Uber bought Drizly three years ago for $1.1 billion when consumers were flocking to delivery app services for their food and alcohol needs during the COVID-19 pandemic. According to Bloomberg Second Measure, delivery services blossomed 162% compared to the previous year at the height of the ...

Uber announces layoffs as part of Drizly closure | Supermarket News

Uber said last month it would be shutting down alcohol delivery service Drizly.

Uber laying off 168 employees at Boston-based Drizly - CBS Boston

Bourbon, the Great American Spirit, is not as simple as one might think. Despite the increasing demand (and price) for much-hyped bottles, bourbon is an every-person drink. At the end of the day, it's a blue-collar spirit, made by thirsty farmers, for ...

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Uber Eats has released its annual nationwide Cravings Report, revealing the most popular, unusual and surprising orders of the year. Here are the findings.

'Steak and jelly, please,' Americans tell Uber Eats — and other odd and popular customer requests of 2023

Diageo announces the introduction of its ready to serve premium cocktail line, The Cocktail Collection. Hitting shelves in time for the holiday hosting season, The Cocktail Collection will feature perfectly pre-mixed classic cocktails in a convenient,

Introducing The Cocktail Collection: A Line of Ready to Serve Premium Cocktails, Taking Hosting to the Next Level this Holiday Season

SONOMA, Calif. (AP) — Wine made in ancient ways is gaining new fans.

The ancient ways of natural wine are finding new fans

Given that we are unabashed fans of Scotch, our team has spent the past several years tasting dozens, if not hundreds of bottles, both professionally and on our own personal time. Keeping track of those we liked, those we didn't and those we really loved ...

The Best Scotch Whiskies You Can Drink in 2023

Ratings with an average of out of 5 stars. Use this Drizly coupon to apply a $10 discount on your purchase of $50 or more. Shop and save on alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks and snacks. Take advantage of this Drizly coupon code to save $5 on your drinks.

Drizly Promo Codes

Red wine traditionally experiences share gains in fall and winter, and this year’s seasonal shift is putting a new category, Italian wines, in the spotlight, Drizly said. In 2023 to date, Italian wine accounts for 7.4% of the red wine category compared with 6.7% the same time last year.

Rising in Fall: Lagers, Italian Red Wines, Reposado Tequilas

BevAlc Insights analysed the best-selling whisky products on US e-commerce platform Drizly over the last year, and found that after gaining 2.5% over the time period, Bourbon now commands a 40% sh ...

Bourbon dominates Drizly’s top-selling whiskies list

Drizly

drizly

DAOs are taking over the world, one meal at a time , a decentralized autonomous organization, is putting its open community to the exam by running a real-world fast food business and raising $9.69 million to run the fast-food franchise. FriesDAO is connecting real-world assets to DeFi and on-chain blockchain governance. FriesDAO Members who give to the DAO’s treasury will obtain tokens that will act as governance tokens for the DAO’s future growth and for voting on corporate procedures. It is intended that friesDAO would use established enterprises who have extensive experience in the fast-food industry to purchase and operate franchises of well-known fast-food chains. DAO governance can influence how operating revenues are spent, even though the contract organization holds them. As a result, the DAO may offer more blockchain usefulness, increase decentralized governance, and link into other DeFi protocols by establishing on-chain protocols that can access store operating data from sales to logistics. Drizly co-founder Brett Beller and Launch Code Capital partner and crypto veteran Bill “Swo” Lee are key individuals working to organize the ecosystem as advisors. Horizen Lab’s adviser Rowan Stone, who also works for a large cryptocurrency exchange, and DeFi developer vfat, famous author of vfat.tools, are among the other advisors who have embraced the DAO’s cause. FriesDAO has also enlisted the expertise of franchise veterans Olivier Meyer and Jean-Clauder Meyer, who co-founded and operate a 170+ quick-service chain of restaurants to advise and monitor shop operations. Bill Swo Lee said that: FriesDAO is essentially a decentralized research group to experiment as the first crypto community to run real retail businesses in a successful, scalable manner and set an example for future DAOs. Fast food outlets run by the DAOs adhere to the original concept of franchising. The fast-food business is an excellent candidate for DAOs governance since it has shown to be incredibly profitable, with a franchise success rate of over 90%. Because of their governance structure, DAOs are ideally positioned as a partner for large food chains looking to capitalize on the crypto space’s potential. The Rise and Rise of DAOs DAO (decentralized autonomous organization) is a structure used by many crypto projects. Typically DAOs require key actions such as treasury assets or changes to the project code to be proposed and approved by token holders. The structure of a DAO is inherently open and accountable, a forcing function to share value with the participants who create it. Otherwise, other DAOs will out-compete them, or their participants will leave for other opportunities. DAOs as open economies will power the X-to-earn trend, making work more flexible, fluid, and playful than the 9-5s we are accustomed to. The openness of these crypto economies will allow people to participate in several DAOs and crypto-networks, mixing and matching different income streams and ownership returns. People’s income will be a mix of things we already currently do in our lives (e.g., play games), things we think of as traditional work (e.g., bounties/contracts), and things that are currently accessible to only a small percentage of the population (e.g., investing, passive income). To think of it another way, DAOs will expand the type and quantity of opportunities open to various kinds of participants, including token holders, bounty hunters, and core contributors. Share the story and don’t forget to like the story!

Restaurant focussed DAO called FriesDAO is raising $9.69 Million to run a Fast Food Enterprise

DAO enfocado en restaurantes llamado FriesDAO está recaudando $ 9.69 millones para administrar una empresa de comida rápida

How to Create a Monorepo With Vite, Cloudflare, Remix, PNPM and Turborepo (No Build Step)

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A STUDIO TEA

Tales and Stories by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . THE FALSE RHYME here VI. THE FALSE RHYME. “Come, tell me where the maid is found Whose heart can love without deceit, And I will range the world around To sigh one moment at her feet.” —Moore. On a fine July day, the fair Margaret, Queen of Navarre, then on a visit to her royal brother, had arranged a rural feast for the morning following, which Francis declined attending. He was melancholy; and the cause was said to be some lover’s quarrel with a favourite dame. The morrow came, and dark rain and murky clouds destroyed at once the schemes of the courtly throng. Margaret was angry, and she grew weary: her only hope for amusement was in Francis, and he had shut himself up,—an excellent reason why she should the more desire to see him. She entered his apartment: he was standing at the casement, against which the noisy shower beat, writing with a diamond on the glass. Two beautiful dogs were his sole companions. As Queen Margaret entered, he hastily let down the silken curtain before the window, and looked a little confused. “What treason is this, my liege,” said the queen, “which crimsons your cheek? I must see the same.” “It is treason,” replied the king, “and therefore, sweet sister, thou mayest not see it.” This the more excited Margaret’s curiosity, and a playful contest ensued. Francis at last yielded: he threw himself on a huge high-backed settee; and as the lady drew back the curtain with an arch smile, he grew grave and sentimental, as he reflected on the cause which had inspired his libel against all womankind. “What have we here?” cried Margaret; “nay, this is lêse majesté— “‘Souvent femme varie, Bien fou qui s’y fie!’ Very little change would greatly amend your couplet:—would it not run better thus— “‘Souvent homme varie, Bien folle qui s’y fie?’ I could tell you twenty stories of man’s inconstancy.” “I will be content with one true tale of woman’s fidelity,” said Francis drily; “but do not provoke me. I would fain be at peace with the soft Mutabilities, for thy dear sake.” “I defy your grace,” replied Margaret rashly, “to instance the falsehood of one noble and well-reputed dame.” “Not even Emilie de Lagny?” asked the king. This was a sore subject for the queen. Emilie had been brought up in her own household, the most beautiful and the most virtuous of her maids of honour. She had long loved the Sire de Lagny, and their nuptials were celebrated with rejoicings but little ominous of the result. De Lagny was accused but a year after of traitorously yielding to the emperor a fortress under his command, and he was condemned to perpetual imprisonment. For some time Emilie seemed inconsolable, often visiting the miserable dungeon of her husband, and suffering on her return, from witnessing his wretchedness, such paroxysms of grief as threatened her life. Suddenly, in the midst of her sorrow, she disappeared; and inquiry only divulged the disgraceful fact, that she had escaped from France, bearing her jewels with her, and accompanied by her page, Robinet Leroux. It was whispered that, during their journey, the lady and the stripling often occupied one chamber; and Margaret, enraged at these discoveries, commanded that no further quest should be made for her lost favourite. Taunted now by her brother, she defended Emilie, declaring that she believed her to be guiltless, even going so far as to boast that within a month she would bring proof of her innocence. “Robinet was a pretty boy,” said Francis, laughing. “Let us make a bet,” cried Margaret: “if I lose, I will bear this vile rhyme of thine as a motto to my shame to my grave; if I win”— “I will break my window, and grant thee whatever boon thou askest.” The result of this bet was long sung by troubadour and minstrel. The queen employed a hundred emissaries,—published rewards for any intelligence of Emilie,—all in vain. The month was expiring, and Margaret would have given many bright jewels to redeem her word. On the eve of the fatal day, the jailor of the prison in which the Sire de Lagny was confined sought an audience of the queen; he brought her a message from the knight to say, that if the Lady Margaret would ask his pardon as her boon, and obtain from her royal brother that he might be brought before him, her bet was won. Fair Margaret was very joyful, and readily made the desired promise. Francis was unwilling to see his false servant, but he was in high good-humour, for a cavalier had that morning brought intelligence of a victory over the Imperialists. The messenger himself was lauded in the despatches as the most fearless and bravest knight in France. The king loaded him with presents, only regretting that a vow prevented the soldier from raising his visor or declaring his name. That same evening as the setting sun shone on the lattice on which the ungallant rhyme was traced, Francis reposed on the same settee, and the beautiful Queen of Navarre, with triumph in her bright eyes, sat beside him. Attended by guards, the prisoner was brought in: his frame was attenuated by privation, and he walked with tottering steps. He knelt at the feet of Francis, and uncovered his head; a quantity of rich golden hair then escaping, fell over the sunken cheeks and pallid brow of the suppliant. “We have treason here!” cried the king. “Sir jailor, where is your prisoner!” “Sire, blame him not,” said the soft faltering voice of Emilie; “wiser men than he have been deceived by woman. My dear lord was guiltless of the crime for which he suffered. There was but one mode to save him:—I assumed his chains—he escaped with poor Robinet Leroux in my attire—he joined your army: the young and gallant cavalier who delivered the despatches to your grace, whom you overwhelmed with honours and reward, is my own Enguerrard de Lagny. I waited but for his arrival with testimonials of his innocence, to declare myself to my lady, the queen. Has she not won her bet! And the boon she asks”— “Is de Lagny’s pardon,” said Margaret, as she also knelt to the king. “Spare your faithful vassal, sire, and reward this lady’s truth.” Francis first broke the false-speaking window, then he raised the ladies from their supplicatory posture. In the tournament given to celebrate this “Triumph of Ladies,” the Sire de Lagny bore off every prize; and surely there was more loveliness in Emilie’s faded cheek—more grace in her emaciated form, type as they were of truest affection—than in the prouder bearing and fresher complexion of the most brilliant beauty in attendance on the courtly festival. 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. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (2018). Tales and Stories. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/56665/pg56665-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 FALSE RHYME

PREPARING FOR THE WEDDING.

A Catapult from the Fifth Dimension 

“IT ISN’T STRYCHNINE, IS IT?”

The End of a Quarrel

Anne's House of Dreams by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE LAND OF DREAMS AMONG CHAPTER III. THE LAND OF DREAMS AMONG "Have you made up your mind who you're going to have to the wedding, Anne?" asked Mrs. Rachel Lynde, as she hemstitched table napkins industriously. "It's time your invitations were sent, even if they are to be only informal ones." "I don't mean to have very many," said Anne. "We just want those we love best to see us married. Gilbert's people, and Mr. and Mrs. Allan, and Mr. and Mrs. Harrison." "There was a time when you'd hardly have numbered Mr. Harrison among your dearest friends," said Marilla drily. "Well, I wasn't VERY strongly attracted to him at our first meeting," acknowledged Anne, with a laugh over the recollection. "But Mr. Harrison has improved on acquaintance, and Mrs. Harrison is really a dear. Then, of course, there are Miss Lavendar and Paul." "Have they decided to come to the Island this summer? I thought they were going to Europe." "They changed their minds when I wrote them I was going to be married. I had a letter from Paul today. He says he MUST come to my wedding, no matter what happens to Europe." "That child always idolised you," remarked Mrs. Rachel. "That 'child' is a young man of nineteen now, Mrs. Lynde." "How time does fly!" was Mrs. Lynde's brilliant and original response. "Charlotta the Fourth may come with them. She sent word by Paul that she would come if her husband would let her. I wonder if she still wears those enormous blue bows, and whether her husband calls her Charlotta or Leonora. I should love to have Charlotta at my wedding. Charlotta and I were at a wedding long syne. They expect to be at Echo Lodge next week. Then there are Phil and the Reverend Jo——" "It sounds awful to hear you speaking of a minister like that, Anne," said Mrs. Rachel severely. "His wife calls him that." "She should have more respect for his holy office, then," retorted Mrs. Rachel. "I've heard you criticise ministers pretty sharply yourself," teased Anne. "Yes, but I do it reverently," protested Mrs. Lynde. "You never heard me NICKNAME a minister." Anne smothered a smile. "Well, there are Diana and Fred and little Fred and Small Anne Cordelia—and Jane Andrews. I wish I could have Miss Stacey and Aunt Jamesina and Priscilla and Stella. But Stella is in Vancouver, and Pris is in Japan, and Miss Stacey is married in California, and Aunt Jamesina has gone to India to explore her daughter's mission field, in spite of her horror of snakes. It's really dreadful—the way people get scattered over the globe." "The Lord never intended it, that's what," said Mrs. Rachel authoritatively. "In my young days people grew up and married and settled down where they were born, or pretty near it. Thank goodness you've stuck to the Island, Anne. I was afraid Gilbert would insist on rushing off to the ends of the earth when he got through college, and dragging you with him." "If everybody stayed where he was born places would soon be filled up, Mrs. Lynde." "Oh, I'm not going to argue with you, Anne. I am not a B.A. What time of the day is the ceremony to be?" "We have decided on noon—high noon, as the society reporters say. That will give us time to catch the evening train to Glen St. Mary." "And you'll be married in the parlor?" "No—not unless it rains. We mean to be married in the orchard—with the blue sky over us and the sunshine around us. Do you know when and where I'd like to be married, if I could? It would be at dawn—a June dawn, with a glorious sunrise, and roses blooming in the gardens; and I would slip down and meet Gilbert and we would go together to the heart of the beech woods,—and there, under the green arches that would be like a splendid cathedral, we would be married." Marilla sniffed scornfully and Mrs. Lynde looked shocked. "But that would be terrible queer, Anne. Why, it wouldn't really seem legal. And what would Mrs. Harmon Andrews say?" "Ah, there's the rub," sighed Anne. "There are so many things in life we cannot do because of the fear of what Mrs. Harmon Andrews would say. ''Tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis, 'tis true.' What delightful things we might do were it not for Mrs. Harmon Andrews!" "By times, Anne, I don't feel quite sure that I understand you altogether," complained Mrs. Lynde. "Anne was always romantic, you know," said Marilla apologetically. "Well, married life will most likely cure her of that," Mrs. Rachel responded comfortingly. Anne laughed and slipped away to Lover's Lane, where Gilbert found her; and neither of them seemed to entertain much fear, or hope, that their married life would cure them of romance. The Echo Lodge people came over the next week, and Green Gables buzzed with the delight of them. Miss Lavendar had changed so little that the three years since her last Island visit might have been a watch in the night; but Anne gasped with amazement over Paul. Could this splendid six feet of manhood be the little Paul of Avonlea schooldays? "You really make me feel old, Paul," said Anne. "Why, I have to look up to you!" "You'll never grow old, Teacher," said Paul. "You are one of the fortunate mortals who have found and drunk from the Fountain of Youth,—you and Mother Lavendar. See here! When you're married I WON'T call you Mrs. Blythe. To me you'll always be 'Teacher'—the teacher of the best lessons I ever learned. I want to show you something." The "something" was a pocketbook full of poems. Paul had put some of his beautiful fancies into verse, and magazine editors had not been as unappreciative as they are sometimes supposed to be. Anne read Paul's poems with real delight. They were full of charm and promise. "You'll be famous yet, Paul. I always dreamed of having one famous pupil. He was to be a college president—but a great poet would be even better. Some day I'll be able to boast that I whipped the distinguished Paul Irving. But then I never did whip you, did I, Paul? What an opportunity lost! I think I kept you in at recess, however." "You may be famous yourself, Teacher. I've seen a good deal of your work these last three years." "No. I know what I can do. I can write pretty, fanciful little sketches that children love and editors send welcome cheques for. But I can do nothing big. My only chance for earthly immortality is a corner in your Memoirs." Charlotta the Fourth had discarded the blue bows but her freckles were not noticeably less. "I never did think I'd come down to marrying a Yankee, Miss Shirley, ma'am," she said. "But you never know what's before you, and it isn't his fault. He was born that way." "You're a Yankee yourself, Charlotta, since you've married one." "Miss Shirley, ma'am, I'm NOT! And I wouldn't be if I was to marry a dozen Yankees! Tom's kind of nice. And besides, I thought I'd better not be too hard to please, for I mightn't get another chance. Tom don't drink and he don't growl because he has to work between meals, and when all's said and done I'm satisfied, Miss Shirley, ma'am." "Does he call you Leonora?" asked Anne. "Goodness, no, Miss Shirley, ma'am. I wouldn't know who he meant if he did. Of course, when we got married he had to say, 'I take thee, Leonora,' and I declare to you, Miss Shirley, ma'am, I've had the most dreadful feeling ever since that it wasn't me he was talking to and I haven't been rightly married at all. And so you're going to be married yourself, Miss Shirley, ma'am? I always thought I'd like to marry a doctor. It would be so handy when the children had measles and croup. Tom is only a bricklayer, but he's real good-tempered. When I said to him, says I, 'Tom, can I go to Miss Shirley's wedding? I mean to go anyhow, but I'd like to have your consent,' he just says, 'Suit yourself, Charlotta, and you'll suit me.' That's a real pleasant kind of husband to have, Miss Shirley, ma'am." Philippa and her Reverend Jo arrived at Green Gables the day before the wedding. Anne and Phil had a rapturous meeting which presently simmered down to a cosy, confidential chat over all that had been and was about to be. "Queen Anne, you're as queenly as ever. I've got fearfully thin since the babies came. I'm not half so good-looking; but I think Jo likes it. There's not such a contrast between us, you see. And oh, it's perfectly magnificent that you're going to marry Gilbert. Roy Gardner wouldn't have done at all, at all. I can see that now, though I was horribly disappointed at the time. You know, Anne, you did treat Roy very badly." "He has recovered, I understand," smiled Anne. "Oh, yes. He is married and his wife is a sweet little thing and they're perfectly happy. Everything works together for good. Jo and the Bible say that, and they are pretty good authorities." "Are Alec and Alonzo married yet?" "Alec is, but Alonzo isn't. How those dear old days at Patty's Place come back when I'm talking to you, Anne! What fun we had!" "Have you been to Patty's Place lately?" "Oh, yes, I go often. Miss Patty and Miss Maria still sit by the fireplace and knit. And that reminds me—we've brought you a wedding gift from them, Anne. Guess what it is." "I never could. How did they know I was going to be married?" "Oh, I told them. I was there last week. And they were so interested. Two days ago Miss Patty wrote me a note asking me to call; and then she asked if I would take her gift to you. What would you wish most from Patty's Place, Anne?" "You can't mean that Miss Patty has sent me her china dogs?" "Go up head. They're in my trunk this very moment. And I've a letter for you. Wait a moment and I'll get it." "Dear Miss Shirley," Miss Patty had written, "Maria and I were very much interested in hearing of your approaching nuptials. We send you our best wishes. Maria and I have never married, but we have no objection to other people doing so. We are sending you the china dogs. I intended to leave them to you in my will, because you seemed to have sincere affection for them. But Maria and I expect to live a good while yet (D.V.), so I have decided to give you the dogs while you are young. You will not have forgotten that Gog looks to the right and Magog to the left." "Just fancy those lovely old dogs sitting by the fireplace in my house of dreams," said Anne rapturously. "I never expected anything so delightful." That evening Green Gables hummed with preparations for the following day; but in the twilight Anne slipped away. She had a little pilgrimage to make on this last day of her girlhood and she must make it alone. She went to Matthew's grave, in the little poplar-shaded Avonlea graveyard, and there kept a silent tryst with old memories and immortal loves. "How glad Matthew would be tomorrow if he were here," she whispered. "But I believe he does know and is glad of it—somewhere else. I've read somewhere that 'our dead are never dead until we have forgotten them.' Matthew will never be dead to me, for I can never forget him." She left on his grave the flowers she had brought and walked slowly down the long hill. It was a gracious evening, full of delectable lights and shadows. In the west was a sky of mackerel clouds—crimson and amber-tinted, with long strips of apple-green sky between. Beyond was the glimmering radiance of a sunset sea, and the ceaseless voice of many waters came up from the tawny shore. All around her, lying in the fine, beautiful country silence, were the hills and fields and woods she had known and loved so long. "History repeats itself," said Gilbert, joining her as she passed the Blythe gate. "Do you remember our first walk down this hill, Anne—our first walk together anywhere, for that matter?" "I was coming home in the twilight from Matthew's grave—and you came out of the gate; and I swallowed the pride of years and spoke to you." "And all heaven opened before me," supplemented Gilbert. "From that moment I looked forward to tomorrow. When I left you at your gate that night and walked home I was the happiest boy in the world. Anne had forgiven me." "I think you had the most to forgive. I was an ungrateful little wretch—and after you had really saved my life that day on the pond, too. How I loathed that load of obligation at first! I don't deserve the happiness that has come to me." Gilbert laughed and clasped tighter the girlish hand that wore his ring. Anne's engagement ring was a circlet of pearls. She had refused to wear a diamond. "I've never really liked diamonds since I found out they weren't the lovely purple I had dreamed. They will always suggest my old disappointment." "But pearls are for tears, the old legend says," Gilbert had objected. "I'm not afraid of that. And tears can be happy as well as sad. My very happiest moments have been when I had tears in my eyes—when Marilla told me I might stay at Green Gables—when Matthew gave me the first pretty dress I ever had—when I heard that you were going to recover from the fever. So give me pearls for our troth ring, Gilbert, and I'll willingly accept the sorrow of life with its joy." But tonight our lovers thought only of joy and never of sorrow. For the morrow was their wedding day, and their house of dreams awaited them on the misty, purple shore of Four Winds Harbor. 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. L. M. Montgomery (1996). Anne's House of Dreams. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/544/pg544-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html. The lead image was generated using HackerNoon's Stable Disffusion Al Image Generator feature, via the prompt "ANNE'S HOUSE OF DREAMS".

THE LAND OF DREAMS AMONG

Anne of the Island by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . “Averil’s Atonement” Chapter XII - “Averil’s Atonement” “What are you dreaming of, Anne?” The two girls were loitering one evening in a fairy hollow of the brook. Ferns nodded in it, and little grasses were green, and wild pears hung finely-scented, white curtains around it. Anne roused herself from her reverie with a happy sigh. “I was thinking out my story, Diana.” “Oh, have you really begun it?” cried Diana, all alight with eager interest in a moment. “Yes, I have only a few pages written, but I have it all pretty well thought out. I’ve had such a time to get a suitable plot. None of the plots that suggested themselves suited a girl named Averil.” “Couldn’t you have changed her name?” “No, the thing was impossible. I tried to, but I couldn’t do it, any more than I could change yours. Averil was so real to me that no matter what other name I tried to give her I just thought of her as Averil behind it all. But finally I got a plot that matched her. Then came the excitement of choosing names for all my characters. You have no idea how fascinating that is. I’ve lain awake for hours thinking over those names. The hero’s name is Perceval Dalrymple.” “Have you named all the characters?” asked Diana wistfully. “If you hadn’t I was going to ask you to let me name one—just some unimportant person. I’d feel as if I had a share in the story then.” “You may name the little hired boy who lived with the Lesters,” conceded Anne. “He is not very important, but he is the only one left unnamed.” “Call him Raymond Fitzosborne,” suggested Diana, who had a store of such names laid away in her memory, relics of the old “Story Club,” which she and Anne and Jane Andrews and Ruby Gillis had had in their schooldays. Anne shook her head doubtfully. “I’m afraid that is too aristocratic a name for a chore boy, Diana. I couldn’t imagine a Fitzosborne feeding pigs and picking up chips, could you?” Diana didn’t see why, if you had an imagination at all, you couldn’t stretch it to that extent; but probably Anne knew best, and the chore boy was finally christened Robert Ray, to be called Bobby should occasion require. “How much do you suppose you’ll get for it?” asked Diana. But Anne had not thought about this at all. She was in pursuit of fame, not filthy lucre, and her literary dreams were as yet untainted by mercenary considerations. “You’ll let me read it, won’t you?” pleaded Diana. “When it is finished I’ll read it to you and Mr. Harrison, and I shall want you to criticize it severely. No one else shall see it until it is published.” “How are you going to end it—happily or unhappily?” “I’m not sure. I’d like it to end unhappily, because that would be so much more romantic. But I understand editors have a prejudice against sad endings. I heard Professor Hamilton say once that nobody but a genius should try to write an unhappy ending. And,” concluded Anne modestly, “I’m anything but a genius.” “Oh I like happy endings best. You’d better let him marry her,” said Diana, who, especially since her engagement to Fred, thought this was how every story should end. “But you like to cry over stories?” “Oh, yes, in the middle of them. But I like everything to come right at last.” “I must have one pathetic scene in it,” said Anne thoughtfully. “I might let Robert Ray be injured in an accident and have a death scene.” “No, you mustn’t kill Bobby off,” declared Diana, laughing. “He belongs to me and I want him to live and flourish. Kill somebody else if you have to.” For the next fortnight Anne writhed or reveled, according to mood, in her literary pursuits. Now she would be jubilant over a brilliant idea, now despairing because some contrary character would not behave properly. Diana could not understand this. “Make them do as you want them to,” she said. “I can’t,” mourned Anne. “Averil is such an unmanageable heroine. She will do and say things I never meant her to. Then that spoils everything that went before and I have to write it all over again.” Finally, however, the story was finished, and Anne read it to Diana in the seclusion of the porch gable. She had achieved her “pathetic scene” without sacrificing Robert Ray, and she kept a watchful eye on Diana as she read it. Diana rose to the occasion and cried properly; but, when the end came, she looked a little disappointed. “Why did you kill Maurice Lennox?” she asked reproachfully. “He was the villain,” protested Anne. “He had to be punished.” “I like him best of them all,” said unreasonable Diana. “Well, he’s dead, and he’ll have to stay dead,” said Anne, rather resentfully. “If I had let him live he’d have gone on persecuting Averil and Perceval.” “Yes—unless you had reformed him.” “That wouldn’t have been romantic, and, besides, it would have made the story too long.” “Well, anyway, it’s a perfectly elegant story, Anne, and will make you famous, of that I’m sure. Have you got a title for it?” “Oh, I decided on the title long ago. I call it Averil’s atonement. Doesn’t that sound nice and alliterative? Now, Diana, tell me candidly, do you see any faults in my story?” “Well,” hesitated Diana, “that part where Averil makes the cake doesn’t seem to me quite romantic enough to match the rest. It’s just what anybody might do. Heroines shouldn’t do cooking, I think.” “Why, that is where the humor comes in, and it’s one of the best parts of the whole story,” said Anne. And it may be stated that in this she was quite right. Diana prudently refrained from any further criticism, but Mr. Harrison was much harder to please. First he told her there was entirely too much description in the story. “Cut out all those flowery passages,” he said unfeelingly. Anne had an uncomfortable conviction that Mr. Harrison was right, and she forced herself to expunge most of her beloved descriptions, though it took three re-writings before the story could be pruned down to please the fastidious Mr. Harrison. “I’ve left out all the descriptions but the sunset,” she said at last. “I simply couldn’t let it go. It was the best of them all.” “It hasn’t anything to do with the story,” said Mr. Harrison, “and you shouldn’t have laid the scene among rich city people. What do you know of them? Why didn’t you lay it right here in Avonlea—changing the name, of course, or else Mrs. Rachel Lynde would probably think she was the heroine.” “Oh, that would never have done,” protested Anne. “Avonlea is the dearest place in the world, but it isn’t quite romantic enough for the scene of a story.” “I daresay there’s been many a romance in Avonlea—and many a tragedy, too,” said Mr. Harrison drily. “But your folks ain’t like real folks anywhere. They talk too much and use too high-flown language. There’s one place where that Dalrymple chap talks even on for two pages, and never lets the girl get a word in edgewise. If he’d done that in real life she’d have pitched him.” “I don’t believe it,” said Anne flatly. In her secret soul she thought that the beautiful, poetical things said to Averil would win any girl’s heart completely. Besides, it was gruesome to hear of Averil, the stately, queen-like Averil, “pitching” any one. Averil “declined her suitors.” “Anyhow,” resumed the merciless Mr. Harrison, “I don’t see why Maurice Lennox didn’t get her. He was twice the man the other is. He did bad things, but he did them. Perceval hadn’t time for anything but mooning.” “Mooning.” That was even worse than “pitching!” “Maurice Lennox was the villain,” said Anne indignantly. “I don’t see why every one likes him better than Perceval.” “Perceval is too good. He’s aggravating. Next time you write about a hero put a little spice of human nature in him.” “Averil couldn’t have married Maurice. He was bad.” “She’d have reformed him. You can reform a man; you can’t reform a jelly-fish, of course. Your story isn’t bad—it’s kind of interesting, I’ll admit. But you’re too young to write a story that would be worth while. Wait ten years.” Anne made up her mind that the next time she wrote a story she wouldn’t ask anybody to criticize it. It was too discouraging. She would not read the story to Gilbert, although she told him about it. “If it is a success you’ll see it when it is published, Gilbert, but if it is a failure nobody shall ever see it.” Marilla knew nothing about the venture. In imagination Anne saw herself reading a story out of a magazine to Marilla, entrapping her into praise of it—for in imagination all things are possible—and then triumphantly announcing herself the author. One day Anne took to the Post Office a long, bulky envelope, addressed, with the delightful confidence of youth and inexperience, to the very biggest of the “big” magazines. Diana was as excited over it as Anne herself. “How long do you suppose it will be before you hear from it?” she asked. “It shouldn’t be longer than a fortnight. Oh, how happy and proud I shall be if it is accepted!” “Of course it will be accepted, and they will likely ask you to send them more. You may be as famous as Mrs. Morgan some day, Anne, and then how proud I’ll be of knowing you,” said Diana, who possessed, at least, the striking merit of an unselfish admiration of the gifts and graces of her friends. A week of delightful dreaming followed, and then came a bitter awakening. One evening Diana found Anne in the porch gable, with suspicious-looking eyes. On the table lay a long envelope and a crumpled manuscript. “Anne, your story hasn’t come back?” cried Diana incredulously. “Yes, it has,” said Anne shortly. “Well, that editor must be crazy. What reason did he give?” “No reason at all. There is just a printed slip saying that it wasn’t found acceptable.” “I never thought much of that magazine, anyway,” said Diana hotly. “The stories in it are not half as interesting as those in the Canadian Woman, although it costs so much more. I suppose the editor is prejudiced against any one who isn’t a Yankee. Don’t be discouraged, Anne. Remember how Mrs. Morgan’s stories came back. Send yours to the Canadian Woman.” “I believe I will,” said Anne, plucking up heart. “And if it is published I’ll send that American editor a marked copy. But I’ll cut the sunset out. I believe Mr. Harrison was right.” Out came the sunset; but in spite of this heroic mutilation the editor of the Canadian Woman sent Averil’s Atonement back so promptly that the indignant Diana declared that it couldn’t have been read at all, and vowed she was going to stop her subscription immediately. Anne took this second rejection with the calmness of despair. She locked the story away in the garret trunk where the old Story Club tales reposed; but first she yielded to Diana’s entreaties and gave her a copy. “This is the end of my literary ambitions,” she said bitterly. She never mentioned the matter to Mr. Harrison, but one evening he asked her bluntly if her story had been accepted. “No, the editor wouldn’t take it,” she answered briefly. Mr. Harrison looked sidewise at the flushed, delicate profile. “Well, I suppose you’ll keep on writing them,” he said encouragingly. “No, I shall never try to write a story again,” declared Anne, with the hopeless finality of nineteen when a door is shut in its face. “I wouldn’t give up altogether,” said Mr. Harrison reflectively. “I’d write a story once in a while, but I wouldn’t pester editors with it. I’d write of people and places like I knew, and I’d make my characters talk everyday English; and I’d let the sun rise and set in the usual quiet way without much fuss over the fact. If I had to have villains at all, I’d give them a chance, Anne—I’d give them a chance. There are some terrible bad men in the world, I suppose, but you’d have to go a long piece to find them—though Mrs. Lynde believes we’re all bad. But most of us have got a little decency somewhere in us. Keep on writing, Anne.” “No. It was very foolish of me to attempt it. When I’m through Redmond I’ll stick to teaching. I can teach. I can’t write stories.” “It’ll be time for you to be getting a husband when you’re through Redmond,” said Mr. Harrison. “I don’t believe in putting marrying off too long—like I did.” Anne got up and marched home. There were times when Mr. Harrison was really intolerable. “Pitching,” “mooning,” and “getting a husband.” Ow!! 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. L. M. Montgomery (2006). Anne of the Island. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/51/pg51-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html. The lead image was generated using HackerNoon's Stable Disffusion Al Image Generator feature, via the prompt "Anne of the Island".

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