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While preparing this article, I decided to reorganize their structure slightly, so in this article, we will write our service, which will work well but will not be decentralized. In the following article, we will transfer user data storage to the blockchain and enrich our service with smart contracts. Read part 1 . here Shared services This function validates JWT token that he allowed for current row and for credentials of row; export function validateJWKS(
  jwtKey: string,
  data: object | string,
  validate: Record<string, any>,
) {
  const keys = typeof data === "object" ? data : JSON.parse(data);
  let k = keys.keys ? keys.keys : keys;

  if (!Array.isArray(k)) {
    k = [k];
  }

  for (const jwk of k) {
    const key = createPublicKey({ format: "jwk", key: jwk });
    const spki = key.export({ format: "pem", type: "spki" });

    try {
      const result = jwt.verify(jwtKey, spki, validate) as Record<string, any>;

      const valid = Object.entries(validate).every(([key, value]) => {
        return result[key] === value;
      });

      if (!valid) {
        throw new Error("Invalid token");
      }

      return true;
    } catch (e) {
      // tslint:disable-next-line:no-console
      console.log(e);
    }
  }

  return false;
} Auth Service This service is the first one our user encounters (in fact, the person who codes the interaction with the service). Its main task is to obtain a JWT key from the user, check whether this key can provide access to services, and, if so, generate a new key with which the user will continue to use the services. Why is it so difficult and impossible to go to services immediately with the existing key? Good question =) The answer to it will be quite simple: the service is designed in such a way that some of its parts can be distributed among community members, and so that these participants cannot use the user’s data in any way to harm him, we are giving away our anonymized identifier. This microservice contains one table in the database: Auth: in this table should be stored available OAUTH providers with their credentials export class Auth extends Model implements AuthAttributes
{
  public id!: string;
  public name!: string;
  public jwkUrl!: string;
  public verifier!: string;
  public checks!: AuthCheckAttribute[];

  // timestamps!
  public readonly createdAt!: Date;
  public readonly updatedAt!: Date;
  public readonly deletedAt!: Date;
} And two rest endpoints - on this endpoint, we can get certificates to validate our JWT POST /api/certs const keyStore = await jose.JWK.asKeyStore(
    (process.env.AUTH_KEYS as string).toString(),
);
res.status(200).json(keyStore.toJSON()); We get stored secret data from env variable and get public key - in this endpoint we exchange users JWT into our POST /api/exchange At first we need to encode and check field sub const { token } = req.body;

const encoded = jwt.decode(token);
if (encoded === null || !encoded.hasOwnProperty("sub")) {
  res.status(400).json({ message: "Invalid token" });
  return;
} After it we check that the current token is allowed for the next iterations. const tokens = await Auth.findAll({});

let isValid = false;
for (const authToken of tokens) {
  try {
    if (!cache.get(authToken.get("id"))) {
      const k1 = await fetch(authToken.get("jwkUrl"));
      const k2 = await k1.json();
      if (k2) {
        cache.set(authToken.id, {
          validate: Object.fromEntries(
            authToken.get("checks").map((check) => [check.key, check.value]),
          ),
          ks: k2,
        });
      }
    }

    const c = cache.get(authToken.id);
    if (!c) {
      continue;
    }

    isValid = validateJWKS(token, c.ks, c.validate) || isValid;
  } catch (e) {
    // tslint:disable-next-line:no-console
    console.error(e);
  }
}

if (!isValid) {
  res.status(400).json({ message: "Invalid token" });
  return;
} And if all checks are done, we generate a new token. Shares service This service is required to exchange JWT tokens for information where stored parts of his private key are. This microservice contains two tables table in the database: Node: here, stored information about nodes that can be saved user share export class Node extends Model implements NodeAttributes {
    public id!: string;
    public name!: string;
    public value!: string;

    // timestamps!
    public readonly createdAt!: Date;
    public readonly updatedAt!: Date;
    public readonly deletedAt!: Date;
} Storage: here store information about current users parts. Identifier is a hashed string with salt, which prevents disclosure of which specific user owns the data export class Storage extends Model implements StorageAttributes {
    public id!: string;
    public value!: StorageValueAttribute[];

    // timestamps!
    public readonly createdAt!: Date;
    public readonly updatedAt!: Date;
    public readonly deletedAt!: Date;
} Also we need auth middleware: we check token validity and hash user identifier for next iterations: function authMiddleware(
  req: RequestWithUID,
  res: Response,
  next: NextFunction,
) {
  let encoded = jwt.decode(req.body.token);

  if (encoded === null || !encoded.hasOwnProperty("sub")) {
    return res.status(400).json({ message: "Invalid token" });
  }

  req.uid = keccak256(encoded.sub as string, process.env.AUTH_SECRET as string);

  next();
} And two rest endpoints: - return saved user data POST /api/get const value = await Storage.findByPk(req.uid);

if (value === null) {
  return res.status(404).json({ message: "Node not found" });
}

res.status(200).json(value.get("value")); - generate shares and return them POST /api/generate let nodes = await Node.findAll({});

if (nodes.length < 5) {
  return res.status(400).json({ message: "Not enough nodes" });
}

const values = nodes
  .map((node) => node.get("value"))
  .sort(() => Math.random() - 0.5)
  .slice(0, 5)
  .map((node) => ({
    node: node,
    index: randomBytes(32).toString("hex"),
  }));

await Storage.create({
  id: req.uid,
  value: values,
});

const value = await Storage.findByPk(req.uid);

if (value === null) {
  return res.status(404).json({ message: "Node not found" });
}

res.status(200).json(value.get("value")); That happens here? we get all saved nodes, shuffle them and get 5 values, also we generate 5 indices for next iterations, store them in the database and return to the user. Share service This service is required for store user’s part of a share. each entry is encrypted with a generated private key to protect user data. We will use the for encryption and decryption. As a private key, we will use a hashed user identifier specific to each service salt. Elliptic Curve Integrated Encryption Scheme (ECIES) We get the public key from the private key, which will be an identifier for our record, and encoded with the private key and ECIES. This microservice contains one table in the database: Storage: here stores encrypted user share. Identifier is a hashed string with salt, which prevents disclosure of which specific user owns the data, value encrypted with a calculated private key export class Storage extends Model implements StorageAttributes {
  public id!: string;
  public value!: string;

  // timestamps!
  public readonly createdAt!: Date;
  public readonly updatedAt!: Date;
  public readonly deletedAt!: Date;
} And two rest endpoints: create stored data. After saving, we get this row from the database to be sure that data is saved. I know that when saved, the model should return the saved row, but in this case it is better to query from the database POST /api/set const sk = new PrivateKey(req.uid as Buffer);

const decData = encrypt(
  sk.publicKey.toHex(),
  Buffer.from(req.body.data as string, "utf-8"),
);

await Storage.create({
  id: sk.publicKey.toHex(),
  value: decData.toString("base64"),
});

const encrypted = await Storage.findByPk(sk.publicKey.toHex());

if (encrypted === null) {
  return res.status(404).json({ message: "Not found" });
}

const encData = Buffer.from(encrypted.get("value"), "base64");
res.status(200).json({
  key: sk.publicKey.toHex(),
  data: decrypt(sk.secret, encData).toString(),
}); encrypt and retrieve saved users share POST /api/get const sk = new PrivateKey(req.uid as Buffer);

const encrypted = await Storage.findByPk(sk.publicKey.toHex());

if (encrypted === null) {
  return res.status(404).json({ message: "Not found" });
}

const data = Buffer.from(encrypted.get("value"), "base64");
res.status(200).json({
  key: sk.publicKey.toHex(),
  data: decrypt(sk.secret, data).toString(),
}); Meta service This service is similar to the previous one in many ways, with the difference that the data is encrypted not on the backend side but on the client and signed by the client with his private key. This service can store any user information. In our case, we will store indexes from user parts of the shares. Before any interaction, like create or retrieve, we should check the signature created from the namespace on which data will be saved and the current timestamp to prevent the next use. For now, we window in one minute. For additional security, you can additionally use and save it, for example, in radish, so that the entry is deleted in a minute. nonce This microservice contains one table in the database: Storage: here stores encrypted user shares. Identifier is a hashed string with salt, which prevents disclosure of which specific user owns the data, value encrypted with a calculated private key. export class Storage extends Model implements StorageAttributes {
  public id!: string;
  public value!: string;

  // timestamps!
  public readonly createdAt!: Date;
  public readonly updatedAt!: Date;
  public readonly deletedAt!: Date;
} store user data POST /api/set const { pk, namespace, signature, ts, message } = req.body;
const msgHash = Buffer.from(keccak256(`${namespace}:${ts}`), "hex");
const isValid = ec.verify(msgHash, signature, pk, "hex");

if (!isValid || ts < Math.floor(Date.now() / 1000) - 60) {
  return res.status(400).json({ message: "Invalid signature" });
}

const key = keccak256(`${pk}:${namespace}`);

await Storage.create({
  id: key,
  value: message,
});

const data = await Storage.findByPk(key);

if (data === null) {
  return res.status(404).json({ message: "Not found" });
}

res.status(200).json(data.get("value")); retrieve saved users share. POST /api/get const { pk, namespace, signature, ts } = req.body;
const msgHash = Buffer.from(keccak256(`${namespace}:${ts}`), "hex");

const isValid = ec.verify(msgHash, signature, Buffer.from(pk, "hex"), "hex");

if (!isValid || ts < Math.floor(Date.now() / 1000) - 60) {
  return res.status(400).json({ message: "Invalid signature" });
}

const key = keccak256(`${pk}:${namespace}`);
const data = await Storage.findByPk(key);

if (data === null) {
  return res.status(404).json({ message: "Not found" });
}

res.status(200).json(data.get("value")); Conclusion In this article, I described the service in basic terms and how it should work. Unfortunately, it turned out a little crumpled; in the future, I will try to cover the topic in more detail. In the next part of the article, I plan to transfer parts of the storage functionality to smart contracts to make the service more decentralized. All code available on GitHub Links: Elliptic Curve Integrated Encryption Scheme (ECIES): Encrypting Using Elliptic Curves Elliptic Curve Digital Signature Algorithm

Utilizing the Mechanics of Shamir's Secret Sharing Service — Part 2

Frontend web development is one of the most exciting and dynamic areas in the world of technology. We are constantly creating attractive and functional user interfaces that directly impact the . user experience However, there is an aspect that is often overlooked and underestimated: testing. While it may initially appear as a secondary task, it is an essential practice in web development. If you are new to this field, you may wonder what “testing” involves and why you should invest time in it. On the other hand, if you already have experience, it is crucial to consistently remember the importance of testing and how it can enhance the quality of your projects. What Is Testing in Web Development? In web development, this involves checking that web pages look and function correctly in different browsers and devices. It is an essential part of the development process to ensure a smooth and error-free user experience. Testing in can be divided into two main categories: manual testing and automated testing. frontend web development Each approach has its advantages and challenges. Manual Testing Manual testing is exactly what it sounds like: a human performs checks and evaluations directly on a web application’s user interface. This involves clicking buttons, filling out forms, and navigating the site to verify its functionality. Manual testing is effective in identifying visual and usability issues, but it is prone to subjectivity and can be labor-intensive and slow, especially on large projects. Automated Testing Automated testing is a more efficient and systematic approach. Instead of relying entirely on manual interventions, scripts and test suites are created to perform specific actions in an application and verify if the expected results are achieved. This not only saves time but also allows for regression testing, which means you can quickly check whether new updates have negatively impacted existing parts of your application. The Foundations of Automated Testing: Unit and Integration Testing Two fundamental concepts in the field of testing are unit testing and integration testing. These two practices are essential to ensure the functionality and stability of an application. Unit testing focuses on evaluating individual components, while integration testing focuses on how these components work together as a complete system. Although this blog is not a practical tutorial, let’s look at some examples to get a bit more of an idea of these testing practices. Unit Testing: Breaking Down the Code Unit testing is the first pillar of testing in web development. It focuses on evaluating individual code units, such as functions or methods, to ensure they function correctly in isolation. The goal of unit testing is to ensure that each small part of the code, or unit, performs the task it was designed for. Practical Example: Imagine you’re developing an e-commerce application and have a function that calculates the total price of a purchase. A unit test for this function could verify if the calculations are accurate, if discounts are applied correctly, and if taxes are handled properly. This is done by testing the function with different datasets and checking that the results are as expected. Let’s assume you have the following function in your React application: function calculateTotalPrice(subtotal, discount, taxes) {
  // Perform calculations to get the total price
  const priceWithDiscount = subtotal - discount;
  const priceWithTaxes = priceWithDiscount * (1 + taxes);
  return priceWithTaxes;
} And here’s how you can write a unit test for this function using the , which is commonly used in the React development environment: Jest library import { calculateTotalPrice } from './yourFunctionFile'; // Make sure to import the function correctly

describe('Testing the calculateTotalPrice function', () => {
  it('should calculate the total price correctly', () => {
    const subtotal = 100;
    const discount = 10;
    const taxes = 0.08;

    const totalPrice = calculateTotalPrice(subtotal, discount, taxes);

    // Verify if the result is as expected
    expect(totalPrice).toBe(98); // The expected total price after the discount and taxes
  });

  it('should handle negative discounts', () => {
    const subtotal = 100;
    const discount = -10;
    const taxes = 0.08;

    const totalPrice = calculateTotalPrice(subtotal, discount, taxes);

    // Verify if the result is as expected
    expect(totalPrice).toBe(110); // The expected total price when a negative discount is applied
  });
}); In this example, we’ve written two unit tests. The first one checks if the function correctly calculates the total price after applying the discount and taxes. calculateTotalPrice The second test verifies if the function properly handles negative discounts. Jest allows us to use the function to compare the function's result with an expected value and check if the function behaves as expected. expect Integration Tests: Connection and Collaboration Integration tests are the second pillar of testing and focus on evaluating how different parts of an application interact when combined. These tests ensure that various components of an application, which perform correctly in unit tests, seamlessly integrate. Practical Example: Let’s say you’re building a news website with a navigation bar component and a comments component. Integration tests could evaluate if the comments load correctly when a user clicks on an article from the navigation bar. This involves verifying not only the functionality of each component in isolation but also how they collaborate. In this case, let us assume that we have the following components: : NavigationBar.js import React from 'react';

function NavigationBar(props) {
  const handleArticleClick = (articleId) => {
    // Handle the article click event, perhaps by passing it to a parent component.
  };

  return (
    <nav>
      <ul>
        <li onClick={() => handleArticleClick(1)}>Article 1</li>
        <li onClick={() => handleArticleClick(2)}>Article 2</li>
        <li onClick={() => handleArticleClick(3)}>Article 3</li>
      </ul>
    </nav>
  );
}

export default NavigationBar; : Comments.js function Comments({ articleId, comments }) {
  // Fetch and display comments for the given articleId
  const articleComments = comments.filter((comment) => comment.articleId === articleId);

  return (
    <div>
      <h2>Comments for Article {articleId}</h2>
      <ul>
        {articleComments.map((comment) => (
          <li key={comment.id}>{comment.text}</li>
        ))}
      </ul>
    </div>
  );
}

export default Comments; Now, here’s how we could write an integration test using a like this: React testing library import React from 'react';
import { render, fireEvent } from '@testing-library/react';
import NavigationBar from './NavigationBar';
import Comments from './Comments';

test('loads and displays comments when an article is clicked', () => {
  // Mock some comments data
  const comments = [
    { id: 1, articleId: 1, text: 'Comment 1 for Article 1' },
    { id: 2, articleId: 1, text: 'Comment 2 for Article 1' },
    { id: 3, articleId: 2, text: 'Comment 1 for Article 2' },
  ];

  // Render the components
  const { getByText } = render(
    <>
      <NavigationBar />
      <Comments articleId={1} comments={comments} />
    </>
  );

  // Initially, the comments for Article 1 should not be visible
  expect(getByText("Comment 1 for Article 1")).not.toBeVisible();
  expect(getByText("Comment 2 for Article 1")).not.toBeVisible();

  // Simulate clicking on "Article 1" in the NavigationBar
  fireEvent.click(getByText('Article 1'));

  // After clicking, the comments for Article 1 should be visible
  expect(getByText("Comment 1 for Article 1")).toBeVisible();
  expect(getByText("Comment 2 for Article 1")).toBeVisible();
}); This test checks that comments load correctly when you click “Article 1” in the navigation bar. Integration tests like this help ensure that individual components work well together as part of your larger application. The Importance of Testing and Early Error Detection Software errors are inevitable. They can arise at any stage of development, from the inception of an idea to implementation and, finally, user delivery. However, what we can control is when and how we identify these errors. Early error detection refers to the practice of identifying and resolving issues in the early stages of the development process. This proactive approach focuses on preventing errors from spreading and becoming costly obstacles in advanced project stages. The significance of testing and early error detection lies in two fundamental aspects. Firstly, thorough testing allows developers to identify and address issues in their code before they reach end-users. Secondly, early error detection is not just a matter of quality but also an economic concern, among others. Correcting problems in the early development stages is significantly more cost-effective than doing so in advanced stages or, worse yet, after the software has been deployed. Conclusion In summary, involves a “polishing” approach through unit testing and a “connecting” approach by conducting integration testing. testing in web development Both are crucial pillars to ensure that your application is robust, reliable, and ready to face real-world challenges. Although this is just a glimpse into the world of testing, I hope you now have a better understanding of what it entails. I recommend delving deeper into this topic for more comprehensive knowledge. Read more: Choosing the Right Data Handling Path in React: Controlled vs. Uncontrolled Components Optimizing State Management in React Applications: From Small to Large-Scale Want to connect with the Author? Love connecting with friends all around the world on . Twitter Also published . here

Elevating Frontend Development: The Crucial Role of Testing in Web Dev

A Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . MY UNCLE MAKES A GREAT DISCOVERY here CHAPTER I - MY UNCLE MAKES A GREAT DISCOVERY Looking back to all that has occurred to me since that eventful day, I am scarcely able to believe in the reality of my adventures. They were truly so wonderful that even now I am bewildered when I think of them. My uncle was a German, having married my mother's sister, an Englishwoman. Being very much attached to his fatherless nephew, he invited me to study under him in his home in the fatherland. This home was in a large town, and my uncle a professor of philosophy, chemistry, geology, mineralogy, and many other ologies. One day, after passing some hours in the laboratory—my uncle being absent at the time—I suddenly felt the necessity of renovating the tissues— , I was hungry, and was about to rouse up our old French cook, when my uncle, Professor Von Hardwigg, suddenly opened the street door, and came rushing upstairs. i.e. Now Professor Hardwigg, my worthy uncle, is by no means a bad sort of man; he is, however, choleric and original. To bear with him means to obey; and scarcely had his heavy feet resounded within our joint domicile than he shouted for me to attend upon him. "Harry—Harry—Harry—" I hastened to obey, but before I could reach his room, jumping three steps at a time, he was stamping his right foot upon the landing. "Harry!" he cried, in a frantic tone, "are you coming up?" Now to tell the truth, at that moment I was far more interested in the question as to what was to constitute our dinner than in any problem of science; to me soup was more interesting than soda, an omelette more tempting than arithmetic, and an artichoke of ten times more value than any amount of asbestos. But my uncle was not a man to be kept waiting; so adjourning therefore all minor questions, I presented myself before him. He was a very learned man. Now most persons in this category supply themselves with information, as peddlers do with goods, for the benefit of others, and lay up stores in order to diffuse them abroad for the benefit of society in general. Not so my excellent uncle, Professor Hardwigg; he studied, he consumed the midnight oil, he pored over heavy tomes, and digested huge quartos and folios in order to keep the knowledge acquired to himself. There was a reason, and it may be regarded as a good one, why my uncle objected to display his learning more than was absolutely necessary: he stammered; and when intent upon explaining the phenomena of the heavens, was apt to find himself at fault, and allude in such a vague way to sun, moon, and stars that few were able to comprehend his meaning. To tell the honest truth, when the right word would not come, it was generally replaced by a very powerful adjective. In connection with the sciences there are many almost unpronounceable names—names very much resembling those of Welsh villages; and my uncle being very fond of using them, his habit of stammering was not thereby improved. In fact, there were periods in his discourse when he would finally give up and swallow his discomfiture—in a glass of water. As I said, my uncle, Professor Hardwigg, was a very learned man; and I now add a most kind relative. I was bound to him by the double ties of affection and interest. I took deep interest in all his doings, and hoped some day to be almost as learned myself. It was a rare thing for me to be absent from his lectures. Like him, I preferred mineralogy to all the other sciences. My anxiety was to gain real . Geology and mineralogy were to us the sole objects of life, and in connection with these studies many a fair specimen of stone, chalk, or metal did we break with our hammers. knowledge of the earth Steel rods, loadstones, glass pipes, and bottles of various acids were oftener before us than our meals. My uncle Hardwigg was once known to classify six hundred different geological specimens by their weight, hardness, fusibility, sound, taste, and smell. He corresponded with all the great, learned, and scientific men of the age. I was, therefore, in constant communication with, at all events the letters of, Sir Humphry Davy, Captain Franklin, and other great men. But before I state the subject on which my uncle wished to confer with me, I must say a word about his personal appearance. Alas! my readers will see a very different portrait of him at a future time, after he has gone through the fearful adventures yet to be related. My uncle was fifty years old; tall, thin, and wiry. Large spectacles hid, to a certain extent, his vast, round, and goggle eyes, while his nose was irreverently compared to a thin file. So much indeed did it resemble that useful article, that a compass was said in his presence to have made considerable N (Nasal) deviation. The truth being told, however, the only article really attracted to my uncle's nose was tobacco. Another peculiarity of his was, that he always stepped a yard at a time, clenched his fists as if he were going to hit you, and was, when in one of his peculiar humors, very far from a pleasant companion. It is further necessary to observe that he lived in a very nice house, in that very nice street, the Konigstrasse at Hamburg. Though lying in the centre of a town, it was perfectly rural in its aspect—half wood, half bricks, with old-fashioned gables—one of the few old houses spared by the great fire of 1842. When I say a nice house, I mean a handsome house—old, tottering, and not exactly comfortable to English notions: a house a little off the perpendicular and inclined to fall into the neighboring canal; exactly the house for a wandering artist to depict; all the more that you could scarcely see it for ivy and a magnificent old tree which grew over the door. My uncle was rich; his house was his own property, while he had a considerable private income. To my notion the best part of his possessions was his god-daughter, Gretchen. And the old cook, the young lady, the Professor and I were the sole inhabitants. I loved mineralogy, I loved geology. To me there was nothing like pebbles—and if my uncle had been in a little less of a fury, we should have been the happiest of families. To prove the excellent Hardwigg's impatience, I solemnly declare that when the flowers in the drawing-room pots began to grow, he rose every morning at four o'clock to make them grow quicker by pulling the leaves! Having described my uncle, I will now give an account of our interview. He received me in his study; a perfect museum, containing every natural curiosity that can well be imagined—minerals, however, predominating. Every one was familiar to me, having been catalogued by my own hand. My uncle, apparently oblivious of the fact that he had summoned me to his presence, was absorbed in a book. He was particularly fond of early editions, tall copies, and unique works. "Wonderful!" he cried, tapping his forehead. "Wonderful—wonderful!" It was one of those yellow-leaved volumes now rarely found on stalls, and to me it appeared to possess but little value. My uncle, however, was in raptures. He admired its binding, the clearness of its characters, the ease with which it opened in his hand, and repeated aloud, half a dozen times, that it was very, very old. To my fancy he was making a great fuss about nothing, but it was not my province to say so. On the contrary, I professed considerable interest in the subject, and asked him what it was about. "It is the Heims-Kringla of Snorre Tarleson," he said, "the celebrated Icelandic author of the twelfth century—it is a true and correct account of the Norwegian princes who reigned in Iceland." My next question related to the language in which it was written. I hoped at all events it was translated into German. My uncle was indignant at the very thought, and declared he wouldn't give a penny for a translation. His delight was to have found the original work in the Icelandic tongue, which he declared to be one of the most magnificent and yet simple idioms in the world—while at the same time its grammatical combinations were the most varied known to students. "About as easy as German?" was my insidious remark. My uncle shrugged his shoulders. "The letters at all events," I said, "are rather difficult of comprehension." "It is a Runic manuscript, the language of the original population of Iceland, invented by Odin himself," cried my uncle, angry at my ignorance. I was about to venture upon some misplaced joke on the subject, when a small scrap of parchment fell out of the leaves. Like a hungry man snatching at a morsel of bread the Professor seized it. It was about five inches by three and was scrawled over in the most extraordinary fashion. The lines shown here are an exact facsimile of what was written on the venerable piece of parchment—and have wonderful importance, as they induced my uncle to undertake the most wonderful series of adventures which ever fell to the lot of human beings. My uncle looked keenly at the document for some moments and then declared that it was Runic. The letters were similar to those in the book, but then what did they mean? This was exactly what I wanted to know. Now as I had a strong conviction that the Runic alphabet and dialect were simply an invention to mystify poor human nature, I was delighted to find that my uncle knew as much about the matter as I did—which was nothing. At all events the tremulous motion of his fingers made me think so. "And yet," he muttered to himself, "it is old Icelandic, I am sure of it." And my uncle ought to have known, for he was a perfect polyglot dictionary in himself. He did not pretend, like a certain learned pundit, to speak the two thousand languages and four thousand idioms made use of in different parts of the globe, but he did know all the more important ones. It is a matter of great doubt to me now, to what violent measures my uncle's impetuosity might have led him, had not the clock struck two, and our old French cook called out to let us know that dinner was on the table. "Bother the dinner!" cried my uncle. But as I was hungry, I sallied forth to the dining room, where I took up my usual quarters. Out of politeness I waited three minutes, but no sign of my uncle, the Professor. I was surprised. He was not usually so blind to the pleasure of a good dinner. It was the acme of German luxury—parsley soup, a ham omelette with sorrel trimmings, an oyster of veal stewed with prunes, delicious fruit, and sparkling Moselle. For the sake of poring over this musty old piece of parchment, my uncle forbore to share our meal. To satisfy my conscience, I ate for both. The old cook and housekeeper was nearly out of her mind. After taking so much trouble, to find her master not appear at dinner was to her a sad disappointment—which, as she occasionally watched the havoc I was making on the viands, became also alarm. If my uncle were to come to table after all? Suddenly, just as I had consumed the last apple and drunk the last glass of wine, a terrible voice was heard at no great distance. It was my uncle roaring for me to come to him. I made very nearly one leap of it—so loud, so fierce was his tone. 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. Jules Verne (2006). A Journey to the Center of the Earth. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/18857/18857-h/18857-h.htm 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

MY UNCLE MAKES A GREAT DISCOVERY

Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . A FEW DAYS ON LAND here CHAPTER XX: A FEW DAYS ON LAND I was much impressed on touching land. Ned Land tried the soil with his feet, as if to take possession of it. However, it was only two months before that we had become, according to Captain Nemo, “passengers on board the ,” but, in reality, prisoners of its commander. Nautilus In a few minutes we were within musket-shot of the coast. The whole horizon was hidden behind a beautiful curtain of forests. Enormous trees, the trunks of which attained a height of 200 feet, were tied to each other by garlands of bindweed, real natural hammocks, which a light breeze rocked. They were mimosas, figs, hibisci, and palm trees, mingled together in profusion; and under the shelter of their verdant vault grew orchids, leguminous plants, and ferns. But, without noticing all these beautiful specimens of Papuan flora, the Canadian abandoned the agreeable for the useful. He discovered a coco-tree, beat down some of the fruit, broke them, and we drunk the milk and ate the nut with a satisfaction that protested against the ordinary food on the . Nautilus “Excellent!” said Ned Land. “Exquisite!” replied Conseil. “And I do not think,” said the Canadian, “that he would object to our introducing a cargo of coco-nuts on board.” “I do not think he would, but he would not taste them.” “So much the worse for him,” said Conseil. “And so much the better for us,” replied Ned Land. “There will be more for us.” “One word only, Master Land,” I said to the harpooner, who was beginning to ravage another coco-nut tree. “Coco-nuts are good things, but before filling the canoe with them it would be wise to reconnoitre and see if the island does not produce some substance not less useful. Fresh vegetables would be welcome on board the .” Nautilus “Master is right,” replied Conseil; “and I propose to reserve three places in our vessel, one for fruits, the other for vegetables, and the third for the venison, of which I have not yet seen the smallest specimen.” “Conseil, we must not despair,” said the Canadian. “Let us continue,” I returned, “and lie in wait. Although the island seems uninhabited, it might still contain some individuals that would be less hard than we on the nature of game.” “Ho! ho!” said Ned Land, moving his jaws significantly. “Well, Ned!” said Conseil. “My word!” returned the Canadian, “I begin to understand the charms of anthropophagy.” “Ned! Ned! what are you saying? You, a man-eater? I should not feel safe with you, especially as I share your cabin. I might perhaps wake one day to find myself half devoured.” “Friend Conseil, I like you much, but not enough to eat you unnecessarily.” “I would not trust you,” replied Conseil. “But enough. We must absolutely bring down some game to satisfy this cannibal, or else one of these fine mornings, master will find only pieces of his servant to serve him.” While we were talking thus, we were penetrating the sombre arches of the forest, and for two hours we surveyed it in all directions. Chance rewarded our search for eatable vegetables, and one of the most useful products of the tropical zones furnished us with precious food that we missed on board. I would speak of the bread-fruit tree, very abundant in the island of Gilboa; and I remarked chiefly the variety destitute of seeds, which bears in Malaya the name of “rima.” Ned Land knew these fruits well. He had already eaten many during his numerous voyages, and he knew how to prepare the eatable substance. Moreover, the sight of them excited him, and he could contain himself no longer. “Master,” he said, “I shall die if I do not taste a little of this bread-fruit pie.” “Taste it, friend Ned—taste it as you want. We are here to make experiments—make them.” “It won’t take long,” said the Canadian. And, provided with a lentil, he lighted a fire of dead wood that crackled joyously. During this time, Conseil and I chose the best fruits of the bread-fruit. Some had not then attained a sufficient degree of maturity; and their thick skin covered a white but rather fibrous pulp. Others, the greater number yellow and gelatinous, waited only to be picked. These fruits enclosed no kernel. Conseil brought a dozen to Ned Land, who placed them on a coal fire, after having cut them in thick slices, and while doing this repeating: “You will see, master, how good this bread is. More so when one has been deprived of it so long. It is not even bread,” added he, “but a delicate pastry. You have eaten none, master?” “No, Ned.” “Very well, prepare yourself for a juicy thing. If you do not come for more, I am no longer the king of harpooners.” After some minutes, the part of the fruits that was exposed to the fire was completely roasted. The interior looked like a white pasty, a sort of soft crumb, the flavour of which was like that of an artichoke. It must be confessed this bread was excellent, and I ate of it with great relish. “What time is it now?” asked the Canadian. “Two o’clock at least,” replied Conseil. “How time flies on firm ground!” sighed Ned Land. “Let us be off,” replied Conseil. We returned through the forest, and completed our collection by a raid upon the cabbage-palms, that we gathered from the tops of the trees, little beans that I recognised as the “abrou” of the Malays, and yams of a superior quality. We were loaded when we reached the boat. But Ned Land did not find his provisions sufficient. Fate, however, favoured us. Just as we were pushing off, he perceived several trees, from twenty-five to thirty feet high, a species of palm-tree. At last, at five o’clock in the evening, loaded with our riches, we quitted the shore, and half an hour after we hailed the . No one appeared on our arrival. The enormous iron-plated cylinder seemed deserted. The provisions embarked, I descended to my chamber, and after supper slept soundly. Nautilus The next day, 6th January, nothing new on board. Not a sound inside, not a sign of life. The boat rested along the edge, in the same place in which we had left it. We resolved to return to the island. Ned Land hoped to be more fortunate than on the day before with regard to the hunt, and wished to visit another part of the forest. At dawn we set off. The boat, carried on by the waves that flowed to shore, reached the island in a few minutes. We landed, and, thinking that it was better to give in to the Canadian, we followed Ned Land, whose long limbs threatened to distance us. He wound up the coast towards the west: then, fording some torrents, he gained the high plain that was bordered with admirable forests. Some kingfishers were rambling along the water-courses, but they would not let themselves be approached. Their circumspection proved to me that these birds knew what to expect from bipeds of our species, and I concluded that, if the island was not inhabited, at least human beings occasionally frequented it. After crossing a rather large prairie, we arrived at the skirts of a little wood that was enlivened by the songs and flight of a large number of birds. “There are only birds,” said Conseil. “But they are eatable,” replied the harpooner. “I do not agree with you, friend Ned, for I see only parrots there.” “Friend Conseil,” said Ned, gravely, “the parrot is like pheasant to those who have nothing else.” “And,” I added, “this bird, suitably prepared, is worth knife and fork.” Indeed, under the thick foliage of this wood, a world of parrots were flying from branch to branch, only needing a careful education to speak the human language. For the moment, they were chattering with parrots of all colours, and grave cockatoos, who seemed to meditate upon some philosophical problem, whilst brilliant red lories passed like a piece of bunting carried away by the breeze, papuans, with the finest azure colours, and in all a variety of winged things most charming to behold, but few eatable. However, a bird peculiar to these lands, and which has never passed the limits of the Arrow and Papuan islands, was wanting in this collection. But fortune reserved it for me before long. After passing through a moderately thick copse, we found a plain obstructed with bushes. I saw then those magnificent birds, the disposition of whose long feathers obliges them to fly against the wind. Their undulating flight, graceful aerial curves, and the shading of their colours, attracted and charmed one’s looks. I had no trouble in recognising them. “Birds of paradise!” I exclaimed. The Malays, who carry on a great trade in these birds with the Chinese, have several means that we could not employ for taking them. Sometimes they put snares on the top of high trees that the birds of paradise prefer to frequent. Sometimes they catch them with a viscous birdlime that paralyses their movements. They even go so far as to poison the fountains that the birds generally drink from. But we were obliged to fire at them during flight, which gave us few chances to bring them down; and, indeed, we vainly exhausted one half our ammunition. About eleven o’clock in the morning, the first range of mountains that form the centre of the island was traversed, and we had killed nothing. Hunger drove us on. The hunters had relied on the products of the chase, and they were wrong. Happily Conseil, to his great surprise, made a double shot and secured breakfast. He brought down a white pigeon and a wood-pigeon, which, cleverly plucked and suspended from a skewer, was roasted before a red fire of dead wood. While these interesting birds were cooking, Ned prepared the fruit of the bread-tree. Then the wood-pigeons were devoured to the bones, and declared excellent. The nutmeg, with which they are in the habit of stuffing their crops, flavours their flesh and renders it delicious eating. “Now, Ned, what do you miss now?” “Some four-footed game, M. Aronnax. All these pigeons are only side-dishes and trifles; and until I have killed an animal with cutlets I shall not be content.” “Nor I, Ned, if I do not catch a bird of paradise.” “Let us continue hunting,” replied Conseil. “Let us go towards the sea. We have arrived at the first declivities of the mountains, and I think we had better regain the region of forests.” That was sensible advice, and was followed out. After walking for one hour we had attained a forest of sago-trees. Some inoffensive serpents glided away from us. The birds of paradise fled at our approach, and truly I despaired of getting near one when Conseil, who was walking in front, suddenly bent down, uttered a triumphal cry, and came back to me bringing a magnificent specimen. “Ah! bravo, Conseil!” “Master is very good.” “No, my boy; you have made an excellent stroke. Take one of these living birds, and carry it in your hand.” “If master will examine it, he will see that I have not deserved great merit.” “Why, Conseil?” “Because this bird is as drunk as a quail.” “Drunk!” “Yes, sir; drunk with the nutmegs that it devoured under the nutmeg-tree, under which I found it. See, friend Ned, see the monstrous effects of intemperance!” “By Jove!” exclaimed the Canadian, “because I have drunk gin for two months, you must needs reproach me!” However, I examined the curious bird. Conseil was right. The bird, drunk with the juice, was quite powerless. It could not fly; it could hardly walk. This bird belonged to the most beautiful of the eight species that are found in Papua and in the neighbouring islands. It was the “large emerald bird, the most rare kind.” It measured three feet in length. Its head was comparatively small, its eyes placed near the opening of the beak, and also small. But the shades of colour were beautiful, having a yellow beak, brown feet and claws, nut-coloured wings with purple tips, pale yellow at the back of the neck and head, and emerald colour at the throat, chestnut on the breast and belly. Two horned, downy nets rose from below the tail, that prolonged the long light feathers of admirable fineness, and they completed the whole of this marvellous bird, that the natives have poetically named the “bird of the sun.” But if my wishes were satisfied by the possession of the bird of paradise, the Canadian’s were not yet. Happily, about two o’clock, Ned Land brought down a magnificent hog; from the brood of those the natives call “bari-outang.” The animal came in time for us to procure real quadruped meat, and he was well received. Ned Land was very proud of his shot. The hog, hit by the electric ball, fell stone dead. The Canadian skinned and cleaned it properly, after having taken half a dozen cutlets, destined to furnish us with a grilled repast in the evening. Then the hunt was resumed, which was still more marked by Ned and Conseil’s exploits. Indeed, the two friends, beating the bushes, roused a herd of kangaroos that fled and bounded along on their elastic paws. But these animals did not take to flight so rapidly but what the electric capsule could stop their course. “Ah, Professor!” cried Ned Land, who was carried away by the delights of the chase, “what excellent game, and stewed, too! What a supply for the Two! three! five down! And to think that we shall eat that flesh, and that the idiots on board shall not have a crumb!” Nautilus! I think that, in the excess of his joy, the Canadian, if he had not talked so much, would have killed them all. But he contented himself with a single dozen of these interesting marsupians. These animals were small. They were a species of those “kangaroo rabbitss” that live habitually in the hollows of trees, and whose speed is extreme; but they are moderately fat, and furnish, at least, estimable food. We were very satisfied with the results of the hunt. Happy Ned proposed to return to this enchanting island the next day, for he wished to depopulate it of all the eatable quadrupeds. But he had reckoned without his host. At six o’clock in the evening we had regained the shore; our boat was moored to the usual place. The , like a long rock, emerged from the waves two miles from the beach. Ned Land, without waiting, occupied himself about the important dinner business. He understood all about cooking well. The “bari-outang,” grilled on the coals, soon scented the air with a delicious odour. Nautilus Indeed, the dinner was excellent. Two wood-pigeons completed this extraordinary menu. The sago pasty, the artocarpus bread, some mangoes, half a dozen pineapples, and the liquor fermented from some coco-nuts, overjoyed us. I even think that my worthy companions’ ideas had not all the plainness desirable. “Suppose we do not return to the this evening?” said Conseil. Nautilus “Suppose we never return?” added Ned Land. Just then a stone fell at our feet and cut short the harpooner’s proposition. 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. Jules Verne (1994). Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/164/164-h/164-h.htm 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

A FEW DAYS ON LAND

FORTUNE TELLING

The Offshore Pirate

The Life of the Weevil by Jean-Henri Fabre and Alexander Teixeira de Mattos, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE BOTANICAL INSTINCT Chapter IV. THE BOTANICAL INSTINCT Maternity, when it takes thought for the future, is the most fertile prompter of instinct. To the maternity that prepares board and lodging for the family we owe the wonderful achievements of the Dung-beetles and of the Wasps and Bees. The moment the mother confines herself to laying eggs and becomes a mere germ-factory, the industrial talents disappear as useless. That bravely-plumed fine lady, the Pine Cockchafer, digs the sandy soil with the tip of her abdomen and buries herself in it laboriously right up to her head. Then a bundle of eggs is laid at the bottom of the excavation; and that is all, once the pit has been filled by means of a casual sweeping. Constantly ridden by her male during the four weeks of July, the mother Capricorn explores the trunk of the oak at random; she slips her retractable oviscapt, here, there and everywhere, under the scales of the cracked bark, probing, feeling, choosing the propitious spots. Each time an egg is laid, almost without protection. This done, she has no further anxiety.[ ] 59 The grub of Cetonia floricola, breaking its shell, some time in August, in the depths of the leaf-mould, goes to feed on the flowers and there idly slumbers; then, an adult Rose-chafer, she returns to the heap of rotten leaves, enters it and sows her eggs in the hottest places, those where fermentation rages most fiercely. Let us not ask anything further from her: her talents end with this. So it is, in the vast majority of cases, with the other insects, weak or powerful, lowly or splendid. They all know where the eggs must be established, but they are profoundly indifferent to what will follow. It is for the grub to muddle through by its own methods. The Pine Cockchafer’s larva dives farther into the sand, seeking for tender rootlets softened by incipient decay. The Capricorn’s, continuing to drag the shell of its egg behind it, nibbles the uneatable for its first mouthful, making flour of the dead bark and sinking a shaft that leads it to the wood, on which it feeds for the next three years. The Cetonia’s, born in a heap of decomposed vegetable matter, has its food ready to its mouth, without seeking. With such primitive habits as these, which emancipate the family at birth, without the least previous training, how far removed are we from the maternal tenderness of the Copris, the Necrophorus, [ ]the Sphex and so many others! Apart from these privileged tribes, there is nothing very striking to be noted. It is enough to fill with despair the observer in search of facts really worth recording. 1 2 60 3 The children, it is true, often make up to us for their untalented mothers. Their ingenuity is sometimes amazing, from the time when they are hatched. Witness our Larini. What can the mother do? Nothing but bury the eggs in the blossoms of the thistles. But what a singular industry on the part of the grub which builds itself a thatched hut, upholsters itself a cabin, cards itself a mattress of chopped hairs, makes itself a defensive pitcher, a donjon-keep, with the shellac prepared by its intestine! When the transformation is accomplished, what perspicacity on the part of the inexperienced insect, when it abandons its cosy home to seek a refuge under the rude shelter of the stones, foreseeing the winter which will ruin the natal villa! We possess the almanac of the past, telling us of the almanac of the future. The insect, with no records of the vicissitudes of the seasons; the insect, born in the dog-days, in the blazing heat of summer: the insect feels instinctively that this [ ]period of solar intoxication will not last; it knows, though it has never seen it happen, that its house is doomed soon to collapse; and it makes off before the roof falls in. 61 For a Weevil, this is fine, magnificent. We might well envy the creature’s wisdom in being thus awake to the calamities of the future. However devoid of industry she may be, the least-gifted mother none the less submits an insoluble problem for our consideration. What is it that leads her to lay her eggs at spots where the larvæ will find food to their liking? The Pieris goes to the cabbage, in which she has no personal interest. The plant, compressed into a head, has not yet flowered. Besides, its modest yellow blossoms have no greater attraction for the Butterfly than an infinity of other flowers distributed broadcast. The Vanessa goes to the nettle, on which her caterpillars will feast, but on which the adult insect finds nothing to suck. 4 5 When, in the summer gloaming, the Pine Cockchafer has long been whirling in the nuptial ballet around her favourite tree, she refreshes herself after her fatigue by nibbling a few pine-needles; then, with impetuous flight, she goes in search of [ ]some bare, sandy tract where the grass-roots lie decaying. Here, as often as not, there is no resinous aroma, there are no more pine-trees, the delight of the plumed beauty; and it is in this place, where nothing appeals to her own needs, that the mother, half-buried in the ground, will lay her egg. 62 That ardent lover of roses and hawthorn-blossom, the Golden Cetonia, leaves the luxury of the flowers, to burrow in the shame of putrescence. She repairs to the compost-heap, but is certainly not tempted by any dish to her taste. She cannot sip honey there nor intoxicate herself with perfumed essences. Another reason draws her to this corruption. At first sight it would seem as if these strange instincts might be explained by the larva’s diet, of which the adult would retain a lively recollection. The caterpillar of the Pieris fed on cabbage-leaves; the caterpillar of the Vanessa fed on nettle-leaves; and each of the two Butterflies, endowed with a faithful memory, exploits the plant which has no attraction for her now, but which was a treat for her in her infancy. In the same way, the Cetonia dives into the heap of leaf-mould because she remembers the feasts of former days, when she was a grub in the midst of the fermenting vegetable matter; and the Pine Cockchafer seeks the sandy tracts covered with lean tufts of grass, because she remembers [ ]her youthful revels underground amid the decaying rootlets. 63 Such a memory would be almost admissible if the adult’s diet were the same as the larva’s. We can more or less understand the Dung-beetle, who, herself feeding upon animal droppings, makes them into canned provisions for her family. The diet of maturity and that of infancy are linked as though each were a reminiscence of the other. Uniformity offers a very simple solution of the food-problem. But what shall we say of the Cetonia passing from the flowers to the sordid refuse of the decayed leaves? Above all, what shall we say of the Hunting Wasps? These fill their own crops with honey and feed their youngsters on prey! By what inconceivable inspiration does the Cerceris leave the refreshment-bar of the blossoms, dripping with nectar, to go a-hunting and to slay the Weevil, the game destined for her offspring? How are we to explain the Sphex, who, having refreshed herself at the sugar-works of the field eringo, suddenly flies off, eager to stab the Cricket, the food of her grub? 6 It is a matter of memory, some will make haste to reply. Ah no! Please do not speak of memory here; do not appeal to the belly’s powers of reminiscence! Man is fairly well endowed with mnemonic aptitudes. Yet which of us has retained the least [ ]recollection of his mother’s milk? If we had never seen a babe at the breast, we could never suspect that we began life in the same fashion. 64 This food of earliest infancy is not remembered; it is certified only by example, as by that of the Lamb, which, with bended knees and frisking tail, sucks at the udder and butts it with its head. No, the mouthfuls of mother’s milk have left not a trace in the mind. And you would have it that the insect, after a transformation that has changed it entirely, both inside and out, remembers its first diet, when we ourselves, who are not remoulded in the crucible of a metamorphosis, remain in the most absolute darkness where ours is concerned! My credulity will not go to that length. How then does the mother, whose diet is different, distinguish what suits her offspring? I do not know, I never shall know. It is an inviolable secret. The mother herself does not know. What does the stomach know of its masterly chemistry? Nothing. What does the heart know of its wonderful hydraulics? Nothing. The pregnant mother, when establishing her brood, knows no more. And this unconsciousness provides us with an admirable solution of the difficult problem of victuals. A good example is afforded by the Weevils whom we have just been considering. They will show us with what botanical tact the choice of the food-plant is made.[ ] 65 To entrust the batch of eggs to this or that cluster of florets is not a matter of indifference. It is indispensable that the florets should fulfil certain conditions of flavour, stability, hairiness, and other qualities appreciated by the grub. Its selection, therefore, demands a nice botanical discrimination which will recognize off-hand the good and the bad, accept the discovery or reject it. Let us devote a few lines to these Weevils from the point of view of their botanical attainments. Scorning variety, the Spotted Larinus is a specialist of immovable convictions. Her domain is the blue ball of the echinops, an exclusive domain, valueless to the others. She alone appreciates it, she alone exploits it; and nothing else suits her. This particularity, an unchangeable family inheritance, must greatly facilitate her search. When, on the return of the warm weather, the insect leaves her hiding-place, which is doubtless not far from the spot where she was born, she easily finds, on the banks by the road-side, her favourite plant, which is already tipping its branches with pale-blue globes. The dear heritage is recognized without hesitation. She climbs into it, rejoices in her nuptial diversions and waits for the azure balls to mature to the requisite stage. The blue thistle is familiar to her though she sees it for the first time. It was the only one known in the past; it is the only one known in the present. There is no confusion possible.[ ] 66 The second Larinus, the Bear, begins to vary her flora to some extent. I know that she has two establishments: the corymbed carlina in the plain and the acanthus-leaved carlina on the slopes of Mont Ventoux. 7 To those who stop at the general aspect and do not have recourse to delicate floral analyses, the two plants have nothing in common. The countryman, clever though he be at distinguishing one plant from another, would never think of calling the two by the same generic name. As for the civilized townsman, unless he be a botanist, don’t speak of him: his testimony here would be worse than useless. The corymbed carlina has a tall, slender stem; thin, sparse leaves; a bunch of average flowers, with a receptacle less than half the size of an acorn. The acanthus-leaved carlina spreads, level with the soil, a large, fierce rosette of broad leaves which in shape is not unlike the ornament of a Corinthian capital. There is no stem. In the centre of the leaf-cluster is a flower, one only, but a giant, big as a man’s fist. The people of Mont Ventoux call this magnificent thistle the ‘mountain artichoke.’ They gather it and use the base of the flower in making omelettes not devoid of merit; this base is very fleshy, is saturated in milk with a nutty flavour and is delicious even when raw.[ ] 67 Sometimes they use the plant as an hygrometer. Nailed to the lintel of the byre, the carlina closes its flower when the air is moist and opens it in a superb sun of golden scales when the air is dry. With beauty added, it is the inverse equivalent of the celebrated rose of Jericho, an unsightly bundle which expands in wet and shrivels in dry weather. If the rustic hygrometer were a foreigner, it would be famous; being an ordinary product of Mont Ventoux, it is slighted. The Larinus, for her part, knows it very well, not as a meteorological apparatus, a very useless thing to her for foretelling the weather, but as provender for her family. Many a time, on my excursions in July and August, I have seen the Bear Weevil very busy on the mountain artichoke wide open in the sun. There is no doubt what she was doing there: she was attending to her eggs. I regret that my then preoccupations, which were concerned with botany, did not permit me to observe the mother’s methods more closely. Does she lay several eggs in this rich morsel? There is enough to satisfy a numerous brood. Or does she lay only one, repeating here what she does on the corymbed carlina, a middling ration? There is nothing to tell us that the insect is not to some extent versed in domestic economy and does not proportion the number of the guests to the abundance of the provisions. If this point is obscure, another and one of [ ]greater interest is quite evident: the Bear Larinus is a clear-sighted botanist. She recognizes as carlina, the family food, two very dissimilar plants, which none of us, unless he were an expert, would have thought of grouping together; she accepts as botanical equivalents the gorgeous rosette, eighteen inches across, whose spokes lie on the ground, and the shabby-looking thistle that stands erect and spare. 68 The Spangled Larinus extends her domain still farther. Though she has not the fierce thistle with the white heads, she recognizes the good qualities of another vegetable horror, one with pink heads this time. This is the common horse-thistle (Cirsium lanceolatum, Scop.). The difference in the colour of the flowers causes her no hesitation. Can she be apprised by the majestic stature, by the sturdy prickles? No, for we next see her established on a humble and much less savage plant, Carduus nigrescens, Vill., which rises hardly more than nine inches from the ground. Can it be the size of the heads that regulates her choice? Not so, either, for the paltry heads of Carduus tenuiflorus, Cart., are accepted as readily as the sizable blooms of the above three thistles. But the subtle expert is even cleverer than this. Regardless of mien, foliage, flavour or colour, she actively exploits Kentrophyllum lanatum, D. C., [ ]a plant with wretched yellow flowers soiled by the dust of the roads. To recognize a Carduacea in this dry and unsightly plant you have to be a botanist or a Weevil. 69 A fourth Larinus (L. scolymi, Oliv.) surpasses the Spangled Larinus. We find her at work on the garden artichoke and the garden cardoon, both of them giants that lift their great blue heads to a height of six feet and more. We meet her afterwards on a niggardly centaury (Centaurea aspera, Lin.), with ragged heads, smaller than the tip of one’s little finger, trailing on the ground; we see her founding colonies on the various thistles beloved of the Spangled Larinus, even on Kentrophyllum lanatum. Her botanical knowledge of plants so dissimilar gives us food for reflection. As a Weevil, she recognizes very clearly, without resorting to tests, what is artichoke-heart and what is not, what suits her offspring and what would harm it; and I, as a naturalist, versed by assiduous practice in the flora of my district, would not dare, without prudent inquiries, to bite into this or that fruit or berry were I suddenly transported to another country. She is born with her knowledge; and I have to learn. Every summer, with superb audacity, she goes from her thistle to various others which, having no similarity of appearance, ought, one would think, to be rejected as suspicious hostelries. On the contrary, she accepts them, recognizes [ ]them as her own; and her confidence is never betrayed. 70 Her guide is instinct, which instructs her unerringly, within a very restricted circle; mine is intelligence, which gropes, seeks, goes astray, finds its way again and ends by soaring with an incomparable flight. The Larinus knows the flora of the thistles without having learnt it; man knows the flora of the world after long study. The domain of instinct is a speck; that of intelligence is the universe. 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. Jean-Henri Fabre and Alexander Teixeira de Mattos (2021). The Life of the Weevil. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/66844/pg66844-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 www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

THE BOTANICAL INSTINCT

THE BEAR LARINUS

THE SPOTTED LARINUS

THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR

Of Progress and the Smallways Family 

The Life of the Fly; With Which are Interspersed Some Chapters of Autobiography by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . ANOTHER PROBER (PERFORATOR) CHAPTER III. ANOTHER PROBER (PERFORATOR) What can he be called, this creature whose style and title I dare not inscribe at the head of the chapter? His name is Monodontomerus cupreus, SM. Just try it, for fun: Mo-no-don-to-me-rus. What a gorgeous mouthful! What an idea it gives one of some beast of the Apocalypse! We think, when we pronounce the word, of the prehistoric monsters: the mastodon, the mammoth, the ponderous megatherium. Well, we are misled by the scientific label: we have to do with a very paltry insect, smaller than the common gnat. There are good people like that, only too happy to serve science with resounding appellations that might come from Timbuktu; they cannot name you a midge without striking terror into you. O ye wise and revered ones, ye christeners of animals, I am willing, in my study, to make use—but not undue use—of your harsh terminology, with its conglomeration of syllables; but there is a danger of their leaving the sanctum and appearing before the public, which is always ready to show its lack of deference for terms that do not respect its ears. I, wishing to speak like everybody else, so that I may be understood by all, and persuaded that science has no need of this Brobdignagian jargon, make a point of avoiding technical nomenclature when it becomes too barbarous, when it threatens to lumber the page the moment my pen attempts it. And so I abandon Monodontomerus. It is a puny little insect, almost as tiny as the midges whom we see eddying in a ray of sunshine at the end of autumn. Its dress is golden bronze; its eyes are coral red. It carries a naked sword, that is to say, the sheath of its drill stands out slantwise at the tip of its belly, instead of lying in a hollow groove along the back, as it does with the Leucospis. This scabbard holds the latter half of the inoculating filament, which extends below the animal to the base of the abdomen. In short, its utensil is that of the Leucospis, with this difference, that its lower half sticks out like a rapier. This mite that bears a sword upon her rump is yet another persecutor of the mason bees and not one of the least formidable. She exploits their nests at the same time as the Leucospis. I see her, like the Leucospis, slowly explore the ground with her antennae; I see her, like the Leucospis, bravely drive her dagger into the stone wall. More taken up with her work, less conscious perhaps of danger, she pays no heed to the man who is observing her so closely. Where the Leucospis flies, she does not budge. So great is her assurance that she comes right into my study, to my work table, and disputes my ownership of the nests whose occupants I am examining. She operates under my lens, she operates just beside my forceps. What risk does she run? What can one do to a thing so very small? She is so certain of her safety that I can take the Mason's nest in my hand, move it, put it down and take it up again without the insect's raising any objection: it continues its work even when my magnifying glass is placed over it. One of these heroines has come to inspect a nest of the Chalicodoma of the Walls, most of whose cells are occupied by the numerous cocoons of a parasite, the Stelis. The contents of these cells, which have been partially ripped up to satisfy my curiosity, are very much exposed to view. The windfall appears to be appreciated, for I see the dwarf ferret about from cell to cell for four days on end, see her choose her cocoon and insert her awl in the most approved fashion. I thus learn that sight, although an indispensable guide in searching, does not decide upon the proper spot for the operation. Here is an insect exploring not the stony exterior of the mason's dwelling, but the surface of cocoons woven of silk. The explorer has never found herself placed in such circumstances, nor has any of her race before her, every cocoon, under normal conditions, being protected by a surrounding wall. No matter: despite the profound difference in the surfaces, the insect does not waver. Warned by a special sense, an undecipherable riddle to ourselves, it knows that the object of its search lies hidden under this unfamiliar casing. The sense of smell has already been shown to be out of the question; that of sight is now eliminated in its turn. That she should bore through the cocoons of the Stelis, a parasite of the mason bee, does not surprise me at all: I know how indifferent my bold visitor is to the nature of the victuals destined for her family. I have noticed her presence in the homes of bees differing greatly in size and habits: Anthophorae, Osmiae, Chalicodomae, Anthidia. The Stelis exploited on my table is one victim more; and that is all. The interest does not lie there. The interest lies in the maneuvers of the insect, which I am able to follow under the most favorable conditions. Bent sharply at right angles, like a couple of broken matches, the antennae feel the cocoon with their tips alone. The terminal joint is the home of this strange sense which discerns from afar what no eye sees, no scent distinguishes and no ear hears. If the point explored be found suitable, the insect hoists itself on tiptoe so as to give full scope to the play of its mechanism; it brings the tip of the belly a little forward; and the entire ovipositor—inoculating-needle and scabbard—stands perpendicular to the cocoon, in the center of the quadrilateral described by the four hind legs, an eminently favorable position for obtaining the maximum effect. For some time, the whole of the awl bears on the cocoon, feeling all round with its point, groping about; then, suddenly, the boring needle is released from its sheath, which falls back along the body, while the needle strives to make its entrance. The operation is a difficult one. I see the insect make a score of attempts, one after the other, without succeeding in piercing the tough wrapper of the Stelis. Should the instrument not penetrate, it retreats into its sheath and the insect resumes its scrutiny of the cocoon, sounding it point by point with the tips of its antennae. Then further thrusts are tried until one succeeds. The eggs are little spindles, white and gleaming like ivory, about two-thirds of a millimeter in length. They have not the long, curved peduncle of the Leucospis' eggs; they are not suspended from the ceiling of the cocoon like these, but are laid without order around the fostering larva. Lastly, in a single cell and with a single mother, there is always more than one laying; and the number of eggs varies considerably in each. The Leucospis, because of her great size, which rivals that of her victim, the Bee, finds in each cell provisions enough for one and one alone. When, therefore, there is more than one set of eggs in any one cell, this is due to a mistake on her part and not a premeditated result. Where the whole ration is required for the meals of a single grub, she would take good care not to install several if she could help it. Her competitor is not called upon to observe the same discretion. A Chalicodoma grub gives the dwarf the wherewithal to portion a score of her little ones, who will live in common and in all comfort on what a single son of the giantess would eat up by himself. The tiny boring engineer, therefore, always settles a numerous family at the same banquet. The bowl, ample for a dozen or two, is emptied in perfect harmony. Curiosity made me count the brood, to see if the mother was able to estimate the victuals and to proportion the number of guests to the sumptuousness of the fare provided. My notes mention fifty-four larvae in the cell of a masked Anthophora (Anthophora personata). No other census attained this figure. Possibly, two different mothers had laid their eggs in this crowded habitation. With the Mason bee of the Walls, I see the number of larvae vary, in different cells, between four and twenty-six; with the mason bee of the Sheds, between five and thirty-six; with the three-horned Osmia, who supplied me with the largest number of records, between seven and twenty-five; with the blue Osmia (Osmia cyanea, KIRB.), between five and six; with the Stelis (Stelis nasuta), between four and twelve. The first return and the last two seem to point to some relation between the abundance of provisions and the number of consumers. When the mother comes upon the bountiful larva of the masked Anthophora, she gives it half-a-hundred to feed; with the Stelis and the blue Osmia, niggardly rations both, she contents herself with half-a-dozen. To introduce into the dining room only the number of boarders that the bill of fare will allow would certainly be a most deserving performance, especially as the insect is placed under very difficult conditions to judge the contents of the cell. These contents, which lie hidden under the ceiling, are invisible; and the insect can derive its information only from the outside of the nest, which varies in the different species. We should therefore have to admit the existence of a particular power of discrimination, a sort of discernment of the species, which is recognized as large or small from the outward aspect of its house. I refuse to go to this length in my conjectures, not that instinct seems to me incapable of such feats, but because of the particulars obtained from the three-horned Osmia and the two mason bees. In the cells of these three species, I see the number of larvae put out to nurse vary in so elastic a fashion that I must abandon all idea of proportionate adjustment. The mother, without troubling unduly whether there be an excess or a dearth of provisions for her family, has filled the cells as her fancy prompted, or rather according to the number of ripe ovules contained in her ovaries at the time of the laying. If food be over-plentiful, the brood will be all the better for it and will grow bigger and stronger; if food be scarce, the famished youngsters will not die, but will remain smaller. Indeed, with both the larva and the full grown insect, I have often observed a difference in size which varies according to the density of the population, the members of a small colony being double the size of their overcrowded neighbors. The grubs are white, tapering at both ends, sharply segmented and covered all over their bodies with a coat of fine, soft hairs which is invisible except under the lens. The head consists of a little knob much smaller in diameter than the body. In this head, the microscope reveals mandibles consisting of fine spikes of a tawny red, which spread into a wide, colorless base. Deprived of any indentation, incapable of chewing anything between their awl-shaped ends, these two tools serve at best to fix the grub slightly at some point of the fostering larva. Useless for carving, therefore, the mouth is a pure osculatory sucker, which drains the provisions by a process of exudation through the skin. We see here repeated what the Anthrax and the Leucospis have already shown us: the gradual exhaustion of a victim which the parasite consumes without killing it. It is a curious spectacle even after that of the Anthrax. We have here twenty or thirty starvelings, all with their mouths pressed, as for a kiss, to the body of the plump larva, which, from day to day, fades and shrinks without the least appreciable wound, thus keeping fresh until reduced to a shriveled slough. If I disturb the gluttonous swarm, all, with a sudden recoil, let go, drop off and flounder around the foster mother. They are no less prompt in resuming their savage kisses. I need not add that neither at the point where they leave off nor at the point where they recommence is there the faintest trace of liquid. The oily exudation occurs only when the pump is at work. To linger over this strange method of feeding is superfluous after what I have said about the Anthrax. The appearance of the full grown insect takes place at the beginning of summer, after nearly a whole year's stay in the invaded dwelling. The large number of inhabitants of one and the same cell led me to think that the work of deliverance ought to present a certain interest. They are all equally anxious to clear the walls of the prison at the earliest possible moment and to come forth into the great festival of the sun: do they all at the same time, in a confused horde, attack the ceiling which has to be pierced? Is the work of deliverance arranged in the general interest? Or is individual selfishness the only rule? These are the questions which observation will answer. A little in advance of the proper season, I transfer each family into a short glass tube, which will represent the natal cell. A good, thick cork, quite a centimeter deep, is the obstacle to be pierced for an outlet. Well, instead of the mad haste and the ruinous lack of organization which I expected to find, my broods show me in their glass prison an exceedingly well regulated workshop. One insect, one only, works at perforating the cork. Patiently, with its mandibles, grain by grain, it digs a tunnel the width of its body. The gallery is so narrow that, in order to return to the tube, the worker has to move backwards. It is a slow process; and it takes hours and hours to dig the hole, a hard job for the frail miner. Should her fatigue become too great, the excavator leaves the forefront and mingles with the crowd, to polish and dust herself. Another, the first neighbor at hand, at once takes her place and is herself relieved by a third when her task is done. Others again take their turn, always one at a time, so much so that the works are never at a standstill and never overcrowded. Meanwhile, the multitude keeps out of the way, quietly and patiently. There is no anxiety as to the deliverance. Success will come: of that they are all convinced. While waiting, one washes her antennae by passing them through her mouth, another polishes her wings with her hind legs, another frisks about to while away the period of inaction. Some are making love, a sovran means of killing time, whether one be born that day or twenty years ago. Some, I said, make love. These favored ones are rare; they hardly count. Is it through indifference? No, but the gallants are lacking. The sexes are very unequally represented in the population of a cell: the males are in a wretched minority and sometimes even completely absent. This poverty did not escape the older observers. Brulle [Gaspard August Brulle (1809-1873)], the author of many works on natural history and one of the founders of the Societe entomologique de France, the only author whom I am able to consult in my hermitage, says, literally: 'The males do not appear to be known.' I, for my part, know them; but, considering their feeble number, I keep asking myself what part they play in a harem so disproportionate to their forces. A few figures will show us what my hesitations are based upon. In twenty-two Osmia cocoons (Osmia tricornis), the total census of the inmates yields three hundred and fifty-four, of whom forty-seven are males and three hundred and seven females. The average number of inmates, therefore, is sixteen individuals; and there are six females at least to one male. This disparity is maintained, in more or less marked proportions, whatever the species of the bee invaded. In the cocoons of the Mason bee of the Sheds, I discover the average proportion to be six females to one male; in those of the Mason bee of the Walls, I find one male to fifteen females. These facts, which I am unable to state with any greater precision, are enough to give rise to the suspicion that the males, who are even tinier dwarfs than the females and who, moreover, like all insects, are injured by a single act of pairing, must, in most cases, remain strangers to the females. Can the mothers, in fact, dispense with their assistance, without being deprived of offspring on that account? I do not say yes, but I do not say no. The duality of the sexes is a hard problem. Why two sexes? Why not just one? It would have been much simpler and saved a great deal of foolery. Why such a thing as sex, when the tuber of the Jerusalem artichoke can do without it? These are the pregnant questions suggested to me, in the end, by Monodontomerus cupreus, the insect so infinitesimal in body and so overpowering in name that I had really vowed never to speak of it again by its official designation. 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. Jean-Henri Fabre (2002). The Life of the Fly; With Which are Interspersed Some Chapters of Autobiography. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/67000/pg67000-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 www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

ANOTHER PROBER (PERFORATOR)

Field, Forest and Farm by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . TUBERS—STARCH CHAPTER XIX. TUBERS—STARCH “There are buds that, though called to an independent existence, do not, before separating from the mother plant, store up provisions nor thicken their scales; but the plant itself is charged with feeding them. When it is intended that the stem or branch shall itself maintain the buds it bears, then, instead of coming out into the open air where it would speedily cover itself with foliage and flowers, it remains underground and has for leaves only rudimentary scales. It grows so corpulent and deformed as to cease to bear the name of branch and to take instead that of tuber. As soon as necessary supplies have been stored up, the tuber detaches itself from the mother plant, and thenceforth the buds it bears find in it abundant nourishment for their separate existence. A tuber, then, is an underground branch swollen with nutritive material and having undeveloped scales in place of leaves, and it is also dotted here and there with buds which it must feed. “Let us now look at a potato. What do we see on the surface? Certain small cavities or eyes; that is to say, so many buds, for these eyes develop into [ ]branches if the potato is placed in favorable conditions. On old potatoes, late in the season, the buds are seen to send forth sprouts which need only a little sunshine to turn green and become stalks. Agriculture makes good use of this peculiarity: to propagate the plant it is customary to put into the ground, not the seeds, which would yield no harvest before the lapse of several years, but the tubers, which produce abundantly the same year. Or else the potato is cut into pieces and each piece, planted in the ground, sends up a new plant on condition that it has at least one eye; if it has none it rots without producing anything. 94 “Furthermore, you can see on the eyes tiny little scales, which are leaves modified to adapt them to an underground life, leaves with the same right to the name as the tough scales of an ordinary bud. Since it has leaves and buds the potato is therefore a branch. Should there remain any lingering doubts on this subject, it might be added that by earthing up the plant, that is to say by heaping soil around the stalk, the young branches thus buried can be converted into potato-bearers; and it might also be added that in rainy and cloudy seasons it is not rare to see some of the ordinary branches thicken and swell up in the open air, and thus produce potatoes more or less perfect. Accordingly the potato is to be regarded as an underground branch swollen with nourishment—in short, a tuber. “Many other plants produce similar branches that grow under ground. In this number is the Jerusalem artichoke, the tubers of which have buds arranged two by two on opposite swellings, from front to back and from right to left in turn, exactly as are leaves and buds on the stem. “The potato feeds it buds on a farinaceous substance called fecula or, in less learned language, starch. It is the very material that makes the vegetable so rich in nutriment for us. We turn to our own account what the plant has stored up for its young shoots. Starch is contained in the extremely small cavities with which the flesh of the tuber is all riddled. These cavities are called cells. They are microscopic sacs made of a fine membrane and having no opening. Crammed full of starch grains and crowded one against another, they compose the fleshy substance of the potato. But these cavities are so small that a person would strain his eyes in vain in any attempt to see them in the cross-section of a potato. A magnifying glass is necessary. So minute are the cells that in a piece of potato no larger than a pin’s head there is room for dozens and dozens of them. This picture shows you, but much larger than in nature, a potato cell with the grains of starch it encloses.” Starch Grains of Potato “How beautifully,” exclaimed Emile, “those grains of starch are arranged in their little cubby-hole! They might be taken for a nest of eggs. And you say there are heaps and heaps of these little starch cells?”[ ] 96 “Yes, my boy; in a medium-sized potato they could be counted by millions and millions.” “It must be rather a curious sight to look at a little piece of potato through a powerful magnifying-glass.” “It is indeed one of the most curious sights, this countless multitude of starch grains, all the same shape, all white as snow, gathered together by tens, dozens, scores, and even more, in their delicate little box-like cells. “Let us perform an experiment not beyond our means; let us remove the starch from a potato. All we need to do is to tear open the cells in order to liberate the starch grains, and then filter them out. Watch me do it. With a kitchen grater I reduce the potato to pulp and thus tear the cells open. Now I put the pulp on a piece of linen over a large glass and pour a little water through it with one hand while with the other I keep stirring the pulp. The grains of starch from the ruptured cells are washed away by the water and carried through the meshes of the fabric, while the remnants of the cell-walls, being too large to pass through, stay behind in the filter. “Thus I obtain a glassful of turbid water. Look at it under a bright sun. In the water a multitude of white satiny specks are falling like so much snow and piling up on the bottom. In a few moments the deposit has settled. I then throw away the clear water above it and have left a powdery substance, magnificently white, which if pressed between the [ ]fingers creaks like fine sand. It is the starch of the potato, and is made up of such fine grains that it would take from one hundred and fifty to two hundred to equal the head of a pin in size. Nevertheless these grains, minute though they are, have a very complicated structure, each one of them being composed of a large number of tiny leaflets folded one over another. The picture I showed you just now will serve to give you an idea of these superposed leaflets that go to make, all together, a single grain. Now if some of this starch is boiled in a little water, the successive leaflets of the grain open and separate, and the whole becomes an unctuous jelly far exceeding in volume that of the starch used.” 97 To prove this assertion, Uncle Paul proceeded to heat in a little water the starch taken from the potato, and soon the powdery matter was reduced to a beautiful pellucid jelly. 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. Jean-Henri Fabre (2022). Field, Forest and Farm. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/67813/pg67813-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 www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

TUBERS—STARCH

Create and then make use of the extensive Knowledgebase to optimize customer experience with agents and (voice-) bots. Motivation To ensure consistent and compliant customer support, consider implementing a knowledge base with frequently asked questions. However, customers may still need to wait for an available agent even if their query is answered in the knowledge base. By utilizing a voice bot or chatbot to handle simpler inquiries, agents can focus on complex issues that require a human touch. It's important to offer a way to connect with a human agent in case of unexpected problems. Create Knowledgebase Articles Use the Dynamics 365 Customer Service function Knowledge base to create articles for frequent customer queries and automatically translate them to every language you serve your customers in. Enable your (voice-) bots to use the Knowledgebase Use a topic to access the Knowledgebase, e.g., the fallback topic, and create a new action. You will find a template called " which we can use and modify when you have installed the . Search Dynamics 365 knowledge article flow," Dynamics 365 Customer Service extensions for Power Virtual Agents Select this template, create a copy, and make the needed connections to use the "Dataverse" and the "Content Conversion" Connector. The flow itself is self-explaining and ready to use for text-based chatbots but will not give a good voice channel experience; this is the reason for creating a copy of it. Open the flow with edit and search for "Process each article in search result" Open it and jump to "Append title to article text result" remove everything but the variable "title" This will remove some nice formatting and a markdown based on "heading 2" which we cannot use in the voice channel. save the result and update the ‘call an action’ node in your Power Virtual Agents topic. Place the filter string into the input part, "statecode eq 3" and it will give only published articles back. You will find three new variables to textResult, jsonResult, and articleCount as the power Automate Flow output. Place textResult in a message node to read the search result to the caller in the voice channel. Do not forget to end the new topic with a redirect to EndofConversation. Troubleshooting If the Power Automate flow ends in a dead end, check if Dataverse search is enabled. Goto Power Platform admin center Select your environment. Goto Setting Select features and check "Search" Conclusion You can make more with less! Having knowledge base articles about solving customers' queries is a first step. Still, by making them accessible for a (voice-) bot in front of your contact center, you reduce the customer's waiting time on the phone or in the chat and take the load from agents answering frequently asked questions. Also published here.

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