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AgFunder

For 20 years I ran product teams for companies like Intel, Netscape, eBay, and several startups. I now apply that operational experience to transforming our food system through the program which I started in 2015 at Orange Silicon Valley. The program’s mission is to identify opportunities where hardware and software can transform and solve problems in food and its supply chain. Sustainable Food Systems When I started the program, I embarked on a six month ethnographic immersion of food producers. I visited over 20 farms in 6 distinct growing regions to experience first hand the sites, sounds, smells, and practical realities of a modern farm. A scene from my ethnographic immersion with food producers. This one at Dolcini’s Red Hill Ranch, Novato, CA. At the same time, I spent met with entrepreneurs in the tech industry who were creating “AgTech” companies. You see, starting in 2013, venture capital investment in agtech vastly increased. From 2013 to 2016, more than $10 Billion was invested in food and ag startups. Source: Agfunder AgTech Funding Report, Year in Review 2016 One of the areas that showed the most promise for where tech entrepreneurs could solve real problem in agriculture was IoT. What is IoT? With the launch of the Apple iPhone in 2007, the “internet” transformed into the “mobile internet.” Suddenly, accessed information from using a handheld device. Because more than a billion smart phones have been produced to date, there has been a 10x drop in the price of the components. Take, for example, accelerometers. An accelerometer is a microchip that measures change in velocity. As recently as 2000, accelerometers were used in uncommon devices such as $1 Million defense missiles. Because accelerometeres are now common components of smart phones, they can now be found in . people everywhere $50 dog collars At the same time that components prices were falling, their computational power dramatically increased. When I was an undergraduate in 1993, the Cray Supercomputer was the world’s most powerful computer. It contains the computing power of an iPhone 4. With my current iPhone, I have computing power in my pocket than when I was a computer science student at Carnegie Mellon University. more Photo of the Cray Supercomputer couresy of the University of Queensland, . A History of Computing at UQ As a result were are experiencing another transformation of the Internet: the internet-of-things. Now can access information . devices everywhere When we can internet connect otherwise ordinary devices such as farm equipment, animal ear tags, and water valves not only does it mean that digital data collection is possible, it brings some significant advantages: Continuous and automatic data collection. Devices can interact with each other. For example, the measurement of one device can trigger action on another such as temperature sensor automatically turning on fans in the vineyard: a job that requires a worker to monitor temperature and make a vineyard visit to the fans. Network effects when data is collected and shared in the cloud across entire farming regions. Devices updated automatically with fixes and new features Digital data on the farm is now possible. Three Barriers to IoT on the Farm With as much promise as digital data on the farm has, I see three barriers to its use and adoption. Identifying The Right Use Cases While there have been several hundred agtech companies formed in the last several years, too many of the tech entrepreneurs have little to no experience on the farm. The result is a lot of useless products or products that aren’t ruggedized for the extreme conditions of the farm. Where there are valuable, well-designed products, they are point solutions that miss the larger perspective to integrate into overall farm management. A soil moisture sensor that doesn’t provide actionable insights on overall irrigation or crop stress is no help. A hundred point products — even if they are solving the right problems — are not actionable for the farmer. 2. Lack of Connectivity Most farms I visited had slow internet connections limited to main buildings. Almost none had internet access in the fields. There are two problems here: slow internet connectivity where it exists and lack of connectivity where it is needed for devices. There are repeaters, gateways, and other hardware that can extend connectivity to the crops, but the farmer should not be the systems integrator. If city folk were told they needed to buy and install their own gateways and repeaters to extend Netflix to the bedroom from the living room, you know what answer you would get. Why should we expect the technical expertise and expense to be carried by our food producers? We need faster and more widely available internet infrastruture in farming areas. 3. Lack of an IoT Specific Network Even if we extend broadband and cellular infrastructure to the fields, the lack of connectvity problem is more nuanced when we talk about IoT. For IoT devices, we need a network that works over long ranges but also consumes low power. Most IoT devices send small bits of data — a temperature, a CO2 measurement, a volume. If my cellular bill is to be believed, megabytes (and in some months, gigabytes) of data are sent between my smart phone and the network. To send large data sizes, one needs a cellular or wi-fi network both of which are built for large data sets. However, both cellular and wi-fi consume a lot of battery. That’s why you have to charge your smart phone every day. For IoT, we need a network built for small data, and, hence, long battery life. Bluetooth is built for small data, but the range is only a few feet. This range is impractical on a farm that may span hundreds or thousands of acres. Such networks exist: SigFox and LoRa are two examples, but they are new and nascent. Their coverage map is much smaller than cellular is today. Moving to the Future From what I see on a daily basis, I am optimistic that we will overcome these barriers. What’s needed is more collaboration between the technologists and the agriculturalists. I recently gave talk at the World Food Center at the University of California Davis on IoT on the farm. You can watch my talk below and a PDF of my slides as they were not captured in the video. download

Barriers to Deploying Internet-of-Things (IoT) on the Farm

Will you love me, no matter what? Will you hold me, even when nobody else will? Will you see me, The way I see you? -Day 345. The year of the plague. My name is Kevwe. I am a runner. That’s what the regulators called me. One of the few who survived the holocaust, I was a living legend. They said so many things about me, not all of them good. But I didn’t mind, I was a runner. An elite. A force of nature. My feet landed on the rough surface of a debilitated house, and I took off into the air again. The wind felt alive somehow, caressing my face with gentle touches that’d make a hard guy cry. My legs were my weapons, my sole reason for existence. I jumped again. The sole of my foot lightly grazed a serrated edge, and I stifled a wince as the pain lanced straight up my body. It was a spark; it was burning me from within. I gritted my teeth and kept running, leaping from one ruin to another, making the wasteland into my playground. A runner like me was necessary in the efforts of the Resistance. We were spread thin, and the commanders feared a retaliation from the unknown forces. Nigeria. A wasteland of ruins and darkness. I ran, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My eyes stayed ahead, not daring to look at the large gash on my toes. The pain gave me laser focus as I leapt from one edge to another.  Brown, the world was brown. Drained of colour, like rust. Like the days I wished to die. The sky was tinged with a coppery colour. It began as soon as the plague ravaged through the world like quickfire. It's more like an inferno. The death rates were enough to cause alarm and halt regular working hours. School too. Everything came to a standstill. That was the end of the future I designed from an overactive imagination. I didn’t want to be a runner at first, but a runner could outrun the plague. The humanoid viruses mutated at an alarming rate. The death bugs. Or so they were called. That was the first thing they mutated into; Bugs. Flying bugs. As disgusting as that would seem. Their intelligence seemed to increase the higher the form they took. Pale, translucent beings. Beings that stole faces and futures. Beings of unknown origin. That’s what they’d become. I didn’t know if that was the last stage of their evolution, but knowing how low humans were on the food chain? It was probably not. That’s why I run. To outrun my death. I was told that the beings would become stronger and probably outrun a runner but, I didn’t bank on that. Their intelligence was limited. They remained in the base form of whatever organism they consumed; Humans included. Which means that they were blissfully average. Good news? Definitely not. Imagine humans that never tire out, humans that have no heart to pump blood or a brain to signify when they need to stop. They were unstoppable demons with no known way to die. How do you kill an unstoppable creature? The answer is, you don’t. You run and pray to all the gods that they don’t catch you. You run until your heart fails you and you don’t stop even after that. You run, even if it kills you. Funnily enough, there was a reason for running. The soul tablets. The infected are those the virus creatures couldn’t completely consume. But their minds are gone, worse than patients with dementia. They don’t live, their hearts still beat rhythmically in their chests but they remain living husks; caricatures of what they once were. Death sometimes seemed merciful. But, killing them would mean killing half of the population. It would mean the bastard creatures won. The soul tablets can only be found in those ruins and more often than not, the vile creatures ingest those tablets to understand humans better. They don’t need minds, the soul tablets sort of dances in their vision and they see what they have to do. Hence, the soul tablets are important. For us runners, because we get to see our loved ones come alive again, even when they never say a word. It was worth heaven and earth. To see the smile that’d light up their faces. That’s why I run. But, I was already compromised. The cut from the roof, the trail of blood that followed in my wake with every leap. The creatures could smell blood. I didn’t know how or why but a lot of them have consumed those I used to run with. Kemi, Shola, Etus, Akachi, etc. I once called them friends. But, they were taken. By the Bloodless. The only virus with intelligence. They could run even better than me, but they couldn’t outrun their deaths. Fucking hell. I almost missed a step when I saw the dim light of a soul tablet underneath a jumbled mass of buildings that had seen better days. I stopped abruptly, glad that I didn’t miss it. I took a look around the ruins, some of the walls unable to survive the rust and falling apart from a light touch. The sky still shone as copper, a sickly colour. On most evenings, it was tinged with red. The walls of most of the houses in the ruins had paint peeling off the few that still remained standing. Sometimes, I wondered how the world went to hell in such a short time. “You got here first. And… you’re bleeding.” I heard a voice from behind me and turned to stare at the girl that just landed, as lithe as a cat. She had a small grin on her face, as though smiling was beneath her. Her full eyebrows raised a millimeter, her coffee brown irises staring straight through me and into my soul. She was dressed like I was, an all black getup. But hers made her seem… hot. Yes, I am stupid. The wall is falling apart and I’m thinking about a girl’s body. How original. “Don’t gawk at me. You’re not Keno. I can swear her eyes follow me wherever I go.” The new arrival, Zenith, shuddered as though in remembrance of something awful. I didn’t blame her, Keno could be overbearing sometimes. “Slow poke.” I quipped, earning an elbow for my troubles. Zenith could be violent. Very. “Just because you got here first doesn’t make you faster. Just stupid. Belligerent. Insufferable. Obnoxious. You never listen. We were meant to form ranks..” Ah yes, one of Zenith’s famous lectures. Form ranks, go in pairs or groups. Nobody left alone. Or some other balderdash. How infuriating. “You know, I can’t tell which words are real and which are fake. You know, with you throwing words You’re literally a walking dictionary.” She bristled, and I knew that I hit a nerve. Zenith was always so particular about grammar. What a waste. The world had fallen apart. Who would she have read Shakespeare to? The ? upandan. Bloodless “Don’t. Luis and Raheem are up ahead. Scouting and trying to erase the blood with those mighty knapsack of theirs. You might just get whooped this time. Now, let me see that cut.” She ordered, as matronly as ever. That was our Zenith, the mother of the group. A pity Etus couldn’t see her anymore, they were a thing for the longest time. She cleaned the cut and applied antiseptic, not risking to use anything over the top while we were out in the open. She could seal something as small as a cut but it took time and time was what we didn’t have. I stared at the sky as it darkened and Raheem more or less flew out from over a building. He scaled the building right in front of my eyes. One seconds he wasn’t there and the next, he was. “Such petty tricks. I do it better.” Luis grumbled as he came into view about two seconds after Raheem did. Raheem was the narcissist, his looks didn’t help either. He had the hots for Zenith but she acted blind to his advances. It was usually tension filled running with them. I preferred to do it alone. “Grab all the soul tablets you can. We meet in the food canteen after all of this. Kevwe, can you run?” Zenith turned to me. I nodded in the affirmative. Thankfully, Luis and Raheem ignored me. They always did. I didn’t exist to them, not in the ways that mattered. I was the insubordinate brat. Or so they put it. I took off in a run after carrying as much soul tablets as I could, placing them in the backpack I carried. They weighed me down a little but not by much. Zenith was close behind. I could heard an otherworldly sound as the creatures rose from whatever they were doing. They set sights on us, hoarding the soul tablets. “Fuck you, Kevwe! Fuck you! You caused this with your need to prove a point!” Raheem cursed out loud but I didn’t say a word in retaliation. We weren’t going to make it. When the creatures were fully awake, they had no limits. They ran like normal humans but they didn’t lose stamina. They didn’t die. Will she forgive me, if I go this way? I stopped thinking and focused on running, hoping that maybe I could do something about the hoard coming for us. “Any ideas?” Zenith asked Luis. Thankfully, she didn’t mention Raheem words even if she knew that I doomed all of us. “We survive? Get to the gate and use a soul tablet? I don’t know.” Luis replied honestly, trying to not show fear in his voice. But I knew that tone. Etus had it too. Dami did too. That reckless bravado. “Let’s do this, boys!” Zenith said, her voice carrying over to the other two. Raheem nodded and quickened his pace. We vaulted over buildings like they were made of straw sacks, our shoes never really touching the ground before we are moving again. “I’ll buy you time. Run.” I said, grinding to a halt. I caused it, I had to handle the consequences. “Don’t fucking do it. You’re not a saint! You’re a selfish bastard who only thinks of himself and nothing else. Run!” Raheem screamed at me, stopping abruptly too. Zenith and Luis were long gone. “I won’t. I’m sorry. It’s my turn now.” I said, totally ready to sacrifice myself. “Like hell I’ll let you.” He said and then, cracked a soul tablet, flinging the essence on me. “Now run, you bastard. And don’t stop, or I’ll haunt you.” He turned to face the hoard already almost upon us, the soul tablet doing its job by clearing my head and doing everything to remind me of the fear of death. So, I ran. I turned to look back at him, wondering why he did what he did. Hate still burned in his eyes. But this time, I could understand. I activated my shoes as I got close to the gate, phasing in as my body became as translucent as the creatures who stole from us. I was in. It was a modest place with walls high enough for me to crane my neck to get a good view. A fortress of stone. I made my way up to stairs to report to the leader of my platoon; Zenith. “Where’s Raheem?” She asked as soon as her eyes landed on me. Another one. Dead. “He didn’t make it. He sacrificed himself to save me.” I responded as truthfully as I could as I heard her sharp intake of breath. The world stopped. “You may leave.” She said, a certain steeliness in her voice. I walked out, unable to say the words I wanted to. The tales of Raheems’s bravery at the last moments. I made my way to the infirmary, a soul tablet in hand. My mind fractured. I never expected to feel pain for someone like Raheem. But the pain threatened to tear my heart asunder. People made way for me as I headed to the bed at the furthest corner of the room. A sickly form of a woman laid on a cot that’d seen better days. I placed the soul tablet gingerly on her hand, watching her for any signs of recognition. Nothing. And like that, one soul tablet was absorbed without any noticeable change. I walked back out dejected, my back hunched. Zenith was walking towards me, tears dotting her eyes. They were red from tears. She grabbed me by the front of my clothes, slamming my back on the nearest wall. “Bring. Raheem. Back.” She spoke through gritted teeth, her pain was so acute, I could taste it on my tongue. “I can’t.” I said, the words being choked out of my mouth. “A vegetable lays on that damn bed you haven’t left in over 300 days. You’ve been responsible for the deaths of so many of us because of your hypocrisy. You watched him die!” She screamed, her voice accusing. No trace of the leader she had always been. “He did. He died to protect me.” I replied, sincerely hoping she did me the favour and killed me right there. “You..” She managed to let me go, grief wracking her body. She screamed, her voice breaking. I just watched. It was a festival of pain. That night, she apologized to me for the statements she made. I was grateful she forgave. She was found dead the next day. Suicide. How many more will you kill to resurrect the dead? Zenith didn’t deserve to die. Raheem didn’t. Etus didn’t. I was the problem, the anomaly. They hated me, I hated me. I went back to the infirmary, taking hold of her hand. Her skin was hollow and almost translucent. I recovered her from the jaws of death. But maybe, I should have died instead. “I hate me. I love you. I hate what I have to put you through, but if you ever wake, I apologize. They died, to save me. To save my childish fantasy. I never wanted to lose so much. But then, if it is going to save you, I don’t mind. Even if the world itself turns against me, I’ll stand by you. Even when all I want to do is die. I hope you remember the days I spent, talking to you about nothing at all. I hope you don’t cry when you wake. I hope… you find something. Someone. You’re the one I’ve always loved and if I could sacrifice the world to save you… goodbye, Seta.” I felt her hand squeeze mine. I stared again but it seemed to be a trick of my mind. I placed a kiss on her forehead and walked out. The last sacrifice. * We will rise, Even from ashes. -Day 7321. The years after the plague. I stand and watch his tombstone. I barely remember his voice, I barely remember everything. But I stand by his tombstone, as an act of penance. By all of their tombstones. The runners. Humanity’s last bastion of defense. The viruses mutated once more and migrated to space. They lost interest in humans. When I awoke, I could only remember a voice. His voice. They’ll always be remembered, even though they died needlessly. Luis still stands. The last runner standing. Although he doesn’t have to run anymore, but I’ve never seen him smile. Not once. He stares into the distance, looking over the horizon. The sky is blue. Mankind is building again. We’re a few millions in Nigeria now. Immigrants, hidden bunkers. The sky no longer looks dead. Can you see this, runners? I do hope you can. You deserve to. Heroes. Of earth. -Unknown.

The End of Everything 

দ্য এন্ড অফ এভরিথিং

Das Ende von allem

El fin de todo

La fin de tout

हर चीज़ का अंत

すべての終わり

모든 것의 끝

O fim de tudo

Конец всего

Herşeyin Sonu

Sự kết thúc của mọi thứ

一切的终结

A Treatise on Painting by da Vinci Leonardo, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . EXPRESSION and CHARACTER. here EXPRESSION and CHARACTER. Chap. CLXV.— Of expressive Motions. Let your figures have actions appropriated to what they are intended to think or say, and these will be well learnt by imitating the deaf, who by the motion of their hands, eyes, eyebrows, and the whole body, endeavour to express the sentiments of their mind. Do not ridicule the thought of a master without a tongue teaching you an art he does not understand; he will do it better by his expressive motions, than all the rest by their words and examples. Let then the painter, of whatever school, attend well to this maxim, and apply it to the different qualities of the figures he represents, and to the nature of the subject in which they are actors. Chap. CLXVI.— How to paint Children. Children are to be represented with quick and contorted motions, when they are sitting; but when standing, with fearful and timid motions. Chap. CLXVII.— How to represent old Men. Old men must have slow and heavy motions; their legs and knees must be bent when they are standing, and their feet placed parallel and wide asunder. Let them be bowed downwards, the head leaning much forward, and their arms very little extended. Chap. CLXVIII.— How to paint old Women. Old women, on the contrary, are to be represented bold and quick, with passionate motions, like furies. But the motions are to appear a great deal quicker in their arms than in their legs. Chap. CLXIX.— How to paint Women. Women are to be represented in modest and reserved attitudes, with their knees rather close, their arms drawing near each other, or folded about the body; their heads looking downwards, and leaning a little on one side. Chap. CLXX.— Of the Variety of Faces. The countenances of your figures should be expressive of their different situations: men at work, at rest, weeping, laughing, crying out, in fear, or joy, and the like. The attitudes also, and all the members, ought to correspond with the sentiment expressed in the faces. Chap.CLXXI.— The Parts of the Face, and their Motions. The motions of the different parts of the face, occasioned by sudden agitations of the mind, are many. The principal of these are, Laughter, Weeping, Calling out, Singing, either in a high or low pitch, Admiration, Anger, Joy, Sadness, Fear, Pain, and others, of which I propose to treat. First, of Laughing and Weeping, which are very similar in the motion of the mouth, the cheeks, the shutting of the eyebrows, and the space between them; as we shall explain in its place, in treating of the changes which happen in the face, hands, fingers, and all the other parts of the body, as they are affected by the different emotions of the soul; the knowledge of which is absolutely necessary to a painter, or else his figures may be said to be twice dead. But it is very necessary also that he be careful not to fall into the contrary extreme; giving extraordinary motions to his figures, so that in a quiet and peaceable subject, he does not seem to represent a battle, or the revellings of drunken men: but, above all, the actors in any point of history must be attentive to what they are about, or to what is going forward; with actions that denote admiration, respect, pain, suspicion, fear, and joy, according as the occasion, for which they are brought together, may require. Endeavour that different points of history be not placed one above the other on the same canvass, nor walls with different horizons, as if it were a jeweller’s shop, shewing the goods in different square caskets. Chap. CLXXII.— Laughing and Weeping. Between the expression of laughter and that of weeping there is no difference in the motion of the features either in the eyes, mouth, or cheeks; only in the ruffling of the brows, which is added when weeping, but more elevated and extended in laughing. One may represent the figure weeping as tearing his clothes, or some other expression, as various as the cause of his feeling may be; because some weep for anger, some through fear, others for tenderness and joy, or for suspicion; some for real pain and torment; whilst others weep through compassion, or regret at the loss of some friend and near relation. These different feelings will be expressed by some with marks of despair, by others with moderation; some only shed tears, others cry aloud, while another has his face turned towards heaven, with his hand depressed, and his fingers twisted. Some again will be full of apprehension, with their shoulders raised up to their ears, and so on, according to the above causes. Those who weep, raise the brows, and bring them close together above the nose, forming many wrinkles on the forehead, and the corners of the mouth are turned downwards. Those who laugh have them turned upwards, and the brows open and extended. Chap. CLXXIII.— Of Anger. If you represent a man in a violent fit of anger, make him seize another by the hair, holding his head writhed down against the ground, with his knee fixed upon the ribs of his antagonist; his right arm up, and his fist ready to strike; his hair standing on end, his eyebrows low and straight; his teeth close, and seen at the corner of the mouth; his neck swelled, and his body covered in the Abdomen with creases, occasioned by his bending over his enemy, and the excess of his passion. Chap. CLXXIV.— Despair. The last act of despondency is, when a man is in the act of putting a period to his own existence. He should be represented with a knife in one hand, with which he has already inflicted the wound, and tearing it open with the other. His garments and hair should be already torn. He will be standing with his feet asunder, his knees a little bent, and his body leaning forward, as if ready to fall to the ground. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. da Vinci Leonardo (2014). A Treatise on Painting. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/46915/pg46915-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

EXPRESSION and CHARACTER.

MOTION AND EQUIPOISE OF FIGURES.

ATOMS, MOLECULES, AND ETHER WAVES

Phineas Redux by Anthony Trollope, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . MR. CHAFFANBRASS FOR THE DEFENCE. here MR. CHAFFANBRASS FOR THE DEFENCE. The case for the prosecution was completed on the Saturday evening, Mrs. Bunce having been examined as the last witness on that side. She was only called upon to say that her lodger had been in the habit of letting himself in and out of her house at all hours with a latch-key;—but she insisted on saying more, and told the judge and the jury and the barristers that if they thought that Mr. Finn had murdered anybody they didn't know anything about the world in general. Whereupon Mr. Chaffanbrass said that he would like to ask her a question or two, and with consummate flattery extracted from her her opinion of her lodger. She had known him for years, and thought that, of all the gentlemen that ever were born, he was the least likely to do such a bloody-minded action. Mr. Chaffanbrass was, perhaps, right in thinking that her evidence might be as serviceable as that of the lords and countesses. During the Sunday the trial was, as a matter of course, the talk of the town. Poor Lord Fawn shut himself up, and was seen by no one;—but his conduct and evidence were discussed everywhere. At the clubs it was thought that he had escaped as well as could be expected; but he himself felt that he had been disgraced for ever. There was a very common opinion that Mr. Chaffanbrass had admitted too much when he had declared that the man whom Lord Fawn had seen was doubtless the murderer. To the minds of men generally it seemed to be less evident that the man so seen should have done the deed, than that Phineas Finn should have been that man. Was it probable that there should be two men going about in grey coats, in exactly the same vicinity, and at exactly the same hour of the night? And then the evidence which Lord Fawn had given before the magistrates was to the world at large at any rate as convincing as that given in the Court. The jury would, of course, be instructed to regard only the latter; whereas the general public would naturally be guided by the two combined. At the club it was certainly believed that the case was going against the prisoner. "You have read it all, of course," said the Duchess of Omnium to her husband, as she sat with the Observer in her hand on that Sunday morning. The Sunday papers were full of the report, and were enjoying a very extended circulation. "I wish you would not think so much about it," said the Duke. "That's very easily said, but how is one to help thinking about it? Of course I am thinking about it. You know all about the coat. It belonged to the man where Mealyus was lodging." "I will not talk about the coat, Glencora. If Mr. Finn did commit the murder it is right that he should be convicted." "But if he didn't?" "It would be doubly right that he should be acquitted. But the jury will have means of arriving at a conclusion without prejudice, which you and I cannot have; and therefore we should be prepared to take their verdict as correct." "If they find him guilty, their verdict will be damnable and false," said the Duchess. Whereupon the Duke turned away in anger, and resolved that he would say nothing more about the trial,—which resolution, however, he was compelled to break before the trial was over. "What do you think about it, Mr. Erle?" asked the other Duke. "I don't know what to think;—I only hope." "That he may be acquitted?" "Of course." "Whether guilty or innocent?" "Well;—yes. But if he is acquitted I shall believe him to have been innocent. Your Grace thinks—?" "I am as unwilling to think as you are, Mr. Erle." It was thus that people spoke of it. With the exception of some very few, all those who had known Phineas were anxious for an acquittal, though they could not bring themselves to believe that an innocent man had been put in peril of his life. On the Monday morning the trial was recommenced, and the whole day was taken up by the address which Mr. Chaffanbrass made to the jury. He began by telling them the history of the coat which lay before them, promising to prove by evidence all the details which he stated. It was not his intention, he said, to accuse any one of the murder. It was his business to defend the prisoner, not to accuse others. But, as he should prove to them, two persons had been arrested as soon as the murder had been discovered,—two persons totally unknown to each other, and who were never for a moment supposed to have acted together,—and the suspicion of the police had in the first instance pointed, not to his client, but to the other man. That other man had also quarrelled with Mr. Bonteen, and that other man was now in custody on a charge of bigamy chiefly through the instrumentality of Mr. Bonteen, who had been the friend of the victim of the supposed bigamist. With the accusation of bigamy they would have nothing to do, but he must ask them to take cognisance of that quarrel as well as of the quarrel at the club. He then named that formerly popular preacher, the Rev. Mr. Emilius, and explained that he would prove that this man, who had incurred the suspicion of the police in the first instance, had during the night of the murder been so circumstanced as to have been able to use the coat produced. He would prove also that Mr. Emilius was of precisely the same height as the man whom they had seen wearing the coat. God forbid that he should bring an accusation of murder against a man on such slight testimony. But if the evidence, as grounded on the coat, was slight against Emilius, how could it prevail at all against his client? The two coats were as different as chalk from cheese, the one being what would be called a gentleman's fashionable walking coat, and the other the wrap-rascal of such a fellow as was Mr. Meager. And yet Lord Fawn, who attempted to identify the prisoner only by his coat, could give them no opinion as to which was the coat he had seen! But Lord Fawn, who had found himself to be debarred by his conscience from repeating the opinion he had given before the magistrate as to the identity of Phineas Finn with the man he had seen, did tell them that the figure of that man was similar to the figure of him who had worn the coat on Saturday in presence of them all. This man in the street had therefore been like Mr. Emilius, and could not in the least have resembled the prisoner. Mr. Chaffanbrass would not tell the jury that this point bore strongly against Mr. Emilius, but he took upon himself to assert that it was quite sufficient to snap asunder the thin thread of circumstantial evidence by which his client was connected with the murder. A great deal more was said about Lord Fawn, which was not complimentary to that nobleman. "His lordship is an honest, slow man, who has doubtless meant to tell you the truth, but who does not understand the meaning of what he himself says. When he swore before the magistrate that he thought he could identify my client with the man in the street, he really meant that he thought that there must be identity, because he believed from other reasons that Mr. Finn was the man in the street. Mr. Bonteen had been murdered;—according to Lord Fawn's thinking had probably been murdered by Mr. Finn. And it was also probable to him that Mr. Bonteen had been murdered by the man in the street. He came thus to the conclusion that the prisoner was the man in the street. In fact, as far as the process of identifying is concerned, his lordship's evidence is altogether in favour of the prisoner. The figure seen by him we must suppose was the figure of a short man, and not of one tall and commanding in his presence, as is that of the prisoner." There were many other points on which Mr. Chaffanbrass insisted at great length;—but, chiefly, perhaps, on the improbability, he might say impossibility, that the plot for a murder so contrived should have entered into a man's head, have been completed and executed, all within a few minutes. "But under no hypothesis compatible with the allegations of the prosecution can it be conceived that the murder should have been contemplated by my client before the quarrel at the club. No, gentlemen;—the murderer had been at his work for days. He had examined the spot and measured the distances. He had dogged the steps of his victim on previous nights. In the shade of some dark doorway he had watched him from his club, and had hurried by his secret path to the spot which he had appointed for the deed. Can any man doubt that the murder has thus been committed, let who will have been the murderer? But, if so, then my client could not have done the deed." Much had been made of the words spoken at the club door. Was it probable,—was it possible,—that a man intending to commit a murder should declare how easily he could do it, and display the weapon he intended to use? The evidence given as to that part of the night's work was, he contended, altogether in the prisoner's favour. Then he spoke of the life-preserver, and gave a rather long account of the manner in which Phineas Finn had once taken two garotters prisoner in the street. All this lasted till the great men on the bench trooped out to lunch. And then Mr. Chaffanbrass, who had been speaking for nearly four hours, retired to a small room and there drank a pint of port wine. While he was doing so, Mr. Serjeant Birdbolt spoke a word to him, but he only shook his head and snarled. He was telling himself at the moment how quick may be the resolves of the eager mind,—for he was convinced that the idea of attacking Mr. Bonteen had occurred to Phineas Finn after he had displayed the life-preserver at the club door; and he was telling himself also how impossible it is for a dull conscientious man to give accurate evidence as to what he had himself seen,—for he was convinced that Lord Fawn had seen Phineas Finn in the street. But to no human being had he expressed this opinion; nor would he express it,—unless his client should be hung. After lunch he occupied nearly three hours in giving to the jury, and of course to the whole assembled Court, the details of about two dozen cases, in which apparently strong circumstantial evidence had been wrong in its tendency. In some of the cases quoted, the persons tried had been acquitted; in some, convicted and afterwards pardoned; in one pardoned after many years of punishment;—and in one the poor victim had been hung. On this he insisted with a pathetic eloquence which certainly would not have been expected from his appearance, and spoke with tears in his eyes,—real unaffected tears,—of the misery of those wretched jurymen who, in the performance of their duty, had been led into so frightful an error. Through the whole of this long recital he seemed to feel no fatigue, and when he had done with his list of judicial mistakes about five o'clock in the afternoon, went on to make what he called the very few remarks necessary as to the evidence which on the next day he proposed to produce as to the prisoner's character. He ventured to think that evidence as to the character of such a nature,—so strong, so convincing, so complete, and so free from all objection, had never yet been given in a criminal court. At six o'clock he completed his speech, and it was computed that the old man had been on his legs very nearly seven hours. It was said of him afterwards that he was taken home speechless by one of his daughters and immediately put to bed, that he roused himself about eight and ate his dinner and drank a bottle of port in his bedroom, that he then slept,—refusing to stir even when he was waked, till half-past nine in the morning, and that then he scrambled into his clothes, breakfasted, and got down to the Court in half an hour. At ten o'clock he was in his place, and nobody knew that he was any the worse for the previous day's exertion. This was on a Tuesday, the fifth day of the trial, and upon the whole perhaps the most interesting. A long array of distinguished persons,—of women as well as men,—was brought up to give to the jury their opinion as to the character of Mr. Finn. Mr. Low was the first, who having been his tutor when he was studying at the bar, knew him longer than any other Londoner. Then came his countryman Laurence Fitzgibbon, and Barrington Erle, and others of his own party who had been intimate with him. And men, too, from the opposite side of the House were brought up, Sir Orlando Drought among the number, all of whom said that they had known the prisoner well, and from their knowledge would have considered it impossible that he should have become a murderer. The two last called were Lord Cantrip and Mr. Monk, one of whom was, and the other had been, a Cabinet Minister. But before them came Lady Cantrip,—and Lady Chiltern, whom we once knew as Violet Effingham, whom this very prisoner had in early days fondly hoped to make his wife, who was still young and beautiful, and who had never before entered a public Court. There had of course been much question as to the witnesses to be selected. The Duchess of Omnium had been anxious to be one, but the Duke had forbidden it, telling his wife that she really did not know the man, and that she was carried away by a foolish enthusiasm. Lady Cantrip when asked had at once consented. She had known Phineas Finn when he had served under her husband, and had liked him much. Then what other woman's tongue should be brought to speak of the man's softness and tender bearing! It was out of the question that Lady Laura Kennedy should appear. She did not even propose it when her brother with unnecessary sternness told her it could not be so. Then his wife looked at him. "You shall go," said Lord Chiltern, "if you feel equal to it. It seems to be nonsense, but they say that it is important." "I will go," said Violet, with her eyes full of tears. Afterwards when her sister-in-law besought her to be generous in her testimony, she only smiled as she assented. Could generosity go beyond hers? Lord Chiltern preceded his wife. "I have," he said, "known Mr. Finn well, and have loved him dearly. I have eaten with him and drank with him, have ridden with him, have lived with him, and have quarrelled with him; and I know him as I do my own right hand." Then he stretched forth his arm with the palm extended. "Irrespectively of the evidence in this case you would not have thought him to be a man likely to commit such a crime?" asked Serjeant Birdbolt. "I am quite sure from my knowledge of the man that he could not commit a murder," said Lord Chiltern; "and I don't care what the evidence is." Then came his wife, and it certainly was a pretty sight to see as her husband led her up to the box and stood close beside her as she gave her evidence. There were many there who knew much of the history of her life,—who knew that passage in it of her early love,—for the tale had of course been told when it was whispered about that Lady Chiltern was to be examined as a witness. Every ear was at first strained to hear her words;—but they were audible in every corner of the Court without any effort. It need hardly be said that she was treated with the greatest deference on every side. She answered the questions very quietly, but apparently without nervousness. "Yes; she had known Mr. Finn long, and intimately, and had very greatly valued his friendship. She did so still,—as much as ever. Yes; she had known him for some years, and in circumstances which she thought justified her in saying that she understood his character. She regarded him as a man who was brave and tender-hearted, soft in feeling and manly in disposition. To her it was quite incredible that he should have committed a crime such as this. She knew him to be a man prone to forgive offences, and of a sweet nature." And it was pretty too to watch the unwonted gentleness of old Chaffanbrass as he asked the questions, and carefully abstained from putting any one that could pain her. Sir Gregory said that he had heard her evidence with great pleasure, but that he had no question to ask her himself. Then she stepped down, again took her husband's arm, and left the Court amidst a hum of almost affectionate greeting. And what must he have thought as he stood there within the dock, looking at her and listening to her? There had been months in his life when he had almost trusted that he would succeed in winning that fair, highly-born, and wealthy woman for his wife; and though he had failed, and now knew that he had never really touched her heart, that she had always loved the man whom,—though she had rejected him time after time because of the dangers of his ways,—she had at last married, yet it must have been pleasant to him, even in his peril, to hear from her own lips how well she had esteemed him. She left the Court with her veil down, and he could not catch her eye; but Lord Chiltern nodded to him in his old pleasant familiar way, as though to bid him take courage, and to tell him that all things would even yet be well with him. The evidence given by Lady Cantrip and her husband and by Mr. Monk was equally favourable. She had always regarded him as a perfect gentleman. Lord Cantrip had found him to be devoted to the service of the country,—modest, intelligent, and high-spirited. Perhaps the few words which fell from Mr. Monk were as strong as any that were spoken. "He is a man whom I have delighted to call my friend, and I have been happy to think that his services have been at the disposal of his country." Sir Gregory Grogram replied. It seemed to him that the evidence was as he had left it. It would be for the jury to decide, under such directions as his lordship might be pleased to give them, how far that evidence brought the guilt home to the prisoner. He would use no rhetoric in pushing the case against the prisoner; but he must submit to them that his learned friend had not shown that acquaintance with human nature which the gentleman undoubtedly possessed in arguing that there had lacked time for the conception and execution of the crime. Then, at considerable length, he strove to show that Mr. Chaffanbrass had been unjustly severe upon Lord Fawn. It was late in the afternoon when Sir Gregory had finished his speech, and the judge's charge was reserved for a sixth day. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Anthony Trollope (2006). Phineas Redux. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/18640/pg18640-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

MR. CHAFFANBRASS FOR THE DEFENCE.

How Jesus appeared ofttimes to his disciples; and how, after many days, he ascended up to heaven.

The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . RUBY PREPARES FOR SERVICE. here RUBY PREPARES FOR SERVICE. Our poor old honest friend John Crumb was taken away to durance vile after his performance in the street with Sir Felix, and was locked up for the remainder of the night. This indignity did not sit so heavily on his spirits as it might have done on those of a quicker nature. He was aware that he had not killed the baronet, and that he had therefore enjoyed his revenge without the necessity of "swinging for it at Bury." That in itself was a comfort to him. Then it was a great satisfaction to think that he had "served the young man out" in the actual presence of his Ruby. He was not prone to give himself undue credit for his capability and willingness to knock his enemies about; but he did think that Ruby must have observed on this occasion that he was the better man of the two. And, to John, a night in the station-house was no great personal inconvenience. Though he was very proud of his four-post bed at home, he did not care very much for such luxuries as far as he himself was concerned. Nor did he feel any disgrace from being locked up for the night. He was very good-humoured with the policeman, who seemed perfectly to understand his nature, and was as meek as a child when the lock was turned upon him. As he lay down on the hard bench, he comforted himself with thinking that Ruby would surely never care any more for the "baronite" since she had seen him go down like a cur without striking a blow. He thought a good deal about Ruby, but never attributed any blame to her for her share in the evils that had befallen him. The next morning he was taken before the magistrates, but was told at an early hour of the day that he was again free. Sir Felix was not much the worse for what had happened to him, and had refused to make any complaint against the man who had beaten him. John Crumb shook hands cordially with the policeman who had had him in charge, and suggested beer. The constable, with regrets, was forced to decline, and bade adieu to his late prisoner with the expression of a hope that they might meet again before long. "You come down to Bungay," said John, "and I'll show you how we live there." From the police-office he went direct to Mrs. Pipkin's house, and at once asked for Ruby. He was told that Ruby was out with the children, and was advised both by Mrs. Pipkin and Mrs. Hurtle not to present himself before Ruby quite yet. "You see," said Mrs. Pipkin, "she's a thinking how heavy you were upon that young gentleman." "But I wasn't;—not particular. Lord love you, he ain't a hair the wuss." "You let her alone for a time," said Mrs. Hurtle. "A little neglect will do her good." "Maybe," said John,—"only I wouldn't like her to have it bad. You'll let her have her wittles regular, Mrs. Pipkin." It was then explained to him that the neglect proposed should not extend to any deprivation of food, and he took his leave, receiving an assurance from Mrs. Hurtle that he should be summoned to town as soon as it was thought that his presence there would serve his purposes; and with loud promises repeated to each of the friendly women that as soon as ever a "line should be dropped" he would appear again upon the scene, he took Mrs. Pipkin aside, and suggested that if there were "any hextras," he was ready to pay for them. Then he took his leave without seeing Ruby, and went back to Bungay. When Ruby returned with the children she was told that John Crumb had called. "I thought as he was in prison," said Ruby. "What should they keep him in prison for?" said Mrs. Pipkin. "He hasn't done nothing as he oughtn't to have done. That young man was dragging you about as far as I can make out, and Mr. Crumb just did as anybody ought to have done to prevent it. Of course they weren't going to keep him in prison for that. Prison indeed! It isn't him as ought to be in prison." "And where is he now, aunt?" "Gone down to Bungay to mind his business, and won't be coming here any more of a fool's errand. He must have seen now pretty well what's worth having, and what ain't. Beauty is but skin deep, Ruby." "John Crumb 'd be after me again to-morrow, if I'd give him encouragement," said Ruby. "If I'd hold up my finger he'd come." "Then John Crumb's a fool for his pains, that's all; and now do you go about your work." Ruby didn't like to be told to go about her work, and tossed her head, and slammed the kitchen door, and scolded the servant girl, and then sat down to cry. What was she to do with herself now? She had an idea that Felix would not come back to her after the treatment he had received;—and a further idea that if he did come he was not, as she phrased it to herself, "of much account." She certainly did not like him the better for having been beaten, though, at the time, she had been disposed to take his part. She did not believe that she would ever dance with him again. That had been the charm of her life in London, and that was now all over. And as for marrying her,—she began to feel certain that he did not intend it. John Crumb was a big, awkward, dull, uncouth lump of a man, with whom Ruby thought it impossible that a girl should be in love. Love and John Crumb were poles asunder. But—! Ruby did not like wheeling the perambulator about Islington, and being told by her aunt Pipkin to go about her work. What Ruby did like was being in love and dancing; but if all that must come to an end, then there would be a question whether she could not do better for herself, than by staying with her aunt and wheeling the perambulator about Islington. Mrs. Hurtle was still living in solitude in the lodgings, and having but little to do on her own behalf, had devoted herself to the interest of John Crumb. A man more unlike one of her own countrymen she had never seen. "I wonder whether he has any ideas at all in his head," she had said to Mrs. Pipkin. Mrs. Pipkin had replied that Mr. Crumb had certainly a very strong idea of marrying Ruby Ruggles. Mrs. Hurtle had smiled, thinking that Mrs. Pipkin was also very unlike her own countrywomen. But she was very kind to Mrs. Pipkin, ordering rice-puddings on purpose that the children might eat them, and she was quite determined to give John Crumb all the aid in her power. In order that she might give effectual aid she took Mrs. Pipkin into confidence, and prepared a plan of action in reference to Ruby. Mrs. Pipkin was to appear as chief actor on the scene, but the plan was altogether Mrs. Hurtle's plan. On the day following John's return to Bungay Mrs. Pipkin summoned Ruby into the back parlour, and thus addressed her. "Ruby, you know, this must come to an end now." "What must come to an end?" "You can't stay here always, you know." "I'm sure I work hard, Aunt Pipkin, and I don't get no wages." "I can't do with more than one girl,—and there's the keep if there isn't wages. Besides, there's other reasons. Your grandfather won't have you back there; that's certain." "I wouldn't go back to grandfather, if it was ever so." "But you must go somewheres. You didn't come to stay here always,—nor I couldn't have you. You must go into service." "I don't know anybody as 'd have me," said Ruby. "You must put a 'vertisement into the paper. You'd better say as nursemaid, as you seems to take kindly to children. And I must give you a character;—only I shall say just the truth. You mustn't ask much wages just at first." Ruby looked very sorrowful, and the tears were near her eyes. The change from the glories of the music hall was so startling and so oppressive! "It has got to be done sooner or later, so you may as well put the 'vertisement in this afternoon." "You're going to turn me out, Aunt Pipkin." "Well;—if that's turning out, I am. You see you never would be said by me as though I was mistress. You would go out with that rapscallion when I bid you not. Now when you're in a regular place like, you must mind when you're spoke to, and it will be best for you. You've had your swing, and now you see you've got to pay for it. You must earn your bread, Ruby, as you've quarrelled both with your lover and with your grandfather." There was no possible answer to this, and therefore the necessary notice was put into the paper,—Mrs. Hurtle paying for its insertion. "Because, you know," said Mrs. Hurtle, "she must stay here really, till Mr. Crumb comes and takes her away." Mrs. Pipkin expressed her opinion that Ruby was a "baggage" and John Crumb a "soft." Mrs. Pipkin was perhaps a little jealous at the interest which her lodger took in her niece, thinking perhaps that all Mrs. Hurtle's sympathies were due to herself. Ruby went hither and thither for a day or two, calling upon the mothers of children who wanted nursemaids. The answers which she had received had not come from the highest members of the aristocracy, and the houses which she visited did not appal her by their splendour. Many objections were made to her. A character from an aunt was objectionable. Her ringlets were objectionable. She was a deal too flighty-looking. She spoke up much too free. At last one happy mother of five children offered to take her on approval for a month, at £12 a year, Ruby to find her own tea and wash for herself. This was slavery;—abject slavery. And she too, who had been the beloved of a baronet, and who might even now be the mistress of a better house than that into which she was to go as a servant,—if she would only hold up her finger! But the place was accepted, and with broken-hearted sobbings Ruby prepared herself for her departure from aunt Pipkin's roof. "I hope you like your place, Ruby," Mrs. Hurtle said on the afternoon of her last day. "Indeed then I don't like it at all. They're the ugliest children you ever see, Mrs. Hurtle." "Ugly children must be minded as well as pretty ones." "And the mother of 'em is as cross as cross." "It's your own fault, Ruby; isn't it?" "I don't know as I've done anything out of the way." "Don't you think it's anything out of the way to be engaged to a young man and then to throw him over? All this has come because you wouldn't keep your word to Mr. Crumb. Only for that your grandfather wouldn't have turned you out of his house." "He didn't turn me out. I ran away. And it wasn't along of John Crumb, but because grandfather hauled me about by the hair of my head." "But he was angry with you about Mr. Crumb. When a young woman becomes engaged to a young man, she ought not to go back from her word." No doubt Mrs. Hurtle, when preaching this doctrine, thought that the same law might be laid down with propriety for the conduct of young men. "Of course you have brought trouble on yourself. I am sorry that you don't like the place. I'm afraid you must go to it now." "I am agoing,—I suppose," said Ruby, probably feeling that if she could but bring herself to condescend so far there might yet be open for her a way of escape. "I shall write and tell Mr. Crumb where you are placed." "Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, don't. What should you write to him for? It ain't nothing to him." "I told him I'd let him know if any steps were taken." "You can forget that, Mrs. Hurtle. Pray don't write. I don't want him to know as I'm in service." "I must keep my promise. Why shouldn't he know? I don't suppose you care much now what he hears about you." "Yes I do. I wasn't never in service before, and I don't want him to know." "What harm can it do you?" "Well, I don't want him to know. It is such a come down, Mrs. Hurtle." "There is nothing to be ashamed of in that. What you have to be ashamed of is jilting him. It was a bad thing to do;—wasn't it, Ruby?" "I didn't mean nothing bad, Mrs. Hurtle; only why couldn't he say what he had to say himself, instead of bringing another to say it for him? What would you feel, Mrs. Hurtle, if a man was to come and say it all out of another man's mouth?" "I don't think I should much care if the thing was well said at last. You know he meant it." "Yes;—I did know that." "And you know he means it now?" "I'm not so sure about that. He's gone back to Bungay, and he isn't no good at writing letters no more than at speaking. Oh,—he'll go and get somebody else now." "Of course he will if he hears nothing about you. I think I'd better tell him. I know what would happen." "What would happen, Mrs. Hurtle?" "He'd be up in town again in half a jiffey to see what sort of a place you'd got. Now, Ruby, I'll tell you what I'll do, if you'll say the word. I'll have him up here at once and you shan't go to Mrs. Buggins'." Ruby dropped her hands and stood still, staring at Mrs. Hurtle. "I will. But if he comes you mustn't behave this time as you did before." "But I'm to go to Mrs. Buggins' to-morrow." "We'll send to Mrs. Buggins and tell her to get somebody else. You're breaking your heart about going there;—are you not?" "I don't like it, Mrs. Hurtle." "And this man will make you mistress of his house. You say he isn't good at speaking; but I tell you I never came across an honester man in the whole course of my life, or one who I think would treat a woman better. What's the use of a glib tongue if there isn't a heart with it? What's the use of a lot of tinsel and lacker, if the real metal isn't there? Sir Felix Carbury could talk, I dare say, but you don't think now he was a very fine fellow." "He was so beautiful, Mrs. Hurtle!" "But he hadn't the spirit of a mouse in his bosom. Well, Ruby, you have one more choice left you. Shall it be John Crumb or Mrs. Buggins?" "He wouldn't come, Mrs. Hurtle." "Leave that to me, Ruby. May I bring him if I can?" Then Ruby in a very low whisper told Mrs. Hurtle, that if she thought proper she might bring John Crumb back again. "And there shall be no more nonsense?" "No," whispered Ruby. On that same night a letter was sent to Mrs. Buggins, which Mrs. Hurtle also composed, informing that lady that unforeseen circumstances prevented Ruby Ruggles from keeping the engagement she had made; to which a verbal answer was returned that Ruby Ruggles was an impudent hussey. And then Mrs. Hurtle in her own name wrote a short note to Mr. John Crumb. Dear Mr. Crumb, If you will come back to London I think you will find Miss Ruby Ruggles all that you desire. Yours faithfully, Winifred Hurtle. "She's had a deal more done for her than I ever knew to be done for young women in my time," said Mrs. Pipkin, "and I'm not at all so sure that she has deserved it." "John Crumb will think she has." "John Crumb's a fool;—and as to Ruby; well, I haven't got no patience with girls like them. Yes; it is for the best; and as for you, Mrs. Hurtle, there's no words to say how good you've been. I hope, Mrs. Hurtle, you ain't thinking of going away because this is all done." About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Anthony Trollope (2004). The Way We Live Now. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5231/pg5231-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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