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 By.

Illustrated by Joseph Simpson, R.B.A.

you, I am not defending James Datchett. I hold no brief for James. On the contrary, I am very decidedly of the opinion that he should not have done it. I merely say that there were extenuating circumstances. Just that. Ext. circ. Nothing more.

Let us review the matter calmly and judicially, not condemning James off-hand, but rather probing the whole affair to its core, to see if we can confirm my view that it is possible to find excuses for him.

We will begin at the time when the subject of the Colonies first showed a tendency to creep menacingly into the daily chit-chat of his Uncle Frederick.

James's Uncle Frederick was always talking more or less about the Colonies, having made a substantial fortune out in Western Australia, but it was only when James came down from Oxford that the thing became really menacing. Up to that time the uncle had merely spoken of the Colonies as Colonies. Now he began to speak of them with sinister reference to his nephew. He starred James. It became a case of "Frederick Knott presents James Datchett in 'The Colonies,'" and there seemed every prospect that the production would be an early one; for if there was one section of the public which Mr. Knott disliked more than another, it was Young Men Who Ought To Be Out Earning Their Livings Instead Of Idling At Home. He expressed his views on the subject with some eloquence whenever he visited his sister's house. Mrs. Datchett was a widow, and since her husband's death had been in the habit of accepting every utterance of her brother Frederick as a piece of genuine all-wool wisdom; though, as a matter of fact, James's uncle had just about enough brain to make a jaybird fly crooked, and no more. He had made his money keeping sheep. And any fool can keep sheep. However, he had this reputation for wisdom, and what he said went. It was not long, therefore, before it was evident that the ranks of the Y.M.W.O.T.B.O.E.T.L.I.O.I.A.H. were about to lose a member.

James, for his part, was all against the Colonies. As a setting for his career, that is to say. He was no Little Englander. He had no earthly objection to Great Britain having Colonies. By all means have Colonies. They could rely on him for moral support. But when it came to legging it out to West Australia to act as a sort of valet to Uncle Frederick's beastly sheep—no. Not for James. For him the literary life. Yes, that was James's dream—to have a stab at the literary life. At Oxford he had contributed to the Isis, and since coming down had been endeavouring to do the same to the papers of the Metropolis. He had had no success so far. But some inward voice seemed to tell him (Read on. Read on. This is no story about the young beginner's struggles in London. We do not get within fifty miles of Fleet Street.)

A temporary compromise was effected between the two parties by the securing for James of a post as assistant-master at Harrow House, the private school of one Blatherwick, M.A., the understanding being that if he could hold the job he could remain in England and write, if it pleased him, in his spare time. But i he fell short in any way as a handler of small boys he was to descend a step in the animal kingdom and be matched against the West Australian sheep. There was to be no second chance in the event of failure. From the way Uncle Frederick talked James almost got the idea that he attached a spiritual importance to a connection with sheep. He seemed to strive with a sort of religious frenzy to convert James to


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· · When I look at my lovely lady, “Oh that I might become a clinging vine,” I yearn,

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


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168 “That from toe to tip I might be twined about her.” Then though they should cut, though they should carve— Inseparable our lots! · ·

· ·

· ·


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 West Australia. So James went to Harrow House with much the same emotions that the Old Guard must have felt on their way up the hill at Waterloo.

Harrow House was a grim mansion on the outskirts of Dover. It is better, of course, to be on the outskirts of Dover than actually in it, but when you have said that you have said everything. James's impressions of that portion of his life were made up almost entirely of chalk. Chalk in the schoolroom, chalk all over the countryside, chalk in the milk. In this universe of chalk he taught bored boys the rudiments of Latin, geography, and arithmetic, and in the evenings, after a stately cup of coffee with Mr. Blatherwick in his study, went to his room and wrote stories. The life had the advantage of offering few distractions. Except for Mr. Blatherwick and a weird freak who came up from Dover on Tuesdays and Fridays to teach French, he saw nobody.

It was about five weeks from the beginning of term that the even river of life at Harrow House became ruffled for the new assistant-master.

I want you to follow me very closely here. As far as the excusing of James's conduct is concerned, it is now or never. If I fail at this point to touch you, I have shot my bolt.

Let us marshal the facts.

In the first place it was a perfectly ripping morning.

Moreover, he had received at breakfast a letter from the editor of a monthly magazine accepting a short story.

This had never happened to him before.

He was twenty-two.

And, just as he rounded the angle of the house, he came upon Violet, taking the air like himself.

Violet was one of the housemaids, a trim, energetic little person with round blue eyes and a friendly smile. She smiled at James now. James halted.

"Good morning, sir," said Violet.

From my list of contributory causes I find that I have omitted one item—viz., that there did not appear to be anybody else about.

James looked meditatively at Violet. Violet looked smilingly at James. The


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Rh · ·


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 morning was just as ripping as it had been a moment before. James was still twenty-two. And the editor's letter had not ceased to crackle in his breast-pocket.

Consequently James stooped and—in a purely brotherly way—kissed Violet.

This, of course, was wrong. It was no part of James's duties as assistant-master at Harrow House to wander about bestowing brotherly kisses on housemaids. On the other hand, there was no great harm done. In the circles in which Violet moved the kiss was equivalent to the hand-shake of loftier society. Everybody who came to the back door kissed Violet. The carrier did; so did the grocer, the baker, the butcher, the gardener, the postman, the policeman, and the fishmonger. They were men of widely differing views on most points. On religion, politics, and the prospects of the entrants for the three o'clock race their opinions clashed. But in one respect they were unanimous. Whenever they came to the back door of Harrow House they all kissed Violet.

"I've had a story accepted by the Universal Magazine," said James, casually.

"Have you, sir?" said Violet.

"It's a pretty good magazine. I shall probably do a great deal for it from time to time. The editor seems a decent chap."

"Does he, sir?"

"I sha'n't tie myself up in any way, of course, unless I get very good terms. But I shall certainly let him see a good lot of my stuff. Jolly morning, isn't it?"

He strolled on; and Violet, having sniffed the air for a few more minutes with her tip-tilted nose, went indoors to attend to her work.

Five minutes later James, back in the atmosphere of chalk, was writing on the blackboard certain sentences for his class to turn into Latin prose. A somewhat topical note ran through them. As thus:—

"The uncle of Balbus wished him to tend sheep in the Colonies (Provincia)."

"Balbus said that England was good enough for him (placeo)."

"Balbus sent a story (versus) to Maecenas, who replied that he hoped to use it in due course."

His mind had floated away from the classroom, when a shrill voice brought him back.

"Sir, please, sir, what does 'in due course' mean?"

James reflected. "Alter it to 'immediately,'" he said.

"Balbus is a great man," he wrote on the blackboard.

Two minutes later he was in the office of an important magazine, and there was a look of relief on the editor's face, for James had practically promised to do a series of twelve short stories for him.

It has been well observed that when a writer has a story rejected he should send that story to another editor, but that when he has one accepted he should send another story to that editor. Acting on this excellent plan, James, being off duty for an hour after tea, smoked a pipe in his bedroom and settled down to work on a second effort for the Universal.

He was getting on rather well when his flow of ideas was broken by a knock on the door.

"Come in," yelled James. (Your author is notoriously irritable.)

The new-comer was Adolf. Adolf was one of that numerous band of Swiss and German youths who come to this country


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 prepared to give their services ridiculously cheap in exchange for the opportunity of learning the English language. Mr. Blatherwick held the view that for a private school a male front-door opener was superior to a female, arguing that the parents of prospective pupils would be impressed by the sight of a man in livery. He would have liked something a bit more imposing than Adolf, but the latter was the showiest thing that could be got for the money, so he made the best of it, and engaged him. After all, an astigmatic parent, seeing Adolf in a dim light, might be impressed by him. You never could tell.

"Well?" said James, glaring.

"Anysing vrom dze fillage, sare?"

The bulk of Adolf's perquisites consisted of the tips he received for going to the general store down the road for tobacco, stamps, and so son. "No. Get out," growled James, turning to his work.

He was surprised to find that Adolf, so far from getting out, came in and shut the door.

"Zst!" said Adolf, with a finger on his lips.

James Stared.

"In dze garten zis morning," proceeded his visitor, grinning like a gargoyle, "I did zee you giss Violed. Zo!"

James's heart missed a beat. Considered purely as a situation, his present position was not ideal. He had to work hard, and there was not much money attached to the job. But it was what the situation stood for that counted. It was his little rock of safety in the midst of a surging ocean of West Australian sheep. Once let him lose his grip on it, and there was no chance for him. He would be swept away beyond hope of return.

"What do you mean?" he said, hoarsely.

"In dze garten. I you vrom a window did zee. You und Violed. Zo!" And Adolf, int he worst tasted, gave a realistic imitation of the scene, himself sustaining the rôle of James.

James said nothing. The whole world seemed to be filled with a vast baa-ing, as of countless flocks.

"Lizzun!" said Adolf. "Berhaps I Herr Blazzervig dell. Berhaps not I do. Zo!"

James roused himself. At all costs he


text: Index:Sega Enterprises v. Accolade.pdf

title: Index:Sega Enterprises v. Accolade.pdf


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 must placate this worm. Mr. Blatherwick was an austere man. He would not overlook such a crime.

He appealed to the other's chivalry.

"What about Violet?" he said. "Surely you don't want to lose the poor girl her job? They'd be bound to sack her, too."

Adolf's eyes gleamed.

"Zo? Lizzun! When I do gom virst here, I myself do to giss Violed vunce vish. But she do push dze zide of my face, and my lof is durned to hate."

James listened attentively to this tabloid tragedy, but made no comment.

"Anysing vrom dze fillage, sare?"

Adolf's voice was meaning. James produced a half-crown.

"Here you are, then. Get me half-a-dozen stamps and keep the change."

"Zdamps? Yes, sare. At vunce."

James's last impression of the departing one was of a vast and greasy grin, stretching most of the way across his face.

Adolf, as blackmailer, in which rôle he now showed himself, differed in some respects from the conventional blackmailer of fiction. It may be that he was doubtful as to how much James would stand, or it may be that his soul as a general rule was above money. At any rate, in actual specie he took very little from his victim. He seemed to wish to be sent to the village oftener than before, but that was all. Half a crown a week would have covered James's financial loss.

But he asserted himself in another way. In his most light-hearted moments Adolf never forgot the reason which had brought him to England. He had come to the country to learn the language, and he meant to do it. The difficulty which had always handicapped him hitherto—namely, the poverty of the vocabularies of those in the servants' quarters—was now removed. He appointed James tutor-in-chief of the English language to himself, and saw that he entered upon his duties at once.

The first time that he accosted James in the passage outside the class-room, and desired him to explain certain difficult words in a leading article of yesterday's paper, James was pleased. Adolf, he thought, regarded the painful episode as closed. He had accepted the half-crown as the full price of silence, and was now endeavouring to be friendly in order to make amends.

This right-minded conduct gratified James. He felt genially disposed toward Adolf. He read the leading article, and proceeded to give a full and kindly explanation of the hard words. He took trouble over it. He went into the derivations of the words. He touched on certain rather tricky sub-meanings of the same. Adolf went away with any doubts he might have had of James's capabilities as a teacher of English definitely scattered. He felt that he had got hold of the right man.

There was a shade less geniality in James's manner when the same thing happened on the following morning. But he did not refuse to help the untutored foreigner. The lecture was less exhaustive than that of the previous morning, but we must suppose that it satisfied Adolf, for he came again next day, his faith in his teacher undiminished.

James was trying to write a story. He turned on the student.

"Get out!" he howled. "And take that beastly paper away. Can't you see I'm busy? Do you think I can spend all my time teaching you to read? Get out!"

"Dere some hard vord vos," said Adolf patiently, "of which I gannot dze meaning."

James briefly cursed the hard words.

"But," proceeded Adolf, "of one vord, of dze vord 'giss,' I dze meaning know. Zo!"

James looked at him. There was a pause.

Two minutes later the English lesson was in full swing.

All that James had ever heard or read about the wonderful devotion to study of the modern German young man came home to him during the next two weeks. Our English youth fritters away its time in idleness and pleasure-seeking. The German concentrates. Adolf concentrated like a porous plaster. Every day after breakfast, just when the success of James's literary career depended on absolute seclusion, he would come trotting up for his lesson. James's writing practically ceased.

This sort of thing cannot last. There is a limit, and Adolf reached it when he attempted to add night-classes to the existing curriculum.

James, as has been said, was in the habit of taking coffee with Mr. Blatherwick in his study after seeing the boys into bed. It was while he was on his way to keep this appointment, a fortnight after his first interview with Adolf, that the young student waylaid him with the evening paper.

Something should have warned Adolf that the moment was not well-chosen. To begin with, James had a headache, the result of a hard day with the boys. Then that morning's English lesson had caused him to forget


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 entirely an idea which had promised to be the nucleus of an excellent plot. And, lastly, passing through the hall but an instant before, he had met Violet carrying the coffee and the evening post to the study, and she had given him two long envelopes addressed in his own handwriting. He was brooding over these, preparatory to opening them, at the very moment when Adolf addressed him.

"Eggscuse," said Adolf, opening the paper.

James's eyes gleamed ominously.

"Zere are here," continued Adolf, unseeing, "zome beyond-gombarison hard vords vich I do nod onderstand. For eggsample"

It was at this point that James kicked him.

Adolf leaped like a stricken chamois.

"Vot iss?" he cried.

With those long envelopes in his hand James cared for nothing. He kicked Adolf again.

"Zo!" said the student, having bounded away. He added a few words in his native tongue, and proceeded. "Vait! Lizzun! I zay to you, vait! Brezendly, ven I haf dze zilver bolished und my odder dudies zo numerous berformed, I do Herr Blazzervig vill vith von liddle szdory vich you do know go. Zo!"

He shot off to his lair.

James turned away and went on down the passage to restore his nervous tissues with coffee.

Meanwhile, in the study, leaning against the mantelpiece in moody reflection, Mr. Blatherwick was musing sadly on the hardships of the schoolmaster's life. The

Vol. xi.—61


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Stop Using a Truss STUARTS PLAPAO- PADS are different from the truss, being mechanico- chemico applicators mada 66lf-adhe«ive purposely to bold the distended muscles securely in place. No straps, buckles or spring attached —cannot slip, so cannot chafe or press against the pubic bone., Thousands have successfully treated them¬ selves at home without hindrance from work—most Obstinate cases conquered. Reduced Fac-Simifo Grand Prix Reduced Fac-SImlle Gold Medal. _

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a restraining hand on my arm, and a voice: "Not that, friend Ebson! One does not wantonly destroy the relics of ancient art."

I turned and gazed full into the face of Lee Clayton. "But it is in there," I exclaimed, "the proof of the identity of 'a certain soldier'!"

He looked at me uncomprehendingly. A first gleam of early dawn stole across the city and found its way into the midst of the monuments and pillars that now give but a vague conception of the glory that was Rome when she was mistress of the world.

"The truth is in there," I asseverated, "and the twenty centuries have expired. Come, let us see!"

I seized the bar once again for a telling stroke, but instead dropped it helplessly at my feet as I became aware of the figure of a man observing us with penetrating gaze through the arch.

"Josephus!" I muttered hoarsely.

"That is Joseph Pollard," Lee whispered hurriedly in my ear. "It is he, my enemy, of whom I told you yesterday."

"Nevertheless, behold the 'certain soldier'," I cried triumphantly.

"You are both insane somnambulists!" shrilled the voice of Joseph Pollard, "and if either of you dares to deface this arch, I shall report you to the authorities."

There was a ring of triumph in his voice and a gleam of malice in his eye as he strode through the arch toward us. I caught the glitter of steel as he came through on our side of the monument. Then a distant shout, followed by a confused jargon and the sound of hurrying footsteps, dragged our attention to


text:
Author:Hugo Sharpley

Translations

 * A Realist of the Aegean: Being a Verse-Translation of the Mimes of Herodas (1906) by Herodas

title: Author:Hugo Sharpley


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 proprietor of Harrow House was a long, grave man, one of the last to hold out against the anti-whisker crusade. He had expressionless hazel eyes and a general air of being present in body but absent in the spirit. Mothers who visited the school to introduce their sons put his vagueness down to activity of mind. "That busy brain," they thought, "is never at rest. Even while he is talking to us some abstruse point in the classics is occupying his mind."

What was occupying his mind at the present moment was the thoroughly unsatisfactory conduct of his wife's brother, Bertie Baxter. The more tensely he brooded over the salient points in the life-history of his wife's brother, Bertie Baxter, the deeper did the iron become embedded in his soul. Bertie was one of Nature's touchers. This is the age of the specialist. Bertie's speciality was borrowing money. He was a man of almost eerie versatility in this direction. Time could not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety. He could borrow money with a breezy bluffness which made the thing practically a hold-up. And anon, when his victim had steeled himself against this method, he could extract another five-pound-note from his little hoard with the delicacy of one playing spilikins. Mr. Blatherwick had been a gold-mine to him for years. As a rule, the proprietor of Harrow House unbelted without complaint, for Bertie, as every good borrower should, had that knack of making his victim feel, during the actual moment of paying, as if he had just made a rather good investment. But, released from the spell of his brother-in-law's personal magnetism, Mr. Blatherwick was apt to brood. He was brooding now. Why, he was asking himself morosely, should he be harassed by this Bertie? It was not as if Bertie was penniless. He had a little income of his own. No, it was pure lack of consideration. Who was Bertie that he

At this point in his meditations Violet entered with the after-dinner coffee and the evening post.

Mr. Blatherwick took the letters. There were two of them, and one he saw, with a rush of indignation, was in the handwriting of his brother-in-law. Mr. Blatherwick's blood simmered. So the fellow thought he could borrow by post, did he? Not even trouble to pay a visit, eh? He tore the letter open, and the first thing he saw was a cheque for five pounds.

Mr. Blatherwick was astounded. That a letter from his brother-in-law should not contain a request for money was surprising; that it should contain a cheque, even for five pounds, was miraculous.

He opened the second letter. It was short, but full of the finest, noblest sentiments; to wit, that the writer, Charles J. Pickersgill, having heard the school so highly spoken of by his friend, Mr. Herbert Baxter, would be glad if Mr. Blatherwick could take in his three sons, aged seven, nine, and eleven respectively, at the earliest convenient date.

Mr. Blatherwick's first feeling was one of remorse that even in thought he should have been harsh to the golden-hearted Bertie. His next was one of elation.

Violet, meanwhile, stood patiently before him with the coffee. Mr. Blatherwick helped himself. His eye fell on Violet.

Violet was a friendly, warm-hearted little thing. She saw that Mr. Blatherwick had had good news; and, as the bearer of the letters which had contained it, she felt almost responsible. She smiled kindly up at Mr. Blatherwick.

Mr. Blatherwick's dreamy hazel eye rested pensively upon her. The major portion of his mind was far away in the future, dealing with visions of a school grown to colossal proportions and patronized by millionaires. The section of which still worked in the present was just large enough to enable him to understand that he felt kindly, and even almost grateful, to Violet. Unfortuntely it was too small to make him see how wrong it was to kiss her in a vague, fatherly way across the coffee tray just as James Datchett walked into the room.

James paused. Mr. Blatherwick coughed. Violet, absolutely unmoved, supplied James with coffee, and bustled out of the room.

She left behind her a somewhat massive silence.

Mr. Blatherwick coughed again.

"It looks like rain," said James, carelessly.

"Ah?" said Mr. Blatherwick.

"Very like rain," said James.

"Indeed!" said Mr. Blatherwick.

A pause.

"Pity if it rains," said James.

"True," said Mr. Blatherwick.

Another pause.

"Er—Datchett," said Mr. Blatherwick.

"Yes?" said James.

"I—er—feel that perhaps"

James waited attentively.

"Have you sugar?"

"Plenty, thanks," said James.


text:
Author:Herodas

Works

 * A Realist of the Aegean: Being a Verse-Translation of the Mimes of Herodas (1906) translated by Hugo Sharpley

title: Author:Herodas


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  is unpersuasive. See International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers, Local No. 12 v. A-1 Electric Service, Inc., 535 F.2d 1, 1–2 (10th Cir), ''cert. denied'', 429 U.S. 832, 97 S.Ct. 94, 50 L.Ed.2d 96 (1976). In a suit for breach of contract, the general purpose of the law is to place the injured party in the position it would have attained had the contract been performed. 11 S. Williston, On Contracts § 1338 (3d ed.1968). Where an agreement obliges an employer to hire only union members, it is reasonable to expect that the Union will receive membership dues if the employer complies. Consequently, such, dues are compensable if their loss flows proximately from the employer’s breach. See ''Sheet Metal Workers Int’l Ass’n, Local Union No. 162 v. Jason. Mfg., Inc.'', 694 F.Supp. 1476, 1477 (E.D.Cal.1987), aff’d, 900 F.2d 1392 (9th Cir.1990).

For the foregoing reasons, we will vacate the district court’s judgment and will remand for further proceedings consistent with this opinion. On remand, the district court should make specific findings of fact and conclusions of law as to each claim so as to make clear the reasons for its decision and to facilitate any further appellate review.

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"I shall be sorry if it rains," said Mr. Blatherwick.

Conversation languished.

James laid his cup down.

"I have some writing to do," he said. "I think I'll be going upstairs now."

"Er—just so," said Mr. Blatherwick with relief. "Just so. An excellent idea."

"Er—Datchett," said Mr. Blatherwick next day, after breakfast.

"Yes?" said James.

A feeling of content was over him this morning. The sun had broken through the clouds. One of the long envelopes which he had received the previous night had turned out, on examination, to contain a letter from the editor accepting the story if he would reconstruct certain passages indicated in the margin.

"I have—ah—unfortunately been compelled to dismiss Adolf," said Mr. Blatherwick.

"Yes?" said James. He had missed Adolf's shining morning face.

"Yes. After you had left me last night he came to my study with a malicious—er—fabrication respecting yourself which I need not—ah—particularize."

James looked pained. Awful thing it is, this nourishing vipers in one's bosom.

"Why, I've been giving Adolf English lessons nearly every day lately. No sense of gratitude, these foreigners," he said, sadly.

"So I was compelled," proceeded Mr. Blatherwick, "to—in fact, just so."

James nodded sympathetically.

"Do you know anything about West Australia?" he asked, changing the subject. "It's a fine country, I believe. I had thought of going there at one time."

"Indeed?" said Mr. Blatherwick.

"But I've given up the idea now," said James.


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 William S. Coats, Gibson, Dunn & Crutcher, San Francisco, Cal., for defendant-appellant.

Joel Linzner, Crosby, Heafey, Roach & May, Oakland, Cal., for plaintiff-appellee.

Dennis S. Karjala, Arizona State University, Tempe, Ariz., for amicus curiae Copyright Law Professors.

Peter M.C. Choy, American Committee for Interoperable Systems, Mountain View, Cal., for amicus curiae American Committee for Interoperable Systems.

John Haven Chapman, Chapman, Moran, Hubbard, Glazer & Zimmerman, Stamford, Conn., Thomas N. White, Santa Clara, Cal., for amicus curiae Computer and Communications Industry Ass’n.

Morton David Goldberg, Schwab, Goldberg, Price & Dannay, New York City, for amicus curiae Computer & Business Equipment Mfrs. Ass’n, et al.

Appeal from the United States District Court for the Northern District of California.

Before: CANBY, REINHARDT, and LEAVY, Circuit Judges.

REINHARDT, Circuit Judge:

This case presents several difficult questions of first impression involving our copyright and trademark laws. We are asked

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 to determine, first, whether the Copyright Act permits persons who are neither copyright holders nor licensees to disassemble a copyrighted computer program in order to gain an understanding of the unprotected functional elements of the program. In light of the public policies underlying the Act, we conclude that, when the person seeking the understanding has a legitimate reason for doing so and when no other means of access to the unprotected elements exists, such disassembly is as a matter of law a fair use of the copyrighted work. Second, we must decide the legal consequences under the Lanham Trademark Act of a computer manufacturer’s use of a security system that affords access to its computers to software cartridges that include an initialization code which triggers a screen display of the computer manufacturer’s trademark. The computer manufacturer also manufactures software cartridges; those cartridges all contain the initialization code. The question is whether the computer manufacturer may enjoin competing cartridge manufacturers from gaining access to its computers through the use of the code on the ground that such use will result in the display of a “false” trademark. Again, our holding is based on the public policies underlying the statute. We hold that when there is no other method of access to the computer that is known or readily available to rival cartridge manufacturers, the use of the initialization code by a rival does not violate the Act even though that use triggers a misleading trademark display. Accordingly, we reverse the district court’s grant of a preliminary injunction in favor of plaintiff-appellee Sega Enterprises, Ltd. on its claims of copyright and trademark infringement. We decline, however, to order that an injunction pendente lite issue precluding Sega from continuing to use its security system, even though such use may result in a certain amount of false labeling. We prefer to leave the decision on that question to the district court initially.

Plaintiff-appellee Sega Enterprises, Ltd. (“Sega”), a Japanese corporation, and its subsidiary, Sega of America, develop and market video entertainment systems, including the “Genesis” console (distributed in Asia under the name “Mega-Drive”) and video game cartridges. Defendant-appellant Accolade, Inc., is an independent developer, manufacturer, and marketer of computer entertainment software, including game cartridges that are compatible with the Genesis console, as well as game cartridges that are compatible with other computer systems.

Sega licenses its copyrighted computer code and its “SEGA” trademark to a number of independent developers of computer game software. Those licensees develop and sell Genesis-compatible video games in competition with Sega. Accolade is not and never has been a licensee of Sega. Prior to rendering its own games compatible with the Genesis console, Accolade explored the possibility of entering into a licensing agreement with Sega, but abandoned the effort because the agreement would have required that Sega be the exclusive manufacturer of all games produced by Accolade.

Accolade used a two-step process to render its video games compatible with the Genesis console. First, it “reverse engineered” Sega’s video game programs in order to discover the requirements for compatibility with the Genesis console. As part of the reverse engineering process, Accolade transformed the machine-readable object code contained in commercially available copies of Sega’s game cartridges into human-readable source code using a process called “disassembly” or “decompilation”. Accolade purchased a Genesis

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Page:The Reshaping of British Railways (Beeching Report).pdf/17

 speed and comfort, and on cost for the individual traveller. On longer journeys, the adverse effect of terminal congestion is relatively less important, but the wear and tear of a long road journey then becomes an important deterrent. Therefore, for most of those passengers who make up the steady, year round, component of long distance travel, i.e. people travelling on business who rate their convenience and comfort highly, rail will remain preferable to road transport, provided that attention is given to the speed, reliability and comfort of trains.

Air transport is not competitive in terms of speed for inter-city distances of less than about 200 miles, nor is it competitive in terms of cost except while operating as the minority carrier able to keep a high load factor by creaming from the total flow. This restricts the routes over which air competes seriously with rail to the London–Manchester, London–Newcastle and London–Scotland routes.

On the Scottish routes, air makes quite serious inroads into the loading of day trains, and will continue to do so. Even though trains may be speeded up, they will not match city-to-city transit times by air over such a distance, and erosion of daytime rail traffics between London and Scotland will probably continue to the point where some trains will have to be withdrawn. On the other hand, sleeper trains between London and Scotland continue to attract a satisfactory level of traffic, and there is good reason to suppose that they can be improved and increased.

On the Manchester route, rail and air are more nearly matched on time, and the difference will be reduced to a negligible level when rail times are reduced to 2¾ hours, as they will be with the completion of electrification of the route. Comfort will then become a predominant factor in rail/air competition, with the balance of advantage potentially in favour of rail for the journey as a whole. For the reasons outlined, the general level of traffic on fast and semi-fast trains is expected to hold up well. As a group, these services make a substantial contribution to system cost, and their profitability can certainly be improved by detailed attention to individual services and trains. There is, therefore, no doubt about the continuation of the railways' inter-city passenger services on substantially the present broad pattern, so long as the main line network remains in being, adequately supported by other traffics. For this reason, it was thought unnecessary to include a rapid detailed examination of all the fast train services among the special studies connected with reshaping of the railways.

This does not mean that British Railways feel complacent about their intercity services, nor that services will not be studied with a view to improving them. Improvements have and are being made, and will continue.

Some patterns for the future have already been set. The introduction of the Blue Pullman services between London and Birmingham, London and Manchester, and London and Swansea, with journey times of l hr. 55 min., 3 hrs. 10 min., and 3 hrs. 35 min. respectively, heralded the luxury train of the future.

The diesel-worked hourly day service between King's Cross and Newcastle, including trains in each direction which cover the 268½ miles in four hours, compares favourably with the oft-quoted pre-war service in both frequency and capacity.

Where a demand capable of supporting quality services covered by supplementary charges is seen to exist, they will be introduced.


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 Competitive railway building in the past led not only to duplication of main arteries between some of the principal cities, but also to duplication of passenger stations and all the ancillary facilities such as carriage and cleaning sidings, motive power depots, buildings and equipment, which go with large terminals. Very little has been done, so far, to rationalise the main line passenger services which use alternative routes and terminals, but it is clear, in many cases, that concentration on selected routes and stations would provide equal or better services and permit substantial economies.

For example, studies of the possibilities at Leeds and Bradford, each of which has two large stations, are in an advanced stage. The need to retain separate main line services to Exeter and the West via both the Southern and Western routes is being examined. The Caledonian, the Glasgow and South Western, and the North British Companies left a legacy of four large terminals in Glasgow. The London and North Western and Midland Companies provided duplicate routes into Carlisle. Birmingham is sewed today by two Regions' services from London. The future of all these, and other comparable parallel routes and duplicate facilities, is being determined, and in some cases discussions are already taking place with civic authorities who are most anxious to collaborate in the development of sites which will be released by concentration schemes.

Before leaving the subject of fast and semi-fast services, it is necessary to comment upon seasonal variations. What has been said so far relates to the steady inter-city traffics, not to the summer holiday and public holiday peaks. This peak traffic differs from the steady traffic in two important respects:—

 * (a) much of it is far less profitable than the steady traffic, and

 * (b) it is being eroded much more by the growth of private transport.

Total passenger traffic during the months of June to September, in 1961, exceeded the average for the remaining eight months of the year by 18 per cent. in June, 47 per cent. in July, 43 per cent. in August, and 21 per cent. in September. Ten years earlier, corresponding figures were 48 per cent. in June, 96 per cent. in July, 87 per cent. in August and 44 per cent. in September, which shows how the summer peak has diminished, in spite of developments of holidays with pay, greater general affluence, and overwhelming evidence. of greater holiday travel. There can be no doubt that the decline in the rail peak is almost entirely due to the growth of family motoring, and the trend is likely to continue. There has been a similar decline in the public holiday weekend peaks, for the same reason, but these peaks remain very sharp.

Although the figures quoted relate to British Railways passenger traffic as a whole, a predominant part of the total additional traffic in holiday periods falls upon fast and semi-fast train services and the actual peak on some trains, particularly at weekends, may be very many times the normal level of loading. In so far as the increased traffic arising in a peak period can be carried by the regular time-tabled trains, the yield from it is almost all net revenue. Up to that level it is very welcome financially, but the situation changes as soon as the traffic rises to a level necessitating extra trains. Moreover, because the capacity of many fast train services is well matched to the steady traffic, they are not able to absorb very large additional loads unless extra trains are put on.

Extra trains are very expensive to run, and may easily cause a loss which more than offsets any gain from increased traffic on the regular trains, especially if the extras are themselves only part med and if there is no balancing return


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Page:West African Studies.djvu/35

 I knew nothing in '93, I found the boat I was to go by was a veteran of the fleet. She had her saloon aft, and I am bound to say her appearance was anything but reassuring to the uninitiated and alarmed young Coaster, depressed by the direful prophecies of deserted friends concerning all things West African. Dirt and greed were that vessel's most obvious attributes. The dirt rapidly disappeared, and by the time she reached the end of her trip out, at Loanda, she was as neat as a new pin, for during the voyage every inch of paint work was scraped and re-painted, from the red below her Plimsoll mark to the uttermost top of her black funnel. But on the day when first we met these things were yet to be. As for her greed, her owners had evidently then done all they could to satisfy her. She was heavily laden, her holds more full than many a better ship's; but no, she was not content, she did not even pretend to be, and shamelessly whistled and squarked for more. So, evidently just to gratify her, they sent her a lighter laden with kegs of gunpowder, and she grunted contentedly as she saw it come alongside. But she was not really entirely content even then, or satisfied. I don't suppose, between ourselves, any South West Coast boat ever is, and during the whole time I was on her, devoted to her as I rapidly became, I saw only too clearly that the one thing she really cared for was cargo. It was the criterion by which she measured the importance, nay the very excuse for existence, of a port. If she is ever sold to other owners and sent up the Mediterranean, she will anathematise Malta and scorn Naples. "What! no palm oil!" she'll say; "no rubber? Call yourself a port!" and tie her whistle string to a stanchion until the authorities bring off her papers and let her clear away. Every one on board her she infected with a

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Page:Henry Mulford Tichenor - A Guide to Emerson (1923).djvu/9

 6 work and himself. When he has satisfied himself, in general and in detail, that it was made by such a person as he, so armed and so motived, and to ends to which he himself should also have worked, the problem is solved; his thought lives along the whole line of temples, and sphinxes, and catacombs, passes through them all with satisfaction, and they live again to the mind, or are now."

To Emerson Nature was everything: "Up-borne and surrounded as we are by this all-creating Nature, soft and fluid as a cloud or the air, why should we be such hard pedants, and magnify a few forms? Why should we make account of time, or magnitude, or of figure? The soul knows them not, and genius, obeying its law, knows how to play with them as a young child plays with graybeards and in the churches. Genius studies the casual thought, and, far back in the womb of things, sees the rays parting from one orb, that diverge ere they fall by infinite diameters. Genius watches the monad through all his masks as he performs. the metempsychosis of Nature. Genius detects through the fly, through the caterpillar, through the grub, through the egg, the constant individual; through countless individuals, the fixed species; through many species, the genus; through all genera, the steadfast type; through all the kingdoms of organized life, the eternal unity. Nature is a mutable cloud, which is always and never the same. She casts the same thought into troops of forms, as a poet makes twenty fables with one moral. Through the bruteness and toughness of matter,


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 Rh a subtle spirit bends all things to its own will. The adamant streams into soft but precise form before it, and, whilst I look at it, its outline and texture are changed again. Nothing is so fleeting as form; yet never does it quite deny itself. In man we still trace the remains or hints of all that we esteem badges of servitude in the lower races; yet in him they enhance his nobleness and grace; as Io, in Aeschylus, transformed to a cow, offends the imagination; but how changed, when as Isis in Egypt she meets Osiris-Jove, a beautiful woman, with nothing of the metamorphosis left but the lunar horns as the splendid ornament of her brows! …

"Nature is full of a sublime family likeness throughout all her works; and delights in startling us with resemblances in the most unexpected quarters. I have seen the head of an old sachem of the forest, which at once reminded the eye of a bald mountain summit, and the furrows of the brow suggested the strata of the rock. There are men whose manners have the same essential splendor as the simple and awful sculpture of the friezes of the Parthenon, and the remains of the earliest Greek art. And there are compositions of the same strain to be found in the books of all ages. What is Guido's Rospigliosi Aurora but a morning thought, as the horses in it are only a morning cloud. If any one will but take pains to observe the variety of actions to which he is equally inclined in certain moods of mind, and those to which he is averse, he will see how deep is the chain of affinity."

Emerson felt the social change that is to


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 8 come. In his address, "Man the Reformer," given at Boston before the Library Association of Mechanics' Apprentices, he said: "We are to revise the whole of our social structure, the state, the school, religion, marriage, trade, science;" he declared that "the manual labor of society ought to be shared among all its members," and that "a man should have a farm or mechanical craft for his culture." In a coming society he follows Plato—"The Wise Man (the man of character) is the State;" and then he passes Plato—"The appearance of Character makes the state unnecessary."

"There is a time," Emerson writes, "in everyman's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide Universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. … A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace."

Of free thought and self-reliance Emerson says: "Whoso would be a man must be a non-conformist. He who would gather immortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness, but must explore if it be goodness. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world. I remember an answer which when quite young I was prompted to make to a valued adviser,


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Page:The House at Pooh Corner (1961).pdf/90

going to be one of Rabbit’s busy days. As soon as he woke up he felt important, as if everything depended upon him. It was just the day for Organizing Something, or for Writing a Notice Signed Rabbit, or for Seeing What Everybody Else Thought About It. It was a perfect morning for hurrying round to Pooh, and saying, “Very well, then, I’ll tell Piglet,” and then going to Piglet, and saying, “Pooh thinks—but perhaps I’d better see Owl first.” It was a Captainish sort of day, when everybody said, “Yes, Rabbit” and “No, Rabbit,” and waited until he had told them.

He came out of his house and sniffed the warm spring morning as he wondered what he would do. Kanga’s house was nearest, and at Kanga’s house


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 Rh who was wont to importune me with the dear old doctrines of the church. On my Saying, 'What have I to do with the sacredness of traditions, if I live wholly from within?' my friend suggested,—'But these impulses may be from below, not from above.' I replied, 'They do not seem to me to be such; but if I am the Devil's child, I will live then from the Devil.'

"No law can be sacred to me but that of my nature. Good and bad are but names very readily transferable to that or this; the only right is what is after my constitution, the only wrong what is against it. A men is to carry himself in the presence of all opposition, as if everything were titular and ephemeral but he. I am ashamed to think how easily we capitulate to badges and names, to large societies and dead institutions."

"The strongest influences in his development," writes one of Emerson's biographers, "were the liberating philosophy of Coleridge, the mystical visions of Swedenborg, the intimate poetry of Wordsworth, and the stimulating essays of Carlyle."

In 1832 Emerson went to Europe, almost for the special purpose of meeting Landor, Coleridge, Carlyle and Wordsworth. "His visit to Carlyle," says his biographer, "in the lonely farmhouse at Craigenputtock, was the memorable beginning of a lifelong friendship. … Emerson was a sweet-tempered Carlyle, living in the sunshine. Carlyle was a militant Emerson, moving amid thunderclouds."

On his voyage home from this visit Emerson wrote in his Diary: "A man contains all that


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 was Roo, who said “Yes, Rabbit” and “No, Rabbit” almost better than anybody else in the Forest; but there was another animal there nowadays, the strange and Bouncy Tigger; and he was the sort of Tigger who was always in front when you were showing him the way anywhere, and was generally out of sight when at last you came to the place and said proudly “Here we are!”

“No, not Kanga’s,” said Rabbit thoughtfully to himself, as he curled his whiskers in the sun; and, to make quite sure that he wasn’t going there, he turned to the left and trotted off in the other direction, which was the way to Christopher Robin’s house.


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Rh the selfsame uniform white layers of snow and that the road existed only in my imagination—than I no longer saw the sledge.

"Driver! Alec!" I cried, but my voice!—well I felt that the wind snatched it right out of my mouth and carried it in the twinkling of an eye away from me. I have a very distinct recollection of the loud, penetrating, and even desperate voice with which I once more yelled: "Driver!" when he was only two good paces distant from me. His black figure, whip in hand, and with his large hat perched on one side, suddenly grew up in front of me. He led me to the sledge.

"Still warm, thank goodness!" said he, "but it's bad if the frost does catch you, my little master!" said he.

"Let the horses go; we must go back," said I, taking my seat on the sledge. "O suppose you can guide them, driver?"

"I must guide them."

He threw aside the reins, struck the saddle of the thill horse thrice with his whip and again we went on somewhither for a bit. We went along for about half an hour. Suddenly we again heard in front of us the, to me, familiar little hunting-bell and two more besides; but this time they were coming towards us. It was the same three troikas returning to the post-station after delivering the mails, with the fresh horses fastened on behind. The courier's troika, with its three powerful horses with the hunting bells came rapidly forward. A single driver sat on the box, shouting lustily. Behind, in the middle of the empty

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 “After all,” said Rabbit to himself, “Christopher Robin depends on Me. He’s fond of Pooh and Piglet and Eeyore, and so am I, but they haven’t any Brain. Not to notice. And he respects Owl, because you can’t help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn’t spell it right; but spelling isn’t everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn’t count. And Kanga is too busy looking after Roo, and Roo is too young and Tigger is too bouncy to be any help, so there’s really nobody but Me, when you come to look at it. I’ll go and see if there’s anything he wants doing, and then I’ll do it for him. It’s just the day for doing things.”

He trotted along happily, and by-and-by he crossed the stream and came to the place where his friends-and-relations lived. There seemed to be even more of them about than usual this morning, and having nodded to a hedgehog or two, with whom he was too busy to shake hands, and having said, “Good morning, good morning,” importantly to some of the others, and “Ah, there you are,” kindly, to the smaller ones, he waved a paw at them over his shoulder, and was gone; leaving such an air of excitement and I-don’t-know-what behind him, that several members of the Beetle family, including Henry Rush, made their way at once to the Hundred Acre Wood and began climbing trees, in the hope


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 of getting to the top before it happened, whatever it was, so that they might see it properly.

Rabbit hurried on by the edge of the Hundred Acre Wood, feeling more important every minute, and soon he came to the tree where Christopher Robin lived. He knocked at the door, and he called out once or twice, and then he walked back a little way and put his paw up to keep the sun out, and called to the top of the tree, and then he turned all round and shouted “Hallo!” and I “say!” “It’s Rabbit!”—but nothing happened. Then he stopped and listened, and everything stopped and listened with him, and the Forest was very lone and still and peaceful in the sunshine, until suddenly a hundred miles above him a lark began to sing.


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earliest biographers of the Arabian Prophet, whose works are extant in Arabic, are Ibn-Isháq ( 151), Ibn-Hishám ( 218), Wáqidi ( 207), and Tabari ( 310). Ismail Abulfida, Prince of Hamah, in Syria ( 733), compiled a Life of Muhammad in Arabic, which was translated by John Gagnier, Professor of Arabic at Oxford ( 1723), and into English by the Rev. W. Murray, Episcopal clergyman at Duffus, in Scotland. Dr. Sprenger of Calcutta commenced a Life of Muham-

1


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 “Bother!” said Rabbit. “He’s gone out.”

He went back to the green front door, just to make sure, and he was turning away, feeling that his morning had got all spoilt, when he saw a piece of paper on the ground. And there was a pin in it, as if it had fallen off the door.

“Ha!” said Rabbit, feeling quite happy again. “Another notice!”

This is what it said:

“Ha!” said Rabbit again. “I must tell the others.” And he hurried off importantly.

The nearest house was Owl’s, and to Owl’s House in the Hundred Acre Wood he made his way. He came to Owl’s door, and he knocked and he rang, and he rang and he knocked, and at last Owl’s head came out and said “Go away, I’m thinking—oh, it’s you?” which was how he always began.

“Owl,” said Rabbit shortly, “you and I have brains. The others have fluff. If there is any thinking to be done in this Forest—and when I say thinking I mean thinking—you and I must do it.”


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2 mad in English, and printed the first part of it at Allahabad ( 1851); but it was never completed. The learned author afterwards published his work in German in 1869. The only Life of Muhammad in English, which has any pretension to original research, is that by Sir William Muir of the Bengal Civil Service.

Muhammad (lit. the praised one), son of Abdul Muttalib, by his wife Amina, was born at Mecca, August 29th, 570. He assumed the prophetic office at the age of forty, fled from Mecca at the age of fifty-four, and died at Medinah, June 9th, 632, aged sixty-two.

The Hijrat, or Hegira (the flight from Mecca), which is the Muhammadan era, dates from July 16th, 622.

The character of Muhammad is an historic problem, and many have been the conjectures as to his motives and designs. Was he an impostor, a fanatic, or an honest man—"a very prophet of God?" And the problem might


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Rh have for ever remained unsolved had not the Prophet himself appealed to the Old and New Testament in proof of his mission. This is the crucial test, established by the Prophet himself. He claims to be weighed in the balance with the Divine Jesus. Having done so, we find him wanting.

Objection has often been made to the manner in which Christian divines have attacked the private character of Muhammad. Why reject the prophetic mission of Muhammad on account of his private vices, when you receive as inspired the sayings of a Balaam, a David, or a Solomon? We do not, as a rule, attack the character of Muhammad in dealing with Islám; it rouses opposition, and is an offensive line of argument. Still, in forming an estimate of his prophetical pretensions, we contend that the character of Muhammad is an important item in our bill of indictment. We readily admit that bad men have sometimes been, like Balaam and others, the divinely appointed organs of inspiration; but in the case of Muhammad his professed inspiration sanctioned and encouraged his own vices. That which ought to have been the fountain of purity was, in fact, the cover of the


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 “Yes,” said Owl. “I was.”

“Read that.”

Owl took Christopher Robin’s notice from Rabbit and looked at it nervously. He could spell his own name WOL, and he could spell Tuesday so that you knew it wasn’t Wednesday, and he could read quite comfortably when you weren’t looking over his shoulder and saying “Well?” all the time, and he could

“Well?” said Rabbit.

“Yes,” said Owl, looking Wise and Thoughtful. “I see what you mean. Undoubtedly.”

“Well?”

“Exactly,” said Owl. “Precisely.” And he added, after a little thought, “If you had not come to me, I should have come to you.”

“Why?” asked Rabbit.


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 4 Prophet's depravity. But how different it is in the case of the true prophet David, where, in the words of inspiration, he lays bare to public gaze the enormity of his own crimes. The deep contrition of his inmost soul is manifest in every line—"I acknowledge my+transgression and my sin is ever before me: against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight."

The best defenders of the Arabian Prophet are obliged to admit that the matter of Zeinab, the wife of Zeid, and again, of Mary, the Coptic slave, are "an indelible stain" upon his memory; that "he is once or twice untrue to the kind and forgiving disposition of his best nature; that he is once or twice unrelenting in the punishment of his personal enemies; and that he is guilty even more than once of conniving at the assassination of inveterate opponents;" but they give no satisfactory explanation or apology for all this being done under the supposed sanction of God in the Qurán.

In forming an estimate of Muhammad's pro-


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 “For that very reason,” said Owl, hoping that something helpful would happen soon.

“Yesterday morning,” said Rabbit solemnly, “I went to see Christopher Robin. He was out. Pinned on his door was a notice.”

“The same notice?”

“A different one. But the meaning was the same. It’s very odd.”

“Amazing,” said Owl, looking at the notice again, and getting, just for a moment, a curious sort of feeling that something had happened to Christopher Robin’s back. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“The best thing,” said Owl wisely.

“Well?” said Rabbit again, as Owl knew he was going to.

“Exactly,” said Owl.

For a little while he couldn’t think of anything more; and then, all of a sudden, he had an idea.

“Tell me, Rabbit,” he said, “the exact words of the first notice. This is very important. Everything depends on this. The exact words of the first notice.”

“It was just the same as that one really.”

Owl looked at him, and wondered whether to push him off the tree; but, feeling that he could always do it afterwards, he tried once more to find out what they were talking about.


text: How to Tell the Birds from the Flowers and other wood-cuts/Introduction


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 Rh phetical pretensions, it must be remembered that he did not claim to be the founder of a new religion, but merely of a new covenant. He is the last and greatest of all God's prophets. He is sent to convert the world to the one true religion which God had before revealed to the five great lawgivers—Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Jesus! The creed of Muhammad, therefore, claims to supersede that of the Lord Jesus. And it is here that we take our stand. We give Muhammad credit as a warrior, as a legislator, as a poet, as a man of uncommon genius, raising himself amidst great opposition to a pinnacle of renown; we admit that he is, without doubt, one of the greatest heros the world has ever seen; but when we consider his claims to supersede the mission of the Divine Jesus, we strip him of his borrowed plumes, and reduce him to the condition of an impostor! For whilst he has adopted and


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 “The exact words, please,” he said, as if Rabbit hadn’t spoken.

“It just said, ‘Gon out. Backson.’ Same as this, only this says ‘Bisy Backson’ too.”

Owl gave a great sigh of relief.

“Ah!” said Owl. “Now we know where we are.”

“Yes, but where’s Christopher Robin?” said Rabbit. “That’s the point.”

Owl looked at the notice again. To one of his education the reading of it was easy. “Gone out, Backson. Bisy, Backson”—just the sort of thing you’d expect to see on a notice.

“It is quite clear what has happened, my dear Rabbit,” he said. “Christopher Robin has gone out somewhere with Backson. He and Backson are busy together. Have you seen a Backson anywhere about in the Forest lately?”

“I don’t know,” said Rabbit. “That’s what I came to ask you. What are they like?”

“Well,” said Owl, “the Spotted or Herbaceous Backson is just a”

“At least,” he said, “it’s really more of a”

“Of course,” he said, “it depends on the”

“Well,” said Owl, “the fact is,” he said, “I don’t know what they’re like,” said Owl frankly.

“Thank you,” said Rabbit. And he hurried off to see Pooh.

Before he had gone very far he heard a noise. So he stopped and listened. This was the noise.


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 6 avowed his belief in the sacred books of the Jew and the Christian, and has given them all the stamp and currency which his authority and influence could impart, he has attempted to rob Christianity of every distinctive truth which it possesses—its Divine Saviour, its Heavenly Comforter, its pure code of social morals, its spirit of love and truth—and has written his own refutation and condemnation with his own hand, by professing to confirm the divine oracles which sap the very foundations of his prophetical pretensions.


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 Rh We follow the would-be prophet in his self-asserted mission from the cave of Híra to the closing scene, when he dies in the midst of the lamentations of his harem, and the contentions of his friends—the visions of Gabriel, the period of mental depression, the contemplated suicide, the assumption of the prophetic office, his struggles with Meccan unbelief, his flight to Medina, his triumphant entry into Mecca—and whilst we wonder at the genius of the hero, we pause at every stage and inquire, "Is this the Apostle of God whose mission is to claim universal dominion to the suppression not merely of idolatry, but of Christianity itself?" Then it is that the divine and holy character of Jesus rises to our view, and the inquiring mind sickens at the thought of the beloved, the pure, the lowly Jesus giving place to that of the ambitious, the sensual, the time-serving hero of Arabia. In the study of Islam the character of Muhammad needs an apology or a defence at every stage; but in the contemplation of the Christian system, whilst we everywhere read of Jesus, and see the reflection of His image in everything we read, the heart revels in the


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 8 contemplation, the inner pulsations of our spiritual life bound within us at the study of a character so divine, so pure.

We are not insensible to the beauties of the Qurán as a literary production, although they have, without doubt, been overrated; but as we admire its conceptions of the Divine nature its deep and fervent trust in the power of God, its frequent deep moral earnestness, and its sententious wisdom, we would gladly rid ourselves of our recollections of the Prophet, his licentious harem, his sanguinary battle-fields, his ambitious schemes; whilst as we peruse the Christian scriptures we find the grand central charm in the divine character of its founder. It is the divine character of Jesus which gives fragrance to His words; it is the divine form of Jesus which shines through all He says or does; it is the divine life of Jesus which is the great central point in Gospel history. How then, we ask, can the creed of Muhammad, the son of Abdullah, supersede and abrogate that of Jesus, the Son of God? It is a remarkable coincidence that whilst the founder of Islam died feeling that he had but imperfectly fulfilled his mis-


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Thames nocturne of blue and gold

Changed to a Harmony in grey:

A barge with ochre-coloured hay

Dropt from the wharf: and chill and cold

The yellow fog came creeping down

The bridges, till the houses' walls

Seemed changed to shadows and St. Paul's

Loomed like a bubble o'er the town.

Then suddenly arose the clang

Of waking life; the streets were stirred

With country waggons: and a bird

Flew to the glistening roofs and sang.

But one pale woman all alone,

The daylight kissing her wan hair,

Loitered beneath the gas lamps' flare,

With lips of flame and heart of stone. 101

title: Page:The Poems of Oscar Wilde.pdf/115


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 Rh sion, the founder of Christianity died in the full consciousness that His work was done—"It is finished." It was in professing to produce a revelation which should supersede that of Jesus that Muhammad set the seal to his own refutation.


text: The Poems of Oscar Wilde/Impression du Matin


text:
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 “Did you make that song up?”

“Well, I sort of made it up,” said Pooh. “It isn’t Brain,” he went on humbly, “because You Know Why, Rabbit; but it comes to me sometimes.”

“Ah!” said Rabbit, who never let things come to him, but always went and fetched them. “Well, the point is, have you seen a Spotted or Herbaceous Backson in the Forest, at all?”

“No,” said Pooh. “Not a—no,” said Pooh. “I saw Tigger just now.”

“That’s no good.”

“No,” said Pooh. “I thought it wasn’t.”

“Have you seen Piglet?”

“Yes,” said Pooh. “I suppose that isn’t any good either?” he asked meekly.

“Well, it depends if he saw anything.”

“He saw me,” said Pooh.

Rabbit sat down on the ground next to Pooh and, feeling much less important like that, stood up again.


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 “What it all comes to is this,” he said. “What does Christopher Robin do in the morning nowadays?”

“What sort of thing?”

“Well, can you tell me anything you’ve seen him do in the morning? These last few days.”

“Yes,” said Pooh. “We had breakfast together yesterday. By the Pine Trees. I’d made up a little basket,


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 console and three Sega game cartridges, wired a decompiler into the console circuitry, and generated printouts of the resulting source code. Accolade engineers studied and annotated the printouts in order to identify areas of commonality among the three game programs. They then loaded the disassembled code back into a computer, and experimented to discover the interface specifications for the Genesis console by modifying the programs and studying the results. At the end of the reverse engineering process, Accolade created a development manual that incorporated the information it had discovered about the requirements for a Genesis-compatible game. According to the Accolade employees who created the manual, the manual contained only functional descriptions of the interface requirements and did not include any of Sega’s code.

In the second stage, Accolade created its own games for the Genesis. According to Accolade, at this stage it did not copy Sega’s programs, but relied only on the information concerning interface specifications for the Genesis that was contained in its development manual. Accolade maintains that with the exception of the interface specifications, none of the code in its own games is derived in any way from its examination of Sega’s code. In 1990, Accolade released “Ishido”, a game which it had originally developed and released for use with the Macintosh and IBM personal computer systems, for use with the Genesis console.

Even before Accolade began to reverse engineer Sega’s games, Sega had grown concerned about the rise of software and hardware piracy in Taiwan and other Southeast Asian countries to which it exported its products. Taiwan is not a signatory to the Berne Convention and does not recognize foreign copyrights. Taiwan does allow prosecution of trademark counterfeiters. However, the counterfeiters had discovered how to modify Sega’s game programs to blank out the screen display of Sega’s trademark before repackaging and reselling the games as their own. Accordingly, Sega began to explore methods of protecting its trademark rights in the Genesis and Genesis-compatible games. While the development of its own trademark security system (TMSS) was pending, Sega licensed a patented TMSS for use with the Genesis home entertainment system.

The most recent version of the Genesis console; the “Genesis III”, incorporates the licensed TMSS. When a game cartridge is inserted, the microprocessor contained in the Genesis III searches the game program for four bytes of data consisting of the letters “S-E-G-A” (the “TMSS initialization code”). If the Genesis III finds the TMSS initialization code in the right location, the game is rendered compatible and will operate on the console. In such case, the TMSS initialization code then prompts a visual display for approximately three seconds which reads: “PRODUCED BY OR UNDER LICENSE FROM SEGA ENTERPRISES LTD” (the “Sega Message”). All of Sega’s game cartridges, including those disassembled by Accolade, contain the TMSS initialization code.

Accolade learned of the impending release of the Genesis III in the United States in January, 1991, when the Genesis III was displayed at a consumer electronics show. When a demonstration at the consumer electronics show revealed that Accolade’s “Ishido” game cartridges would not operate on the Genesis III, Accolade returned to the drawing board. During the reverse engineering process, Accolade engineers had discovered a small segment of code—the TMSS initialization code—that was included in the “power-up” sequence of every Sega game, but that had no identifiable function. The games would operate on the original Genesis console even if the code segment was removed. Mike

title: Page:Sega Enterprises v. Accolade.pdf/6


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 “Yes, yes,” said Rabbit, “but I mean later than that. Have you seen him between eleven and twelve?”

“Well,” said Pooh, “at eleven o’clock—at eleven o’clock—well, at eleven o’clock, you see, I generally get home about then. Because I have One or Two Things to Do.”

“Quarter past eleven, then?”

“Well” said Pooh.

“Half past.”

“Yes,” said Pooh. “At half past—or perhaps later—I might see him.”

And now that he did think of it, he began to remember that he hadn’t seen Christopher Robin about so much lately. Not in the mornings. Afternoons, yes; evenings, yes; before breakfast, yes; just after breakfast, yes. And then, perhaps, “See you again, Pooh,” and off he’d go.

“That’s just it,” said Rabbit, “Where?”

“Perhaps he’s looking for something.”

“What?” asked Rabbit.

“That’s just what I was going to say,” said Pooh. And then he added, “Perhaps he’s looking for a—for a”

“A Spotted or Herbaceous Backson?”

“Yes,” said Pooh. “One of those. In case it isn’t.”

Rabbit looked at him severely.

“I don’t think you’re helping,” he said.


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 “No,” said Pooh. “I do try,” he added humbly.

Rabbit thanked him for trying, and said that he would now go and see Eeyore, and Pooh could walk with him if he liked. But Pooh, who felt another verse of his song coming on him, said he would wait for Piglet, good-bye, Rabbit; so Rabbit went off.

But, as it happened, it was Rabbit who saw Piglet first. Piglet had got up early that morning to pick himself a bunch of violets; and when he had picked them and put them in a pot in the middle of his house, it suddenly came over him that nobody had ever picked Eeyore a bunch of violets, and the more he thought of this, the more he thought how sad it was to be an Animal who had never had a bunch of violets picked for him. So he hurried out again, saying to himself, “Eeyore, Violets,” and then “Violets, Eeyore,” in case he forgot, because it was that sort of day, and he picked a large bunch


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 and trotted along, smelling them, and feeling very happy, until he came to the place where Eeyore was.

“Oh, Eeyore,” began Piglet a little nervously, because Eeyore was busy.

Eeyore put out a paw and waved him away.

“Tomorrow,” said Eeyore. “Or the next day.”

Piglet came a little closer to see what it was. Eeyore had three sticks on the ground, and was looking at them. Two of the sticks were touching at one end, but not at the other, and the third stick was laid across them. Piglet thought that perhaps it was a Trap of some kind.

“Oh, Eeyore,” he began again, “just”

“Is that little Piglet?” said Eeyore, still looking hard at his sticks.

“Yes, Eeyore, and I”

“Do you know what this is?”

“No,” said Piglet.

“It’s an A.”

“Oh,” said Piglet.


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More Tales from Tolstoi sledge, sat a couple of drivers. I could hear their loud and merry discourse. One of them was smoking a pipe, and the sparks, kindled by the wind, lit up part of his face.

As I looked at them I began to be ashamed that I had been afraid to go on, and my driver must have experienced much the same sensation, for we said with one voice: "Let us go after them."

The hindmost troikas had not yet passed when my driver turned clumsily and struck the attached horses with the sledge shafts. One of the troika team thereupon fell heavily, tearing away the traces and plunging to one side.

"You cock-eyed devil, don't you see where you're going, driving over people like that? Devil take you!" began one of the drivers in a hoarse, quavering voice.

He was smallish and an old fellow, as far as I could judge from his voice and his position. He had been sitting in the hinder troika, but now leaped quickly out of the sledge and ran to the horses, never ceasing the whole time to curse my driver in the most coarse and cruel manner.

But the horses would not be pacified. The driver ran after them, and in a minute both horses and driver had vanished in the white mist of the snowstorm.

"Vas-il-y! bring the chestnut hither, we shall never get them else," his voice still resounded.

title: Page:More Tales from Tolstoi.djvu/60


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 “Not O, A,” said Eeyore severely. “Can’t you hear, or do you think you have more education than Christopher Robin?”

“Yes,” said Piglet. “No,” said Piglet very quickly. And he came closer still.

“Christopher Robin said it was an A, and an A it is—until somebody treads on me,” Eeyore added sternly.

Piglet jumped backwards hurriedly, and smelt at his violets.

“Do you know what A means, little Piglet?”

“No, Eeyore, I don’t.”

“It means Learning, it means Education, it means all the things that you and Pooh haven’t got. That’s what A means.”

“Oh,” said Piglet again. “I mean, does it?” he explained quickly.

“I’m telling you. People come and go in this Forest, and they say, ‘It’s only Eeyore, so it doesn’t count.’ They walk to and fro saying ‘Ha ha!’ But do they know anything about A? They don’t. It’s just three sticks to them. But to the Educated—mark this, little Piglet—to the Educated, not meaning Poohs and Piglets, it’s a great and glorious A. Not,” he added, “just something that anybody can come and breathe on.”

Piglet stepped back nervously, and looked round for help.


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 “Here’s Rabbit,” he said gladly. “Hallo, Rabbit.”

Rabbit came up importantly, nodded to Piglet, and said, “Ah, Eeyore,” in the voice of one who would be saying “Good-bye” in about two more minutes.

“There’s just one thing I wanted to ask you, Eeyore. What happens to Christopher Robin in the mornings nowadays?”

“What’s this that I’m looking at?” said Eeyore, still looking at it.

“Three sticks,” said Rabbit promptly.

“You see?” said Eeyore to Piglet. He turned to Rabbit. “I will now answer your question,” he said solemnly.

“Thank you,” said Rabbit.


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 “What does Christopher Robin do in the mornings? He learns. He becomes Educated. He instigorates—I think that is the word he mentioned, but I may be referring to something else—he instigorates Knowledge. In my small way I also, if I have the word right, am—am doing what he does. That, for instance, is⸺”

“An A,” said Rabbit, “but not a very good one. Well, I must get back and tell the others.”

Eeyore looked at his sticks and then he looked at Piglet.

“What did Rabbit say it was?” he asked.

“An A,” said Piglet.

“Did you tell him?”

“No, Eeyore, I didn’t. I expect he just knew.”

“He knew? You mean this A thing is a thing Rabbit knew”

“Yes, Eeyore. He’s clever, Rabbit is.”

“Clever!” said Eeyore scornfully, putting a foot heavily on his three sticks. “Education!” said Eeyore bitterly, jumping on his six sticks. “What is Learning?” asked Eeyore as he kicked his twelve sticks into the air. “A thing Rabbit knows! Ha!”

“I think⸺” began Piglet nervously.

“Don't,” said Eeyore.

“I think Violets are rather nice,” said Piglet. And he laid his bunch in front of Eeyore and scampered off.


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 at present shall make up for my past delay."

"On that condition," answered Baptiste, "I shall readily forgive you: but in truth, as you share equally with us in our prizes, your own interest will make you use all possible diligence. 'Twould be a shame to let such a noble booty escape us. You say that this Spaniard is rich?"

"His servant boasted at the inn, that the effects in his chaise were worth above two thousand pistoles."

Oh! how I cursed Stephano's imprudent vanity.

"And I have been told," continued the postillion, "that this baroness carries about her a casket of jewels of immense value."

"May be so, but I had rather she had stayed away. The Spaniard was a secure prey; the boys and myself could easily have mastered him and his servant, and then the two thousand pistoles would have been shared between us four. Now we must let in the band for a share, and perhaps the


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 whole covey may escape us. Should our friends have betaken themselves to their different posts before you reach the cavern, all will be lost. The lady's attendants are too numerous for us to over power them. Unless our associates arrive in time, we must needs let these travellers set out to morrow without damage or hurt."

Tis plaguy unlucky that my comrades who drove the coach should be those unacquainted with our confederacy! But never fear, friend Baptiste: an hour will bring me to the cavern; it is now but ten o'clock, and by twelve you may expect the arrival of the band. By the bye, take care of your wife: you know how strong is her repugnance to our mode of life, and she may find means to give information to the lady's servants of our design."

"Oh! I am secure of her silence; she is too much afraid of me, and fond of her children, to dare to betray my secret. Besides, Jacques and Robert keep a strict eye over her, and she is not permitted to set a


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 By.

Illustrated by Joseph Simpson, R.B.A.

is possible that, at about the time at which this story opens, you may have gone into the Hotel Belvoir for a hair-cut. Many people did; for the young man behind the scissors, though of a singularly gloomy countenance, was undoubtedly an artist in his line. He clipped judiciously. He left no ridges. He never talked about the weather. And he allowed you to go away unburdened by any bottle of hair-food.

It is possible, too, that, being there, you decided that you might as well go the whole hog and be manicured at the same time.

It is not unlikely, moreover, that when you had got over the first shock of finding your hands so unexpectedly large and red, you felt disposed to chat with the young lady who looked after that branch of the business. In your genial way you may have permitted a note of gay (but gentlemanly) badinage to creep into your end of the dialogue.

In which case, if you had raised your eyes to the mirror, you would certainly have observed a marked increase of gloom in the demeanour of the young man attending to your apex. He took no official notice of the matter. A quick frown. A tightening of the lips. Nothing more. Jealous as Arthur Welsh was of all who inflicted gay badinage, however gentlemanly, on Maud Peters, he never forgot that he was an artist. Never, even in his blackest moments, had he yielded to the temptation to dig the point of the scissors the merest fraction of an inch into a client's skull.

But Maud, who saw, would understand. And, if the customer was an observant man, he would notice that her replies at that juncture became somewhat absent, her smile a little mechanical.

Jealousy, according to an eminent authority, is the "hydra of calamities, the seven-fold death." Arthur Welsh's was all that and a bit over. It was a constant shadow on Maud's happiness. No fair-minded girl objects to a certain tinge of jealousy. Kept within proper bounds, it is a compliment; it makes for piquancy; it is the gin in the ginger-beer of devotion. But it should be a condiment, not a fluid.

It was the unfairness of the thing which hurt Maud. Her conscience was clear. She knew girls—several girls—who gave the young men with whom they walked out ample excuse for being perfect Othellos. If she had ever flirted on the open beach with the baritone of the troupe of pierrots, like Jane Oddy, she could have excused Arthur's attitude. If, like Pauline Dicey, she had roller-skated for a solid hour with a black-moustached stranger while her fiancé floundered in Mugs' Alley she could have understood his frowning disapprovingly. But she was not like Pauline. She scorned the coquetries of Jane. Arthur was the centre of her world, and he knew it. Ever since the rainy evening when he had sheltered her under his umbrella to her Tube station, he had known perfectly well how things were with her. And yet just because, in a strictly business-like way, she was civil to her customers, he must scowl and bite his lip and behave generally as if it had been brought to his notice that he had been nurturing a serpent in his bosom. It was worse than wicked—it was unprofessional.

She remonstrated with him.

"It isn't fair," she said, one morning when the rush of customers had ceased and they had the shop to themselves.

Matters had been worse than usual that morning. After days of rain and greyness the weather had turned over a new leaf. The sun glinted among the bottles of Unfailing Lotion in the window, and every-


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 foot out of the cottage. The servants are safely lodged in the barn. I shall endeavour to keep all quiet till the arrival of our friends. Were I assured of your finding them, the strangers should be dispatched this instant; but as it is possible for you to miss the banditti, I am fearful of being summoned by their domestics to produce them in the morning."

"And suppose either of the travellers should discover your design?"

"Then we must poniard those in our power, and take our chance about mastering the rest. However, to avoid running such a risk, hasten to the cavern; the banditti never leave it before eleven, and if you use diligence you may reach it in time to stop them."

"Tell Robert that I have taken his horse; my own has broken his bridle, and escaped into the wood. What is the watch-word?"

"The reward of courage."

Tis sufficient. I hasten to the cavern."

"And I to rejoin my guests, lest my ab-


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 sence should create suspicion. Farewell, and be diligent."

These worthy associates now separated; the one bent his course towards the stable, while the other returned to the house.

You may judge what must have been my feelings during this conversation, of which I lost not a single syllable. I dared not trust myself to my reflections, nor did any means present itself to escape the dangers which threatened me. Resistance I knew to be vain; I was unarmed, and a single man against three. However, I resolved at least to sell my life as dearly as I could. Dreading lest Baptiste should perceive my absence, and suspect me to have overheard the message with which Claude was dispatched, I hastily re-lighted my candle and quitted the chamber. On descending, I found the table spread for six persons. The baroness sat by the fire-side; Marguerite was employed in dressing a sallad, and her step-sons were whispering together at the further end of the room. Baptiste, having the round of the gar-


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 den to make ere he could reach the cottage door, was not yet arrived. I seated myself quietly opposite to the baroness.

A glance upon Marguerite told her that her hint had not been thrown away upon me. How different did she now appear to me! What before seemed gloom and sullenness, I now found to be disgust at her associates and compassion for my danger. I looked up to her as to my only resource; yet knowing her to be watched by her husband with a suspicious eye, I could place but little reliance on the exertions of her good will.

In spite of all my endeavours to conceal it, my agitation was but too visibly expressed upon my countenance. I was pale, and both my words and actions were disordered and embarrassed. The young men observed this, and enquired the cause. I attributed it to excess of fatigue, and the violent effect produced on me by the severity of the season. Whether they believed me or not, I will not pretend to say; they at least ceased to em-


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 barrass me with their questions. I strove to divert my attention from the perils which surrounded me, by conversing on different subjects with the baroness. I talked of Germany, declaring my intention of visiting it immediately: God knows, that I little thought at that moment of ever seeing it! She replied to me with great ease and politeness, professed that the pleasure of making my acquaintance amply compensated for the delay in her journey, and gave me a pressing invitation to make some stay at the castle of Lindenberg. As she spoke thus, the youths exchanged a malicious smile, which declared that she would be fortunate if she ever reached that castle herself. This action did not escape me; but I concealed the emotion which it excited in my breast. I continued to converse with the lady; but my discourse was so frequently incoherent that, as she has since informed me, she began to doubt whether I was in my right senses. The fact was, that while my conversation turned upon one subject, my thoughts were entirely oc-


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 cupied by another. I meditated upon the means of quitting the cottage, finding my way to the barn, and giving the domestics information of our host's designs. I was soon convinced how impracticable was the attempt. Jacques and Robert watched my every movement with an attentive eye, and I was obliged to abandon the idea. All my hopes now rested upon Claude's not finding the banditti. In that case, according to what I had overheard, we should be permitted to depart unhurt.

I shuddered involuntarily as Baptiste entered the room. He made many apologies for his long absence, but "he had been detained by affairs impossible to be delayed." He then entreated permission for his family to sup at the same table with us, without which, respect would not authorize his taking such a liberty. Oh! how in my heart I cursed the hypocrite! how I loathed his presence, who was on the point of depriving me of an existence, at that time infinitely dear! I had every rea-


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 son to be satisfied with life; I had youth, wealth, rank, and education, and the fairest prospects presented themselves before me. I saw those prospects on the point of closing in the most horrible manner: yet was I obliged to dissimulate, and to receive with a semblance of gratitude the false civilities of him who held the dagger to my bosom.

The permission which our host demanded was easily obtained. We seated ourselves at the table. The baroness and myself occupied one side; the sons were opposite to us, with their backs to the door. Baptiste took his seat by the baroness, at the upper end; and the place next to him was left for his wife. She soon entered the room, and placed before us a plain but comfortable peasant's repast. Our host thought it necessary to apologize for the poorness of the supper: "he had not been apprized of our coming; he could only offer us such fare as had been intended for his own family."

"But," added he, "should any accident


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 thing in the world seemed to have relaxed and become cheerful. Unfortunately, everything had included the customers. During the last few days they had taken their seats in moist gloom, and, brooding over the prospect of coming colds in the head, had had little that was pleasant to say to the divinity who was shaping their ends. But to-day it had been different. Warm and happy, they had bubbled over with gay small-talk.

"It isn't fair," she repeated.

Arthur, who was stropping a razor and whistling tunelessly, raised his eyebrows. His manner was frosty.

"I fail to understand your meaning," he said.

"You know what I mean. Do you think I didn't see you frowning when I was doing that gentleman's nails?"

The allusion was to the client who had just left—a jovial individual with a red face, who certainly had made Maud giggle a good deal. And why not? If a gentleman tells really funny stories, what harm is there in giggling? You had to be pleasant to people. If you snubbed customers, what happened? Why, sooner or later, it got round to the boss, and then where were you? Besides, it was not as if the red-faced customer had been rude. Write down on paper what he had said to her, and nobody could object to it. Write down on paper what she had said to him, and you couldn't object to that either. It was just Arthur's silliness.

She tossed her head.

"I am gratified," said Arthur, ponderously—in happier moments Maud had admired his gift of language; he read a great deal: encyclopaedias and papers and things—"I am gratified to find that you had time to bestow a glance on me. You appeared absorbed."

Maud sniffed unhappily. She had meant to be cold and dignified throughout the conversation, but the sense of her wrongs was beginning to be too much for her. A large tear splashed on to her tray of orange-sticks. She wiped it away with the chamois leather.

"It isn't fair," she sobbed. "It isn't. You know I can't help it if gentlemen talk and joke with me. You know it's all in the day's work. I'm expected to be civil to gentlemen who come in to have their hands done. Silly I should look sitting as if I'd swallowed a poker. I do think you might understand, Arthur, you being in the profession yourself."

He coughed.

"It isn't so much that you talk to them as that you seem to like"

He stopped. Maud's dignity had melted completely. Her face was buried in her arms. She did not care if a million customers came in, all at the same time.

"Maud!"

She heard him moving towards her, but


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 detain my noble guests longer than they at present intend, I hope to give them a better treatment."

The villain! I well knew the accident to which he alluded. I shuddered at the treatment which he taught us to expect.

My companion in danger seemed entirely to have got rid of her chagrin at being delayed. She laughed, and conversed with the family with infinite gaiety. I strove, but in vain, to follow her example. My spirits were evidently forced, and the constraint which I put upon myself escaped not Baptiste's observation.

"Come, come, monsieur, cheer up!" said he; "you seem not quite recovered from your fatigue. To raise your spirits, what say you to a glass of excellent old wine which was left me by my father? God rest his soul, he is in a better world! I seldom produce this wine; but as I am not honoured with such guests every day, this is an occasion which deserves a bottle."

He then gave his wife a key, and in-


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 structed her where to find the wine of which he spoke. She seemed by no means pleased with the commission; she took the key with an embarrassed air, and hesitated to quit the table.

"Did you hear me?" said Baptiste in an angry tone.

Marguerite darted upon him a look of mingled anger and fear, and left the chamber. His eyes followed her suspiciously till she had closed the door.

She soon returned with a bottle sealed with yellow wax. She placed it upon the table, and gave the key back to her husband. I suspected that this liquor was not presented to us without design, and I watched Marguerite's movements with inquietude. She was employed in rinsing some small horn goblets. As she placed them before Baptiste, she saw that my eye was fixed upon her; and at the moment when she thought herself unobserved by the banditti, she motioned to me with her head not to taste the liquor. She then resumed her place.


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 the second is the longest, the first almost equal in length, the third considerably shorter; the secondaries are twelve in number, short, and ond obliquely. The tail is straight, slightly rounded, the feathers broad and abruptly rounded.

"The horny part of the bill is brownish-black. The iris of the eye is bright yellowish-red; the bare space around the eye fiesh-coloured. The tarsi and toes are carmine-purple; the claws dark greyish-brown or black.

"The general colour of the plumage is light greyish-blue, the lower parts being as deeply coloured as the upper. The middle of the neck all round is splendent with green, its lower part with purplish-red. The lower part of the back and the upper part of the sides, from near the shoulders to near the tail, are pure white, as are the lower wing-coverts and axillaries. The primaries and their coverts are brownish-grey on the outer web, the former dusky towards the end, as are the outer secondaries. There are two broad bars of black on the wing, one extending over the six inner secondary quills, the other over the secondary coverts, the outer two excepted. The tail has a broad terminal band of black, and the outer web of each lateral feather is white. The downy part of the feathers is greyish-white, excepting on the white part of the back, where it is pure white.

"Length to end of tail 14 inches; to end of wings when closed 12; extent of wings 27; wing from flexure 9; tail 5; bill along the back, along the edge of lower mandible 1; tarsus 1; first toe , its claw; second toe 4%, its claw 3;; third toe 144, its claw twelfths; fourth toe , its claw 4 twelfths.

"The only external differences which the female presents consist of her being a little smaller, and having the shining colours on the neck less extended.

"Length to end of tail 13 inches; extent of wings 26; wing from flexure 9; tail 4; bill along the back, along the edge of lower mandible 1; tarsus 1; first toe , its claw ; second toe , its claw ; third toe 1, its claw 5 twelfths; fourth toe , its claw 4 twelfths.

"Among the vast numbers of undonbtedly wild birds of this species which I have seen, I have not observed any remarkable variations of form or colour. The dark-coloured, purple, and white individuals, which are occasionally seen consorting with the wild doves, or residing in maritime caves or rocks, are in all probability domestic birds that have betaken themselves to the original mode of life of the species. As the moulting season approaches, the blue tint becomes much paler, especially on the wings. The outer primary quills are often tinged with brown, in consequence of the bird's striking the ground with its wings when commencing its flight; and the bill is frequently more or less crusted with earth or mud. Individuals vary in length from 18 to 14 inches, and in the extent of their wings from 24 to 27.

"At the western extremity of Ben Capval, a promontory of one of the remote Hebrides, is a vast mass of rock, broken by gaps and fissures into projecting crags and sloping shelves, and looking as if originally produced by the separation of a portion of the mountain which had sunk into the depths of the ocean that heaves