We believe Cells can theoretically produce almost anything, from fabrics to food, fuel and medicines. Designing cell-factories is hard, but our tools and machine-learning models can make it easier. Our mission is to ultimately help replace traditional farms and factories for a more sustainable world. Jobs: https://jobs.cradle.bio

Cradle

cradle

A proliferation of new forms of digital communication offers the allure of ephemeral messages in the vast digital landscape. If you're a journalist passing along information from a confidential source or a human rights activist disclosing key information, you can't afford to break this promise. The question remains, though: how many actually follow through on this promise? In a sea of grand claims, Cradle stands out as a beacon by providing actual solutions. False Hope in a Cyber World Full of Disillusionment There are many difficulties in today's cybersecurity environment. While messaging apps claim to have strong encryption, there are actually many flaws that can be exploited behind the scenes. Despite widespread belief to the contrary, all of your messages are still sitting in the depths of your device's memory, ready to be extracted for forensic purposes. We set out on a mission to close the gap between popular belief and scientific fact. A representative from Cradle noted that "many 'disappearing' messages resurface when subjected to the right forensic tools. A World Where "Gone" Truly Means "Gone" Imagine a whistleblower who is about to reveal institutional corruption by using long-forgotten messages as evidence. Or a journalist working under authoritarian rule who must rely on the confidentiality of electronic whispers to safeguard their sources. Concerns extend beyond individual secrecy. Human lives are at stake. Cradle uses cutting-edge technology to make sure that once sensitive communications are deleted, they leave no traces behind. "The state of digital security is only a sliver of what it could be. One member of the Cradle team elaborated, "Our goal is to shield our users from shadows of past communications, gifting them the peace that few platforms truly offer." Understanding the Technical Expertise of the Cradle Cradle's meticulous method is what sets it apart. Message data on hard drives are overwritten multiple times per the DoD 5220.22-M data sanitization standard, making recovery impossible. The stringent requirements of the Department of Defense inspired this standard, which guarantees data deletion with unmatched precision. In addition, Cradle's program isn't limited to HDDs alone. Because of the risks associated with RAM, the service takes precautions after each session to prevent any sensitive information from being extracted. "Our holistic strategy encompasses every possible data repository, from hard drives to RAM, ensuring a fortress of protection," explains a Cradle engineer. Looking Forward to the Future of Technology Due to the dynamic nature of the Internet, constant progress is essential. Cradle not only realizes the importance of this but also takes the helm, opening new doors for cyber security. The platform sets a new standard for the industry with its dedication to true message disappearance, and it challenges its contemporaries to catch up. "Digital security is, at heart, a tango of constant change. Our steps will alter in time with the music. The visionary team at Cradle promises, "The disappearing message technology is just the opening act."

Beyond Deleted: Cradle's True 'Disappearing' Message Technology.

SWITZERLAND, THE CRADLE OF LIBERTY

The Mysterious Stranger, and Other Stories by Mark Twain, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this . Chapter II book Chapter II Three of us boys were always together, and had been so from the cradle, being fond of one another from the beginning, and this affection deepened as the years went on—Nikolaus Bauman, son of the principal judge of the local court; Seppi Wohlmeyer, son of the keeper of the principal inn, the “Golden Stag,” which had a nice garden, with shade trees reaching down to the riverside, and pleasure boats for hire; and I was the third—Theodor Fischer, son of the church organist, who was also leader of the village musicians, teacher of the violin, composer, tax-collector of the commune, sexton, and in other ways a useful citizen, and respected by all. We knew the hills and the woods as well as the birds knew them; for we were always roaming them when we had leisure—at least, when we were not swimming or boating or fishing, or playing on the ice or sliding down hill. And we had the run of the castle park, and very few had that. It was because we were pets of the oldest servingman in the castle—Felix Brandt; and often we went there, nights, to hear him talk about old times and strange things, and to smoke with him (he taught us that) and to drink coffee; for he had served in the wars, and was at the siege of Vienna; and there, when the Turks were defeated and driven away, among the captured things were bags of coffee, and the Turkish prisoners explained the character of it and how to make a pleasant drink out of it, and now he always kept coffee by him, to drink himself and also to astonish the ignorant with. When it stormed he kept us all night; and while it thundered and lightened outside he told us about ghosts and horrors of every kind, and of battles and murders and mutilations, and such things, and made it pleasant and cozy inside; and he told these things from his own experience largely. He had seen many ghosts in his time, and witches and enchanters, and once he was lost in a fierce storm at midnight in the mountains, and by the glare of the lightning had seen the Wild Huntsman rage on the blast with his specter dogs chasing after him through the driving cloud-rack. Also he had seen an incubus once, and several times he had seen the great bat that sucks the blood from the necks of people while they are asleep, fanning them softly with its wings and so keeping them drowsy till they die. He encouraged us not to fear supernatural things, such as ghosts, and said they did no harm, but only wandered about because they were lonely and distressed and wanted kindly notice and compassion; and in time we learned not to be afraid, and even went down with him in the night to the haunted chamber in the dungeons of the castle. The ghost appeared only once, and it went by very dim to the sight and floated noiseless through the air, and then disappeared; and we scarcely trembled, he had taught us so well. He said it came up sometimes in the night and woke him by passing its clammy hand over his face, but it did him no hurt; it only wanted sympathy and notice. But the strangest thing was that he had seen angels—actual angels out of heaven—and had talked with them. They had no wings, and wore clothes, and talked and looked and acted just like any natural person, and you would never know them for angels except for the wonderful things they did which a mortal could not do, and the way they suddenly disappeared while you were talking with them, which was also a thing which no mortal could do. And he said they were pleasant and cheerful, not gloomy and melancholy, like ghosts. It was after that kind of a talk one May night that we got up next morning and had a good breakfast with him and then went down and crossed the bridge and went away up into the hills on the left to a woody hill-top which was a favorite place of ours, and there we stretched out on the grass in the shade to rest and smoke and talk over these strange things, for they were in our minds yet, and impressing us. But we couldn't smoke, because we had been heedless and left our flint and steel behind. Soon there came a youth strolling toward us through the trees, and he sat down and began to talk in a friendly way, just as if he knew us. But we did not answer him, for he was a stranger and we were not used to strangers and were shy of them. He had new and good clothes on, and was handsome and had a winning face and a pleasant voice, and was easy and graceful and unembarrassed, not slouchy and awkward and diffident, like other boys. We wanted to be friendly with him, but didn't know how to begin. Then I thought of the pipe, and wondered if it would be taken as kindly meant if I offered it to him. But I remembered that we had no fire, so I was sorry and disappointed. But he looked up bright and pleased, and said: “Fire? Oh, that is easy; I will furnish it.” I was so astonished I couldn't speak; for I had not said anything. He took the pipe and blew his breath on it, and the tobacco glowed red, and spirals of blue smoke rose up. We jumped up and were going to run, for that was natural; and we did run a few steps, although he was yearningly pleading for us to stay, and giving us his word that he would not do us any harm, but only wanted to be friends with us and have company. So we stopped and stood, and wanted to go back, being full of curiosity and wonder, but afraid to venture. He went on coaxing, in his soft, persuasive way; and when we saw that the pipe did not blow up and nothing happened, our confidence returned by little and little, and presently our curiosity got to be stronger than our fear, and we ventured back—but slowly, and ready to fly at any alarm. He was bent on putting us at ease, and he had the right art; one could not remain doubtful and timorous where a person was so earnest and simple and gentle, and talked so alluringly as he did; no, he won us over, and it was not long before we were content and comfortable and chatty, and glad we had found this new friend. When the feeling of constraint was all gone we asked him how he had learned to do that strange thing, and he said he hadn't learned it at all; it came natural to him—like other things—other curious things. “What ones?” “Oh, a number; I don't know how many.” “Will you let us see you do them?” “Do—please!” the others said. “You won't run away again?” “No—indeed we won't. Please do. Won't you?” “Yes, with pleasure; but you mustn't forget your promise, you know.” We said we wouldn't, and he went to a puddle and came back with water in a cup which he had made out of a leaf, and blew upon it and threw it out, and it was a lump of ice the shape of the cup. We were astonished and charmed, but not afraid any more; we were very glad to be there, and asked him to go on and do some more things. And he did. He said he would give us any kind of fruit we liked, whether it was in season or not. We all spoke at once; “Orange!” “Apple!” “Grapes!” “They are in your pockets,” he said, and it was true. And they were of the best, too, and we ate them and wished we had more, though none of us said so. “You will find them where those came from,” he said, “and everything else your appetites call for; and you need not name the thing you wish; as long as I am with you, you have only to wish and find.” And he said true. There was never anything so wonderful and so interesting. Bread, cakes, sweets, nuts—whatever one wanted, it was there. He ate nothing himself, but sat and chatted, and did one curious thing after another to amuse us. He made a tiny toy squirrel out of clay, and it ran up a tree and sat on a limb overhead and barked down at us. Then he made a dog that was not much larger than a mouse, and it treed the squirrel and danced about the tree, excited and barking, and was as alive as any dog could be. It frightened the squirrel from tree to tree and followed it up until both were out of sight in the forest. He made birds out of clay and set them free, and they flew away, singing. At last I made bold to ask him to tell us who he was. “An angel,” he said, quite simply, and set another bird free and clapped his hands and made it fly away. A kind of awe fell upon us when we heard him say that, and we were afraid again; but he said we need not be troubled, there was no occasion for us to be afraid of an angel, and he liked us, anyway. He went on chatting as simply and unaffectedly as ever; and while he talked he made a crowd of little men and women the size of your finger, and they went diligently to work and cleared and leveled off a space a couple of yards square in the grass and began to build a cunning little castle in it, the women mixing the mortar and carrying it up the scaffoldings in pails on their heads, just as our work-women have always done, and the men laying the courses of masonry—five hundred of these toy people swarming briskly about and working diligently and wiping the sweat off their faces as natural as life. In the absorbing interest of watching those five hundred little people make the castle grow step by step and course by course, and take shape and symmetry, that feeling and awe soon passed away and we were quite comfortable and at home again. We asked if we might make some people, and he said yes, and told Seppi to make some cannon for the walls, and told Nikolaus to make some halberdiers, with breastplates and greaves and helmets, and I was to make some cavalry, with horses, and in allotting these tasks he called us by our names, but did not say how he knew them. Then Seppi asked him what his own name was, and he said, tranquilly, “Satan,” and held out a chip and caught a little woman on it who was falling from the scaffolding and put her back where she belonged, and said, “She is an idiot to step backward like that and not notice what she is about.” It caught us suddenly, that name did, and our work dropped out of our hands and broke to pieces—a cannon, a halberdier, and a horse. Satan laughed, and asked what was the matter. I said, “Nothing, only it seemed a strange name for an angel.” He asked why. “Because it's—it's—well, it's his name, you know.” “Yes—he is my uncle.” He said it placidly, but it took our breath for a moment and made our hearts beat. He did not seem to notice that, but mended our halberdiers and things with a touch, handing them to us finished, and said, “Don't you remember?—he was an angel himself, once.” “Yes—it's true,” said Seppi; “I didn't think of that.” “Before the Fall he was blameless.” “Yes,” said Nikolaus, “he was without sin.” “It is a good family—ours,” said Satan; “there is not a better. He is the only member of it that has ever sinned.” I should not be able to make any one understand how exciting it all was. You know that kind of quiver that trembles around through you when you are seeing something so strange and enchanting and wonderful that it is just a fearful joy to be alive and look at it; and you know how you gaze, and your lips turn dry and your breath comes short, but you wouldn't be anywhere but there, not for the world. I was bursting to ask one question—I had it on my tongue's end and could hardly hold it back—but I was ashamed to ask it; it might be a rudeness. Satan set an ox down that he had been making, and smiled up at me and said: “It wouldn't be a rudeness, and I should forgive it if it was. Have I seen him? Millions of times. From the time that I was a little child a thousand years old I was his second favorite among the nursery angels of our blood and lineage—to use a human phrase—yes, from that time until the Fall, eight thousand years, measured as you count time.” “Eight—thousand!” “Yes.” He turned to Seppi, and went on as if answering something that was in Seppi's mind: “Why, naturally I look like a boy, for that is what I am. With us what you call time is a spacious thing; it takes a long stretch of it to grow an angel to full age.” There was a question in my mind, and he turned to me and answered it, “I am sixteen thousand years old—counting as you count.” Then he turned to Nikolaus and said: “No, the Fall did not affect me nor the rest of the relationship. It was only he that I was named for who ate of the fruit of the tree and then beguiled the man and the woman with it. We others are still ignorant of sin; we are not able to commit it; we are without blemish, and shall abide in that estate always. We—” Two of the little workmen were quarreling, and in buzzing little bumblebee voices they were cursing and swearing at each other; now came blows and blood; then they locked themselves together in a life-and-death struggle. Satan reached out his hand and crushed the life out of them with his fingers, threw them away, wiped the red from his fingers on his handkerchief, and went on talking where he had left off: “We cannot do wrong; neither have we any disposition to do it, for we do not know what it is.” It seemed a strange speech, in the circumstances, but we barely noticed that, we were so shocked and grieved at the wanton murder he had committed—for murder it was, that was its true name, and it was without palliation or excuse, for the men had not wronged him in any way. It made us miserable, for we loved him, and had thought him so noble and so beautiful and gracious, and had honestly believed he was an angel; and to have him do this cruel thing—ah, it lowered him so, and we had had such pride in him. He went right on talking, just as if nothing had happened, telling about his travels, and the interesting things he had seen in the big worlds of our solar system and of other solar systems far away in the remotenesses of space, and about the customs of the immortals that inhabit them, somehow fascinating us, enchanting us, charming us in spite of the pitiful scene that was now under our eyes, for the wives of the little dead men had found the crushed and shapeless bodies and were crying over them, and sobbing and lamenting, and a priest was kneeling there with his hands crossed upon his breast, praying; and crowds and crowds of pitying friends were massed about them, reverently uncovered, with their bare heads bowed, and many with the tears running down—a scene which Satan paid no attention to until the small noise of the weeping and praying began to annoy him, then he reached out and took the heavy board seat out of our swing and brought it down and mashed all those people into the earth just as if they had been flies, and went on talking just the same. An angel, and kill a priest! An angel who did not know how to do wrong, and yet destroys in cold blood hundreds of helpless poor men and women who had never done him any harm! It made us sick to see that awful deed, and to think that none of those poor creatures was prepared except the priest, for none of them had ever heard a mass or seen a church. And we were witnesses; we had seen these murders done and it was our duty to tell, and let the law take its course. But he went on talking right along, and worked his enchantments upon us again with that fatal music of his voice. He made us forget everything; we could only listen to him, and love him, and be his slaves, to do with us as he would. He made us drunk with the joy of being with him, and of looking into the heaven of his eyes, and of feeling the ecstasy that thrilled along our veins from the touch of his hand. 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. Mark Twain (2008). The Mysterious Stranger, and Other Stories. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/3186/pg3186-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Three of us boys were always together, and had been so from the cradle

Cradles: Origin of Species, the upcoming MMORPG on blockchain featuring combinable component NFTs and time-lapsing virtual worlds, has announced 15 March 2023 as the launch of its Closed Beta phase. This follows from a successful testing phase in October 2022, where hundreds of early bird gamers locked horns with bloodthirsty velociraptors and battled giant T-Rex bosses in a prehistoric universe. pre-alpha Lasting for two weeks until 30 March 2023, the closed beta will look for gamers to play the role of an adventurer, exploring and battling against the backdrop of lush, expansive worlds of deserts, plains and volcanic islands. They will come into contact with lost civilisations, grappling with heightened chaos and disturbances in their realm. Players are invited to join the adventure – harvest your own materials, improve your heroes, and battle for supremacy… or help unravel the mysteries that threaten the world of Cradles: Origin of Species. How to apply for Closed Beta Running up to the launch date, we will be giving out participation slots on our Discord channel from during the March Mania event. March 1st to 10th Gamers from the existing community and others will be eager to fill out the slots to get a first-hand look at one of the most ambitious MMORPGs to have ever been built. We’re talking vast worlds to explore, open-world quests and story-based missions, unique cities and inhabitants, a vast array of items to forge, with raw materials freely harvestable across the game, and a myriad of dinosaur-themed monsters standing in your way. In the last pre-alpha stage, we closed off the event with a massive PvP Battle Royale, giving out hundreds of dollars in cash prizes to the winners. We’re planning something similar here to reward our most active Beta testers! All updates and the latest on access are always shared in our community so join our Discord server to keep abreast at: https://discord.gg/cradles A game worth playing Cradles will push the limits of blockchain technology. Beyond the mere use of in-game currencies, Cradles features customisable component NFTs that mean players can harvest raw materials, combine and disassemble, and create unlimited combinations of items, equipment, and weapons that they can trade. This concept was already proven in 2022 with the , the world’s first combinable component NFT project and a showpiece of the growing Cradles community and its desire for ownership. Dragontar Club "With all the talk about Web3 gaming and blockchain games, too few projects have focused on building actually good games. While Cradles certainly wants to represent the next generation of NFTs and will use blockchain to innovate gameplay, our key focus is on building a game that’s worth playing. So I’m really looking forward to the reception of our closed beta, so we know that we’re on the right track.” -- T.Y., Founder of DRepublic, the developers of Cradles Instead of spending on marketing and token hype, Cradles has poured the majority of our resources into game development, achieving far more than many projects have with much more funds. Recognising the pains of token mechanics, Cradles will always be free to play even after it launches its token in the future. Under the hood, blockchain innovation will use block time and a new token protocol to result in a time-lapsing experience where game elements evolve with time. Underlying the philosophy of Cradles is its vibrant online community – affectionately referred to as . Most active on Discord, the game’s shape today is in large part thanks to the continuous feedback and direction of the Cradles gamers themselves, reflecting the desire of modern gamers to take ownership of the games they play and the assets they own in these games. Cradians About Cradles is the first time-lapsing metaverse game – a living, breathing virtual world that continues to evolve and progress, simulating the laws of time and physics just like in real life. Cradles Cradles is a brand-new MMORPG where players will take on the role of an adventurer thrust far back into the wilderness of prehistoric times to seek a way to prevent certain extinction in the distant future. In Cradles, players explore fantastic worlds and unravel historical stories across centuries, battling monsters, competing in real-time against each other, and unearthing treasures and raw materials to strengthen equipment and grow stronger. A diverse range of puzzle games awaits in rowdy taverns, lavish casinos, and scores of other exotic locations to enrich your gaming experience. Its original Staking In NFT (SIN) mechanism of Cradles promises an entirely new way to earn passive income for players and non-players. Discover Cradles: Origin of Species: | | | Cradles Official Website Discord Telegram Twitter Find us on every social media platform: https://linktr.ee/cradles_official

Mark Your Calendars! Time-Lapsing MMORPG 'Cradles' Begins Closed Beta in March

¡Marque sus calendarios! El MMORPG de lapso de tiempo 'Cradles' comienza su beta cerrada en marzo

Marquez vos calendriers ! Le MMORPG Time-Lapsing 'Cradles' commence la bêta fermée en mars

अपने कैलेंडर चिह्नित करें! टाइम-लैप्सिंग एमएमओआरपीजी 'क्रैडल्स' मार्च में क्लोज्ड बीटा शुरू करता है

カレンダーに印をつけよう！タイムラプスMMORPG「Cradles」が3月にクローズドベータを開始

Marque seus calendários! Time-Lapsing MMORPG 'Cradles' começa o beta fechado em março

Đánh dấu lịch của bạn! MMORPG vượt thời gian 'Cradles' bắt đầu Closed Beta vào tháng 3

标记您的日历！延时 MMORPG“Cradles”于 3 月开始内测

Four Thousand Years of Blood, Snot, and Tears

চার হাজার বছরের রক্ত, স্নোট এবং অশ্রু

Viertausend Jahre Blut, Rotz und Tränen

Cuatro mil años de sangre, mocos y lágrimas

Quatre mille ans de sang, de morve et de larmes

चार हज़ार साल का खून, बलगम और आँसू

4000年にわたる血と鼻水と涙

4천년의 피와 콧물과 눈물

Quatro mil anos de sangue, ranho e lágrimas

Четыре тысячи лет крови, соплей и слез

Dört Bin Yıllık Kan, Sümük ve Gözyaşı

Bốn ngàn năm máu, nước mũi và nước mắt

四千年的血、鼻、泪

Prestidigitation! President Biden’s Energy Boom, the Sop to Cerberus, and Stein's Law

প্রেস্টিডিটেশন ! প্রেসিডেন্ট বিডেনের এনার্জি বুম, দ্য সোপ টু সার্বেরাস এবং স্টেইনের আইন

Taschenspielereien! Präsident Bidens Energieboom, die Beschwichtigung von Cerberus und Steins Gesetz

¡Prestidigitación! El auge energético del presidente Biden, la concesión a Cerberus y la ley de Stein

Prestidigitation! Le boom énergétique du président Biden, la solution à Cerberus et la loi de Stein

प्रेस्टीजिटेशन! राष्ट्रपति बिडेन की ऊर्जा उछाल, सेर्बेरस को रियायत, और स्टीन का नियम

手品！バイデン大統領のエネルギーブーム、ケルベロスへのご褒美、そしてスタインの法則

요술! 바이든 대통령의 에너지 붐, 케르베로스의 Sop, 그리고 스타인의 법칙

Prestidigitação! O boom energético do presidente Biden, o golpe para Cerberus e a lei de Stein

Престидигитация! Энергетический бум президента Байдена, подачка Церберу и закон Штейна

Prestijitasyon! Başkan Biden'ın Enerji Patlaması, Cerberus'a Sop ve Stein Yasası

Uy tín kỹ thuật số! Sự bùng nổ năng lượng của Tổng thống Biden, Sop to Cerberus và Định luật Stein

魔术！拜登总统的能源繁荣、塞伯鲁斯的贿赂和斯坦因定律

-𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗? There are mismatched socks everywhere you step; it’s like a pandemic of socks. You walk on your toes, careful not to step on any. Today is the day you learn how to swim. You are excited; it shows in your demeanor. “Oga, hurry up, na. We go leave you o.” You hear the voice of your bosom friend and classmate since the beginning of JSS1, the boy who sticks by you like glue. “No dey rush me, I dey come.” You thunder back as he sighs and tells you to hurry it up. Your room is a mess; it always is. You never remember where the ballpoint pens you so dearly love are kept; you never remember if your bag is on the top of a pile of unwashed clothes. You never remember anything, or rather, you choose to forget. “Oboi, this one goes mad o. Shey, you fit swim?” One of your friends asks, and you are tempted to roll your eyes. It is not a question you grace with a response, so you keep mute. The others come to your rescue in a flash. “No dey do like beans na, you know say we wan teach am how to swim. Sometimes this Otis dey do like person wey him brain dey glitch.” Ayo says, looking at Otis with a look of contempt. Ayo is the boy you look up to, the one most girls would kill to talk to. He looks like a cross between an American and a Nigerian, even though he keeps reminding everyone who decides to listen that he’s a full-fledged Yoruba boy. Otis is the guy everybody ignores, even you. He keeps repeating irrelevant details to fill up the silence. “No mind Otis. Na why him dey do like Otu. E no sabi anything. I go teach you how to swim, no worry.” You nod in acceptance, staring at the boy who speaks with such confidence you can’t help being shell-shocked. He’s another guy, you rever, who’s somehow good at whatever he does. Kanye is his name—the boy who does it all. It doesn’t matter what; he’s good at it. The girls used to like him until they got annoyed with him since they consider him a 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤-𝑖𝑡-𝑎𝑙𝑙 or rather, 𝐼𝑇𝐾. So, he sticks with the boys now. “I no mind am before na. Na so he dey do. We don know am. No worry, we get him password for hand.” You say with a laugh, as the others chorus. Four boys go to the swimming pool on a blistering hot day. Even the gods of misfortune could see nothing wrong with that idea. Or so you thought. The pool is a large one; even standing at 5’8, you can tell there are parts of the pool you absolutely must not enter. Girls are squealing like ducks out of the water, but you ignore them. It’s how girls are: noisemakers. Even in your school, it’s no different. In a bid to be seen, they often try to outshine the boys who do whatever they do with no regard for who’s watching. You do not like girls. You used to, but now you don’t. You are startled out of your reverie when Otis jostles you forward with a casual smirk on his face. He looks at you and winks while Ayo and Kanye watch you and Otis fool yourselves. The pool looks inviting as some girls leave it, clapping hands and whispering into their ears. You know how they are—gossip, all of them. You cannot remember where your hatred of women stems from, but you do know that it is from a valid place. You hear it’s called misogyny nowadays. Humans have names for everything, even inconsequential things. “So, how we go do am? Who goes in first?” Ayo asks, one of his hands raised. “Who cares? Make everybody enter jare.” Otis enters the conversation, using his body to push you aside from where you were standing. You stand at the pool's edge before you fall, your hands flailing in the air. The thought that you were just 5’8 feet tall in a pool over 7 feet deep strikes you as ironic. Nature does have a sense of humor, a wicked one. You smile, and you plunge into the water. The water cradles your head as you begin to see the beauty in the darkness of the water. The scenery changes; you lie in the arms of the one who broke you, staring into those deep brown eyes that seem to house all the pain in the universe. “I never taught you how to swim, did I?” She says, a sad smile on the edge of her lips. “You? How are you here?” You ask, fighting back tears. She looks as beautiful as you remember from the past, a phantom with no place to call home. “Does it matter? I guess they call this a place between worlds, right? So, you’re dying. How does that make you feel?” She speaks, and you close your eyes momentarily, wondering why she keeps picking you apart. “Why must you be the last thing I see before I die? Haven’t you done enough? You’re not even dead!” You scream at her face, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth are bubbles. “Dead or alive, I’m the one you love above all others. How does it feel to have your last moments with the only girl your family and friends abhor?” She grins at you, and you begin to see how messed up everything is. She isn’t your friend, she isn’t your family. She’s nothing. Yet, she’s everything. “Haven’t you done enough? Why do you keep doing this?” You say, knowing the fight has been drained out of you. “Because I can.” You can hear voices through the depths, but you refuse to heed them. You want to talk to her a little bit longer. “Wake up, dammit!” You hear a voice pulling you out of your private world with her, a voice that seems to break with pain. You don’t ask; you follow. “Thank God. Yes, that’s it. Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine…” The voice gets a little more transparent, and you open your eyes groggily to see the panic-stricken faces of Ayo and Kanye hovering over you. They fuss over you as you cough, water coming from your mouth. Your tiredness is overwhelming; your whole being begs you to go back to sleep. But in a haze, you notice that Otis is nowhere to be found. “Where is Otis?” You ask, looking around. “He’s fine. He was the one who went after you.” Ayo replies as though it is obvious. “Okay, where is he?” You ask again, and Ayo and Kanye exchange nervous glances before they try to find Otis. But you don’t say anything because you know more than anyone else. The same way you know you can never be with 𝑉𝑒𝑟𝑎, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ as most of your friends call her. You know where Otis is, and your conversation with him once rings loudly in your head. “Omo me, I just dey o. I no sabi swim. I remember when we go bar beach sef. I just dey play with sand. Me wey get that phobia for water. Wetin be the name again, sef?” Otis asks you as you hold back a laugh before replying. “Hydrophobia. The fear of water.” “Yes! Na im be that. Omo, no tell anybody sha. I wan get over am my way.” “No wahala. Nobody go hear.” You remember; you remember it all. You remember the promise you made not to tell anyone. You don’t have to look for Otis; nobody does. You know where he is. He has become one with the water. You do not remember 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ anymore; everything else flies by in a haze. Did you attend Otis’ funeral? You do not remember. Your friends try to comfort you, but it is a wasted effort. You didn’t exactly love Otis; he was more like a pesky annoying fly that buzzes around and makes a fuss. You do not care about the death of a fly, yet your heart fills up so much that you fear it’s going to burst. You do not cry; crying is for babies. You stare dry-eyed at the future of the boy who never saw 16. They say the state of a person’s room reflects the state of that person’s mind. That’s why yours is squeaky clean, not a pair of socks in sight. Perhaps you do it for Otis, or maybe it’s for yourself. Maybe your room reflects your mental state, a world empty of who you once were. There are no mismatched socks anymore, just memories of the boy who learned to drown in the guise of swimming. “You can not swim. Why, then, did you do it?” You ask the empty air. But no response comes. Not one. You’re alone with the boy you taught how to drown. A fly, that’s all he was. A pesky fly. Why, then, do you cry?

Mismatched Socks

Out of all the VR accessories and peripherals I’ve tested, one item type stands out not for its flashy tech or game-changing mechanics, but for its fundamental simplicity and utter indispensability. That item is the charging stand/dock. I know what you’re thinking, “Really? A charging stand?” But hear me out. After reviewing a ton of VR accessories, from the immersive to the fantastic , it's this unassuming piece of tech that's become my daily driver. Why? Because it tackles : keeping your VR headset organized, charged, and ready to go. haptic feedback vests Darth Maul Beatsaber Mod the most mundane yet critical aspect of VR gaming The RGB Vertical Charging Stand by KIWI doesn’t just promise to keep your Quest 3 and controllers from becoming another piece of clutter on your desk or a tripping hazard on your floor. It charges both the headset and battery strap simultaneously to ensure that you never have to worry about running out of headset battery ever again. Let’s dive deep into the specs, design, functionality, and cost comparison of the KIWI RGB Vertical Charging Stand to see if it lives up to the hype. I have not been paid to write this review. However, KIWI Design sent me this item for free to test for this article. Disclaimer: Table of Contents: Specs Design functionality Cost Specs - The Nitty-Gritty Jumping into the heart of the KIWI RGB Vertical Charging Stand, let's review the specs. The stand comes in at a comfortable 3.92 pounds. It isn't just a lightweight contender in the world of VR accessories. It's got enough heft to stay put, even when you're in a rush to grab your headset and jump into another VR adventure. Weight: Standing at 12.05 x 8.66 x 4.29 inches, it's clear the KIWI team put some serious thought into making a stand that's just the right size. It's compact enough not to hog all your desk space but large enough to securely hold your Meta Quest 2/Quest 3/Quest Pro. Dimensions: Certified with the “Made for Meta” seal of approval, this stand is tailor-made to fit the 2, Quest 3, and Quest Pro like a glove, ensuring your headset is always cradled securely and charged up without any fuss. I had no problems setting this up and it’s completely intuitive to use. Compatibility: Meta Quest Crafted with care, the stand's materials feel premium to the touch, echoing the quality of your VR headset. Cloaked in an elegant shade of black, it’s a piece that doesn’t just scream high tech; it whispers sophistication. If you were lucky enough to buy the first-ever Oculus Quest, you probably remember the velvet touch of the box. Material & Color: The care would put into every aspect of design, packaging, and feel. Opening up this dock gave me a nostalgic feeling that I’ve been missing since Meta took over. Their builds are flimsy that require you to spend extra money to replace their crappy head strap that they know everyone is going to replace. KIWI definitely puts in attention to detail that Meta could learn alot from. Oculus Here’s the most important piece of this stand. With a magnetic USB Type-C connector, this stand makes charging your headset as easy as dropping it into place. Charging Capabilities: No fumbling with cables or ports; just set it and forget it. The stand singularly focuses on powering up your headset, making sure it’s always ready for your next gaming sesh. Warranty - Peace of Mind Included Another important note is that the item comes with a 24-month warranty from the date of purchase to ensure your investment is protected. It’s a nod to their confidence in the product's quality and their commitment to your satisfaction. Design First off, I really like how the design looks sleek and modern. It's got that look that meshes well with the rest of your VR setup, which is pretty much what you want if you’re aiming to keep your gaming space feeling more like a high-tech haven and less like a tech junkyard. The stand doesn't scream for attention but rather coolly nods from the corner of the room. And I can’t reiterate enough: it keeps your headset and controllers clean and tidy. Quality Handling this stand, it’s clear we’re not talking about some run-of-the-mill, churned-out-in-mass accessory. There’s a heft and a finish to it that you won’t find on those too-good-to-be-true deals on AliExpress or Wish. It's reassuring to know that in a market flooded with cheap knock-offs, there are still companies putting effort into quality. Space Saver The real MVP feature of its design has to be the form factor. KIWI’s got the right idea making this stand vertical. Space is a premium, especially on gamers' desks, which are already battling for real estate between monitors, keyboards, and that ever-growing collection of gaming memorabilia. The stand keeps your Quest 3 and controllers neatly stacked, charging, and out of the way, making it a solid ally in the fight against clutter. RGB I’m not one of those gamers who care about lights on my setup. But if you are one of those people, it comes with a multi-color RGB light band that does add a nice colorful element to it. It is called the “RGB Vertical Charging Stand” after all. Functionality Alright, let's dive into what this KIWI RGB Vertical Charging Stand actually does, beyond just looking pretty on your desk. Docking Function First up, the stand does the basics right: it holds two controllers and your headset. This might not sound like rocket science, but in the grand scheme of things, having a dedicated spot for your VR gear is a game-changer. No more leaving your controllers in random places only to forget where you put them. Or worse, finding your headset has been sitting under a pile of clothes (this has literally happened to me multiple times). Everything has its place, and that peace of mind alone is worth the money if you have the budget for it. Charging Function Now, onto the main act: charging your headset. You dock it, and it charges - no fumbling with cables or trying to align ports. It's all magnetic, making it as close to magic as we're gonna get. Just drop your headset in, and it takes care of the rest. It's like having a pit stop in your room where your gear gets prepped and ready without you having to lift a finger. Well, maybe just a little to place it on the stand. The Kiwi SPC Battery Strap Compatibility: The Necessary Cherry on Top If you've got the , this stand becomes even more of a powerhouse. One of my is that their design didn’t take into account battery straps. Kiwi SPC battery strap main issues with the ZyberVR Quest 2 dock To charge the headset in the dock, you input a custom magnetic connector into the headset. However, to use your battery headstrap and keep the headset charged while playing, you need to connect the battery back to the headset via a usb-c cable. So it’d be SUPER ANNOYING to have to unplug the custom connector and plug in your battery strap to the headset every ime you play. Kiwi solved that problem perfectly. Hook up your headset with the SPC strap attached, and the stand figures out how to charge both, prioritizing the headset first. Once that's full, it starts powering up the headstrap. It's a neat little feature that shows some genuine thought went into how to make your VR life a tad easier. It means longer play sessions without the “Oops, I forgot to charge my headstrap” moments. Cost Comparison Alright, diving into the price comparison, , putting it neck and neck with ZyberVR's stand, priced slightly lower at $63.99. Both are contenders in the VR accessory arena. the KIWI RGB Vertical Charging Stand is tagged at $69.99 ZyberVR sweetens the deal with rechargeable batteries for your controllers, offering a tangible extra bang for your buck. It's a solid perk, especially if the thought of buying batteries is a hassle you'd rather avoid. On the flip side, KIWI focuses instead on seamless integration with their SPC battery headstrap. This allows for a single-cable solution to charge both your headset and the headstrap simultaneously, streamlining your setup and cutting down on cable clutter. So, what's the verdict? If controller batteries are your main concern, ZyberVR might edge out ahead. But for those invested in a tidy, one-cable charging setup, KIWI's offering is the way to go. It boils down to what matters most to you: extra batteries in the box or a cleaner, simpler charging experience. Either way, you're getting a product aimed at making VR gaming a bit more convenient. Final Verdict: 8/10 Wrapping this up, let's talk bottom line. Between the sleek black finish of the KIWI RGB Vertical Charging Stand and ZyberVR's white counterpart, my vote leans towards KIWI for its aesthetics. There's something about that dark, sleek design that just vibes better with the rest of my setup. Now, value-wise, ZyberVR does toss in a sweet deal with those rechargeable batteries for the controllers. That's a hard perk to overlook, especially if you're all about getting the most bang for your buck right out of the box. But KIWI's got its own ace with that one-cable solution, not just keeping your setup looking clean but also showing off some serious thought went into the user experience. Being able to charge the headset and a battery strap together without turning your desk into a wire nest? That's pretty slick. Sure, not having a direct charge option for the controllers with KIWI's stand is a hiccup. Yet, it's not the kind of dealbreaker that would push me away from recommending it. Especially when you weigh it against the convenience and design thoughtfulness it brings to the table. For $69.99, I'm leaning hard into recommending the KIWI RGB Vertical Charging Stand. It's not just another piece of gear; it's become an essential part of my daily VR ritual—keeping my gaming space organized and ensuring my headset is always charged up and ready to roll. For anyone deep into their Quest experience, this stand is a solid investment that pays off in both functionality and aesthetics.

KIWI Design Quest 3 RGB Vertical Charging Stand Review: Comparing Cost and Functions

KIWI ডিজাইন কোয়েস্ট 3 RGB উল্লম্ব চার্জিং স্ট্যান্ড পর্যালোচনা: খরচ এবং ফাংশন তুলনা

Testbericht zum vertikalen Ladeständer KIWI Design Quest 3 RGB: Kosten und Funktionen im Vergleich

Revisión del soporte de carga vertical KIWI Design Quest 3 RGB: comparación de costos y funciones

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KIWI Design Quest 3 RGB縦型充電スタンドレビュー：コストと機能を比較

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KIWI Design Quest 3 RGB Dikey Şarj Standı İncelemesi: Maliyet ve İşlevlerin Karşılaştırılması

Đánh giá đế sạc dọc KIWI Design Quest 3 RGB: So sánh chi phí và chức năng

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by Jeff Garzik and Ralph Benko We agree with the recently published Techno-Optimist Manifesto We agree with the recently published , hailing, among other things, the importance to civilization of energy and, thus, of good, practical energy policy. Abundant, reliable, readily affordable power is what unlocks a nation's dynamism, builds factories, creates jobs, enhances national security, and reduces poverty and famine. Techno-Optimist Manifesto A specter is now haunting those of us (including us) who believe that equitable prosperity is a great thing for people and the planet both. This specter is the shade of those who are anti-technology and anti-prosperity. Pro-prosperity goes under the rubric of e/acc, shorthand for “ .” As an aside, that might be a coinage derived from “ .” The latter had its day, although now is tarnished by the spectacular fall of its most enthusiastic and flamboyant promoter, . effective accelerationism effective altruism Sam Bankman-Fried The opponents of tech, and of its attendant general prosperity, have been dubbed the “decels.” Possibly a sly allusion to “incels.” e/acc also goes by the term “techno-optimism.” Many prominent center-leftists are at least as enthusiastic about the promise of technology to improve the lives of people and the planet as are the card-carrying members of the vast right-wing conspiracy. Techno-optimists tend to lean libertarian, whether left or right. Prominent among the leading proponents are masters of the universe , , , (with stated reservations about AI), and . Also notable are economist, blogger, and journalist ( ), public intellectual Peter Zeihan, who refers to the process of deindustrialization now underway as “decivilization,” and , who presents at a16z with exceptional clarity on matters such as . Marc Andreessen Ben Horowitz Bill Gates Vitalik Buterin Peter Thiel Noah Smith an incisive self-professed political southpaw Ryan McEntush how to scale nuclear power The villains in this drama are those who committed to “degrowth,” or shrinking the economy, perhaps by the “spectre of degrowth communism” of “Kohei Saito, the rising star of contemporary Marxist thought….” best exemplified Marxists Never Cease To Delight in Spectral Haunting Marxists just never cease to delight in spectral haunting. Some people just have to learn the hard way. We’ve written about the tussle between us techno-optimists and the luddites at ; ; at ; and at . Let’s up the ante. Toward a Pragmatic American Energy Policy To Build or Not to Build Washington? Just Face Facts Yankee Ingenuity The sweet spot of Washington Power and Light, our policy institute, is good energy policy, the foundation of equitable prosperity. In that, we are not alone. Marc Andreessen recently, in his . wrote: The Techno-Optimist Manifesto “Energy is life. We take it for granted, but without it, we have darkness, starvation, and pain. With it, we have light, safety, and warmth. We believe energy in an upward spiral. Energy is the foundational engine of our civilization. … We believe we should place intelligence and energy in a positive feedback loop, and drive them both to infinity. We believe we should use the feedback loop of intelligence and energy to make everything we want and need abundant.” should be And as Noah Smith observes in : Don’t be a Decel “Energy technology is arguably the most important kind of technology that humans create, since everything else we do is downstream of our ability to harness energy.” It isn’t very romantic of us, but … our mission is to encourage policy based on real-world data to produce great results, rather than relying on faith-based dreams we call “hopium.” We consider ourselves proud pragmatists. Pretty much everyone, including the innumerate, has heard of Einstein’s E = mc2, energy equals mass times the speed of light squared. the world’s most famous equation. PBS calls it While it is profound to prove that energy and matter are interchangeable, in day-to-day terms it’s not the most important equation around. We nominate, instead, e2/acc: effective energy accelerationism. Capitalism’s monster Those advocating economic “shrinkage” (to steal ) are an odd lot. Consider the frailty of the romantics, like Saito. He was critiqued by Thomas Fazi at , as “capitalism’s monster.” a phrase from Seinfeld Unherd To wit: “It is no coincidence that Saito comes from Japan, which enjoys one of the highest standards of living in the world. But for most people on the planet, especially those living in poorer countries, climate change among the lowest policy priorities — well below more pressing material concerns such as hunger and poverty, access to water and sanitation, and education. systematically ranks “To the billions of people who still live in extreme poverty, and the millions who don’t even have access to electricity, Saito’s vision of degrowth communism, and his plea to scale back production and consumption, is unlikely to be very appealing. In fact, Saito’s insistence that countries in the Global South should refrain from pursuing growth — even ‘green growth’ — might very well be seen as a form of Western eco-imperialism. … “In this sense, degrowth communism suffers from the same drawback of old-school communism: it’s an intrinsically universalist worldview, one that purports to offer a one-size-fits-all solution for all human societies, regardless of local cultural and civilisational specificities. This globalist outlook is typical of post-Nineties leftism, which Saito harks back to in several respects. This is also evident in his rejection of the nation-state, viewed as a reactionary, quasi-fascist construct, rather than the framework through which virtually all the major social, economic and political advancements of the past centuries were achieved. “It’s a view that is completely at odds with global realities. Capitalism’s monster? At odds with reality? Yeah, that’s our poster child villain, all right! Curtis Yarvin: the greatest living Hobbesian philosopher, formidable poet, and classic antihero, declares Trotsky at Burning Man Among others in the techno-pessimistic camp is the always interesting contrarian Curtis Yarvin – the greatest living Hobbesian philosopher and poet, a classic antihero rather than villain, and possibly simply being arch – recently published “ .” Therein, he wrote: a techno-pessimist manifesto “Where did this ideology come from? While the connection is obviously a coincidence, techno-optimism is a curious historical match for another deeply American ideology from the 20th century: Trotskyism. “In (1924), Trotsky wrote: Literature and Revolution “Through the machine, man in Socialist society will command nature in its entirety, with its grouse and its sturgeons. He will change the course of the rivers, and he will lay down rules for the oceans. This does not mean that the entire globe will be marked off into boxes, that the forests will be turned into parks and gardens. Thickets and forests and grouse and tigers will remain, but only where man commands them to remain. And man will do it so well that the tiger won’t even notice the machine, or feel the change, but will live as he lived in primeval times. The machine is not in opposition to the earth. The machine is the instrument of modern man in every field of life… “Man, who will learn how to move rivers and mountains, how to build people’s palaces on the peaks of the Mont Blanc and at the bottom of the Atlantic, will not only be able to add to his own life richness, brilliancy and intensity, but also a dynamic quality of the highest degree. The shell of life will hardly have time to form before it will burst open again under the pressure of new technical and cultural inventions and achievements. Life in the future will not be monotonous! “Narrator: nor was it. “More than that. Man at last will begin to harmonize himself in earnest. He will make it his business to achieve beauty by giving the movement of his own limbs the utmost precision, purposefulness and economy in his work, his walk and his play. He will try to master first the semiconscious and then the subconscious processes in his own organism, such as breathing, the circulation of the blood, digestion, reproduction, and, within necessary limits, he will try to subordinate them to the control of reason and will. Even purely physiologic life will become subject to collective experiments. The human species, the coagulated Homo sapiens, will once more enter into a state of radical transformation, and, in his own hands, will become an object of the most complicated methods of artificial selection and psycho-physical training. “One can easily see Trotsky at Burning Man…. “Here again the ‘scientists, technologists, artists, and visionaries beyond our wildest dreams.’ Was Trotsky the first ‘effective accelerationist?’ Life takes you funny places.” “Life takes you funny places.” True! Washington Power and Light Last year, we constituted a new, tech-savvy think tank in Metro DC, Washington Power and Light, to advocate for, to quote Bastiat (see below), a “real, serious and pragmatic” energy policy, a policy rooted in technological reality rather than “pretty to think so” romantic dreams. Thus, we heartily welcome a recent big reveal at Ben Horowitz’s blog, “ ,” that a16z has desired to engage politically, seriously, to conduct a savvy “revenge of the nerds” political crusade to make the pro-techno worldview stick: Politics and the Future “We believe that advancing technology is critical for humanity’s future, so we will, for the first time, get involved with politics by supporting candidates who align with our vision and values specifically for technology. “While “Big Tech” is well represented in Washington D.C., their interests are often at odds with a positive technological future as they are more interested in regulatory capture and preserving their monopolies. As a result, technology startups need a voice. “We are non-partisan, one issue voters: If a candidate supports an optimistic technology-enabled future, we are for them. If they want to choke off important technologies, we are against them.” Badly needed! Politicians have mostly taken their eye off the ball and turned Congress mostly into a slapstick pie-fight over mostly trivial matters. Consider the daily political news. Much of it covers the struggle between the Democrats (the Donks) and the GOP (Pachyderms, thank you, Thomas Nast!). And, implicit therein, the forever war between the left and right. And much of the news now is devoted to the internecine intraparty struggles, such as within the administration, between the privileged progressives and the rank-and-file workers of the labor-and-ethnic left. And the marquee battles between the MAGAs (“the Chaos Caucus”) and the Regular Republicans in the House. “A full phase-out of fossil fuels would take the world back into caves.” Meanwhile, note the recently convened and concluded CAP28, whose presiding officer rocked the world by observing candidly, as reported by : Reason “ Al Jaber also that a full phase-out of fossil fuels would ‘take the world back into caves.’ Into the caves we go: said Some scientists and activists have not welcomed Al Jaber's blunt realism, but have said his are ‘verging on climate denial.’ comments “To be sure, Al Jaber has been properly criticized for a possible conflict of interest, as he is also the CEO of the Emirati state-owned oil and gas company, ADNOC. But he's correct to weigh tradeoffs and to point to the fact that world leaders need a more concrete plan, since toothless U.N. agreements don't really cut it.” “What Is Seen and What is Not Seen” We confidently submit that, in the spirit of Bastiat’s final work, – “What Is Seen and What Is Not Seen” – that which is invisible is often more consequential than what is visible. CE QUON VOIT ET CE QUON NE VOIT PAS And the previously almost invisible war between the techno-optimists (“the squares”) and the techno-pessimists (“the hippies”) is, we believe, the truly important political, social, and cultural battle now going on. As the fox confided to the , “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” Thus, let us look with our hearts. Little Prince Why is the war between the techno-optimists and the techno-pessimists of existential importance? Bastiat, courtesy of : Mises.org In the department of economy, an act, a habit, an institution, a law, gives birth not only to an effect, but to a series of effects. Of these effects, the first only is immediate; it manifests itself simultaneously with its cause — . The others unfold in succession — : it is well for us if they are . Between a good and a bad economist this constitutes the whole difference — the one takes account of the effect; the other takes account both of the effects which are and also of those which it is necessary to . Now this difference is enormous, for it almost always happens that when the immediate consequence is favorable, the ultimate consequences are fatal, . Hence it follows that the bad economist pursues a small present good, which will be followed by a great evil to come, while the true economist pursues a great good to come, at the risk of a small present evil. it is seen they are not seen foreseen visible seen foresee and the converse “In fact, it is the same in the science of health, arts, and in that of morals. If often happens, that the sweeter the first fruit of a habit is, the more bitter are the consequences. Take, for example, debauchery, idleness, prodigality. When, therefore, a man, absorbed in the effect which , has not yet learned to discern those which are not seen, he gives way to fatal habits, not only by inclination, but by calculation. is seen “This explains the fatally grievous condition of mankind. Ignorance surrounds its cradle: then its actions are determined by their first consequences, the only ones which, in its first stage, it can see. It is only in the long run that it learns to take account of the others. It has to learn this lesson from two very different masters — experience and foresight. Experience teaches effectually, but brutally. It makes us acquainted with all the effects of an action, by causing us to feel them; and we cannot fail to finish by knowing that fire burns, if we have burned ourselves. For this rough teacher, I should like, if possible, to substitute a more gentle one. I mean Foresight. For this purpose I shall examine the consequences of certain economical phenomena, by placing in opposition to each other those , and those .” which are seen which are not seen The struggle over tech is crucial because it is, at base, a struggle between prosperity and austerity. Prosperity affords us agency. Poverty is a vice, not a virtue. The Soviet bloc, exponentially poorer than the capitalist running dogs of the West, experienced far worse environmental degradation than did the capitalist world. It is better that we fight over what to do with our discretionary income than scrap for subsistence. Shall we use our surplus wealth to clean up our rivers and air? Plant forests? Invent new tech? Buy more aircraft carriers? Pay down the national debt? These are much worthier fights to have than those available while struggling for survival in a condition of great scarcity. Sorry, Luddites. Few indeed wish to return to the caves. Bad policy.  Bad politics. As Churchill, on the floor of the House of Commons, , ‘The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings. The inherent virtue of Socialism is the equal sharing of miseries.’ observed Misery loves company. That said, misery makes for bad policy. So, let’s accelerate our technology and, with it, our prosperity. Then… watch the Congress. Those fights will be merry indeed but much more productive than what we are now witnessing. Bravo to the : “We believe we should place intelligence and energy in a positive feedback loop and drive them both to infinity. We believe we should use the feedback loop of intelligence and energy to make everything we want and need abundant.” Techno-Optimist Manifesto To remain great or regain greatness, America can and must have abundant, reliable, readily affordable energy from practical, reality-driven sources. Abundant, reliable, affordable power unlocks a nation's dynamism, builds factories, creates jobs, enhances national security, and reduces poverty and famine. Accept no substitutes. Jeff Garzik serves as the founder and chairman of the policy institute Washington Power and Light.  Before co-founding Bloq, he spent five years as a Bitcoin core developer and ten years at Red Hat. His work with the Linux kernel is now found in every Android phone and data center running Linux today. Ralph Benko serves as co-founder and general counsel to Washington Power and Light. He is also the co-founder and general counsel for F1R3FLY.io and has worked in or with 3 White Houses, two executive branch agencies, and the Congress, as well as many political and policy institutes. He is an award-winning columnist.

“What is Essential is Invisible;” Enter Energy/Acceleration

Decentralization Systems And Unity With AI

To Build, or Not to Build, That is the Question: Techno-Optimism vs. Decelerationism

নির্মাণ করা, না নির্মাণ করা, এটাই প্রশ্ন: টেকনো-অপটিমিজম বনাম মন্থরতাবাদ

Bauen oder nicht bauen, das ist die Frage: Technooptimismus vs. Entschleunigungismus

Construir o no construir, esa es la cuestión: tecnooptimismo versus desaceleracionismo

Construire ou ne pas construire, telle est la question : techno-optimisme contre décélérationnisme

निर्माण करें, या न करें, यही प्रश्न है: तकनीकी-आशावाद बनाम मंदीवाद

構築すべきか、構築すべきでないか、それが問題です: テクノオプティミズム vs. 減速主義

건설하느냐, 건설하지 않느냐, 그것이 문제이다: 기술 낙관주의 vs. 감속주의

Construir ou não construir, eis a questão: Tecno-otimismo vs.

Строить или не строить, вот в чем вопрос: технооптимизм против деселерационизма

İnşa Etmek ya da İnşa Etmemek Sorun Bu: Tekno-İyimserlik ve Yavaşlamacılık

Xây dựng hay không xây dựng, đó là câu hỏi: Lạc quan về công nghệ và chủ nghĩa giảm tốc

建设还是不建设，这就是问题：技术乐观主义与减速主义

Scientific American, Volume XXXVI., No. 8, February 24, 1877 by Various, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Crossing a River on a Wire. here Crossing a River on a Wire. A reporter of the New York Sun wanted to realize the sensation of being suspended on a wire 275 feet from the surface of the earth. He applied to the engineer of the Brooklyn bridge for permission to cross the East river on a wire, three quarters of an inch in diameter, which hangs between the two towers. He was refused permission; but he finally saw the president of the company, who granted his request. Arriving at the appointed time, the engineer, Mr. Farrington, said: "Well, sir; whenever you're ready, I am." "All ready, said I, as bold as brass outside, and as nervous as the Endorian witch on the inside. He walked on and I followed, when, Horror of Horrors—capital H's—to both Horrors—instead of leading me to the 'cradle,' which I called a raft, he took me to a little square board held up by two crossed iron arms, called a 'buggy.' It was about three feet square, and depended from the 'traveler,' a three quarter inch wire which crosses the river, and is run from tower to tower over apparatus, by means of a stationary engine. It was too late to back out, but I didn't feel exactly prepared to plunge in. He did. "He jumped in, and the little buggy swung from side to side, precisely as a swing does when you jump on the board and try to steady it by the ropes. I looked at him, at the scale—that's it; it's exactly like a pair of scales, with one scale—at the deep depths below us, and at myself. I imagined the ticklish thrill which would permeate my body when we started. I fancied the glories of the prospective perspective before me. "'Come, hurry up, please,' interrupted Farrington, and with resignation I hurried down. He stood up. I crouched down. Perhaps you think you'd have stood up as he did. You're mistaken. I crouched down and held on tight. Make no mistake. I held on tight and waited for my thrill. It didn't come. Then I stood up, and Farrington gave the word 'Go.' 'Wouldn't you better take a rope along?' said one of the men. 'Yes, I think I would.' What did he want of a rope? He feared I would be nervous. He meant to grapple me in the middle of the river, and tie me in. I knew it. I felt it. But I didn't say a word. "With a gentle jerk we started—slow, slow, very slow. Farrington stood in front and watched the wire. I stood behind and watched myself. I felt nothing. I was'n't exhilarated. I was'n't scared. I was'n't even timid. I can't look from the top of a house without desiring to jump off, but I looked down from the buggy and hadn't the least desire to jump. Farrington says: 'It's because it's so high up.' Well, we went on without any special sensation till the buggy struck against a stay rope which reaches from one of the cables to the tower. In the effort to free the buggy, Mr. Farrington gave a push which swung us out some little distance and back again, at which a little piece of indigestion seemed to be monarch of my interior, and for a moment I was on the verge of a sensation. Having passed the middle, the ascent was more labored. I waved my handkerchief to the people on the ferryboats. I looked out toward the sea. I looked up at the heavens. I even looked toward Harlem, but, like the buyer in the Bible, I said: 'It is naught, it is naught.' "In about eight minutes we touched the New York side—all but ten feet. The red flag waved for the engine to stop. There we hung in mid-air 275 feet above the level, swinging to and fro like a drunken buggy, at an angle of forty degrees, and quite uneasy. The rope which was to haul us on was fastened to the iron—blest be the tie that binds—and with a few hearty pulls we were brought so near the New York tower that without difficulty we clambered up. I had made the trip, but I had not felt a feel. From the top of the New York tower I saw much, but the chief point of interest was the innumerable jets of steam which flourish in the air, and fantastically curl off into space. "Again the steeples, the tower, and the long, narrow, dirty river filled the prospect, and the bright sun of a charming day lightened up the western sky That was all, except to say 'thanks and good-bye,' and descend the stairs. There were 417 of them stairs, and before I reached the bottom I was dizzy, faint, seasick, and filled with a decoction of tickle, so that I had to shut my eyes and rest from my labors. "Thus ends the trip which filled my anticipatory imagination as the waters fill the sea, but which resolved itself in realization to a simple, childlike faith in the fixtures on the wire, and in the skill and competence of the man who guided them. Monsieur X." 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. Various (2006). Scientific American, Volume XXXVI., No. 8, February 24, 1877. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/19406/pg19406-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Crossing a River on a Wire

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Celebrating Kaspa's 2nd Birthday: $1M Airdrop Campaign With OKX And Coinpal.io

Mark Twain's Speeches by Mark Twain, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY here SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY ADDRESS AT A DINNER GIVEN BY COLONEL GEORGE HARVEY AT
          DELMONICO’S, DECEMBER 5, 1905, TO CELEBRATE THE SEVENTIETH
          ANNIVERSARY OF MR. CLEMENS’ BIRTH

          Mr. Howells introduced Mr. Clemens:

          “Now, ladies and gentlemen, and Colonel Harvey, I will try not
          to be greedy on your behalf in wishing the health of our
          honored and, in view of his great age, our revered guest.  I
          will not say, ‘Oh King, live forever!’ but ‘Oh King, live as
          long as you like!’” [Amid great applause and waving of napkins
          all rise and drink to Mark Twain.] Well, if I made that joke, it is the best one I ever made, and it is in the prettiest language, too.—I never can get quite to that height. But I appreciate that joke, and I shall remember it—and I shall use it when occasion requires. I have had a great many birthdays in my time. I remember the first one very well, and I always think of it with indignation; everything was so crude, unaesthetic, primeval. Nothing like this at all. No proper appreciative preparation made; nothing really ready. Now, for a person born with high and delicate instincts—why, even the cradle wasn’t whitewashed—nothing ready at all. I hadn’t any hair, I hadn’t any teeth, I hadn’t any clothes, I had to go to my first banquet just like that. Well, everybody came swarming in. It was the merest little bit of a village—hardly that, just a little hamlet, in the backwoods of Missouri, where nothing ever happened, and the people were all interested, and they all came; they looked me over to see if there was anything fresh in my line. Why, nothing ever happened in that village—I—why, I was the only thing that had really happened there for months and months and months; and although I say it myself that shouldn’t, I came the nearest to being a real event that had happened in that village in more than two years. Well, those people came, they came with that curiosity which is so provincial, with that frankness which also is so provincial, and they examined me all around and gave their opinion. Nobody asked them, and I shouldn’t have minded if anybody had paid me a compliment, but nobody did. Their opinions were all just green with prejudice, and I feel those opinions to this day. Well, I stood that as long as—well, you know I was born courteous, and I stood it to the limit. I stood it an hour, and then the worm turned. I was the worm; it was my turn to turn, and I turned. I knew very well the strength of my position; I knew that I was the only spotlessly pure and innocent person in that whole town, and I came out and said so: And they could not say a word. It was so true: They blushed; they were embarrassed. Well, that was the first after-dinner speech I ever made: I think it was after dinner. It’s a long stretch between that first birthday speech and this one. That was my cradle-song; and this is my swan-song, I suppose. I am used to swan-songs; I have sung them several times. This is my seventieth birthday, and I wonder if you all rise to the size of that proposition, realizing all the significance of that phrase, seventieth birthday. The seventieth birthday! It is the time of life when you arrive at a new and awful dignity; when you may throw aside the decent reserves which have oppressed you for a generation and stand unafraid and unabashed upon your seven-terraced summit and look down and teach—unrebuked. You can tell the world how you got there. It is what they all do. You shall never get tired of telling by what delicate arts and deep moralities you climbed up to that great place. You will explain the process and dwell on the particulars with senile rapture. I have been anxious to explain my own system this long time, and now at last I have the right. I have achieved my seventy years in the usual way: by sticking strictly to a scheme of life which would kill anybody else. It sounds like an exaggeration, but that is really the common rule for attaining to old age. When we examine the programme of any of these garrulous old people we always find that the habits which have preserved them would have decayed us; that the way of life which enabled them to live upon the property of their heirs so long, as Mr. Choate says, would have put us out of commission ahead of time. I will offer here, as a sound maxim, this: That we can’t reach old age by another man’s road. I will now teach, offering my way of life to whomsoever desires to commit suicide by the scheme which has enabled me to beat the doctor and the hangman for seventy years. Some of the details may sound untrue, but they are not. I am not here to deceive; I am here to teach. We have no permanent habits until we are forty. Then they begin to harden, presently they petrify, then business begins. Since forty I have been regular about going to bed and getting up—and that is one of the main things. I have made it a rule to go to bed when there wasn’t anybody left to sit up with; and I have made it a rule to get up when I had to. This has resulted in an unswerving regularity of irregularity. It has saved me sound, but it would injure another person. In the matter of diet—which is another main thing—I have been persistently strict in sticking to the things which didn’t agree with me until one or the other of us got the best of it. Until lately I got the best of it myself. But last spring I stopped frolicking with mince-pie after midnight; up to then I had always believed it wasn’t loaded. For thirty years I have taken coffee and bread at eight in the morning, and no bite nor sup until seven-thirty in the evening. Eleven hours. That is all right for me, and is wholesome, because I have never had a headache in my life, but headachy people would not reach seventy comfortably by that road, and they would be foolish to try it. And I wish to urge upon you this—which I think is wisdom—that if you find you can’t make seventy by any but an uncomfortable road, don’t you go. When they take off the Pullman and retire you to the rancid smoker, put on your things, count your checks, and get out at the first way station where there’s a cemetery. I have made it a rule never to smoke more than one cigar at a time. I have no other restriction as regards smoking. I do not know just when I began to smoke, I only know that it was in my father’s lifetime, and that I was discreet. He passed from this life early in 1847, when I was a shade past eleven; ever since then I have smoked publicly. As an example to others, and—not that I care for moderation myself, it has always been my rule never to smoke when asleep, and never to refrain when awake. It is a good rule. I mean, for me; but some of you know quite well that it wouldn’t answer for everybody that’s trying to get to be seventy. I smoke in bed until I have to go to sleep; I wake up in the night, sometimes once, sometimes twice; sometimes three times, and I never waste any of these opportunities to smoke. This habit is so old and dear and precious to me that I would feel as you, sir, would feel if you should lose the only moral you’ve got—meaning the chairman—if you’ve got one: I am making no charges: I will grant, here, that I have stopped smoking now and then, for a few months at a time, but it was not on principle, it was only to show off; it was to pulverize those critics who said I was a slave to my habits and couldn’t break my bonds. To-day it is all of sixty years since I began to smoke the limit. I have never bought cigars with life-belts around them. I early found that those were too expensive for me: I have always bought cheap cigars—reasonably cheap, at any rate. Sixty years ago they cost me four dollars a barrel, but my taste has improved, latterly, and I pay seven, now. Six or seven. Seven, I think. Yes; it’s seven. But that includes the barrel. I often have smoking-parties at my house; but the people that come have always just taken the pledge. I wonder why that is? As for drinking, I have no rule about that. When the others drink I like to help; otherwise I remain dry, by habit and preference. This dryness does not hurt me, but it could easily hurt you, because you are different. You let it alone. Since I was seven years old I have seldom taken a dose of medicine, and have still seldomer needed one. But up to seven I lived exclusively on allopathic medicines. Not that I needed them, for I don’t think I did; it was for economy; my father took a drug-store for a debt, and it made cod-liver oil cheaper than the other breakfast foods. We had nine barrels of it, and it lasted me seven years. Then I was weaned. The rest of the family had to get along with rhubarb and ipecac and such things, because I was the pet. I was the first Standard Oil Trust. I had it all. By the time the drugstore was exhausted my health was established, and there has never been much the matter with me since. But you know very well it would be foolish for the average child to start for seventy on that basis. It happened to be just the thing for me, but that was merely an accident; it couldn’t happen again in a century. I have never taken any exercise, except sleeping and resting, and I never intend to take any. Exercise is loathsome. And it cannot be any benefit when you are tired; and I was always tired. But let another person try my way, and see where he will come out. I desire now to repeat and emphasise that maxim: We can’t reach old age by another man’s road. My habits protect my life, but they would assassinate you. I have lived a severely moral life. But it would be a mistake for other people to try that, or for me to recommend it. Very few would succeed: you have to have a perfectly colossal stock of morals; and you can’t get them on a margin; you have to have the whole thing, and put them in your box. Morals are an acquirement—like music, like a foreign language, like piety, poker, paralysis—no man is born with them. I wasn’t myself, I started poor. I hadn’t a single moral. There is hardly a man in this house that is poorer than I was then. Yes, I started like that—the world before me, not a moral in the slot. Not even an insurance moral. I can remember the first one I ever got. I can remember the landscape, the weather, the—I can remember how everything looked. It was an old moral, an old second-hand moral, all out of repair, and didn’t fit, anyway. But if you are careful with a thing like that, and keep it in a dry place, and save it for processions, and Chautauquas, and World’s Fairs, and so on, and disinfect it now and then, and give it a fresh coat of whitewash once in a while, you will be surprised to see how well she will last and how long she will keep sweet, or at least inoffensive. When I got that mouldy old moral, she had stopped growing, because she hadn’t any exercise; but I worked her hard, I worked her Sundays and all. Under this cultivation she waxed in might and stature beyond belief, and served me well and was my pride and joy for sixty-three years; then she got to associating with insurance presidents, and lost flesh and character, and was a sorrow to look at and no longer competent for business. She was a great loss to me. Yet not all loss. I sold her—ah, pathetic skeleton, as she was—I sold her to Leopold, the pirate King of Belgium; he sold her to our Metropolitan Museum, and it was very glad to get her, for without a rag on, she stands 57 feet long and 16 feet high, and they think she’s a brontosaur. Well, she looks it. They believe it will take nineteen geological periods to breed her match. Morals are of inestimable value, for every man is born crammed with sin microbes, and the only thing that can extirpate these sin microbes is morals. Now you take a sterilized Christian—I mean, you take the sterilized Christian, for there’s only one. Dear sir, I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that. Threescore years and ten! It is the Scriptural statute of limitations. After that, you owe no active duties; for you the strenuous life is over. You are a time-expired man, to use Kipling’s military phrase: You have served your term, well or less well, and you are mustered out. You are become an honorary member of the republic, you are emancipated, compulsions are not for you, nor any bugle-call but “lights out.” You pay the time-worn duty bills if you choose, or decline if you prefer—and without prejudice—for they are not legally collectable. The previous-engagement plea, which in forty years has cost you so many twinges, you can lay aside forever; on this side of the grave you will never need it again. If you shrink at thought of night, and winter, and the late home-coming from the banquet and the lights and the laughter through the deserted streets—a desolation which would not remind you now, as for a generation it did, that your friends are sleeping, and you must creep in a-tiptoe and not disturb them, but would only remind you that you need not tiptoe, you can never disturb them more—if you shrink at thought of these things, you need only reply, “Your invitation honors me, and pleases me because you still keep me in your remembrance, but I am seventy; seventy, and would nestle in the chimney-corner, and smoke my pipe, and read my book, and take my rest, wishing you well in all affection; and that when you in your return shall arrive at pier No. 70 you may step aboard your waiting ship with a reconciled spirit, and lay your course toward the sinking sun with a contented heart.” 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. Mark Twain (2004). Mark Twain's Speeches. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/3188/pg3188-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY

Scientific American, Volume 40, No. 13, March 29, 1879, by Various, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . PETER COOPER AS AN INVENTOR. here PETER COOPER AS AN INVENTOR. The successes of Peter Cooper's long and useful life are well known. Not so many are aware of his varied experience in the direction of failure, particularly in the field of invention. More than once he has found his best devices profitless because ahead of his time, or because of conditions, political or otherwise, which no one could foresee. He possessed the rare qualities, however, of pluck and perseverance, and when one thing failed he lost no time in trying something else. Before he was of age he had learned three trades—and he did not make his fortune at either. In a familiar conversation with a writer recently, Mr. Cooper related some of his early experiences, particularly with reference to enterprises which did not succeed. His father was a hatter, and as a boy young Cooper learned how to make a hat in all its parts. The father was not successful in business, and the hatter's trade seems to have offered little encouragement to the son. Accordingly he learned the art of making ale. Why he did not stick to that calling and become a millionaire brewer, Mr. Cooper does not say. Most probably the national taste for stronger tipple could not at that time be overcome, and ale could not compete with New England rum and apple-jack. The young mechanic next essayed the art of coachmaking, at which he served a full apprenticeship. At the end of his time his employer offered to set him up in business, but the offer was not accepted, through fear of losing another's money. He felt that if he took the money and lost it he would have to be a slave for life. So he quit coachmaking and went to work for a man at Hempstead, L. I., making machines for shearing cloth. In three years, on $1.50 a day, Cooper had saved enough money to buy his employer's patent. Immediately he introduced improvements in the manufacture and in the machine, which the war with England made a great demand for by excluding foreign cloths. At this time Cooper married. In due time the family numbered three, and the young father's inventive faculty was again called upon. Herald "In those days," said Mr. Cooper to the reporter, smiling as the remembrance came to his mind, "we kept no servants as they do nowadays, and my wife and myself had to do all that was to be done. After our first child was born I used to come into the house and find my wife rocking the cradle, and I relieved her from that while I was there. After doing that for a few days I thought to myself that I could make that thing go of itself. So I went into my shop, and made a pendulous cradle that would rock the child. Then I attached a musical instrument which would sing for it, and at the same time the machine would keep the flies off. The latter was very simple; by hanging something to the cross bar, as the cradle swung under it, backward and forward, it would create wind enough to drive away the flies. The machine was wound up by a weight, and would run for nearly half an hour without stopping. I took out a patent for it, and one day a peddler came along with a horse and wagon, as they do in the country, and saw the cradle. He struck a bargain with me and bought the patent right for the State of Connecticut, giving for it his horse and wagon and all the goods he had with him. They afterward made some there, but nothing like as good as mine. It was a beautiful piece of furniture," said Mr. Cooper regretfully, as he thought of it as a thing of the past. "They afterward substituted springs for the weight movement, but that kind was not so good." About this time the war with England ended and the market was spoiled for the shearing machines. Then, we believe, Mr. Cooper tried his hand at cabinetmaking, but that failed, and he set up a grocery store where the Bible House now stands. While selling groceries Mr. Cooper made an invention which ought to have made his fortune, but it did not. The story is best told in Mr. Cooper's own words: "It was just before the Erie Canal was completed, and I conceived a plan by which to tow boats by the use of all the elevated waters on the line of the canal. To demonstrate that that was practicable I made with my own hands a chain two miles long, and placed posts 200 feet apart in the East River from Bellevue dock down town about a mile. These posts supported grooved wheels to lay the chain in, forming an endless chain. The whole was moved by an overshot waterwheel placed at the Bellevue dock. A reservoir twelve feet square and three deep held the water to turn the wheel." At the suggestion of Governor Clinton Mr. Cooper tightened his chain and pulled up the end post just before the grand trial of his device was to come off. He succeeded in getting stone enough to anchor the post, however, and the experiment went off swimmingly. The boat was hooked on to the chain, and the passage back and forward—two miles—was made in eleven minutes. "I ran that boat some ten days," says Mr. Cooper, "to let people see what could be done, and carried nearly a thousand people. Part of the time I ran two boats. Once I counted 52 people in one boat. I made the whole chain myself and planted the posts. As I could find no wheels to suit me I made the moulds and cast the wheels myself out of block tin and zinc. It was no small job, I can tell you." This was unquestionably a grand invention. In itself it was a perfect success; but it was not used. Mr. Cooper tells why: "It demonstrated completely that the elevated water power along the line of the canal and every lock in the canal could be made use of to drive the boats. Governor Clinton gave me $800 for the privilege of buying the right to the plan in case he should want to use it on the Erie Canal. In making the canal he had promised the people along the route that as soon as it was finished they could sell their horses to tow the boats, their grain and fodder to feed the horses, and their provisions for the passengers. On reflection he thought that if he took all that away from them he would have to run the gantlet again, and he could not afford to do that. There never was anything done with the plan until a few years ago, when Mr. Welch, president of the Camden and Amboy Railroad and Canal, invented exactly the same thing and put it in practice on his locks on the canal. He found it saved half the time and great expense. He went to Washington to take out a patent for it, and when he got there he found that I had patented the same thing fifty-three years before. My patent had run out, so he could use the plan on his canal. It has also been used on one lock on the Erie Canal. If they could have used that chain on the whole length of the Erie Canal it would have saved many millions of dollars." This would not be a bad place, were there room for it, to speak of "undeveloped" and therefore worthless inventions; and the assumption that if an inventor does not make his invention immediately profitable it must be good for nothing, and should be dispatented. But the moral goes without telling. Mr. Cooper's next attempt at invention was made about the same time, but in quite a different direction. It was during the struggle of the Greeks for independence, and wishing to do something for their assistance, Mr. Cooper undertook to make a torpedo boat for them. Mr. Cooper says: "It was a small one that could be taken on board ship and used to destroy any vessel that came to destroy them. It was fixed with a rotary steam engine and a screw wheel to propel it. It was intended to be guided from the ship or the shore. There were two steel wires fixed to the tiller of the rudder, and the operator could pull on one side or the other and guide the vessel just as a horse is guided with reins. It was so arranged that at night it would carry a light with its dark side toward the object to be destroyed, and by simply keeping the light in range with the vessel it would be sure to hit it. The torpedo was carried on a little iron rod, projecting in front of the torpedo vessel a few inches under water. Contact would discharge the torpedo and bend this iron rod. This would reverse the action of the engine and cause the torpedo vessel to return right back from whence it came, ready to carry another torpedo." Unfortunately the torpedo boat was not ready in time to go with the ship carrying the contributions for Greece. It was stored in Mr. Cooper's factory (he had then turned his attention to glue) and was destroyed by the burning of the factory. It seems to have been quite a promising affair for the time. Mr. Cooper says: "I experimented with it at once to see how far it could be guided. I made a steel wire ten miles long and went down to the Narrows to test the matter. I had steel yards fastened to one end of the wire, and to the other end the torpedo vessel as attached. It got about six miles away when a vessel coming into the harbor crossed the wire and broke it. Although the experiment was not complete it showed that for at least six miles I could guide the vessel as easily as I could guide a horse." Mr. Cooper's work as the pioneer locomotive builder in this country; his later inventions and improvements in the manufacture of railway iron and wrought iron beams for fireproof buildings; his application of anthracite coal to iron puddling, and his other successes are almost as widely known as his philanthropic efforts for the education and advancement of the industrial classes of this city. After all, we are not sure but the story of his long and varied and always honorable career, told by himself, would not be worth, to young people who have to make their way in life through many difficulties, more even than the advantages of the noble institution which bears his name. Taste for Reading.—Sir John Herschel has declared that "if he were to pray for a taste which should stand under every variety of circumstance and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to him through life, it would be a taste for reading." Give a man, he affirms, that taste, and the means of gratifying it, and you cannot fail of making him good and happy; for you bring him in contact with the best society in all ages, with the tenderest, the bravest, and the purest men who have adorned humanity, making him a denizen of all nations, a contemporary of all times, and giving him a practical proof that the world has been created for him, for his solace, and for his enjoyment. Africa Crossed Again. Information has been received by way of Lisbon, March 12, that the Portuguese explorer, Pinto, has succeeded in traversing Africa from west to east, and has reached Transvaal. The latitude of his course across is not mentioned. 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. Various (2006). Scientific American, Volume 40, No. 13, March 29, 1879. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/18866/pg18866-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

PETER COOPER AS AN INVENTOR

Can You Forgive Her? by Anthony Trollope is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . The Story Is Finished Within the Halls of the Duke of Omnium here The Story Is Finished Within the Halls of the Duke of Omnium. Mr. Grey and wife were duly carried away from Matching Priory by post horses, and did their honeymoon, we may be quite sure, with much satisfaction. When Alice was first asked where she would go, she simply suggested that it should not be to Switzerland. They did, in truth, go by slow stages to Italy, to Venice, Florence, and on to Rome; but such had not been their intention when they first started on their journey. At that time Mr. Grey believed that he would be wanted again in England, down at Silverbridge in Barsetshire, very shortly. But before he had married a week he learned that all that was to be postponed. The cup of fruition had not yet reached Mr. Palliser's lips. "There will be no vacancy either in the county or in the borough till Parliament meets." That had been the message sent by Mr. Palliser to Mr. Grey. Lady Glencora's message to Alice had been rather more full, having occupied three pages of note paper, the last of which had been crossed, but I do not know that it was more explicit. She had abused Lord Brock, had abused Mr. Finespun, and had abused all public things and institutions, because the arrangements as now proposed would be very comfortable to Alice, but would not, as she was pleased to think, be very comfortable to herself. "You can go to Rome and see everything and enjoy yourself, which I was not allowed to do; and all this noise and bother, and crowd of electioneering, will take place down in Barsetshire just when I am in the middle of all my trouble." There were many very long letters came from Lady Glencora to Rome during the winter,—letters which Alice enjoyed thoroughly, but which she could not but regard as being very indiscreet. The Duke was at the Castle during the Christmas week, and the descriptions of the Duke and of his solicitude as to his heir were very comic. "He comes and bends over me on the sofa in the most stupendous way, as though a woman to be the mother of his heir must be a miracle in nature. He is quite awful when he says a word or two, and more awful in his silence. The devil prompted me the other day, and I said I hoped it would be a girl. There was a look came over his face which nearly frightened me. If it should be, I believe he will turn me out of the house; but how can I help it? I wish you were going to have a baby at the same time. Then, if yours was a boy and mine a girl, we'd make a change." This was very indiscreet. Lady Glencora would write indiscreet letters like this, which Alice could not show to her husband. It was a thousand pities. But December and January wore themselves away, and the time came in which the Greys were bound to return to England. The husband had very fully discussed with his wife that matter of his parliamentary ambition, and found in her a very ready listener. Having made up his mind to do this thing, he was resolved to do it thoroughly, and was becoming almost as full of politics, almost as much devoted to sugar, as Mr. Palliser himself. He at any rate could not complain that his wife would not interest herself in his pursuits. Then, as they returned, came letters from Lady Glencora, written as her troubles grew nigh. The Duke had gone, of course; but he was to be there at the appointed time. "Oh, I do so wish he would have a fit of the gout in London,—or at Timbuctoo," said Lady Glencora. When they reached London they first heard the news from Mr. Vavasor, who on this occasion condescended to meet them at the railway. "The Duke has got an heir," he said, before the carriage-door was open;—"born this morning!" One might have supposed that it was the Duke's baby, and not the baby of Lady Glencora and Mr. Palliser. There was a note from Mr. Palliser to Mr. Grey. "Thank God!" said the note, "Lady Glencora and the boy"—Mr. Palliser had scorned to use the word child—"Lady Glencora and the boy are quite as well as can be expected. Both the new writs were moved for last night." Mr. Palliser's honours, as will be seen, came rushing upon him all at once. Wondrous little baby,— What have the gods not done for thee, if thou canst only manage to live till thy good things are all thine own,—to live through all the terrible solicitude with which they will envelope thee! Better than royal rank will be thine, with influence more than royal, and power of action fettered by no royalty. Royal wealth which will be really thine own, to do with it as it beseemeth thee. Thou wilt be at the top of an aristocracy in a country where aristocrats need gird themselves with no buckram. All that the world can give will be thine; and yet when we talk of thee religiously, philosophically, or politico-economically, we are wont to declare that thy chances of happiness are no better,—no better, if they be no worse,—than are those of thine infant neighbour just born, in that farmyard cradle. Who shall say that they are better or that they are worse? Or if they be better, or if they be worse, how shall we reconcile to ourselves that seeming injustice? purpureo genitus! And now we will pay a little visit to the small one born in the purple, and the story of that visit shall be the end of our history. It was early in April, quite early in April, and Mr. and Mrs. Grey were both at Gatherum Castle. Mrs. Grey was there at the moment of which we write, but Mr. Grey was absent at Silverbridge with Mr. Palliser. This was the day of the Silverbridge election, and Mr. Grey had gone to that ancient borough, to offer himself as a candidate to the electors, backed by the presence and aid of a very powerful member of the Cabinet. Lady Glencora and Alice were sitting up-stairs with the small, purple-born one in their presence, and the small, purple-born one was lying in Alice's lap. "It is such a comfort that it is over," said the mother. "You are the most ungrateful of women." "Oh, Alice,—if you could have known! Your baby may come just as it pleases. You won't lie awake trembling how on earth you will bear your disgrace if one of the vile weaker sex should come to disturb the hopes of your lords and masters;—for I had two, which made it so much more terrible." "I'm sure Mr. Palliser would not have said a word." "No, he would have said nothing,—nor would the Duke. The Duke would simply have gone away instantly, and never have seen me again till the next chance comes,—if it ever does come. And Mr. Palliser would have been as gentle as a dove;—much more gentle than he is now, for men are rarely gentle in their triumph. But I should have known what they both thought and felt." "It's all right now, dear." "Yes, my bonny boy,—you have made it all right for me;—have you not?" And Lady Glencora took her baby into her own arms. "You have made everything right, my little man. But oh, Alice, if you had seen the Duke's long face through those three days; if you had heard the tones of the people's voices as they whispered about me; if you had encountered the oppressive cheerfulness of those two London doctors,—doctors are such bad actors,—you would have thought it impossible for any woman to live throughout. There's one comfort;—if my mannikin lives, I can't have another eldest. He looks like living;—don't he, Alice?" Then were perpetrated various mysterious ceremonies of feminine idolatry which were continued till there came a grandly dressed old lady, who called herself the nurse, and who took the idol away. In the course of that afternoon Lady Glencora took Alice all over the house. It was a castle of enormous size, quite new,—having been built by the present proprietor,—very cold, very handsome, and very dull. "What an immense place!" said Alice, as she stood looking round her in the grand hall, which was never used as an entrance except on very grand occasions. "Is it not? And it cost—oh, I can't tell you how much it cost. A hundred thousand pounds or more. Well;—that would be nothing, as the Duke no doubt had the money in his pocket to do what he liked with at the time. But the joke is, nobody ever thinks of living here. Who'd live in such a great, overgrown place such as this, if they could get a comfortable house like Matching? Do you remember Longroyston and the hot-water pipes? I always think of the poor Duchess when I come through here. Nobody ever lives here, or ever will. The Duke comes for one week in the year, and Plantagenet says he hates to do that. As for me, nothing on earth shall ever make me live here. I was completely in their power and couldn't help their bringing me here the other day;—because I had, as it were, disgraced myself." "How disgraced yourself?" "In being so long, you know, before that gentleman was born. But they shan't play me the same trick again. I shall dare to assert myself, now. Come,—we must go away. There are some of the British public come to see one of the British sights. That's another pleasure here. One has to run about to avoid being caught by the visitors. The housekeeper tells me they always grumble because they are not allowed to go into my little room up-stairs." On the evening of that day Mr. Palliser and Mr. Grey returned home from Silverbridge together. The latter was then a Member of Parliament, but the former at that moment was the possessor of no such dignity. The election for the borough was now over, whereas that for the county had not yet taken place. But there was no rival candidate for the position, and Mr. Palliser was thoroughly contented with his fate. He was at this moment actually Chancellor of the Exchequer, and in about ten days' time would be on his legs in the House proposing for his country's use his scheme of finance. The two men were seated together in an open carriage, and were being whirled along by four horses. They were both no doubt happy in their ambition, but I think that of the two, Mr. Palliser showed his triumph the most. Not that he spoke even to his friend a word that was triumphant in its tone. It was not thus that he rejoiced. He was by nature too placid for that. But there was a nervousness in his contentment which told the tale to any observer who might know how to read it. "I hope you'll like it," he said to Grey. "I shall never like it as you do," Grey answered. "And why not;—why not?" "In the first place, I have not begun it so young." "Any time before thirty-five is young enough." "For useful work, yes,—but hardly for enjoyment in the thing. And then I don't believe it all as you do. To you the British House of Commons is everything." "Yes;—everything," said Mr. Palliser with unwonted enthusiasm;—"everything, everything. That and the Constitution are everything." "It is not so to me." "Ah, but it will be. If you really take to the work, and put yourself into harness, it will be so. You'll get to feel it as I do. The man who is counted by his colleagues as number one on the Treasury Bench in the English House of Commons, is the first of living men. That's my opinion. I don't know that I ever said it before; but that's my opinion." "And who is the second;—the purse-bearer to this great man?" "I say nothing about the second. I don't know that there is any second. I wonder how we shall find Lady Glencora and the boy." They had then arrived at the side entrance to the Castle, and Mr. Grey ran up-stairs to his wife's room to receive her congratulations. "And you are a Member of Parliament?" she asked. "They tell me so, but I don't know whether I actually am one till I've taken the oaths." "I am so happy. There's no position in the world so glorious!" "It's a pity you are not Mr. Palliser's wife. That's just what he has been saying." "Oh, John, I am so happy. It is so much more than I have deserved. I hope,—that is, I sometimes think—" "Think what, dearest?" "I hope nothing that I have ever said has driven you to it." "I'd do more than that, dear, to make you happy," he said, as he put his arm round her and kissed her; "more than that, at least if it were in my power." Probably my readers may agree with Alice, that in the final adjustment of her affairs she had received more than she had deserved. All her friends, except her husband, thought so. But as they have all forgiven her, including even Lady Midlothian herself, I hope that they who have followed her story to its close will not be less generous. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Anthony Trollope (2006). Can You Forgive Her?. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/19500/pg19500-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

The Story Is Finished Within the Halls of the Duke of Omnium

THE STORM BURSTS.

I awoke, and my first thought was, Adrian and Clara are dead.

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