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 manent necessity. You couldn't spend your last sou, and say finally: So that's that!—No, if you lived even another ten minutes, you wanted a few more sous for something or other. Just to keep the business mechanically going, you needed money. You had to have it. Money you have to have. You needn't really have anything else. So that's that!—

Since, of course, it's not your own fault you are alive. Once you are alive, money is a necessity, and the only absolute necessity. All the rest you can get along without, at a pinch. But not money. Emphatically, that's that!—

She thought of Michaelis, and the money she might have had with him; and even that she didn't want. She preferred the lesser amount which she helped Clifford to make by his writing. That she actually helped to make.—"Clifford and I together, we make twelve hundred a year out of writing;" so she put it to herself. Make money! Make it! Out of nowhere! Wring it out of the thin air! The last feat to be humanly proud of! The rest all-my-eye-Betty-Martin.

So she plodded home to Clifford, to join forces with him again, to make another story out of nothingness: and a story meant money. Clifford seemed to care very much whether his stories were considered first class literature or not. Strictly, she didn't care. Nothing in it! said her father. Twelve hundred pounds last year! was the retort simple and final.

If you were young, you just set your teeth, and bit on and held on, till the money began to flow from the invisible; it was a question of power. It was a question of will; a subtle, subtle, powerful emanation of will out of yourself brought back to you the mysterious nothingness of money: a word on a bit of paper. It was a sort of magic, certainly it was triumph. The bitch-goddess! Well, if one had to prostitute oneself, let it be to a bitch-goddess! One could always despise her even while one prostituted oneself to her, which was good.

Clifford, of course, had still many childish taboos and fetishes. He wanted to be thought "really good," which was all cock-a-hoopy nonsense. What was really good was what actually caught on. It was no good being really good and getting left with it. It seemed as if most of the "really good" men just missed the bus. After all you only lived one life, and if you missed the bus, you


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 goods, not only from one province to another, but from one shop to another. It subjects, not only the dealers in some sorts of goods, but those in all sorts, every farmer, every manufacturer, every merchant and shopkeeper, to the continual visits and examination of the tax-gatherers. Through the greater part of a country in which a tax of this kind is established, nothing can be produced for distant sale. The produce of every part of the country must be proportioned to the consumption of the neighborhood. It is to the Alcavala, accordingly, that Ustaritz imputes the ruin of the manufactures of Spain. He might have imputed to it likewise the declension of agriculture, it being imposed not only upon manufactures, but upon the rude produce of the land.

In the kingdom of Naples there is a similar tax of three per cent upon the value of all contracts, and consequently upon that of all contracts of sale. It is both lighter than the Spanish tax, and the greater part of towns and parishes are allowed to pay a composition in lieu of it. They levy this composition in what manner they please, generally in a way that gives no interruption to the interior commerce of the place. The Neapolitan tax, therefore, is not near so ruinous as the Spanish one.

The uniform system of taxation, which, with a few exceptions of no great consequence, takes place in all the different parts of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, leaves the interior commerce of the country, the inland and coasting trade, almost entirely free. The inland trade is almost perfectly free, and the greater part of goods may be carried from one end of the kingdom to the other, without requiring any permit or let-pass, without being subject to question, visit or examination from the revenue officers.

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


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text: Poems (Philips)/An Answer to another perswading a Lady to Marriage


text: Coming of Age in Samoa/Chapter 11

title: Coming of Age in Samoa/Chapter 11


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ven though he held himself frigidly aloof from all men Flash was a prime favorite at the BarT ranch. He was a changed Flash; his former springy alertness had been replaced by a drooping, dispirited air of complete dejection. Moran had gone from his life—and life had lost its tang.

He could not know that Moran would either soon return or send for him; he only knew that he was gone, and the longing for him was like a sickness.

Flash was often missed for a time from the BarT. Later they found that he had been several times to Harmon’s cabin and had spent a few days at Dad Kinney’s camp. Thereafter when he was absent they knew he was at one of the places which he associated with Moran.

His handling of stock was a marvel of intelligence but it was a mere mechanical following out of the tasks Moran had taught him for he now found no joy in the work.

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 Teems on fever al Occafîons. 6j

Thou'lt fee that in Heart-merchandife, Value, not NumBer, makes the Price.

JV. Live to that Day, my Innocence Shall be my Friendfhip's juft Defence : For this is all the World can find, While thou wert Noble, I was Kind.

V. The defp'rate Game that thou doft play At private Ruins cannot flay > The horrid Treach'ry of that Face Will fure undo its native Place.

VI. Then let the Frenchmen never fear The Viftory while thou art there : For if Sins will call Judgments down, Thou haft enough to flock the Town.

To my Excellevt Lucafia, on our Frtendfhip.

I Did not live until this time Crown d my Felicity, When I could fay without a Crime, I am not thine, but Thee.

This Carcafs breath'd, and walk'd, and flept,

So that the World believ'd There was a Soul the Motions kept 5

But they were all deceived.

F For


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 something in common with the local people. But also something very uncommon.

"The gamekeeper, Mellors, is a curious kind of person," she said to Clifford; "he might almost be a gentleman."

"Might he?" said Clifford. "I hadn't noticed."

"But isn't there something special about him?" Connie insisted.

"I think he's quite a nice fellow, but I know very little about him. He only came out of the army last year, less than a year ago. From India, I rather think. He may have picked up certain tricks out there, perhaps he was an officer's servant, and improved on his position. Some of the men were like that. But it does them no good, they have to fall back into their old place when they get home again."

Connie gazed at Clifford contemplatively. She saw in him the peculiar tight rebuff against anyone of the lower classes who might be really climbing up, which she knew was characteristic of his breed.

"But don't you think there is something special about him?" she asked.

"Frankly, no! Nothing I had noticed."

He looked at her curiously, uneasily, half-suspiciously. And she felt he wasn't telling her the real truth; he wasn't telling himself the real truth, that was it. He disliked any suggestion of a really exceptional human being. People must be more or less at his level, or below it.

Connie felt again the tightness, niggardliness of the men of her generation. They were so tight, so scared of life!


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 66 Toems on fever al Occajtons.

For as a Watch by Art is wound

To Motion, fuch was mine : But never had Orinda found

A Soul 'till fhe found thine 3

Which now infpires, cures and fupplies, And guides my darkned Breaft :

For thou art all that I can prize, My Joy, my Life, my Reft.

No Bridegroom's nor Crown-conquror's Mirth

To mine compar'd can be : They have but pieces of this Earth,

I've all the World in thee.

Then let our Flames ftill light and fhine,

And no falfe Fear controul, As innocent as our Deflgn,

Immortal as our Soul.

RofaniaV Trivate Marriage.

IT was a wife and kind Defign of Fate, That none fhould this day's Glory celebrate : For 'twere in vain to keep a Time which is Above the reach of all Solemnities. The greateft A&ions pafs without a Noife, And Tumults but prophane diviner Joys.

Silence

v.


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 ^toetns on fever al Occa fions. I 77

Againft LOVE.

HEnce, Cupidy with your cheating Toy?, Your real Griefs, and painted Joys,

Your Pleafure which it felf deftroys. Lovers like Men in Feavers burn and rave, And only what will injure them do crave.

Mens weaknefs makes Love fo fevere,

They give him Power by their Fear,

And make the Shackles which they wear» Who to another does his Heart fubmit, Makes his own Idol, and then Worfhips it,

Him whofe Heart is all his own,

Peace and Liberty does crown,

He apprehends no killing Frown. He feels no Raptures which are Joys difeas'd, And is not much tranfported, but ftill pleas'd.

A "Dialogue of FRIENDSHIP multipl/d*

MUSIIZORUS.

Will you unto one fingle Senfe Confine a flarry Influence ? Or when you do the Rays combine, To themfelves cnly make them (hine ? Love that's engrofs'd by one alone, Is Envy not Affeftion.

N ORJ


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title: Page:Poems Cook.djvu/328


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 $4 Toems on feveral Occajïons.

He's our Original, by whom we fee

How much we fail, and what we ought to be.

But why do I to Copy him pretend? My Rymes but libel whom they would commend. Tis true j but none can reach what's fet fo high: And though I mifs, I've noble Company : For the moft happy Language muft confefs, It doth obfeure TaUtnon, not exprefs.

To Afrs. M. A. at Tarting.

I

ÏHave examin'd, and do find. Of all that favour me, There s none I grieve to leave behind

But only only thee. To part with thee I needs muft die, Could Parting fep'rate thee anM.

h.

But neither Chance nor Compliment

Did element our Love j Twas facred Sympathy was lent

Us from the Quire above. That FriendQiip Fortune did create, Still fears a Wound from Time or Fate.

m. ou*


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 "Poems on fever al Oc c a fions. 9j

III. Our cliang d and rtiingled Souls arc grown

To fuch Acquaintance now, That if each would refuine their own,

Alas! we know not how. We have each other fo engroft, That each is in the Union loft.

IV. And thus we can no Abfence know,

Nor fliall we be confin'd -, Our active Souls will daily go To learn each others Mind, Nay, fhould we never meet to Senfe, Our Souls would hold Intelligence.

V. Infpird with a Flame Divine

I fcorn to court a ftay^ For from that noble Soul of thine

I ne'er can be away. But I (hall weep when thou doft grieve 5 Nor can I dye whilft thou doft live.

VI. By my own Temper I (hall guefs

At thy Felicity, And only like my Happinefs

Becaufe it pleafeth thee. Our Hearts at any time will tell If thou, or h be fick, or well.

VIL All


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 96 'Poems on feveral Occajîons.

VII. All Honour fure I rauft pretend,

All that is Good or Great 5 She that would be Rofanias Friend,

Muft be at leaft compleat. If I have any Bravery, 'Tis caufe I have fo much of thee.

VIII. Thy Leiger Soul in me (I13II lie, And all thy Thoughts reveal} Then back again with mine (hall Aie*

And thence to me (hall fteah Thus ftill to one another tend 5 Such is the facred Name of Friend.

IX. Thus our Twin-fouls in one (hall grow,

And teach the World new Love, Redeem the Age and Sex, and fliew

A Flame Fate dares not move : And courting Death to be our Friend, Our Lives together too (hall end.

X. A Dew (hall dwell upon our Tomb

Of fuch a Quality, That fighting Armies, thither come,

Shall reconciled be. We'll ask no Epitaph, but fay ORlNT>A and RQSAN1A,

té


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E will not like those Men our Off'rings pay Who crown the Cup, then think they Crown the Day. We make no Garlands, nor an Altar build, Which help not Joy, but Ostentation yield. Where Mirth is justly grounded, these wild Toys Are but a troublesome and empty Noise.

But these shall be my great Solemnities, Orinda 's Wishes for Cassandras 's Bliss. May her Content be as unmix'd and pure As my Affection, and like that endure; And that strong Happiness may she still find Not owing to her Fortune, but her Mind.

May her Content and Duty be the same, And may she know no Grief but in the name. May his and her Pleasure and Love be so Involv'd and growing, that we may not know Who most Affection or most Peace engrost; Whose Love is strongest, or whose Bliss is most.

May nothing accidental e'er appear But what shall with new Bonds their Souls endear; And may they count the Hours as they pass, By their own Joys, and not by Sun or Glass:


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 While ev'ry Day like this may sacred prove To Friendship, Gratitude, and strictest Love.

AD I ador'd the Multitude, and thence Got an Antipathy to Wit and Sense, And hugg'd that Fate in hope the World would grant 'Twas good Affection to be ignorant; Yet the least Ray of thy bright Fancy seen, I had Converted, or Excuseless been; For each Birth of thy Muse to after times Shall expiate for all this Age's Crimes. First shines thy Amoret, 'twice Crown'd by thee, Once by thy Love, next by thy Poetry: Where thou the best of Unions dost dispence, Truth cloath'd in Wit, and Love in Innocence. So that the muddiest Lovers may learn here, No Fountains can be sweet that are not clear. There Juvenal, reviv'd by thee, declares How flat Man's Joys are, and how mean his Cares; And gen'rously upbraids the World, that they Should such a value for their Ruin pay. But when thy sacred Muse diverts her Quill, The Landskip to design of Leon 's Hill; As nothing else was worthy her or thee, So we admire almost t'Idolatry.


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 i8o Toems on fever al Occajtons.

How canft thou thy Rofania prife, And be fo cruel and fo wife ? For if fuch rigid Policy Muft thy Refolves difpute with me, Where then is Friendfliip's Vidory ?

Kindnefs is of fo brave a make Twill rather Death than Bondage take, So that if thine no Power can have, Give it and me one common Grave, But quickly either kill or fave.

To my Ant en or, March 16th, i6ôlz.

MY dear Antenor now give oer, For my fake talk of Graves no more, Death is not in our Pow'r to gain, And is both wifli'd and fear'd in vain. Let's be as angry as we will, Grief fooner may diftrad than kill, And the Unhappy often prove Death is as coy a Thing as Love. Thofe whofe own Sword their Death did give, Afraid were or afliam'd to Live 5 And by an ad fo defperate, Did poorly run away from Fate 3

Tis


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 Toems on fever a I Oeeajions. i3r

Tis braver much t' out- ride the Storm, Endure its Rage, and fhun its Harm-, Affliction nobly undergone, More Greatnefs (hews, than having none. But yet the Wheel, in turning round, At laft may lift us from the Ground 5 And when our Fortune's moft fevere, The lefs we have, the lefs we fear. And why (hould we that Grief permit, Which can nor mend nor (horten it> Let's wait for a fucceeding Good, Woes have their Ebb as well as Flood :

And fince the Parliament have refcud you,

Believe that Providence will do fo too.

A Triton to Lucafia going to Sea, Jhortly after the QUEEN'S Arrival.

I.

MY Mafter Neptune took fuch Pains of late To quiet the Commotions of his State, That he might give, through his fierce Winds and Seas, S ifc Partage to the Royal Tortuguezey That e'er fince at home has kept, And in hisChryftal Palace flepr,
 * i ill a fwift Wind told him to day

A Stranger was to pafs this way,

N 3 Whom


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 As he sat on a ridge a few hundred yards from the bunkhouse he distinctly heard some one call his name. He deliberately turned away and trotted off through the darkness. He had investigated every human habitation for miles around, searching vainly for some sign of Moran. Flash was losing hope, and with it his allegiance to the world of men. More and more now he listened to the night sounds that called him, and he spent much of his time alone in the hills.

He rambled aimlessly on until sometime near daylight, when he curled up on a ridge seventy miles from the BarT range and slept. The air was crisp and cold. Except for the drifts in the gulches the light fall snows had disappeared from the foothills, but even this early the peaks were one solid glare of white. A stiff breeze rose with the sun and whipped his exposed position, and he started to seek a more sheltered spot.

Below him, a rider was gathering some cows from the rough sidehill breaks. As Flash watched, a steer turned and the rider wheeled his horse and plunged across the draw to head him.

Habit was strong in Flash and he dropped down the slope to head the steer. The instant he appeared, the rider jerked his horse back on his

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IS true, our Life is bur a long Disease, Made up of real Pain and seeming Ease. You Stars, who these entangled Fortunes give, O tell me why It is so hard to dye, Yet such a Task to Live? If with some Pleasure we our Griefs betray, It costs us dearer than it can repay. For Time or Fortune all Things so devours; Our hopes are crost, Or else the Object lost, E'er we can call it ours.

Eader stay, it is but just; Thou dost not tread on common Dust. For underneath this Stone does lye One whose Name can never dye: Who from an Honour'd Lineage sprung, Was to another matched Young; Whose Happiness she ever sought; One Blessing was, and many brought.


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 haunches and pulled his gun. Flash whirled and snapped at a hot stab of pain which seared across his rump as the report crashed in his ears. He fled and from behind him the sharp reports rang out in quick succession. Spurts of gravel were tossed up about him and there were whining rushes of air close to his head.

Flash knew well the use of firearms. He had often seen Moran and others shoot and after each report there had been a jack rabbit flopping in his death throes or a dying antelope twitching on the ground. He knew that this man, for no reason whatever, had meant to kill him.

Half an hour later as he trotted across the flat there came the sharp crack that a high velocity rifle ball makes when it passes close to the ear. The distant report reached him as he whirled to run. Four hundred yards away a man leaned against the door of a sod house and emptied his gun at the gray form that was running with incredible speed across the flat.

Flash entered the mouth of a long valley. A horseman was plunging down the right hand slope to cut him off. He veered to the left, and as the furiously running horse pulled in behind him the rider’s gun barked six times at the fleeing wolf.

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title: Page:Poems Cook.djvu/330


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 Flash could not know that to all men but those who knew him he was a wolf. He only knew that all men had turned their hands against him and sought his life.

The next man he saw he avoided, and when next he bedded down it was on the crest of a knoll that offered a clear view for miles.

When night came he traveled on, crossing a low range of mountains and descending into the rolling grasslands of the Wind River Valley. Hunger pressed him and he found no living thing but cows. The sense of distance from familiar scenes made the BarT seem so far behind as to be part of another world. The fast that men had so recently turned against him was bitterly uppermost in his mind—and he was hungry.

Men sought his life. And for the first time he turned his teeth against an animal that belonged to men and singled out a steer. His first snap was half hearted and did not entirely sever the cords of the leg. The steer fled in a panic and the others, crazed by the smell of blood and this silent wolf shape that had appeared among them, crowded around him in a mad stampede. The one taste of warm blood and the clattering roar of hoofs as more scattered cows joined the frantic

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 rush stimulated the wild blood in Flash and he lunged again, this time with all the powerful drive of a killing lobo behind his teeth.

The steer ran on, one hind leg giving under him. Then Flash struck the other leg and the steer went down. Even as he reached the ground a gray shape drove at his throat and slashed it open with savage fangs that cut in like knives.

Flash stood over his kill, listening to the roar of hoofs, and the crazed bawling of cows as the stampede gathered numbers and rolled on down the valley—and he was all wolf, a great gray beast of prey with the tame strain submerged deep beneath the wild.

He roamed the valley for a full week, sleeping by day and killing by night. Then the old longing for Moran reasserted itself and called him back to the BarT range. He covered the hundred miles in a single night and approached the BarT buildings cautiously just before dawn. There was a light in the bunkhouse; the boys were getting up.

Flash drew near, trying to catch the sound of Moran’s voice in the murmur that came from the bunkhouse. A horrible shock of surprise flooded

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 through him and he wheeled to run as a voice spoke seemingly out of the air and called his name. But the voice was friendly and old habit was strong. Flash stopped.

“Hello, Flash.” From his perch on the windmill platform the early riser had seen the dim form slipping toward the house. “You old rascal, where have you been?”

Flash trotted off to the sheltering gloom of the corral and waited, undecided which course to pursue.

When the windmill fan started to turn, the bunkhouse door opened and the occupants emerged irregularly and started splashing face and hands with the icy water from the tank: Halfway down the ladder, the man above stopped to call out that Flash was back and from the group at the tank there arose an immediate chorus of friendly remarks and whistles for the dog.

Flash trotted near them, his muscles bunched for sudden flight at the first hostile move, but he was greeted as an old friend.

During the next week he reconstructed his ideas of man. Twice he was shot at when far from the ranch. He finally knew that he was safe

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 when with the BarT boys but that when off his own range men sought his life. He accommodated himself to this.

His two stronger strains were balanced by the coyote intelligence which, except for his eyes, was his sole inheritance from the little yellow prairie wolf grandfather.

The reason coyotes are caught in traps while wolves are not is because wolves avoid all man scent while a coyote believes in himself—he simply cannot resist the call to pit his intelligence against that of man. This curiosity costs many coyote lives, but his kind has survived in numbers on ranges where man has long since exterminated the wolves.

Flash began to lead a strange dual life which accorded well with his opposing strains of blood and in which this coyote brain stood him in good stead.

Stock dogs were scarce on the range. They did not long survive the poison baits which wolfers laid for coyotes. The BarT men firmly believed Flash to be the best stock dog in the world. There was talk of taking him to the Frontier Day fair in the far off capitol and issuing a free-for-all

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title: Page:Poems Cook.djvu/331


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 challenge, backed by a thousand dollar purse, proclaiming him the wide open champion of the world. The BarT owner had made Moran a standing offer of five hundred for the dog.

The stockmen of Wind River had posted a five hundred dollar reward for the scalp of the most savage lobo that had ever showed up on the range and who made periodical forays among their cows, killing more than the price on his head in a single week.

Thus each of the two extremes in Flash built up a reputation of its own, for the champion stock dog of the Greybull and the famous lobo killer of Wind River were the same.

His absences which were attributed to wandering around in search of Moran, were now spent in raiding. On these trips he was all wild. He bedded down with the wind at his back and a clear field of view in front. He feared men, not with blind, unreasoning terror but with a certain knowledge of their power for harm.

His coyote intelligence saved him from panicky flights in the open at the first whiff of man scent; instead he would flatten out and let them pass or watch his chance to slip away unseen. Then old

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 habit would cry out for the companionship of man, and he would show up innocently at the BarT ranch.

In the face of all his cleverness the net began to tighten around Flash after two months of this dual existence.

Dad Kinney shifted his camp to Wind River. Winter had crept down the mountains until it was one rough white mass clear down to the base of the hills. A full half of the time there was a tracking snow in the foothills and with a relay string of grain fed horses Kinney commenced his tireless hunt for the five hundred dollar wolf.

The wolfer knew well the one greatest weakness of his prey—that of gorging on warm meat and bedding down. A swift horse can often wear down an overfed wolf. It is established custom for any rider who sees such a race to throw himself into it and press the wolf with a fresh horse. More of the big gray killers of the open range country have been relayed to death on a new snow than by all other methods combined.

Day after day Kinney rode steadily on the trail, his sights set for a thousand yards. Flash learned to watch for the tiny speck that always appeared on his back track and gradually enlarged into a

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 rider on his trail. It was only a question of time.

One morning in mid-December Kinney found a steer that had been killed not two hours before and he swung his horse into a steady trail trot on the big tracks in the fresh light snow.

Flash had bedded down on a slight rise of ground five miles from his kill. He had feasted heavily and was loath to leave his bed; not until the man was within two miles did he start.

When Kinney saw a dark speck trotting across the white snow two miles away he lifted his sorrel into a keen run and Flash started in on the first lap of the most terrible day of his life.

He felt stupid and sluggish, disinclined to travel fast or far but was forced to keep on and on. He ran in a straight-away toward the base of the Wind River hills, seventy miles away. The country was slightly rolling, almost flat. Often he increased his speed and drew away from the man behind. Always his gait slackened when the man was out of sight; then the wiry sorrel would appear over some ridge close behind, running swiftly on his trail. Each time he saw smoke or the low buildings of a ranch ahead he veered slightly to the right or left to miss the spot by at least a mile. After twenty miles as he passed a ranch he missed

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 the man; it seemed that he had shaken off his hunter at last. He was deathly tired and slowed his pace. A few miles farther on he sprawled down in the snow on a little swell of ground. It seemed but a few short minutes until another horse loomed up on his back track.

Kinney had veered off to the ranch and changed mounts, throwing his saddle on the best horse in the corral. This time it was a rangy pinto that was running like a greyhound on his trail. So the desperate race kept up. Another score of miles and Flash had one more brief respite before a tough, smooth-running buckskin was after him,

His powerful muscles seemed to have lost their spring. His body was a leaden weight, almost too heavy for his legs. Only the one ever present knowledge that death lurked close behind forced him to keep ahead. He ran desperately, the mechanical driving of his muscles sending him on and on. From the first roll of the Wind River hills he looked back. A blocky, mountain-climbing bay loped away from the ranch house a mile below and buckled sturdily to his ascent of the hills.

With heaving sides, Flash started across the low divide for home. His breath sounded in leaky

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Rh the beginner should go up with an instructor with dual controls again and should get himself into—and out of—one scrape after another, including forced landings. After he has done so repeatedly, he will have confidence and a real feeling of what must be done, and done instantly, under any given set of circumstances. More of this sort of follow-through training and there would probably be fewer of the accidents which too often are beginners’ bad luck.

I had rolled up the tremendous total of two and one-half hours’ instruction when I decided that life was incomplete unless I owned my own plane. Those were the days of rather heavy, under-powered ships which lifted themselves from the ground with a lumbering effort. The small sport planes were just beginning to appear, most of them in experimental stages. The field where I flew was owned by W. G. Kinner of the Kinner Aeroplane and Motor Corporation, who was

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text:
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 gasps; the yellow eyes were set and bloodshot and the savage jaws dripped froth which spattered back and dried on his breast and sides.

He kept ahead across the spur and down the other side. Just at dark Kinney quit the trail at the foot of the slope and stopped at a ranch house overnight. The dim suspicion which had haunted his mind all day as to the identity of the wolf now crystallized into a certainty. The size of the tracks; the fact that no man had ever heard this lobo howl; the sense of familiarity he had felt at each distant glimpse of the big gray shape that had fled before him all that day; the periodical raids dove-tailing with certain absences from home; all these pointed to one thing—Flash.

Five miles away Flash was stretched out in the snow. After raiding all night he had been ruthlessly harried for more than a hundred miles, starting when gorged with meat, a time when a wolf’s endurance is at its lowest ebb.

Before daylight he started on, heading for the fancied safety of the BarT.

Once there he kept his eye on the low ridge half a mile away over which he had come. No wind had sprung up to blot his tracks and late in the

title: Page:The Cross Pull.pdf/75


text: Page:Poems Cook.djvu/335

title: Page:Poems Cook.djvu/335


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 afternoon a horse topped the ridge and Kinney came jogging slowly along to the ranch on the trail of the Wind River wolf.

Flash scratched at the bunkhouse door and the lone occupant let him in. From the window he watched Kinney ride up, and as he entered Flash knew this was the man who had hounded him, and his hair bristled as he backed into a comer, his teeth bared savagely.

“Too bad, Flash,” Kinney said, “I’m sorry it’s got to be done.”

Flash wanted to get out of the bunkhouse but was kept there until the rest of the men came in at dusk.

Kinney’s proof was clear. These were hard men. If a friend turned rustler they regretted it—and led his horse under the fatal tree. Flash was a friend but justice must be done. The wolf dog listened to his trial. He could not understand the words but there was menace in the tones and the looks they cast at him. He knew it was connected with the race and a chill dread of death shook him.

The men drew lots from a hat.

“I’m sorry it fell to me,” said one. “I’ll call him outside and get it over with.” He slowly

title: Page:The Cross Pull.pdf/76


text:
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Rh then developing one of the first sport planes made.

I watched that plane at work in those days when I was cutting my aviation eye teeth. Little by little I became able to distinguish the different makes of planes, and the finer points of their performance. I realized that the small plane took off more quickly, climbed more steeply, was faster and easier to handle than its bigger brothers with their greater horse power and wing spread.

After two and one-half hours I really felt myself a competent judge of planes! A few hundred solo hours since then have modified greatly that initial self-confidence! The fact that wise pilots with a thousand hours or so warned me against this little fellow, influenced me not. I wanted that sport plane that hopped off like a sandpiper and actually seemed to like it. And I set about buying it. My pilot friends came to me quietly. "Look out for the motor," they said.

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 pulled his gun and opened the door. “Come on, Flash, old fellow,” he said.

With one mighty spring Flash cleared the open door and was off, a swift gray streak in the moonlight with a gun barking spitefully behind him.

“He’s a smart one,” said the man with the gun. “He knew! He almost made it at that, but I got him.”

The men crowded out of the bunkhouse. Fifty yards along the trail Flash had left they found where he had fallen and there was blood in the snow.

“We’ll find him to-morrow,” Kinney said. “He can’t travel far.” But in the morning the trail was blotted under half a foot of new snow. When Moran notified them to ship the dog to him, word was sent back that Flash was dead.

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text: Page:Moonlight, a poem- with several copies of verses (IA moonlightpoemwit00thuriala).pdf/38


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Rh to be sold, the prospective purchaser usually being on the silent end of the debate. So I found myself studying the virtues of my plane, and in so doing, those of others.

The first thing most people want to do when they get a new car is to take someone out driving in it; a desire which seems to apply equally to a plane. Somehow I have always felt a little differently. It isn't that I am not proud of my possession, but that I always have a suspicion that my pride may run away with my prudence. If it be car or plane, my inclination is to be absolutely sure of myself before I whisk anybody else's body around in it. Consequently my air passengers were few.

As a matter of fact, I have never asked any men to take a ride. I think I have always feared that some sense of gallantry would make them accept, even though they did not trust me. So my male passengers have always had to do the asking.

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lash stood on a divide that overlooked the valley of the Little Bighorn. The BarT and his past life were a week behind and several hundred miles to the south. The ragged tear across his shoulder had healed and troubled him not at all. He was outlawed by men but did not care. The one thing that most concerned him now was the insistent desire to hear the missing note for which he had always listened among the sounds of the night. This was the mating moon of the wolves but he did not know.

He did know that the craving for that long sought note was a positive ache.

Then it came! From far down in the valley there sounded a call that set his veins on fire. He knew now what it was. The far off cry was that of a she wolf questing for a mate.

His whole body thrilled and tingled to the call. He had never used his voice yet he knew he must reply. He stood erect, his great head stretched forth but no sound came. The note drifted to

title: Page:The Cross Pull.pdf/78


text: The Cross Pull/Chapter 6

title: The Cross Pull/Chapter 6


text:
Page:20 Hrs 40 Min (Earhart).pdf/73

 There were plenty of potential joy riders around the fields in those days. Many of them had drifted into aviation after the war—or rather had not drifted out. They wanted to be near planes, and accepted any opportunity to take a ride no matter who the pilot or what the machine. From this gang have graduated many of the men who are today the real working human backbone of the industry.

From them were recruited the gypsy flyers who barnstormed their way around the country and whose activities actually figured largely in the development of American aviation. It was they who kept alive public interest. Mostly they flew wrecks, old war crates tied together with baling wire. Anything that would get off the ground—most of the time—was good enough for them. Many of them, of course, paid a heavy price for their devotion.

I didn’t like public flying. It didn’t coincide with my ideas of what I wished to do with my

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text: Page:Moonlight, a poem- with several copies of verses (IA moonlightpoemwit00thuriala).pdf/39


text:
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 him again and he threw all the force of his lungs into one convulsive effort to answer it. For miles and miles across the white hills every living creature held its breath and lonely ranchers far down the valley felt the chill tingle of the wolf shiver as the lobo cry reached their ears. Having found his voice he called again and this time it was charged with all the pent up longings of the past year.

It started with a deep bass note, carrying a full, smooth volume, then swept abruptly up into a clear, siren peal that rolled on and on until it was tossed and echoed among the rimrocks of the valley.

The dog lobo and the she wolf from the north circled the edge of the basin until at last they met and stood facing one another across fifty feet of moonlit snow. They approached cautiously. The she wolf was suspicious of his scent; it was wolf scent, no doubt of that, but there was a faint trace of the conglomerate odor that marks the domestic dog. She sniffed at him, then snapped and fled.

Her speed was no match for his and he ran easily at her side. When she whirled and slashed at him he eluded her teeth but did not offer to re-

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 turn the snap. She soon found that he meant no harm to her. He was a massive, splendid figure of the true lobo; a mate to win the savage heart of any lovelorn she wolf. The urge of motherhood was warm within her. At last she stopped and they walked stiffly around, nosing each other until satisfied that all was well. She whined softly and he tried to answer. She seemed to understand the deep rumble which issued from his throat and he leaped about in a frenzy of delight and caressed her with his tongue.

She was a slim northern wolf with a dark strip along her back, blending into a soft silver gray on sides and flanks. Half an hour of courtship and the big lobo and the silver she wolf started for the valley in quest of meat.

Close under the rims they found where a lone steer had left his bed at the lobo call above and started out across the flats. Always before Flash had felt a furtive sense of wrong when on his raids but now with Silver running with him there was no thought save to kill—kill food for her. She whimpered eagerly and as he ran swiftly on the warm trail he was all wolf; the yellow eyes were streaked red with the lust to tear down his prey.

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text: Moonlight, a Poem: with Several Copies of Verses/Translation of a Chorus from the Hippolytus of Euripides


text:
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 plane. It was hard enough to keep out of the papers anyway in those days if one flew. The slightest mishap was called a crash and disasters were played up lugubriously.

For me flying was a sport and not a circus—I used to sneak away to a secluded field and practise, with no one to bother. I appeared in public only on special occasions. For instance once I was invited to take part in a meet held by the Aero Club of Southern California at Pasadena. It was purely a public demonstration, a sort of circus, yet it was for a purpose—to raise money for the Club and to arouse local interest in flying.

I was asked to do a little stunting, the usual thing on occasions of this kind. The little plane looked well in the air, so I accepted. The minute I flew up to the field I began to feel like a clown, although happily there were two of us female freaks to divide the honors and the odium.

There was plenty of chatter about two

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 They closed in on the steer and pulled him down. Silver raised her voice and gave the summons to the feast, the victorious cry of the wolf who has killed. Once more Flash tried out his voice and the lobo note rang out with hers. From far up the slope of the mountains to the north, as if an echo of their own call cast back to them, there came an answering cry. Then another. Several blended into one. The cry of the pack. They sounded closer and soon were answering from all along the face of the hills, assuring Flash and Silver that they were coming to the kill.

All up and down the valley, ranchers listened to this devils’ chorus and planned for ruthless, bloody war as soon as the sun should shine. This was no new thing to them. Each winter when the snow fell heavy in the north there was at least one scattering band of wolves that were lured across the mountains, coming down to the easier killing of the open range.

Two gray shadows came sliding through the night and fell ravenously upon the steer; then two more. Presently there were fourteen wolves tearing at the warm meat. They were gaunt with the pinch of famine and not until the last bone was picked did they quit the feast. As they ate

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 they snarled. Flash had come into his own at last. He imitated these sounds of his kinsfolk and added his snarl to theirs.

There were frequent slashes and snaps but no resulting fights. They had come in pairs, and each one, with true wolf constancy, was contented with his own. The season of selection had passed its height. Among them were grizzled veterans who bore the marks of recent conflict gained during the savage courting period that had raged all through the north. A little earlier and Flash would have been compelled to defend his right to mate with the silver she wolf.

Two hours before dawn the pack left off gnawing on the bones of the steer and trotted slowly away. As he traveled with them, the big lobo was four inches taller at the shoulder than the next, looming up by comparison as a giant of his kind. A wolf loses or picks up weight more rapidly than any other animal and as they moved across the snow they were no longer gaunt. Paunches sagged heavily, low to the ground. After famine they had gorged to repletion. Some of them had not touched food for three days when they came to the kill, yet they had appeared springy and tireless. Now, after feeding, instead

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 of feeling new strength they were sluggish and lethargic. Ten miles from the steer they sought a knoll and bedded down, each pair choosing quarters of their own a few yards from the rest.

As Flash slept, his dreams dwelt upon a far off speck on his back track which developed into a horseman on his trail. The horse changed color continuously—first a sorrel and then a tireless buckskin was pressing him. When some nearby wolf clashed his teeth together in his sleep it was a pistol shot to Flash, and he was instantly on his feet, the new found snarl rumbling in his throat.

He nosed Silver into wakefulness and started off. It was agony for her to travel but she would not be left behind by this magnificent new mate of hers. She followed, and daylight found them resting far up the slope of the hills on a ledge that overlooked the valley.

Flash made out little specks which he knew to be horsemen riding at two mile intervals along the base of the slope. Out across the valley as far as his telescopic eyes could reach, the tiny specks were moving swiftly across the white snow. The reports of irregular, rapid fire shooting drifted up to him through the thin, clear air.

No ranchman on the Little Bighorn had need

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 ask what his neighbor would do after listening to the chorus of the pack. At daylight the fastest horses stood saddled in front of every house and a relay string to which any rider was welcome was held in each corral. On every commanding knoll a rider lolled in the saddle, ready to dash down upon any hard pressed wolf which another should bring his way. From the dirt roof of every log cabin a man swept the country with powerful glasses for signs of an approaching race, his horse standing below with a rifle butt showing from the saddle scabbard.

These northern wolves were accustomed to the deep snow under the heavy trees where men traveled slowly on webs. They had not yet learned the lesson of the hard running horses and hard riding men of the open range—and most of them died as they learned.

That night when Flash and Silver made another kill there were but five of the pack who answered the call to feast.

Flash and Silver left them early and started on. The coyote brain warned the lobo of the danger of killing too often in one place. For almost two months they wandered on across several states, seldom killing in the same place twice.

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 They followed down the narrow valley of the Cache La Poudre, bedding down each day far back in the hills.

Silver felt great confidence in the judgment of this mate of hers, yet there were certain habits of his which she could never learn to view complacently. Often at night he went close to the dwellings of men, even sniffing around their corrals and barns. Flash knew that men were nearly powerless in darkness and their eyes very weak at night but Silver only knew that the man scent meant death for wolves and she scrupulously avoided it. Then too, meat was meat to Silver but Flash killed only beef. His greatest pride had been the charge of handling Moran’s horses and now he never would turn his teeth against a horse.

The cross currents were still at work in Flash. In the old days he had longed for the wild; now that he was wild he felt the call to be near man. When with Moran his dreams had been of the phantom shapes of the wolf pack. Now his dreams were all of men. Most often he was back in the Land of Many Rivers with Moran and always in his dreams his former master was associated with the girl—the wonderful creature he had seen but once.

title: Page:The Cross Pull.pdf/85


text:
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 increase, the prospects of the colony are serious; for it contains no rich mineral deposit as far as is at present known, nor are there in it any great native states. As far as we know, Sierra Leone must for an immense period depend on bush products collected by the natives, whose trade wants are only a few luxuries. For it must be remembered that in all these West African colonies there is not one single thing Europeans can sell to the natives that is of the nature of a true necessity, a thing the natives must have or starve. There is but one thing that even approaches in the West African markets to what wheat is in our own—that thing is tobacco. Next in importance to it, but considerably lower, is the group of trade articles—gunpowder, guns, and spirits, next again salt, and below these four staples come Manchester goods and miscellanies; the whole of the rest that lies in the power of civilisation to offer to the West African markets are things that are luxuries, things that will only be purchased by the native when he is in a state of prosperity. This subject I have, however, endeavoured to explain elsewhere.

We have for Sierra Leone, fortunately, a scientific authority to refer to on this matter of the natural resources of the country, and the amount of the natural riches we may presume we can take into account when arranging fiscal matters. This authority is the report of Mr. Scott-Elliott on the district traversed by the Anglo-French Boundary Commission.

Regarding mineral, the report states "that the only

title: Page:West African Studies.djvu/409


text:
Page:Margaret Mead - Coming of age in Samoa; a psychological study of primitive youth for western civilisation.pdf/237

 And if one girl past puberty is undersized while her cousin is tall and able to do heavier work, there will be a difference between them, due to their different physical endowment, which will be far greater than that which is due to puberty. The tall, husky girl will be isolated from her companions, forced to do longer, more adult tasks, rendered shy by a change of clothing, while her cousin, slower to attain her growth, will still be treated as a child and will have to solve only the slightly fewer problems of childhood. The precedent of educators here who recommend special tactics in the treatment of adolescent girls translated into Samoan terms would read: Tall girls are different from short girls of the same age, we must adopt a different method of educating them.

But when we have answered the question we set out to answer we have not finished with the problem. A further question presents itself. If it is proved that adolescence is not necessarily a specially difficult period in a girl's life—and proved it is if we can find any society in which that is so—then what accounts for the presence of storm and stress in American adolescents? First, we may say quite simply, that there must be something in the two civilisations to account for the difference. If the same process takes a different form in two different environments, we cannot make any explanations in terms of the process, for that is the same in both cases. But the social environment is very different and it is to it that we must look for an explana-


text:
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 There are a few exceptions, bat they are such as can give no interruption to any important branch of the inland commerce of the country. Goods carried coastwise, indeed, require certificates or coast-cockets. If you except coals, however, the rest are almost all duty free. This freedom of interior commerce, the effect of the uniformity of the system of taxation, is perhaps one of the principal causes of the prosperity of Great Britain; every great country being necessarily the best and most extensive market for the greater part of the productions of its own industry. If the same freedom, in consequence of the same uniformity, could be extended to Ireland and the plantations, both the grandeur of the State and the prosperity of every part of the empire, would probably be still greater than at present.

In France, the different revenue laws which take place in the different provinces, require a multitude of revenue officers to surround, not only the frontiers of the kingdom, but those of almost each particular province, in order either to prevent the importation of certain goods, or to subject it to the payment of certain duties, to the no small interruption of the interior commerce of the country. Some provinces are allowed to compound for the gabelle or salt tax. Others are exempted from it altogether. Some provinces are exempted from the exclusive sale of tobacco, which the farmers-general enjoy through the greater part of the kingdom. The aides, which correspond to the excise in England, are very different in different provinces. Some provinces are exempted from them, and pay a composition or equivalent. In those in which they take place and are in farm, there are many local duties which do not extend beyond a particular town or district. The


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 mineral of importance is iron, of which the country appears to contain a very large amount. There is a particularly rich belt of titaniferous iron ore in the hills behind Sierra Leone."

Titaniferous iron is an excellent thing in its way, and good for steel making; but it exists nearer home and in cheaper worked regions than Sierra Leone.

The soil is grouped by the report into three classes:

"1. That of the plateaux and hills above 2,000, or sometimes descending to 1,000 feet, which is due to the disintegration of gneiss and granite rocks.

"2. The red laterite which covers almost invariably all the lower hills from the sea level to 1,000 or 2,000 feet.

"3. The alluvium, due either to the action of the man- groves along the coast, or to rivers and streams inland."

These soils are capable of and do produce fine timber, rubber, oil and rice, and the general tropical food stuffs, but these, except the three first, are not very valuable export articles. Whether it is possible to enhance the agricultural value of the alluvium regions by growing tobacco, jute, coffee, cocoa, cotton and sugar, for export, is by some authorities regarded as doubtful on account of the labour problem; but at any rate, if these industries were taken in hand on a large scale, a scale sufficient materially to alter the resources of a West African colony, they would require many years of fostering, and it would be long before they could contribute greatly to the resources of such a colony as Sierra Leone, in the face of the organised production and cheaper labour, wherewith the supply now in the markets of Europe could be competed with.

I have had the advantage of associating with German and Portuguese and French planters of coffee and cocoa.

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 These are the planters who up to the present have been the most successful in West Africa. I do not say because they are better men, but because they have better soils and better labour than there is in our colonies. By these gentlemen I have been industriously educated in soils, &c.; and from what I have learnt about this matter I am bound regretfully to say that most of the soil of the English possessions is not really rich, taken in the main. There are in places patches of rich soil; and the greater part of our soil will be all the better this day 10,000 years hence; but at present the soil is mainly sour clay, slime and skin soils, skin soils over rock, skin soils over sour clay, skin soils over water-logged soil. We have, alas, not got the rich volcanic earth of Cameroon, Fernando Po, and San Thome and Principe. The natives who work the soil understand it fairly well, and negro agriculture is in a well-developed state, and their farms are most carefully tended and well kept. The rule along the Bight of Benin and Biafra is to change the soil of the farm at least every third year; this they do by cutting down a new bit of bush, burning the bush on the ground at the end of the dry season, and planting the crops. The old farm is then allowed to grow bush or long grass, whichever the particular district goes in for, until the time comes to work back on that piece of land again, when the bush which has grown is in its turn cut down and the ground replanted. This burning of the trees or grass is clearly regarded by the native agriculturist as manuring; it is practically the only method of manuring available for them in a country where cattle in quantities are not kept. It is a wasteful way with timber and rubber growing on the ground of course; but not so wildly wasteful as it looks, for your Negro agriculturist does not go to

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 make his farm on bits of forest that require very hard clearing work. He clears as easily as he can by means of collecting the great fluffy seed bunches of a certain tree which are inflammable and adding to them all the other inflammable material he can get; he then places these bonfires in the bit of forest he wants to clear and sets fire to them on a favourable night, when the proper sort of breeze is blowing to fan the flames; when the conflagration is over, he fells a few of the trees and leaves the rest standing scorched but not killed. Moreover, of course an African gentleman cannot go and make his farm anywhere he likes: he has to stick to the land which belongs to his family, and work round and round on that. This gives a highly untidy aspect to the family estate, you might think; considering the extent of it, a very small percentage must be kept under cultivation and the rest neglected. But this is not really so; if you were to go and take away from him a bit of the neglected land, you would be taking his farm, say for the year after next and grievously inconvenience him, and he would know it.

The native method of making farms does not, indeed, do so much harm in well-watered, densely-populated regions like those of Sierra Leone or the Niger Delta; but it does do an immense amount of harm in regions that are densely populated and require to make extensive farms, more particularly in the regions of Lagos and the Gold Coast, where the fertile belt is only a narrow ribbon, edged on the one side by the sand sea of the Sahara, and on the other by the salt sea of the South Atlantic. You can see the result of it in the district round Accra, which has always been heavily populated; for hundreds of years the forest has been kept down by agricultural enterprise. Consequences are, the rainfall is now diminished to a point that threatens to extinguish

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 agriculture, at any rate, a sufficient agriculture to support the local population; and it is not too much to say you can read on the face of the Accra plain famines to come. There is little reason to doubt that both the African deserts, the Sahara and the Kalahari, are advancing towards the Equator. Round Loanda you come across a sand-logged region of some fifty square miles, where you get the gum shed by forests that have gone, humanly speaking, never to return; human agency is largely responsible, it is like sawing the branch of a tree partially through, and then the wind breaks it off. Forest destruction in lands adjacent to deserts is the same thing; the forest is destroyed to a certain extent, an extent that diminishes the rainfall and makes it unable to resist the desert winds, and then—finis.

In the regions of the double rains in the great forest belt of Africa things are different, so you cannot generalise for West Africa at large in this matter. It is one thing for forest destruction to go on in the Gold Coast, quite another for it to go on in Calabar or Congo Français, where men fight back the forest as Dutchmen fight the sea. But I apologise. This, you will say, is not connected with Governmental expenditure, &c.; but it is to me a more amusing subject, and indirectly has a bearing; for example, Government expenditure in the direction of instituting a Forestry Department would be right enough in some regions, but unnecessary in others.

To return to this agriculture in Sierra Leone. Well, it is, like all West African agriculture, spade husbandry. It is concerned with the cultivation of vegetables for human consumption alone. In the interior of Sierra Leone and throughout the Western Soudan, for which Sierra Leone was once a principal port, there is a fair cattle country,

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 and an old established one, as is shown by the exports of hides mentioned in the writers of the seventeenth century. Yet it would be idle for the most enthusiastic believer in West Africa to pretend that the Western Soudan is coming on to compete with Argentina or Australia in the export of frozen meat; the climate is against it, and therefore this cattle country can only be represented in trade in a hide and horn export. Wool—as the sheep won't wear it, preferring hair instead and that of poor quality—need not I think be looked forward to from West Africa at all.

I have taken the published accounts of Sierra Leone, because, as I have said, they are the most complete. They are also, in the main, the most typical. It is true that Sierra Leone has not the gold wealth, nor the developing timber industry of the Gold Coast; but if you ignore French Guinea, and include the things belonging to it with the Sierra Leone totals, you will get a fairly equivalent result. Lagos has not yet shown a mineral export, but it and the Gold Coast have shown of late years an immensely increased export of rubber. Rubber, oil, and timber are the three great riches of our West African possessions, the things that may be relied on, as being now of great value and capable of immense expansion. But these things can only be made serviceable to the markets of the world and a source of riches to England by the co-operation of the natives of the country. In other words, you must solve the labour problem on the one hand, and increase the prosperity of the native population on the other, in order to make West Africa pay you back the value of the life and money already paid for her. This solution of the labour problem and this co-operation of the natives with you, the Crown Colony system will never gain for you, because it

title: Page:West African Studies.djvu/414


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 is too expensive for you and unjust to them, not intentionally, not vindictively nor wickedly, but just from ignorance. It destroys the native form of society, and thereby disorganises labour. It has no power of re-organising it. You hear that people are leaving Coomassie and Benin, instead of flocking in to those places, as they were expected to after the destruction of the local tyrannies. English influence in West Africa, represented as it now is by three separate classes of Englishmen, with no common object of interest, or aim in policy, is not a thing capable of re-organising so difficult a region. I have taken the Sierra Leone figures because, as I have said, they are the most complete and typical, and the state of the trade and the expenditure on the Government are those prior to the hut tax war. So they cannot be ascribed to it, nor can the plea be lodged that the expenditure was an enforced one. These figures merely show you the thing that led up to the hut tax war and the heavy enforced expenditure it has and will entail, and my reason for detaining you with them is the conviction that a similar policy pursued in our other colonies will lead to the same results—the destruction of trade and the imposition on the colonies of a debt that their natural resources cannot meet unless we are prepared to go in for forced labour and revert to the slave trade policy.

It seems clear enough that our present policy in the Crown Colonies, of a rapidly increasing expenditure in the face of a steadily falling trade, must necessarily lead our Government to seek for new sources of revenue beyond customs dues. New sources under our present system can only be found in direct taxation of the native population; the result of this is now known.

I will not attempt to deal fully with the figures we

title: Page:West African Studies.djvu/415


text:
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 Former CIA Official Involvement in Movement of Alleged Material Recovered from a UAP Crash Denied on the Record

AARO interviewed and obtained a signed statement from the former CIA official who was specifically named by AARO interviewees. The former official stated he had no knowledge of any aspect of this allegation. The allegation included the claimed crash of the objects, the possession of the resultant material by the USG and the private sector, and the attempt to transfer material that was purported to be of off-world origin. This reverse-engineering program allegedly occurred at the named facility in the 2009–2010 time frame. Interviewees allege that a separate interviewee from the facility attempted to set up a meeting to return material to the USG in 2010, but that the former CIA official stopped the transfer from industry to the USG. The interviewee alleged to have stopped the transfer denied these allegations. The former CIA official stated that he had no knowledge of any extraterrestrial material in the possession of the USG or any other organization. The official signed a Memorandum for the Record (MFR) attesting to the truthfulness of his statements.

The 1961 Special National Intelligence Estimate on "UFOs" Assessed to be Not Authentic

An interviewee brought to AARO's attention the existence of an alleged Special National Intelligence Estimate (SNIE), dated November 5, 1961, titled: "Critical Aspects of Unidentified Flying Objects and the Nuclear Threat to the Defense of the United States and its Allies." Through open-source research, AARO obtained a copy of the document. After discussions with the CIA's Center for the Study of Intelligence (CSI), the NSA Scientific Studies Board (one of the alleged authors), and research comparing this document to a number of known SNIEs and National Intelligence Estimates, AARO concluded the document is not authentic. NSA archives were searched because "the NSA Scientific Advisory Board" purportedly was one of the document's authors. CIA/CSI and NSA did not possess nor have knowledge of the document. AARO found the document lacked IC tradecraft standards and possessed significant inconsistencies with SNIE's and National Intelligence Estimates of the general time period. These inconsistencies included: the document's short length, incorrect formatting, inconsistent branding, lack of a dissemination block and coordination language, loose narrative style, convoluted logic, imprecise and casual language, and its superficial treatment of globally significant issues.

Aliens Observing Material Test a Likely Misunderstanding of an Authentic, Non-UAP Program Activity

AARO determined this account most likely amounted to a misunderstanding. The conversation likely referenced a test and evaluation unit that had a nickname with "alien" connotations at the specific installation mentioned. The nature of the test described by the interviewee closely matched the description of a specific materials test conveyed to AARO investigators.


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 Allegation that a Former U.S. military Service Member Touched an Extraterrestrial Spacecraft

An interviewee stated that a former military member, who was also an interviewee, had stated that he had touched an off-world aircraft. AARO contacted and interviewed the former military member who denied any knowledge of off-world technology in possession of the USG, a private contractor, or any other foreign or domestic entity. The former military member attested that he could not remember if this encounter with the original interviewee had ever occurred, but opined that if it had happened, the only situation that he might have conveyed was the time when he touched an F-117 Nighthawk stealth fighter at a facility. The former military member signed an MFR attesting to the truthfulness of his account.

The UAP with Peculiar Characteristics Refers to an Authentic, Non-UAP-Related SAP

AARO was able to correlate this account with an authentic USG program because the interviewee was able to provide a relatively precise time and location of the sighting which they observed exhibiting strange characteristics. At the time the interviewee said he observed the event, DoD was conducting tests of a platform protected by a SAP. The seemingly strange characteristics reported by the interviewee match closely with the platform's characteristics, which was being tested at a military facility in the time frame the interviewee was there. This program is not related in any way to the exploitation of off-world technology.

Extraterrestrial Disclosure Study Confirmed; Not White House-Sponsored

An organization in Northern Virginia did conduct a study between 2004 and 2007 on the societal effects should the United States or other world governments disclose they have evidence of extraterrestrial life. Interviewees believed the White House sponsored it. AARO confirmed through two former White House senior officials that the White House did not request it, nor were they aware of any such study.

Aerospace Companies Denied Involvement in Recovering Extraterrestrial Craft

AARO met with high-ranking officials, including executives and chief technology officers, of the named companies. All denied the existence of these programs, and attested to the truthfulness of their statements on the record.

Sample of Alleged Alien Spacecraft is an Ordinary, Terrestrial, Metal Alloy

AARO learned through an interviewee that a private sector organization claimed to have in its possession material from an extraterrestrial craft recovered from a crash at an unknown location from the 1940s or 1950s. The organization claimed that the material had the potential to act as a THz frequency waveguide, and therefore, could exhibit "anti-gravity" and "mass reduction" properties under the appropriate conditions. The organization that owned the material negotiated an agreement in 2019 with the U.S. Army to analyze the samples. With permission from the stakeholders, AARO acquired this sample to conduct more in-depth analyses.


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 *AARO and a leading science laboratory concluded that the material is a metallic alloy, terrestrial in nature, and possibly of USAF origin, based on its materials characterization. It was also assessed that the material is mostly composed of magnesium, and the bismuth present was not a pure layer per initial claims.

 * The U.S. Army had also conducted in-house analysis on the sample, and while AARO generally agrees with its conclusions, AARO found that the structure was not purely layered magnesium alloy and bismuth.

AARO assesses that a separate private sector organization's recreation of this metallic sample was almost certainly conflated with claims that the aerospace industry was attempting to reverse-engineer off-world technology. Prior to AARO's acquisition of the sample, the organization fabricated a replica of the sample to determine if it could be done.

 * The same organization made an attempt to replicate the sample at the same specific location cited by the interviewee as the location where the interviewee alleged to have participated in discussions about transferring UAP crash materials. The claim that extraterrestrial technology was being reverse-engineered almost certainly was conflated with this material fabrication.

AARO Investigating Unresolved Historical Nuclear-Related UAP Cases

Like all historical UAP cases, very little actionable data exists beyond limited firsthand narrative accounts. Nevertheless, AARO continues to investigate these cases due to the sensitive nature of these events potentially impacting the readiness of the U.S. nuclear program. Although AARO has not been able to recover the alleged film of the ballistic missile reentry vehicle being shot down by a UAP in 1964, AARO was able to correlate the general time and location with an antiballistic missile test, which could have been the genesis for this observation.

SECTION VI: Investigation into Named USG Sensitive Programs

Summary

AARO investigated numerous named, and described, but unnamed programs alleged to involve UAP exploitation conveyed to AARO through official interviews. Although at least one interviewee claimed to have seen a captured UAP, none of the interviewees had direct access to or firsthand knowledge of the programs alleged to be UAP-related. One interviewee had access into one authentic program, but his position was such that he had only limited access to its complete details. Interviewees' indirect and incomplete knowledge of authentic efforts most likely contributed to their misinterpretation of what they heard or saw.

AARO concludes many of these programs represent authentic, current and former sensitive, national security programs, but none of these programs have been involved with capturing, recovering, or reverse-engineering off-world technology or material.


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 All the programs assessed to be authentic were or—if still active—continue to be, appropriately reported to either or both the congressional defense and intelligence committees.

Process for Protecting Sensitive Programs while Investigating Interviewee Claims

AARO instituted a secure process for handling information to allow interviewees to come forward to provide their statements to AARO within secure facilities. AARO established a partnership with the Special Access Program Control Offices for the DoD, IC, and DHS to review programs identified in interviews by name or description to determine if the programs correlated in time and location to historic SAP or Controlled Access Programs (CAP). This agreement details how interviewee claims concerning the names and descriptions of the alleged programs are handled, stored, and protected so that their veracity can be determined in a secure manner. A key part of this agreement is that AARO investigators have been granted full access to all pertinent sensitive USG programs.

 * When industry partners were named, AARO interviewed senior level, appropriately-cleared executives, department leads, senior scientists, and engineers.

Findings

One Private Program Mistaken for USG Program

AARO determined that the following alleged USG program name was portrayed inaccurately by the interviewee:

 * Virtual Institute for Satellite Integration Training—This program is not a USG-funded and supported effort. It was a program operated by a private UAP organization and had a NASA engineer as a participant. NASA verified that it did not sponsor the project.

KONA BLUE: A Proposed UAP Recovery and Reverse-Engineering Program

KONA BLUE was brought to AARO's attention by interviewees who claimed that it was a sensitive DHS compartment to cover up the retrieval and exploitation of "non-human biologics." KONA BLUE traces its origins to the DIA-managed AAWSAP/AATIP program, which was funded through a special appropriation and executed by its primary contractor, a private sector organization. DIA cancelled the program in 2012 due to lack of merit and the utility of the deliverables. As discussed in Section IV of this report, while the official purpose of AAWSAP/AATIP was to conduct research into 12 areas of cutting edge science, the contractor team, and at least one supportive government program manager, also conducted UAP and paranormal research at a property owned by the private sector organization.

When DIA cancelled this program, its supporters proposed to DHS that they create and fund a new version of AAWSAP/AATIP under a SAP. This proposal, codenamed KONA BLUE, would restart UAP investigations, paranormal research (including alleged "human consciousness anomalies") and reverse-engineer any recovered off-world spacecraft that they hoped to acquire. This proposal gained some initial traction at DHS to the point where a


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 Prospective Special Access Program (PSAP) was officially requested to stand up this program, but it was eventually rejected by DHS leadership for lacking merit. As demonstrated by the proposal package and by statements from the originator, Senators Lieberman and Reid asked that the PSAP be established with the promise of additional funding. The proposed KONA BLUE lines of effort closely mirrored those conducted by the private sector organization for AAWSAP/AATIP.

KONA BLUE's advocates were convinced that the USG was hiding UAP technologies. They believed that creating this program under DHS would allow all of the technology and knowledge of these alleged programs to be moved under the KONA BLUE program. The program would provide a security and governing structure where it could be monitored properly by congressional oversight committees. This belief was foundational for the KONA BLUE proposal, based on the proposal documents and several interviewees who have provided the same information to AARO and Congress. The Oral History Initiative section of the KONA BLUE proposal was to collect data:

"…from an already identified and calibrated list of retired, previously highly placed government, armed services, contractor and intelligence community individuals. The oral history project will include gathering all information pertaining to the location of advanced aerospace technology and biological samples, including records, files, reports, photographs, as well as physical samples."

'It is critical to note that no extraterrestrial craft or bodies were ever collected—this material was only assumed to exist by KONA BLUE advocates and its anticipated contract performers. This was the same assumption made by those same individuals involved with the AAWSAP/AATIP program.' The SAP was never approved or stood up, and no data or material was transferred to DHS.

 * KONA BLUE was not reported to Congress at that time because it was never established as a SAP and, therefore, did not meet the threshold for congressional reporting. However, the Deputy Secretary of Defense provided a Congressional Notification concerning the program when it was identified in the spirit of transparency.

Unnecessary IC Program Expansion

AARO confirmed the existence of one IC CAP that was unnecessarily expanded in 2021 to include a UAP reverse-engineering mission. This program was expanded despite the lack of any evidence or mission need to justify the expansion. The appropriate congressional committees were notified. This program never recovered or reverse-engineered any technology, let alone off-world spacecraft. This CAP was disestablished due to its inactivity, absence of mission need, and lack of merit.

Nexus of Proponents of the USG UAP Reverse-Engineering Allegation

AARO found no empirical evidence that any UAP investigatory effort since 1945—foreign, domestic, government, private, or academic—has ever uncovered verifiable information


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 unquestionably true that the Brontës treated the male as an almost anarchic thing coming in from outside nature; much as people on this planet regard a comet. Even the really delicate and sustained comedy of Paul Emanuel is not quite free from this air of studying something alien. The reply may be made that the women in men's novels are equally fallacious. The reply is probably just.

What the Brontës really brought into fiction was exactly what Carlyle brought into history; the blast of the mysticism of the North. They were of Irish blood settled on the windy heights of Yorkshire; in that country where Catholicism lingered latest, but in a superstitious form; where modern industrialism came earliest and was more superstitious still. The strong winds and sterile places, the old tyranny of barons and the new and blacker tyranny of manufacturers, has made and left that country a land of barbarians. All Charlotte Brontë's earlier work is full of that sullen and unmanageable world; moss-


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 troopers turned hurriedly into miners; the last of the old world forced into supporting the very first crudities of the new. In this way Charlotte Brontë represents the Victorian settlement in a special way. The Early Victorian Industrialism is to George Eliot and to Charlotte Brontë, rather as the Late Victorian Imperialism would have been to Mrs. Humphry Ward in the centre of the empire and to Miss Olive Schreier at the edge of it. The real strength there is in characters like Robert Moore, when he is dealing with anything except women, is the romance of industry in its first advance: a romance that has not remained. On such fighting frontiers people always exaggerate the strong qualities the masculine sex does possess, and always add a great many strong qualities that it does not possess. That is, briefly, all the reason in the Brontës on this special subject: the rest is stark unreason. It can be most clearly seen in that sister of Charlotte Brontë's, who has achieved the real feat of


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 remaining as a great woman rather than a great writer. There is really, in a narrow but intense way, a tradition of Emily Brontë: as there is a tradition of St. Peter or Dr. Johnson. People talk as if they had known her, apart from her works. She must have been something more than an original person; perhaps an origin. But so far as her written works go she enters English letters only as an original person—and rather a narrow one. Her imagination was sometimes superhuman—always inhuman. Wuthering Heights might have been written by an eagle. She is the strongest instance of these strong imaginations that made the other sex a monster: for Heathcliffe fails as a man as catastrophically as he succeeds as a demon. I think Emily Brontë was further narrowed by the broadness of her religious views; but never, of course, so much as George Eliot.

In any case, it is Charlotte Brontë who enters Victorian literature. The shortest way of stating her strong contribution is, I think,


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 this: that she reached the highest romance through the lowest realism. She did not set out with Amadis of Gaul in a forest or with Mr. Pickwick in a comic club. She set out with herself, with her own dingy clothes, and accidental ugliness, and flat, coarse, provincial household; and forcibly fused all such muddy materials into a spirited fairytale. If the first chapters on the home and school had not proved how heavy and hateful sanity can be, there would really be less point in the insanity of Mr. Rochester's wife—or the not much milder insanity of Mrs. Rochester's husband. She discovered the secret of hiding the sensational in the commonplace: and Jane Eyre remains the best of her books (better even than Villette) because while it is a human document written in blood, it is also one of the best blood-and-thunder detective stories in the world.

But while Emily Brontë was as unsociable as a storm at midnight, and while Charlotte Brontë was at best like that warmer and more


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 domestic thing, a house on fire—they do connect themselves with the calm of George Eliot, as the forerunners of many later developments of the feminine advance. Many forerunners (if it comes to that) would have felt rather ill if they had seen the things they foreran. This notion of a hazy anticipation of after history has been absurdly overdone: as when men connect Chaucer with the Reformation; which is like connecting Homer with the Syracusan Expedition. But it is to some extent true that all these great Victorian women had a sort of unrest in their souls. And the proof of it is that (after what I will claim to call the healthier time of Dickens and Thackeray) it began to be admitted by the great Victorian men. If there had not been something in that irritation, we should hardly have had to speak in these pages of Diana of the Crossways or of Tess of the D'Urbervilles. To what this strange and very local sex war has been due I shall not ask, because I have no answer.


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 That it was due to votes or even little legal inequalities about marriage, I feel myself here too close to realities even to discuss. My own guess is that it has been due to the great neglect of the military spirit by the male Victorians. The woman felt obscurely that she was still running her mortal risk, while the man was not still running his. But I know nothing about it; nor does anybody else.

In so short a book on so vast, complex and living a subject, it is impossible to drop even into the second rank of good authors, whose name is legion; but it is impossible to leave that considerable female force in fiction which has so largely made the very nature of the modern novel, without mentioning two names which almost brought that second rank up to the first rank. They were at utterly oppesite poles. The one succeeded by being a much mellower and more Christian George Eliot; the other succeeded by being a much more mad and unchristian Emily Brontë. But Mrs. Oliphant and the author calling


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 herself "Ouida" both forced themselves well within the frontier of fine literature. The Beleaguered City is literature in its highest sense; the other works of its author tend to fall into fiction in its best working sense. Mrs. Oliphant was infinitely saner in that city of ghosts than the cosmopolitan Ouida ever was in any of the cities of men. Mrs. Oliphant would never have dared to discover, either in heaven or hell, such a thing as a hairbrush with its back encrusted with diamonds. But though Ouida was violent and weak where Mrs. Oliphant might have been mild and strong, her own triumphs were her own. She had a real power of expressing the senses through her style; of conveying the very heat of blue skies or the bursting of palpable pomegranates. And just as Mrs. Oliphant transfused her more timid Victorian tales with a true and intense faith in the Christian mystery—so Ouida, with infinite fury and infinite confusion of thought, did fill her books with


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 Byron and the remains of the French Revolution. In the track of such genius there has been quite an accumulation of true talent as in the children's tales of Mrs. Ewing, the historical tales of Miss Yonge, the tales of Mrs. Molesworth, and so on. On a general review I do not think I have been wrong in taking the female novelists first. I think they gave its special shape, its temporary twist, to the Victorian novel.

Nevertheless it is a shock (I almost dare to call it a relief) to come back to the males. It is the more abrupt because the first name that must be mentioned derives directly from the mere maleness of the Sterne and Smollett novel. I have already spoken of Dickens as the most homely and instinctive, and therefore probably the heaviest, of all the onslaughts made on the central Victorian satisfaction. There is therefore the less to say of him here, where we consider him only as a novelist: but there is still much more to say than can even conceivably be said.


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 Dickens, as we have stated, inherited the old comic, rambling novel from Smollett and the rest. Dickens, as we have also stated, consented to expurgate that novel. But when all origins and all restraints have been defined and allowed for, the creature that came out was such as we shall not see again. Smollett was coarse; but Smollett was also cruel. Dickens was frequently horrible; he was never cruel. The art of Dickens was the most exquisite of arts: it was the art of enjoying everybody. Dickens, being a very human writer, had to be a very human being; he had his faults and sensibilities in a strong degree; and I do not for a moment maintain that he enjoyed everybody in his daily life. But he enjoyed everybody in his books; and everybody has enjoyed everybody in those books even till to-day. His books are full of baffled villams stalking out or cowardly bullies kicked downstairs. But the villains and the cowards are such delightful people that the reader always hopes the villain will


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 put his head through a side window and make a last remark; or that the bully will say one thing more, even from the bottom of the stairs. The reader really hopes this; and he cannot get rid of the fancy that the author hopes so too. I cannot at the moment recall that Dickens ever killed a comic villain, except Quilp, who was deliberately made even more villainous than comic. There can be no serious fears for the life of Mr. Wegg in the muckcart; though Mr. Pecksniff fell to be a borrower of money, and Mr. Mantalini to turning a mangle, the human race has the comfort of thinking they are still alive: and one might have the rapture of receiving a begging letter from Mr. Pecksniff, or even of catching Mr. Mantalini collecting the washing, if one always lurked about on Monday mornings. This sentiment (the true artist will be relieved to hear) is entirely unmoral. Mrs. Wilfer deserved death much more than Mr. Quilp, for she had succeeded in poisoning family life persistently, while he was (to say


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 the least of it) intermittent in his domesticity. But who can honestly say he does not hope Mrs. Wilfer is still talking like Mrs. Wilfer—especially if it is only in a book? This is the artistic greatness of Dickens, before and after which there is really nothing to be said. He had the power of creating people, both possible and impossible, who were simply precious and priceless people; and anything subtler added to that truth really only weakens it.

The mention of Mrs. Wilfer (whom the heart is loth to leave) reminds one of the only elementary ethical truth that is essential in the study of Dickens. That is that he had broad or universal sympathies in a sense totally unknown to the social reformers who wallow in such phrases. Dickens (unlike the social reformers) really did sympathise with every sort of victim of every sort of tyrant. He did truly pray for all who are desolate and oppressed. If you try to tie him to any cause narrower than that Prayer Book definition, you will find you have shut out half his


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 possess for our remaining Crown Colonies in Western Africa,—Gambia, the Gold Coast, and Lagos,—but merely refer to a few points regarding them that have so far been published. When the result of the policy pursued in these colonies leads to the inevitable row, and the figures are dealt with by competent men, there is, to my mind, no doubt that a state equal to that of Sierra Leone as a fool's paradise will be discovered; and the deplorable part of the thing is, that the trade palavers of the Chambers and the Colonial Office will give to hasty politicians the idea that West Africa is not worthy of Imperial attention, and large quantities of the blame for this failure of our colonies will be put down quite unjustly to French interference. That French interference has troubled our colonies there, no one will attempt to deny; or that if it had been acting on them when they were in a healthy state it would merely have had a tonic effect, as it has had on the Royal Niger Company's territories; but, acting on the Crown Colonies in their present state, French influence has naturally been poisonous. Even I, not given to sweet mouth as I am, shrink from saying what has been the true effect on the Crown Colonies of England of the policy pursued by us towards French advance. This only will I say, that the French policy is no discredit to France. Regarding the financial condition of Gambia it is not necessary for us to worry ourselves. Gambia is a nuisance to France. She loves to have high dues, and she cannot have them round Gambia way. She has had to encyst it, or it would be to her Senegal and French Guinea possessions a regular main to lay on smuggling. Knowing this she has encysted it; it pays better to smuggle from French Guinea into Gambia or Sierra Leone than from Gambia or Sierra Leone into

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 of my Meaning, mirepreent me, as endeavouring to cat any Ridicule on the greatet Perfections of Human Nature; and which do, indeed, alone purify and enoble the Heart of Man, and raie him above the Brute Creation. This, Reader, I will venture to ay, (and by how much the better Man you are yourelf, by o much the more will you be inclined to believe me) that I would rather have buried the Sentiments of thee two Perons in eternal Oblivion, than have done any Injury to either of thee glorious Caues.

On the contrary, it is with a View to their Service that I have taken upon me to record the Lives and Actions of two of their fale and pretended Champions. A treacherous Friend is the mot dangerous Enemy; and I will ay boldly, that both Religion and Virtue have received more real Dicredit from Hypocrites, than the wittiet Profligates or Infidels could ever cat upon them: Nay farther, as thee two, in their Purity, are rightly called the Bands of civil Society, and are indeed the greatet of Bleings; o when poioned and corrupted with Fraud, Pretence and Affectation, they have become the wort of civil Cures, and have enabled Men to perpe-


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 trate the mot cruel Michiefs to their own Species.

Indeed, I doubt not but this Ridicule will in general be allowed; my chief Apprehenion is, as many true and jut Sentiments often came from the Mouths of thee Perons, let the whole hould be taken together, and I hould be conceived to ridicule all alike. Now the Reader will be pleaed to conider, that as neither of thee Men were Fools, they could not be uppoed to have holden none but wrong Principles, and to have uttered nothing but Aburdities; what Injutice, therefore, mut I have done to their Characters, had I elected only what was bad, and how horridly wretched and maimed mut their Arguments have appeared!

Upon the whole, it is not Religion or Virtue, but the Want of them which is here expoed. Had not Thwackum too much neglected Virtue, and Square Religion, in the Compoition of their everal Sytems; and had not both utterly dicarded all natural Goodnes of Heart, they had never been repreented as the Objects of Deriion in this Hitory; in which we will now proceed.


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 the French possessions. This is a grave commercial position for us, but to it is largely owing the advance of the prosperity of these French possessions during the past three years.

The Gold Coast has on the west a French possession, the Ivory Coast, on the east the German Togoland. Togo is a narrow strip, and to its east and surrounding it to the north is the French colony of Dahomey, whose recent expansion has told heavily on its next-door neighbours, both Togo and the English colony to the east, Lagos. I give below the latest available figures for the foreign West African possessions. French colonies—

Trade of Dahomey and the Ivory Coast for the first three months of 1898—

German possessions―

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 This Matter, then, which put an end to the Debate mentioned in the lat Chapter, was no other than a Quarrel between Mater Blifil and Tom Jones, the Conequence of which had been a bloody Noe to the former; for though Mater Blifil, notwithtanding he was the younger, was in Size above the other’s Match, yet Tom was much his Superior at the noble Art of Boxing.

Tom, however, cautiouly avoided all Engagements with that Youth: For beides that Tommy Jones was an inoffenive Lad amidt all his Roguery, and really loved Blifil; Mr. Thwackum being always the Second of the latter, would have been ufficient to deter him.

But well ays a certain Author, No Man is wie at all Hours; it is therefore no Wonder that a Boy is not o. A Difference ariing at Play between the two Lads, Mater Blifil called Tom a Beggarly Batard. Upon which the latter, who was omewhat paionate in his Dipoition, immediately caued that Phænomenon in the Face of the former, which we have above remembred.


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 Mater Blifil now, with his Blood running from his Noe, and the Tears galloping after from his Eyes, appeared before his Uncle, and the tremendous Thwackum. In which Court an Indictment of Aault, Battery, and wounding, was intantly preferred againt Tom; who in his Excue only pleaded the Provocation, which was indeed all the Matter that Mater Blifil had omitted.

It is indeed poible, that this Circumtance might have ecaped his Memory; for, in his Reply, he poitively inited, that he had made Ue of no uch Appellation; adding ‘Heaven forbid uch naughty Words hould ever come out of his Mouth.’

Tom, though againt all Form of Law, rejoined in Affirmance of the Words. Upon which Mater Blifil aid, ‘It is no Wonder. Those who will tell one Fib, will hardly tick at another. If I had told my Mater uch a wicked Fib as you have done, I hould be ahamed to hew my Face.’

‘What Fib, Child,’ cries Thwackum pretty eagerly?


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 ‘Why, he told you that Nobody was with him a hooting when he killed the Partridge; but he knows, (here he burt into a Flood of Tears) yes, he knows; for he confeed it to me, that Black Jack the Game-keeper was there. Nay, he aid,—Yes you did,―deny it if you can, That you would not have confet the Truth, thought Mater had cut you to Pieces.’

At this the Fire flahed from Thwackum’s Eyes; and he cried out in Triumph: ‘Oh ho! This is your mitaken Notion of Honour! This is the Boy who was not to be whipped again!’ But Mr. Allworthy, with a more gentle Apect, turned towards the Lad, and aid, ‘Is this true, Child? How came you to perit o obtinately in a Falhood?’

Tom aid, ‘He corned a Lie as much as any one; but he thought his Honour engaged him to act as he did; for he had promied the poor Fellow to conceal him; which,’ he said, ‘he thought himelf farther obliged to, as the Game-keeper had begged him not to go into the Gentleman’s Manor, and had at lat gone himelf in