any willing to try.

Apollo had a twin sister named Diana who owned a chariot as wonderful as his own, only it was wrought of pure silver and made to carry the earth's night light, called the moon. But Diana did not spend all of her time in the sky, for she loved to hunt and would often leave her chariot at home, take out her bow and arrow and spend whole nights upon the mountains with her nymphs. She was wondrously fair and full of grace but not as faithful as her brother, and at such times as she chooses to enjoy herself, earth-beings must do without a moon.

Besides the gods and the goddesses who dwelt in ancient Greece, there were many heroes who were semi-divine. One recalls Perseus, Hercules, the twins Castor and Pollux and others. Perseus was a son of Jupiter and a very noted hero. One of his adventures was so thrilling that the early people of this little country impressed its story on six constellations!

Hercules, the hero famed for his wonderful strength, patience and endurance, was a grandson of Perseus. He was also rewarded with a constellation. So was Orion, the giant, who has the most conspicuous figure of stars in all the sky. The twins, Castor and

title: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/42


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Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/43

 Pollux, were given twin stars and were much beloved by seamen for it was thought that if both stars were visible, fine weather was sure to follow.

Not only were gods and heroes placed in the sky, but also objects and creatures connected with their adventures.

Thus we find among the constellations Draco, the Dragon; Cygnus, the Swan; Ursa Major, the Great Bear; Ursa Minor, the Little The Constellation of Cygnus, the Swan Bear; Lyra, the Harp; Pegasus, the Flying Horse; Cancer, the Crab; Delphinus, the Dolphin; Pisces, the Fishes; Sagitta, the Arrow; Argo, the Ship; Corona, the Crown; Leo, the Lion; Scorpius, the Scorpion; Hydra, the Watersnake; Aries, the Ram; Taurus, the Bull; Eridanus, the River, and others.

title: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/43


text:
Page:On the education of the people of India (IA oneducationofpeo00trevrich).pdf/22

8 and whilst giving liberal encouragement to purely native education, the principle of connecting it with the introduction of real knowledge has never been lost sight of, and the foundation has been laid of great and beneficial change in the minds of those who by their character and profession direct and influence the intellect of Hindustan.

“In addition to the measures adopted for the diffusion of English in the provinces, and which are yet only in their infancy, the encouragement of the Vidyalaya, or Hindu college of Calcutta, has always been one of the chief objects of the committee’s attention. The consequence has surpassed expectation. A command of the English language and a familiarity with its literature and science have been acquired to an extent rarely equalled by any schools in Europe. A taste for English has been widely disseminated, and independent schools, conducted by young men reared in the Vidyalaya, are springing up in every direction. The moral effect has been equally remarkable, and an impatience of the restrictions of Hinduism and a disregard of its ceremonies are openly avowed by many young men of respectable birth and talents, and entertained by many more who outwardly conform to the practices of their countrymen. Another generation will probably


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Page:The lay of the Nibelungs; (IA nibelungslay00hortrich).pdf/246

168

All madly from the fountain in rage and anguish sprang,

Whilst from between his shoulders a long lance-shaft did hang.

The chieftain thought to find there his bow, or else his sword:

Then verily had Hagen not gone without reward.

But when the knight sore-wounded his sword had fail’d to find,

And saw that they had left him naught save his shield behind,

He gripp’d it from the well’s side, and after Hagen ran:

Then vainly to escape him essay’d King Gunther’s man.

Though he to death was wounded, so mightily smote he,

That from the hero’s buckler there fell abundantly

The precious stones that deck’d it; the shield itself did break;

The noble guest his vengeance was fain enow to wreak.

Yet by his hand must Hagen lie stretch’d upon the ground.

So hard, in sooth, his blows were, they made the glebe resound.

Had he his sword had handy, then Hagen had been slain.

The wound was burning sorely, and made him writhe with pain.

His cheeks had lost their colour; no longer stand could he,

And all his strength of body was failing utterly;

Death’s sign upon his forehead in pallid hue he bore:

Fair women soon were mourning for him with weeping sore.

Then fell Kriemhilda’s husband upon the flowery sward:

One saw from out the lance-wound, how fast his life-blood pour’d.

Upbraiding then began he,— forced by his mortal pain,—

Those who had thus betray’d him and treacherously slain.


text:
Page:The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy (Volume 6).pdf/133

 For this cause, if soldier is a prudent man, which he may be, without being a jot the less brave, he will be sure not to utter his wish in the hearing of an enemy; for say what he will, an enemy will not believe him.—He will be cautious of doing it even to a friend,—lest he may suffer in his esteem:—But if his heart is overcharged, and a secret sigh for arms must have its vent, he will reserve it for the ear of a brother, who knows his character to the bottom, and what his true notions, dispositions, and principles of honour are: What, I hope, I have been in all these, brother Shandy, would be unbecoming in me to say:—much worse, I know, have I been than I ought,—and something worse, perhaps, than I think: But such as I am, you, my dear brother Shandy, who have sucked the same breasts with me,—and with whom I have been


text:
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 brought up from my cradle,—and from whose knowledge, from the first hours of our boyish pastimes, down to this, I have concealed no one action of my life, and scarce a thought in it—Such as I am, brother, you must by this time know me, with all my vices, and with all my weaknesses too, whether of my age, my temper, my passions, or my understanding.

Tell me then, my dear brother Shandy, upon which of them it is, that when I condemned the peace of Utrecht, and grieved the way was not carried on with vigour a little longer, you should think your brother did it upon unworthy views; or that in wishing for war, he should be bad enough to wish more of his fellow creatures slain,—more slaves made, and more families driven from their peaceful habitations, merely for his own pleasure:—Tell me, brother


text:
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 Shandy, upon what one deed of mine do you ground it? [The devil a deed do I know of, dear Toby, but one for a hundred pounds, which I lent thee to carry on these cursed sieges.]

If, when I was a school-boy, I could not hear a drum beat, but my heart beat with it—was it my fault?—Did I plant the propensity there?—did I sound the alarm within, or Nature?

When Guy, Earl of Warwick, and Parismus and Parismenus, and Valentine and Orson, and the Seven Champions of England were handed around the school,—where they not all purchased with my own pocket money? Was that selfish, brother Shandy? When we read over the siege of Troy, which lasted ten years and eight months,—though with such a train of artillery as we had at Namur, the town might have been carried in a


text: Talk:I Find No Peace

title: Talk:I Find No Peace


text:
Page:The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy (Volume 6).pdf/136

 week—was I not as much concerned for the destruction of the Greeks and Trojans as any boy of the whole school? Had I not three strokes of a ferula given me, two on my right hand and one on my left, for calling Helena a bitch for it? Did any one of you shed more tears for Hector? And when king Priam came to the camp to beg his body, and returned weeping back to Troy without it,—you know, brother, I could not eat my dinner.

—Did that bespeak me cruel? Or because, brother Shandy, my blood flew out into the camp, and my heart panted for war,—was it a proof it could not ache for the distresses of war too?

O brother! 'tis one thing for a soldier to gather laurels,—and 'tis another to scatter cypress.—[Who told thee,


text:
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XVI]

“Ye perjured, lying cowards,” the dying warrior said,

“What hath avail’d my service, since thus ye strike me dead?

To you aye was I faithful: and thus do ye repay!

Your kith and kin shall suffer for what ye’ve wrought this day.

“The children born unto ye shall be, from this day forth,

For evermore accurséd, for ye have wreak’d your wrath,

And vengeance all too sorely upon my body done:

Now ye, with scorn and hatred, all worthy knights shall shun.”

The knights all ran together to where he stricken lay.

To many a man among them it was a joyless day.

They who had aught of honour sore lamentation made.

From all he well deserved it, this hero undismay’d.

The king of the Burgundians mourn’d also for his death.

Then spake the dying chieftain: “Small need is there, in faith,

That he who work’d the evil should grieve that it be done:

Much blame he hath deservéd: ’twere better left alone!”

Grim Hagen spake to Gunther: “What art thou weeping for?

For done is our vexation and all our sorrows o’er:

We shall find few henceforward who ‘gainst us dare to stand.

Glad am I that his kingship hath perish’d by my hand!”

“’Tis easy now to vaunt ye,” said Siegfried, in reply,

“Tf I had known beforehand your deadly enmity,

Alone would I against ye have well maintain’d my life:

For naught grieve I so sorely as for Kriemhild, my wife.


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84 prepared to allow me any amount." Mr. Bender, out of his abundance, evoked as by a suggestive hand this contributory figure. "A young, spare, nervous gentleman with eyeglasses—I guess he's an author. A friend of yours too?" he asked of Lord John.

The answer was prompt and emphatic. "No, the gentleman is no friend at all of mine, Mr. Bender."

"A friend of my daughter's," Lord Theign easily explained. "I hope they're looking after him."

"Oh, they took care he had tea and bread and butter to any extent; and were so good as to move something," Mr. Bender conscientiously added, "so that he could get up on a chair and see straight into the Moretto."

This was a touch, however, that appeared to affect Lord John unfavourably. "Up on a chair? I say!"

Mr. Bender took another view. "Why, I got right up myself—a little more and I'd almost have begun to paw it! He got me quite interested"—the proprietor of the picture would perhaps care to know—"in that Moretto." And it was on these lines that Mr.


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Rh Bender continued to advance. "I take it that your biggest value, however, Lord Theign, is your splendid Sir Joshua. Our friend there has a great deal to say about that too—but it didn't lead to our moving any more furniture." On which he paused as to enjoy, with a show of his fine teeth, his host's reassurance. "It has yet, my impression of that picture, sir, led to something else. Are you prepared, Lord Theign, to entertain a proposition?"

Lord Theign met Mr. Bender's eyes while this inquirer left these few portentous words to speak for themselves. "To the effect that I part to you with 'The Beautiful Duchess of Waterbridge'? No, Mr. Bender, such a proposition would leave me intensely cold."

Lord John had meanwhile had a more headlong cry. "My dear Bender, I envy you!"

"I guess you don't envy me," his friend serenely replied, "as much as I envy Lord Theign." And then while Mr. Bender and the latter continued to face each other searchingly and firmly: "What I allude to is an overture of a strong and simple stamp—such as perhaps would shed a softer light on the difficulties


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170

“And now must God forgive me, that I a son did get

Whom folks shall taunt in future and let him not forget

That kin of his by some one was murderously slain.

If that avail’d,” said Siegfried, “right well might I complain.”

Yet once more spake the hero, in anguish nigh to death:

“If thou, O king most noble, art willing to hold faith

With any living being, I fain would now consign

Unto your grace and favour, that well-loved wife of mine.

“And let her from this profit, that thou her brother art:

If there is faith in princes, stand by her with true heart.

My father and my liegemen must tarry long for me;

Ne’er worse to any woman could loss of dear friend be.”

All round about, the flowers were wetted with his blood,

As now with Death he struggled: nor long the strife withstood.

Alas, the deadly weapon too well had done its part!

Then more he speak no further, that warrior of bold heart.

And when the nobles saw that the hero was quite dead,

Upon a shield they laid him, that was of wrought gold red;

And straightway held they counsel how they might best take heed

From all to keep it hidden that Hagen did the deed.

Then divers of them counsell’d: “Woe hath befallen us,

But ye must all conceal it, and tell the story thus:

‘As Dame Kriemhilda’s husband alone a-hunting rode,

Some vagabonds set on him and slew him in the wood.’”


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86 raised by association and attachment. I've had some experience of first shocks, and I'd be glad to meet you as man to man."

Mr. Bender was, quite clearly, all genial and all sincere; he intended no irony and used, consciously, no great freedom. Lord Theign, not less evidently, saw this, and it permitted him amusement. "As rich man to poor man is how I'm to understand it? For me to meet you," he added, "I should have to be tempted—and I'm not even temptable. So there we are," he blandly smiled.

His blandness appeared even for a moment to set an example to Lord John. "'The Beautiful Duchess of Waterbridge,' Mr. Bender, is a golden apple of one of those great family trees of which respectable people don't lop off the branches whose venerable shade, in this garish and denuded age, they so much enjoy."

Mr. Bender looked at him as if he had cut some irrelevant caper. "Then if they don't sell their ancestors where in the world are all the ancestors bought?"

"Doesn't it for the moment sufficiently answer your question," Lord Theign asked,


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Rh "that they're definitely not bought at Dedborough?"

"Why," said Mr. Bender with a wealthy patience, "you talk as if it were my interest to be reasonable—which shows how little you understand. I'd be ashamed—with the lovely ideas I have—if I didn't make you kick." And his sturdy smile for it all fairly proclaimed his faith. "Well, I guess I can wait!"

This again in turn visibly affected Lord John: marking the moment from which he, in spite of his cultivated levity, allowed an intenser and more sustained look to keep straying toward their host. "Mr. Bender's bound to have something!"

It was even as if after a minute Lord Theign had been reached by his friend's mute pressure. "'Something'?"

"Something, Mr. Bender?" Lord John insisted.

It made their visitor rather sharply fix him. "Why, have you an interest, Lord John?"

This personage, though undisturbed by the challenge, if such it was, referred it to Lord Theign. "Do you authorise me to speak—a little—as if I have an interest?"


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88 Lord Theign gave the appeal—and the speaker—a certain attention, and then appeared rather sharply to turn away from them. "My dear fellow, you may amuse yourself at my expense as you like!"

"Oh, I don't mean at your expense," Lord John laughed—"I mean at Mr. Bender's!"

"Well, go ahead, Lord John," said that gentleman, always easy, but always too, as you would have felt, aware of everything—"go ahead, but don't sweetly hope to create in me any desire that doesn't already exist in the germ. The attempt has often been made, over here—has in fact been organised on a considerable scale; but I guess I've got some peculiarity, for it doesn't seem as if the thing could be done. If the germ is there, on the other hand," Mr. Bender conceded, "it develops independently of all encouragement."

Lord John communicated again as in a particular sense with Lord Theign. "He thinks I really mean to offer him something!"

Lord Theign, who seemed to wish to advertise a degree of detachment from the issue, or from any other such, strolled off, in his restlessness, toward the door that opened to the


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Rh terrace, only stopping on his way to light a cigarette from a matchbox on a small table. It was but after doing so that he made the remark: "Ah, Mr. Bender may easily be too much for you!"

"That makes me the more sorry, sir," said his visitor, "not to have been enough for you!"

"I risk it, at any rate," Lord John went on—"I put you, Bender, the question of whether you wouldn't 'love,' as you say, to acquire that Moretto."

Mr. Bender's large face had a commensurate gaze. "As I say? I haven't said anything of the sort!"

"But you do 'love,' you know," Lord John slightly overgrimaced.

"I don't when I don't want to. I'm different from most people—I can love or not as I like. The trouble with that Moretto," Mr. Bender continued, "is that it ain't what I'm after."

His "after" had somehow, for the ear, the vividness of a sharp whack on the resisting surface of things, and was concerned doubtless in Lord John's speaking again across to their host. "The worst he can do for me, you see, is to refuse it."


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90 Lord Theign, who practically had his back turned and was fairly dandling about in his impatience, tossed out to the terrace the cigarette he had but just lighted. Yet he faced round to reply. "It's the very first time in the history of this house (a long one, Mr. Bender) that a picture, or anything else in it, has been offered!"

It was not imperceptible that even if he hadn't dropped Mr. Bender mightn't have been markedly impressed. "Then it must be the very first time such an offer has failed."

"Oh, it isn't that we in the least press it!" Lord Theign quite naturally laughed.

"Ah, I beg your pardon—I press it very hard!" And Lord John, as taking from his face and manner a cue for further humorous license, went so far as to emulate, though sympathetically enough, their companion's native form. "You don't mean to say you don't feel the interest of that Moretto?"

Mr. Bender, quietly confident, took his time to reply. "Well, if you had seen me up on that chair you'd have thought I did."

"Then you must have stepped down from the chair properly impressed."


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Rh "I stepped down quite impressed with that young man."

"Mr. Crimble?"—it came after an instant to Lord John. "With his opinion, really? Then I hope he's aware of the picture's value."

"You had better ask him," Mr. Bender observed.

"Oh, we don't depend here on the Mr. Crimbles!" Lord John returned.

Mr. Bender took a longer look at him. "Are you aware of the value yourself?"

His friend resorted again, as for the amusement of the thing, to their entertainer. "Am I aware of the value of the Moretto?"

Lord Theign, who had meanwhile lighted another cigarette, appeared, a bit extravagantly smoking, to wish to put an end to his effect of hovering aloof. "That question needn't trouble us—when I see how much Mr. Bender himself knows about it."

"Well, Lord Theign, I only know what that young man puts it at." And then as the others waited, "Ten thousand," said Mr. Bender.

"Ten thousand?" The owner of the work showed no emotion.

"Well," said Lord John again in Mr.


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92 Bender's style, "what's the matter with ten thousand?"

The subject of his gay tribute considered. "There's nothing the matter with ten thousand."

"Then," Lord Theign asked, "is there anything the matter with the picture?"

"Yes, sir—I guess there is."

It gave an upward push to his lordship's eyebrows. "But what in the world?"

"Well, that's just the question!"

The eyebrows continued to rise. "Does he pretend there's a question of whether it is a Moretto?"

"That's what he was up there trying to find out."

"But if the value's, according to himself, ten thousand?"

"Why, of course," said Mr. Bender, "it's a fine work anyway."

"Then," Lord Theign brought good-naturedly out, "what's the matter with you, Mr. Bender?"

That gentleman was perfectly clear. "The matter with me, Lord Theign, is that I've no use for a ten thousand picture."


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Rh "'No use'?"—the expression had an oddity. "But what's it your idea to do with such things?"

"I mean," Mr. Bender explained, "that a picture of that rank is not what I'm after."

"The figure," said his noble host—speaking thus, under pressure, commercially—"is beyond what you see your way to?"

But Lord John had jumped at the truth. "The matter with Mr. Bender is that he sees his way much further."

"Further?" their companion echoed.

"The matter with Mr. Bender is that he wants to give millions."

Lord Theign sounded this abyss with a smile. "Well, there would be no difficulty about that, I think!"

"Ah," said his guest, "you know the basis, sir, on which I'm ready to pay."

"On the basis then of the Sir Joshua," Lord John inquired, "how far would you go?"

Mr. Bender indicated by a gesture that on a question reduced to a moiety by its conditional form he could give but semi-satisfaction. "Well, I'd go all the way."

"He wants, you see," Lord John elucidated, "an ideally expensive thing."


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94 Lord Theign appeared to decide after a moment to enter into the pleasant spirit of this; which he did by addressing his younger friend. "Then why shouldn't I make even the Moretto as expensive as he desires?"

"Because you can't do violence to that master's natural modesty," Mr. Bender declared before Lord John had time to speak. And conscious at this moment of the reappearance of his fellow-explorer, he at once supplied a further light. "I guess this gentleman at any rate can tell you."

 VIII

had come back from his voyage of discovery, and it was visible as he stood there flushed and quite radiant that he had caught in his approach Lord Theign's last inquiry and Mr. Bender's reply to it. You would have imputed to him on the spot the lively possession of a new idea, the sustaining sense of a message important enough to justify his irruption. He looked from one to the other of the three men, scattered a little by the


text: The Outcry (London: Methuen & Co., 1911)/Book 1/Chapter 7


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XVII.]

Then spake of Tronjé Hagen: ‘‘ Myself I’ll take him home,

It matters not to me that the truth to her should come:

Brunhilda’s mind hath sorely by her been harasséd,

It troubles me but little what tears she now may shed!”

Then waited they for nightfall, and o’er the Rhine did row:

Ne’er to more direful ending could heroes hunting go.

The quarry they had slaughter’d mourn’d noble maids and wives:

And many goodly warriors paid for it with their lives.

Of arrogance o’erweening the tale ye soon shall hear,

And of a fearful vengeance. Then Hagen bade men bear

The body of dead Siegfried, the Niblung lord of late,

And lay it ina chamber wherein Kriemhild did wait.

He had him laid in secret down close beside her door,

That she might find him lying when she, as heretofore,

Went forth to matins early, ere daylight had begun;

Which duty dame Kriemhilda but seldom left undone.

The wonted bell was ringing, which to the minster bade;

Then rose the fair Kriemhilda and waken’d many a maid:

She bade them bring a taper, and fetch her all her gear.

Then came a chamber-servant who lit on Siegfried there.


text: Urantia Foundation v. Maaherra (895 F.Supp. 1347)


text: The Lay of the Nibelungs/Chapter 16

title: The Lay of the Nibelungs/Chapter 16


text: Biden v. Nebraska

title: Biden v. Nebraska


text: Biden v. Nebraska/Opinion of the Court

title: Biden v. Nebraska/Opinion of the Court


text: Biden v. Nebraska/Opinion of Justice Barrett


text: Biden v. Nebraska/Opinion of Justice Kagan


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16 cided with those of the government. The natives also were now for the first time admitted to take a share in the deliberations on the subject of national instruction. This was done by conferring on the managers of the Hindu college the privilege of electing two of their number in rotation as members of the committee, and a Mohammedan gentleman was soon after appointed a member of it. Six new seminaries were immediately established with a portion of the fund which had been placed at the disposal of the committee by the cessation of the Arabic and Sanskrit printing and translating, and six more were established at the commencement of the following year. Rules were devised for bringing the proceedings in the provincial seminaries periodically under the review of the general committee, and for stimulating exertion by rewarding the most deserving students. It was resolved to annex a good library to each seminary, and a large supply of books suited to all ages was ordered from England. By permitting every body to make use of the books on payment of a fixed subscription, these libraries have become the means of diffusing knowledge much beyond the immediate circle of the government seminaries, and being now objects of general interest, many valuable contributions are from time to time made to


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14 advantages which it affords; and his lordship in council directs that all the existing professors and students at all the institutions under the superintendence of the committee shall continue to receive their stipends. But his lordship in council decidedly objects to the practice which has hitherto prevailed, of supporting the students during the period of their education. He conceives that the only effect of such a system can be to give artificial encouragement to branches of learning which, in the natural course of things, would be superseded by more useful studies; and he directs that no stipend shall be given to any student who may hereafter enter at any of these institutions, and that when any professor of oriental learning shall vacate his situation, the committee shall report to the government the number and state of the class, in order that the government may be able to decide upon the expediency of appointing a successor.

“4th.—It has come to the knowledge of the governor general in council that a large sum has been expended by the committee in the printing of oriental works. His lordship in council directs that no portion of the funds shall hereafter be so employed.

“5th.—His lordship in council directs, that all the funds which these reforms will leave at the


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Rh the head of affairs one of the few who pursue the welfare of the public independently of every personal consideration: happily also he was supported by one who, after having embellished the literature of Europe, came to its aid when it was trembling in the scale with the literature of Asia. The decision which was come to is worthy of everlasting record. Although homely in its words, it will be mighty in its effects long after we are mouldering in the dust. It was as follows:—

“Resolution of Government, dated 7th March 1835.

“The governor general of India in council has attentively considered the two letters from the secretary to the committee, dated the 21st and 22d January last, and the papers referred to in them.

“2d.—His lordship in council is of opinion that the great object of the British government ought to be the promotion of European literature and science amongst the natives of India, and that all the funds appropriated for the purposes of education would be best employed on English education alone.

“3d.—But it is not the intention of his lordship in council to abolish any college or school of native learning, while the native population shall appear to be inclined to avail themselves of the


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12 obstructed the business of the committee. Almost every thing which came before them was more or less involved in it. The two parties were so equally balanced as to be unable to make a forward movement in any direction. A particular point might occasionally be decided by an accidental majority of one or two, but as the decision was likely to be reversed the next time the subject came under consideration, this only added inconsistency to inefficiency. This state of things lasted for about three years, until both parties became convinced that the usefulness and respectability of their body would be utterly compromised by its longer continuance. The committee had come to a dead stop, and the government alone could set it in motion again, by giving a preponderance to one or the other of the two opposite sections. The members, therefore, took the only course which remained open to them, and laid before the government a statement of their existing position, and of the grounds of the conflicting opinions held by them.

The question was now fairly brought to issue, and the government was forced to make its election between two opposite principles. So much, perhaps, never depended upon the determination of any government. Happily there was then at


text: Author:Nayán Louise Redfield

title: Author:Nayán Louise Redfield


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Rh patronage of Arabic and Sanskrit works, and the printing operations; by all which means fresh masses would have been added to an already unsaleable and useless hoard. An edition of was also projected, at an expense of 2,000l.; and as it was found that, after hiring students to attend the Arabic college, and having translations made for their use at an expense of thirty-two shillings a page, neither students nor teachers could understand them, it was proposed to employ the translator as the interpreter of his own writings, at a further expense of 300 rupees a month. The other section of the committee wished to dispense with this cumbrous and expensive machinery for teaching English science through the medium of the Arabic language; to give no bounties, in the shape of stipends to students, for the encouragement of any particular kind of learning; to purchase or print only such Arabic and Sanskrit books as might actually be required for the use of the different colleges; and to employ that portion of their annual income which would by these means be set free, in the establishment of new seminaries for giving instruction in English and the vernacular languages, at the places where such institutions were most in demand.

This fundamental difference of opinion long


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10 elaborate course of study which they had gone through, they had little prospect of bettering their condition; that the indifference with which they were generally regarded by their countrymen left them no hope of assistance from them, and that they therefore trusted that the government, which had made them what they were, would not abandon them to destitution and neglect. The English classes which had been tacked on to this and other oriental colleges had entirely failed in their object. The boys had not time to go through an English, in addition to an oriental course, and the study which was secondary was naturally neglected. The translations into Arabic, also, appeared to have made as little impression upon the few who knew that language, as upon the mass of the people who were entirely unacquainted with it.

Under these circumstances a difference of opinion arose in the committee. One section of it was for following out the existing system, for continuing the Arabic translations, the profuse


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Rh witness a very material alteration in the notions and feelings of the educated classes of the Hindu community of Calcutta.”

Meanwhile the progress of events was leading to the necessity of adopting a more decided course. The taste for English became more and more “widely disseminated.” A loud call arose for the means of instruction in it, and the subject was pressed on the committee from various quarters. English books only were in any demand: upwards of thirty-one thousand English books were sold by the school-book society in the course of two years, while the education committee did not dispose of Arabic and Sanskrit volumes enough in three years to pay the expense of keeping them for two months, to say nothing of the printing expenses. Among other signs of the times, a petition was presented to the committee by a number of young men who had been brought up at the Sanskrit college, pathetically representing that, notwithstanding the long and


text: User:SnowyCinema/P/Hints About Investments


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Rh them. Scientific apparatus of various kinds was ordered from England. Professor, of , Cambridge, at the request of the committee, selected and sent out the mathematical class books required at the different institutions. Arrangements were made with the school-book society for the publication of a book of selections from the English poets, from downwards, and the expediency of publishing a corresponding volume in prose is now under consideration.

When these operations commenced there were fourteen seminaries under the control of the Committee: there are now forty. At the first-mentioned period there were about 3,398 pupils, of whom 1,818 were learning English, 218 Arabic, and 473 Sanskrit. There are now upwards of 6,000. The number of Sanskrit and Arabic students is smaller than before. A small number study Persian, or learn the vernacular language only; all the rest receive an English education. The seminary which was last established completely exhausted the funds at the disposal of the


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 ... 5. Ann Siang Hill 6. Annamallai Chitty lane. ... 7. Anson Road ...

... Chui-lan teng (i) Tek-kha Khut-thau hang. (ii) Tek-kha tng-tiam tui-bin te-saⁿ-tiau. (i) Lau toa-peh-kong hit-tiau. (ii) Ti ku pa-sat khi Tan-jong Pa-kat hai-kiⁿ hit-tion.

... Sui-lan theng (i) Chuk-keuk kwat-thau hong. (ii) Chuk-keuk tong- pho tui-min tai-sam-thiu. ... ...


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 ... 亭蘭萃 巻頭掘脚竹 條三第面對店當脚竹 條那公伯老 條那墘海葛巴丹去虱巴舊自

Kampong Malacca district and no Chinaman would think of giving the name quoted, but would be content with the indefinite expression 'Kam-kong Ma-lak-kah.' The neighbourhood contains but few Cantonese, and they would use 'Kam-pong Ma-lak-kah.' The 'chui-lan' pavilion'. (There used to be a club on this hill, known by this name). (i) 'The cul-de-sac in 'Tek Kha'.' (Tek Kha' means 'foot of the bamboos' and is the universal name for all the Selegie Road neighbourhood). (ii) 'The third (street) opposite the 'Tek-kha' pawnshop.' (There is a pawnshop in Selegie Road, and opposite it three narrow lanes lead off, viz. Veerappa Chetty lane, Nagapa lane, and this one.) (i) 'Old idol street.' (There is an old temple at Tanjong Pagar.) (ii) 'From the old market going to Tanjong Pagar (along) the shore, that street'. These names are such as may be used by Hokkiens. I can find no Cantonese name. Far [sic] a great part of the road.


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 ... 8. Arab Street 9. Armenian Street 10. Bain Court ... 11. Bain Street ...

... (i) Jiau-a koi Seng Po toa chhu au (i) Chui-sien-mng be-liau hang-a lai. ... (i) Hok-im-kuan au koi. (ii) Sek-a-ni le-pai-tng tui-bin hang.

... (ii) Yau-wa kai Seng Po tai ok hau-pin. ... (ii) Shui-sin-mun ma-fong kwat-thau hong. (i) Fuk-yam-kwan hau-kai. ...


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84 graphically than we have succeeded in doing in any of the tongues — including our own — known to the wicked and stiff-necked generations mentioned. In that sparkling speech we may, for example, make it clear that a condition in which nine-tenths of the reformed monkeys will live a life of toil and discomfort, holding their subsistence by the most precarious tenure, is conspicuously subserviceable to that chastened and humble frame of mind which is so joyously different from the empty intellectual pride that comes of pelting one another with cocoanuts and depending from branches by prehensile tails. Perhaps in the pithecan vocabulary is such copiousness that we can easily set forth the unspeakable profit of living a long way from where we want to go at a considerable peril to life and limb — which is what steam and electricity enable us to do. We may reasonably hope to be able to convince the gorilla of the futility of his habit of beating his breast and roaring when in the presence of the enemy; the history of a few of our great battles, carefully translated into his noble tongue, will make him first endure, then pity, then embrace our more effective military methods, to the unspeakable benefit of his heart and


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 ... 街亞爪 街華休 後厝大寶成 內仔寮馬門仙水 巷頭掘房馬門仙水 街後舘音福 巷面對堂拜禮仔色

there are no houses and that accounts for the fact that there is no Chinese name as yet crystallised for the road.) 'Javanese street.' (Many Javanese live here, and the Chinese have distinguished them as the chief inhabitants of the street.) 'Behind Song Po's big house.' (Sing Po, i.e. Tan Song Po, a wealthy Chinaman, is now dead.) (i) 'Water-fairy-gate stables lane within.' (ii) 'Water-fairy-gate stables cul-de-sac.' (Bain Court is a lane off North Bridge Road. That part of North Bridge Road is called 'the Water-fairy-gate', why I cannot say, unless it is connected in any way with the fact that there was once a public bath in the vicinity. Douglas' Amoy Dictionary gives 'chui sien mng' 'gangway' but I know of no reason why this part of Singapore should be socalled, (i) 'Street behind the Gospel-house.' (ii) 'Eurasian Church opposite lane.' ((ii) applies also to Holloway Lane).


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At the recent conversazione of the Birmingham and Midland Institute, one of my correspondents, to whom I had sent some Melicerta ringens from here, introduced himself to me. and incidentally mentioned that he had found Conochilus volvox very abundant in a pond near Redditeh. (See his letter, S.S.R., Redditch, in "Midland Naturalist," page 50.) As I had only seen this interesting rotifer once before, (at a soirée of the Quekett Club,) nor ever heard of its having been found in this neighbourhood previously, I gladly made an appointment to visit the pond, which I did on the following Saturday. I was much pleased on the first dip to find many specimens in my bottle, and I hastened, as time pressed, to carry home as many as possible. Of these I sent a bottle, containing nine groups, to a correspondent at Croydon, (a twenty-four hours' post,) of which only two groups survived the shaking of the journey, the individual rotifers, of which the groups consist, being so easily separated. After this I found my stock very rapidly disappeared, owing, (I attributed) to the number of larvæ and entomostraca which I had imprudently allowed to remain with the rotifers, and I, therefore, decided to pay another visit to Redditch. This time, as I was carefully examining the water at the pond side, I found a number of Melicerta on the duck-weed, of which brought home a small quantity to my friend's house. It was a surprise to him, as he had, up to that time, overlooked it. As soon as he recognised the object, by the aid of his packet lens, he called my attention to the large size of the pellets, of which the cases were built up. On reaching home I put the Melicerta under my compound microscope, and was surprised to see how marked a difference there was in the size and shape of the pellets as compared with those of the Melicerta I find in the pool here. The pellets of the latter have, where they project from the exterior of the case, a nearly hemispherical surface, whereas those of the specimens from Redditch appear to cover the ease with small cones, nearly of the shape of sugar loaves; and on further examination I also see a great difference in the shape of the pellet cup, quite equivalent to the difference shape of the pellets. I cannot help thinking this is a variety of Melicerta distinct from the one I have usually found. I heave sent specimens to F. A. Bedwell, Esq., and to Dr. Hudson, for their opinion. Further examination of the duck-weed, from Redditch, showed me that it abounded with another rotifer I had never found before, Cephalosiphon limnius, figured by Dr. Hudson in the October, 1875, number of the "Monthly Microscopical Journal;" and curiously enough I also found a single specimen of what I call Chætospira cylindrica, which he figures in the same plate as Archimedea (Chætospira ?) remex, and which he had found associated on the same weed (Anacharis) with the Cephalosiphon limnias. This infusorian I found here (the Hyde Pool) in August, 1872, on Myriophyllum, and it was named by Mr. W. Saville Kent, to whom I sent specimens, Chætospira cylindrica. I still further found on this duck weed, amongst other infusoria, in any specimens of Vaginicola decumbens and Epistylis natans. Subsequently I found three Tardigrada, or water bears, diligently creeping about, and tugging away at the decaying portions of the Lemna. I cannot help saying I have seldom come across a locality of better promise to a naturalist taking any interest in pond life—, Hyde House, Stourbridge.


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 12. Balestier Road ... ... 13. Bali Lane ... 14. Banda Street 15. Battery Road ...

(i) O Kio. ... (iii) Go-cho toa-peh-kong. (i) Sin Ba-li. ... ... (i) Tho-kho au ...

... (ii) Wu-hap thong ... ... (ii) Ma-li hong. Fan-tsai mei. ... (ii) Dho-fu fa-yün pin.


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 橋烏 塘葉芋 公伯大曹鵝 厘峇新 巷厘馬 尾寨番 後庫土 邊園花庫土

(i) 'Black Bridge.' (ii) 'Taro Pond.' (ii) this name is also given to Delta Road (ii) there are fields planted with this vegetable in the Balestier Road neighbourhood. (iii) 'Rochore Temple.' (i) 'New Bali.' (ii) 'Bali Lane.' (i) New Bali, to distinguish the lane from Shaikh Madaesah Lane or 'Old Bali' adjoining.) End of the foreign brothels. ('Foreign' here means 'frequented by non-Chinese.' There is nothing but a roundabout way of expressing this Street in Hokkien; cf. Spring Street.) (i) 'Behind the godowns.' (ii) 'Beside the garden (near the) godowns. (There is no definite name. A Chinaman would undoubtedly have to go into further detail to distinguish Battery Road from adjoining Streets).


text: User:SnowyCinema/P/Illinois Verse

title: User:SnowyCinema/P/Illinois Verse


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social conditions and social future of America constitute a system of problems quite distinct and separate from the social problems of any other part of the world. The nearest approach to parallel conditions, and that on a far smaller and narrower scale, is found in the British colonies and in the newly settled parts of Siberia. For while in nearly every other part of the world the population of to-day is more or less completely descended from the prehistoric population of the same region, and has developed its social order in a slow growth extending over many centuries, the American population is essentially a transplanted population, a still fluid and imperfect fusion of great fragments torn at this point or that from the gradually evolved societies of Europe. The European social systems grow and flower upon their roots, in soil which has made them and to which they are adapted. The American social accumulation is a various collection of cuttings thrust into a new soil and respiring a new air, so different that the question is still open to doubt, and indeed there are those who do doubt, how far these cuttings are actually striking root and living and growing, whether indeed they are destined to more than a temporary life in the new hemisphere. I propose to discuss and weigh certain arguments for and against the belief that these ninety million people


text: The Incas of Peru/Chapter 14

title: The Incas of Peru/Chapter 14


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 who constitute the United States of America are destined to develop into a great distinctive nation with a character and culture of its own.

Humanly speaking, the United States of America (and the same is true of Canada and all the more prosperous, populous and progressive regions of South America) is a vast sea of newly arrived and unstably rooted people. Of the seventy-six million inhabitants recorded by the 1900 census, ten and a half million were born and brought up in one or other of the European social systems, and the parents of another twenty-six millions were foreigners. Another nine million are of African negro descent. Fourteen million of the sixty-five million native-born are living not in the state of their birth, but in other states to which they have migrated. Of the thirty and a half million whites whose parents on both sides were native Americans, a high proportion probably had one if not more grandparents foreign-born. Nearly five and a half million out of thirty-three and a half million whites in 1870 were foreign-born, and another five and a quarter million the children of foreign-born parents. The children of the latter five and a quarter million count, of course, in the 1900 census as native-born of native parents. Immigration varies enormously with the activity of business, but in 1906 it rose for the first time above a million.

These figures may be difficult to grasp. The facts may be seen in a more concrete form by the visitor to Ellis Island, the receiving station for the immigrants into New York Harbour. One goes to this place by tugs from the United States barge office in Battery


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 my dear Toby, that cypress was used by the ancients on mournful occasions?]

—'Tis one thing, brother Shandy, for a soldier to hazard his own life—to leap first down into the trench, where he is sure to be cut in pieces:—'Tis one thing, from public spirit and a thirst of glory, to enter the breach the first man,—to stand in the foremost rank, and march bravely on with drums and trumpets, and colours flying about his ears:—'Tis one thing, I say, brother Shandy, to do this—and 'tis another thing to reflect on the miseries of war;—to view the desolations of whole countries, and consider the intolerable fatigues and hardships which the soldier himself, the instrument who works them, is forced (for six-pence a day, if he can get it) to undergo.

Need I be told, dear Yorick, as I was by you, in Le Fever's funeral ser-


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 sermon, That so soft and gentle a creature, born to love, to mercy, and kindness, as man is, was not shaped for this?—But why did you not add, Yorick,—if not by —that he is so by ?—For what is war? what is it, Yorick, when fought as ours has been, upon principles of liberty, and upon principles of honour—what is it, but the getting together of quiet and harmless people, with their swords in their hands, to keep the ambitious and the turbulent within bounds? And heaven is my witness, brother Shandy, that the pleasure I have taken in these things,—and that infinite delight, in particular, which has attended my sieges in my bowling green, has arose within me, and I hope in the corporal too, from the consciousness we both had, that in carrying them on, we were answering the great ends of our creation.


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137


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Told the Christian reader—I say Christian—hoping he is one—and if he is not, I am sorry for it—and only beg he will consider the matter with himself, and not lay the blame entirely upon this book,

I told him, Sir for in good truth, when a man is telling a story in the strange way I do mine, he is obliged continually to be going backwards and forwards to keep all right together in the reader's fancy—which, for my own part, if I did not take heed to do more than at first, there is so much unfixed and equivocal matter starting up, with so many breaks and gaps in it,—and so little service do the stars afford, which, nevertheless, I hang up in some of the darkest passages, knowing that the


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 world is apt to lose its way, with all the lights the sun itself at noon day can give it—and now, you see, I am lost myself!

—But 'tis my father's fault; and whenever my brains come to be dissected, you will perceive, without spectacles, that he has left a large uneven thread, as you sometimes see in an unsaleable piece of cambrick, running along the whole length of the web, and so untowardly, you cannot so much as cut out a **, (here I hang up a couple of lights again)—or a fillet, or a thumb-stall, but it is seen or felt.

Quanto id diligentias in liberis procreandis cavendum, sayeth Cardan. All which being considered, and that you see 'tis morally impracticable for me to wind this round to where I set out

I begin the chapter over again.


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Rh


text: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 6/Chapter 33


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 victory. Stuff your brain with the dead lore of books and you will never be able to see, as you should, the life-current in human things. He looked through his own eyes, thought with his own brain, fashioned with his own hands.

While still a boy his spirit rebelled against primitive methods of agriculture, the traditional routine way of doing everything by dint of muscle, human or bovine. And he conceived the idea of transferring to steel the heavy task that burdened flesh. This thought was ever present in his mind but before working out its development he was led by circumstances to make a digression. He stored away inside his brain the idea of the machine that was to set agriculture free from the shackles of ancient custom and gave himself up body and soul to the intermediate industry of a runabout car for universal use.

Years and years were spent in the work of creating the type of car that corresponded to his idea, until one day he had it as he had pictured it. Only then, with the article actually completed, did he set about manufacturing it.

In 1896 he organized his company on a very modest basis, starting with only $28,000 cash. Ford directed it in his own way – the fruit of a wide range of observation – never copying what he saw being done round and about him. 5


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 He was thought to be crazy and was looked down upon by the magnates of the day. But Ford threw himself into the realization of his scheme with such whole-heartedness and intelligence that the positions were gradually reversed and some twenty odd years later he it was who was looking down on the magnates and severely condemning the monstrous processes that had enriched them.

Ford had created the world’s biggest industry!

Great credit indeed would be due to Henry Ford for the simple fact of his having created a business of such enormous proportions, but if the matter went no further his value would be limited to that of just another rich man, a modern Croesus. Ford, however, goes far beyond that. He maps out a future state of things more efficient and just than the present. Making donations? Endowing schools, libraries, hospitals? No. TEACHING HOW TO WORK, proving that work is the supreme good and demonstrating the incommensurable significance of the word INDUSTRY.

Industry is not, as used to be thought, an empirical means of making money; it is a scientific way of transforming the natural resources of the earth into utilities for general service and general profit. The end in view is not to make money; it is the common welfare, and the practical means of achieving this lies in the constant perfecting of labor methods, hand in hand with a rigorous distribution 6


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 of profits to all the partners in the undertaking. These partners are three in number: the consumer, who receives his share of profit in the form of products tending always to be better and cheaper; the workman, who receives his part in the form of wages on a steadily increasing scale; the owner, who receives a fair dividend on his capital.

This conception, realized in Ford’s business with the most surprising results, breaks with tradition and exposes the deadly disease at the root of modern industry: an alliance of three in which one associate, the owner, receives not only his rightful profit but also the part that belongs to the workman and the consumer.

On the Henry Ford basis industry ceases to be the devouring Moloch of millions of creatures for the benefit of a group of nabobs and is transformed into an inexhaustible cornucopia of good things. The sinister antagonism between capital and labor which threatens to subvert the world is extinguished, production is adjusted to demand and, following on proper distribution, the hideous cancer of human misery disappears.

It is possible that the “social question” may not be solved just yet with Henry Ford’s ideas: Man is stupid and blind. It is possible that Communism, a solution in theory only, may yet extend to the rest of the world the experiment it has initiated in Russia. This will but serve to retard the only 7


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 solution – the only one based on indestructible realities – the solution of Henry Ford.

No conscientious man reading “My Life and Work”, Henry Ford’s great book, can fail to discern in it the Messianic Gospel of the Future. It is the Gospel of Common Sense, of Reason, of Mind that never wavers but penetrates into the heart of things as a steel drill penetrates granite. In this book Ford gathers within one focus of light all the profound conclusions of his study of the realities. This healing light, clear as the sun, dispels the darkness. Human misery is only a consequence of darkness.

For Brazil there is no literature or study more fruitful than Henry Ford’s book. Everything has yet to be done – and what immense profit will be ours if we begin with the lesson taught by the bearer of the new Glad Tidings? 8


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next section of the human species that claims the attention of a student of South African history is the people known to us as Hottentots. Long considered and termed aborigines by many writers, the not very remote ancestors of these people are now known to have been colonists in the same sense that the Dutch and English are, that is they came from another country and settled in those parts where they were found by the first European visitors, which localities had previously been occupied by earlier inhabitants. That this circumstance long remained unknown is a matter easy of explanation. Neither the Portuguese, nor the Dutch, nor the early English settlers took any trouble to make the necessary investigations, they were wholly occupied with other affairs, they found the Hottentots in the country, and that seemed sufficient for them to know.

Then, long before any real research was commenced, the Hottentots in those parts occupied by Europeans lost their own language and customs, and the blood of most of them became mixed with that of other races. Their traditions were forgotten, and no information of any value was to be obtained from them. At length the eminent philologist Dr. Bleek, by comparing the language of those who lived in secluded localities and retained their ancestral tongue, with the speech of sections of the inhabitants of Northern Africa, pronounced them to have close affinities. Already, in 1851, the reverend Dr. James Adamson had reported to the Syro-Egyptian Society a discovery he had made, that “the signs of gender were almost identical in the Namaqua and


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 Crust And Crust-Breaker.

HE force that Henry Ford is beginning to exercise in the world is already formidable. As a start, he contributed materially to bring about the revolution that has taken place in transport. In a world where everything boils down finally to a matter of transport (what is this article but the transportation of ideas from one brain to another?) any improvement in the means thereof affects the existing order of things profoundly.

Ford, however, did not stop at this, grand enough as it was, but threw out a handful of ideas so lucid, so electrifying, so axiomatic that his moral influence will certainly surpass his material achievements.

What element is this that gives Henry Ford’s ideas a strange tang of newness? Simply the element of good sense. There is naught in them but this: Good Sense. Now, for a world that suffers keenly from the pangs of folly, that groans in the convulsions of despair and here and there heaves in partial revolt, what more pertinent remedy than a strong injection of good sense? 9


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 ment which he has manifested so long and in so many ways."

"You are right, Lady Emily," said Edith, drying her eyes, and endeavouring to resume her natural manner, though still betrayed by her faultering voice and the paleness of her cheeks—"You are quite right—Lord Evandale merits such usage from no one, least of all from her whom he has honoured with his regard. But if I have given way, for the last time, to a sudden and irresistible burst of feeling, it is my consolation, Lady Emily, that your brother knows the cause; that I have hid nothing from him, and that he at least is not apprehensive of finding in Edith Bellenden a wife undeserving of his affection. But still you are right, and I merit your censure for indulging for a moment fruitless regret and painful remembrances. It shall be so no longer; my lot is cast with Evandale, and with him I am resolved to bear it; nothing shall in future occur to excite his complaints, or the resentment


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 of his relations; no idle recollections of other days shall intervene to prevent the zealous and affectionate discharge of my duty; no vain illusion recal the memory of other days"

As she spoke these words, she slowly raised her eyes, which had before been hidden by her hand, to the latticed window of the apartment, which was partly open, uttered a dismal shriek, and fainted. Lady Emily turned her eyes in the same direction, but saw only the shadow of a man, which seemed to disappear from the window, and, terrified more by the state of Edith than by the apparition she had herself witnessed, she uttered shriek upon shriek for assistance. Her brother soon arrived with the chaplain and Jenny Dennison, but strong and vigorous remedies were necessary ere they could recal Miss Bellenden to sense and motion. Even then her language was wild and incoherent.

"Press me no further," she said to Lord Evandale; "it cannot be—Heaven and


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 Good sense is implanted in the bosom of all human beings and that is why we call it Common Sense. But this treasure that we all possess is, like bottles of old wine, covered with a thick crust of fixed ideas – successive coats of dust as it were – and traditional errors perpetuated by routine as well as fantasies arising from the seduction that the sirens of Utopian ideology have always exercised over us. This crust overlays our innate good sense, dulls it, chokes it, leaves it like a brilliant embedded in a coating of clay. If, however, a shock breaks the clay crust, the brilliant glistens, good sense peeps out serene and fit.

Henry Ford is a kind of shatterer of the crusts that form over our inborn good sense. Whoever reads Ford feels the deposit of error that hinders a correct view of things crack within him, crumble and vanish – and that is why when we read him we find ourselves punctuating the whole series of his conclusions with “That’s perfectly true! He’s right!”

And so far have we wandered off the track as a rule that at our first contact with Henry Ford we feel inclined to classify him among the “contradictory cusses”, running, as he does, so contrary to the prevailing ideas not only in purely industrial matters but also in matters of social organization. The next thing is we have retracted and admitted that he is quite right because can there be a clearer proof of 10


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 earth—the living and the dead, have, leagued themselves against this ill-omened union.—Take all I can give—my sisterly regard—my devoted friendship. I will, 'love you as a sister, and serve you as a bondswoman, but never speak to me more of marriage."

The astonishment of Lord Evandale may easily be conceived.

"Emily," he said to his sister, "this is your doing—I was accursed when I thought of bringing you here—some of your confounded folly has driven her mad."

"On my word, brother," answered Lady Emily, "you're sufficient to drive all the women in Scotland mad. Because your mistress seems much disposed to jilt you, you quarrel with your sister who has been arguing in your cause, and had brought her to a quiet hearing, when, all of a sudden, a man looked in at a window, whom her crazed sensibility mistook either for you or someone else, and has treated us gratis with an excellent tragic scene."


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 the inherent vice in almost all our accepted ideas than the horrible mess to be seen in a world governed thereby? Had they been correct, had they been just, we should not now be struggling in the sea of problems conventionally termed the “social question”. If a man has fever, if he is delirious, it is a sure sign that he is seriously ill internally. To stamp out these bodily symptoms of fever is as foolish a procedure as stamping out social fever (revolutions, strikes, etc.) by drastic measures. The thing to do is to discover and remove the cause of the fever, the cause of the convulsion.

What is a revolution? A revolution is nothing more than the upsetting of a state of balance too uncomfortable to be maintained any longer. Maddened by despair, the people let go and flounder in a sea of blood, struggling wildly to find a new standing-ground more tenable than the previous one.

Because the collar-button won’t go into the hole of the collar, says Ford, they tear the shirt and collar to pieces: the only correct solution, WIDEN THE HOLE, never occurs to them.

Ford is not a reformer and still less a reactionary; he is an ADJUSTER. He accepts the world as it is and man as he finds him. He merely corrects faults of adjustment, the evident cause of all ills. In his own field of action he demonstrates this to be so – demonstrates that modern industry, on a salary basis, without the reform or destruction of a single 11


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 "What man?—What, window?" said Lord Evandale, in impatient displeasure. "Miss Bellenden is incapable of trifling with me, and yet what else could have"—

"Hush! hush!" said Jenny, whose interest lay particularly in shifting further enquiry; "for Heaven's sake, my Lord, speak low; my Lady begins to recover."

Edith was no sooner somewhat restored to herself than she begged, in a feeble voice, to be left alone with Lord Evandale. All retreated, Jenny, with her usual air of officious simplicity, Lady Emily and the chaplain with that of awakened curiosity. No sooner had they left the apartment than Edith beckoned Lord Evandale to sit beside her on the couch; her next motion was to take his hand, in spite of his surprised resistance, to her lips; her last was to, sink from her seat and to clasp his knees.

"Forgive me, my Lord!" she exclaimed—"Forgive me!—I must deal most untruly by you, and break a solemn engage-


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 ment. You have my friendship, my highest regard, my most sincere gratitude—You have more; you have my word and my faith—But, O, forgive me, for the fault is not mine—you have not my love, and I cannot marry you without a sin!"

"You dream, my dearest Edith!" said Evandale, perplexed in the utmost degree—"you let your imagination beguile you; this is but some delusion of an over-sensitive mind; the person whom you preferred to me has been long in a better world, where your unavailing regret cannot follow him, er, if it could, would only diminish his happiness."

"You are mistaken, Lord Evandale," said Edith, solemnly. "I am not a sleepwalker or a mad woman. No—I could not have believed from any one what I have seen. But; having seen him, I must believe mine own eyes."

"Seen him?—seen whom?" asked Lord Evandale, in great anxiety.

"Henry Morton," replied Edith, utter-


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 thing, can be made into an ideal system for obtaining maximum production with maximum benefits for the three partners – owner, workman and consumer – if organized in accordance with the dictates of common sense. He showed what prodigious results schools can yield if run on similar lines. He a demonstrated the same thing in regard to poorhouses and hospitals.

Ford impresses us as a new Pasteur, a sage of a modern type who does not commit himself to any idea, however simple, before the most rigorous tests have sanctioned it. Instead, however, of operating on a small scale, on inanimate things or “in anima vili”, Ford operates on a grand scale in the great laboratory Society with the abundant material Man. Only after experimenting does he draw conclusions and make assertions. His immense factory may well be called an Experimental Station. For the first time in the history of the world experiments are being made in respect of wages, selling prices, cost prices and the real meaning of the words “money”, “industry”, “profits”, etc. with that scientific rectitude and meticulousness with which an analyst studies in a laboratory the biology of an insect, the structure of organic tissue, the catalytic action of a metalloid in the presence of another. And, inasmuch as in laboratories the message of microscope, scales, chemical reactions, electrolysis, etc., seldom confirms the fixed ideas that routine 12


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 ing these two words as if they were her last, and very nearly fainting when she had done so.

"Miss Bellenden," said Lord Evandale, "you treat me like a fool or a child; if you repent your engagement to me," he continued, indignantly, "I am not a man to enforce it against your inclination; but deal with me as a man, and forbear this trifling."

He was about to go on, when he perceived, from her quivering eye and pallid cheek, that nothing less than imposture was intended, and that by whatever means her imagination had been so impressed, it was really disturbed by unaffected awe and terror. He changed his tone, and exerted all his eloquence in endeavouring to sooth and extract from her the secret cause of such terror.

"I saw him!" she repeated—"I saw Henry Morton stand at that window, and look into the apartment at the moment I was on the point of abjuring him for ever.


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Style notes
Beeswaxcandle (talk) 16:54, 18 November 2023 (UTC)
 * Chapters are centred and marked with
 * Use Center or HI and smaller for chapter summaries
 * Greek text is marked with greek
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 bears along from the past, so physical science only came into being in this world when the day of experimenting dawned. Prior to this, sheer purblind quackery.

There will only be science in sociology, commerce, industry, and finance when we abandon quackery, chance, luck, fate, feeling in the dark, scenting things out, divine providence, the personal element – all phantasmagoria and blind groping – and when in those domains penetrates the experimental method already victorious in the domain of physical science.

Henry Ford is the Bacon of industry, or rather, of sociology. He proclaims experimenting to be the only method and he uses it like a genius. The conclusions at which he arrives shock, injure, disfigure, contradict, demolish, condemn almost all fixed notions. But what is absolutely novel in Henry Ford is his method of solution, which is contrary to ideological reform and contrary to any harking back to the past. He bases his solutions on one thing only and shows that it is another case of the egg of Columbus, the simplest, the most logical, the clearest, the most intuitive, the most sensible thing out, to wit: READJUSTMENT.

Won’t the button go into the hole? Well, it is not necessary to destroy the shirt or buy a new collar, as the Utopian idealists (Communists, Bolshevists, Socialists, etc.) would have it. Nor is it necessary 13


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 to exchange the shirt and collar for an old shirt and an old-fashioned collar, as the reactionaries would have it. It is sufficient to do what common sense counsels; widen the hole or reduce the size of the stud. Bring about, in short, a readjustment. There will be a saving in time and worry and the selfsame object aimed at by reformer and reactionary alike will be attained, namely, the getting of a shirt and a collar that will not annoy us, thanks to the good fit and the ease of manipulation.

If brains governed, Henry Ford’s book would have already been made obligatory reading in schools, factories, parliament, universities, academies, hospitals, prisons, charitable institutions, every place where a nucleus of teachable adults or children are gathered together.

And what miracles would not have already been wrought by this scale compound, this solvent of the thick crust of error that veils the refulgence of the mind and cramps the will-power and energy of the human race? 14


text: On the Education of the People of India/Chapter 5


text: On the Education of the People of India/Chapter 6


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Rh is that which has neither beginning nor end. This person having been occupied with an hypothesis and investigation concerning the stars, became the earliest author to the Greeks of this kind of learning. And he, looking towards heaven, alleging that he was carefully examining supernal objects, fell into a well; and a certain maid, by name Thratta, remarked of him derisively, that while intent on beholding things in heaven, he did not know what was at his feet. And he lived about the time of Crœsus.

But there was also, not far from these times, another philosophy which Pythagoras originated (who some say was a native of Samos), which they have denominated Italian, because that Pythagoras, flying from Polycrates the king of Samos, took up his residence in a city of Italy, and there passed the entire of his remaining years. And they who received in succession his doctrine, did not much differ from the same opinion. And this person, instituting an investigation concerning natural phenomena, combined together astronomy, and geometry, and music. And so he proclaimed that the Deity is a monad; and carefully acquainting himself with the nature of number, he affirmed that the world sings, and that its system corresponds with harmony, and he first resolved the motion of the seven stars into rhythm and melody. And being astonished at the management of the entire fabric, he required that at first his disciples should keep silence, as if persons coming into the world initiated in [the secrets of] the universe; next, when it seemed that they were sufficiently conversant with his mode of teaching his doctrine, and could forcibly philosophize concerning the stars


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 Mapmakers later drew fanciful pictures of these objects and animals and heroes which had been transposed to the sky and united them up with the positions of the stars. This imaginative tapestry of figures is believed to be an attempt on the part of the ancient people to weave a record of their history in the dusk among the stars. That this most original method was successful is attested by the fact that although several thousand years have elapsed these ancient figures still stand and the names that they gave to the constellations are used by astronomers today.

Many of the Grecian characters which are mentioned in the stories of the gods and heroes are personified in groups of three—the three Fates, daughters of Chaos, appointed to watch over the thread of human life—

the three Furies, daughters of Night, who represent the remorse which torments and pursues the wicked; the three Sirens, who lived on an enchanted Isle in the Mediterranean Sea and lured mariners on the rocks with their bewitching songs; the three Graces, who presided over feast and dance; the nine Muses, daughters of Jupiter, who dwelt on Mount Helicon and presided over arts and sciences—

Mount Helicon was also the home of the great Flying Horse which is sought by poets and is now represented in the sky by a large square of stars called the Square of Pegasus. In one of the adventures of the hero Perseus he snatched the solitary eye away from the three Grey Sisters and thus forced them to tell where he

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text: On the Education of the People of India/Chapter 7