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Of The First and Last Things: Part 3

Food and Flavor: A Gastronomic Guide to Health and Good Living: Chapter V - A NOBLE ART

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) is part of HackerNoon’s Book Blog Post series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . here CHAPTER XXXII. When I got there it was all still and Sunday-like, and hot and sunshiny; the hands was gone to the fields; and there was them kind of faint dronings of bugs and flies in the air that makes it seem so lonesome and like everybody’s dead and gone; and if a breeze fans along and quivers the leaves it makes you feel mournful, because you feel like it’s spirits whispering—spirits that’s been dead ever so many years—and you always think they’re talking about you. As a general thing it makes a body wish he was dead, too, and done with it all. Phelps’ was one of these little one-horse cotton plantations, and they all look alike. A rail fence round a two-acre yard; a stile made out of logs sawed off and up-ended in steps, like barrels of a different length, to climb over the fence with, and for the women to stand on when they are going to jump on to a horse; some sickly grass-patches in the big yard, but mostly it was bare and smooth, like an old hat with the nap rubbed off; big double log-house for the white folks—hewed logs, with the chinks stopped up with mud or mortar, and these mud-stripes been whitewashed some time or another; round-log kitchen, with a big broad, open but roofed passage joining it to the house; log smoke-house back of the kitchen; three little log nigger-cabins in a row t’other side the smoke-house; one little hut all by itself away down against the back fence, and some outbuildings down a piece the other side; ash-hopper and big kettle to bile soap in by the little hut; bench by the kitchen door, with bucket of water and a gourd; hound asleep there in the sun; more hounds asleep round about; about three shade trees away off in a corner; some currant bushes and gooseberry bushes in one place by the fence; outside of the fence a garden and a watermelon patch; then the cotton fields begins, and after the fields the woods. I went around and clumb over the back stile by the ash-hopper, and started for the kitchen. When I got a little ways I heard the dim hum of a spinning-wheel wailing along up and sinking along down again; and then I knowed for certain I wished I was dead—for that is the lonesomest sound in the whole world. I went right along, not fixing up any particular plan, but just trusting to Providence to put the right words in my mouth when the time come; for I’d noticed that Providence always did put the right words in my mouth if I left it alone. When I got half-way, first one hound and then another got up and went for me, and of course I stopped and faced them, and kept still. And such another powwow as they made! In a quarter of a minute I was a kind of a hub of a wheel, as you may say—spokes made out of dogs—circle of fifteen of them packed together around me, with their necks and noses stretched up towards me, a-barking and howling; and more a-coming; you could see them sailing over fences and around corners from everywheres. A nigger woman come tearing out of the kitchen with a rolling-pin in her hand, singing out, “Begone you Tige! you Spot! begone sah!” and she fetched first one and then another of them a clip and sent them howling, and then the rest followed; and the next second half of them come back, wagging their tails around me, and making friends with me. There ain’t no harm in a hound, nohow. And behind the woman comes a little nigger girl and two little nigger boys without anything on but tow-linen shirts, and they hung on to their mother’s gown, and peeped out from behind her at me, bashful, the way they always do. And here comes the white woman running from the house, about forty-five or fifty year old, bareheaded, and her spinning-stick in her hand; and behind her comes her little white children, acting the same way the little niggers was doing. She was smiling all over so she could hardly stand—and says: “It’s you, at last!—ain’t it?” I out with a “Yes’m” before I thought. She grabbed me and hugged me tight; and then gripped me by both hands and shook and shook; and the tears come in her eyes, and run down over; and she couldn’t seem to hug and shake enough, and kept saying, “You don’t look as much like your mother as I reckoned you would; but law sakes, I don’t care for that, I’m so glad to see you! Dear, dear, it does seem like I could eat you up! Children, it’s your cousin Tom!—tell him howdy.” But they ducked their heads, and put their fingers in their mouths, and hid behind her. So she run on: “Lize, hurry up and get him a hot breakfast right away—or did you get your breakfast on the boat?” I said I had got it on the boat. So then she started for the house, leading me by the hand, and the children tagging after. When we got there she set me down in a split-bottomed chair, and set herself down on a little low stool in front of me, holding both of my hands, and says: “Now I can have a good look at you; and, laws-a-me, I’ve been hungry for it a many and a many a time, all these long years, and it’s come at last! We been expecting you a couple of days and more. What kep’ you?—boat get aground?” “Yes’m—she—” “Don’t say yes’m—say Aunt Sally. Where’d she get aground?” I didn’t rightly know what to say, because I didn’t know whether the boat would be coming up the river or down. But I go a good deal on instinct; and my instinct said she would be coming up—from down towards Orleans. That didn’t help me much, though; for I didn’t know the names of bars down that way. I see I’d got to invent a bar, or forget the name of the one we got aground on—or—Now I struck an idea, and fetched it out: “It warn’t the grounding—that didn’t keep us back but a little. We blowed out a cylinder-head.” “Good gracious! anybody hurt?” “No’m. Killed a nigger.” “Well, it’s lucky; because sometimes people do get hurt. Two years ago last Christmas your uncle Silas was coming up from Newrleans on the old Lally Rook, and she blowed out a cylinder-head and crippled a man. And I think he died afterwards. He was a Baptist. Your uncle Silas knowed a family in Baton Rouge that knowed his people very well. Yes, I remember now, he did die. Mortification set in, and they had to amputate him. But it didn’t save him. Yes, it was mortification—that was it. He turned blue all over, and died in the hope of a glorious resurrection. They say he was a sight to look at. Your uncle’s been up to the town every day to fetch you. And he’s gone again, not more’n an hour ago; he’ll be back any minute now. You must a met him on the road, didn’t you?—oldish man, with a—” “No, I didn’t see nobody, Aunt Sally. The boat landed just at daylight, and I left my baggage on the wharf-boat and went looking around the town and out a piece in the country, to put in the time and not get here too soon; and so I come down the back way.” “Who’d you give the baggage to?” “Nobody.” “Why, child, it ’ll be stole!” “Not where I hid it I reckon it won’t,” I says. “How’d you get your breakfast so early on the boat?” It was kinder thin ice, but I says: “The captain see me standing around, and told me I better have something to eat before I went ashore; so he took me in the texas to the officers’ lunch, and give me all I wanted.” I was getting so uneasy I couldn’t listen good. I had my mind on the children all the time; I wanted to get them out to one side and pump them a little, and find out who I was. But I couldn’t get no show, Mrs. Phelps kept it up and run on so. Pretty soon she made the cold chills streak all down my back, because she says: “But here we’re a-running on this way, and you hain’t told me a word about Sis, nor any of them. Now I’ll rest my works a little, and you start up yourn; just tell me everything—tell me all about ’m all every one of ’m; and how they are, and what they’re doing, and what they told you to tell me; and every last thing you can think of.” Well, I see I was up a stump—and up it good. Providence had stood by me this fur all right, but I was hard and tight aground now. I see it warn’t a bit of use to try to go ahead—I’d got to throw up my hand. So I says to myself, here’s another place where I got to resk the truth. I opened my mouth to begin; but she grabbed me and hustled me in behind the bed, and says: “Here he comes! Stick your head down lower—there, that’ll do; you can’t be seen now. Don’t you let on you’re here. I’ll play a joke on him. Children, don’t you say a word.” I see I was in a fix now. But it warn’t no use to worry; there warn’t nothing to do but just hold still, and try and be ready to stand from under when the lightning struck. I had just one little glimpse of the old gentleman when he come in; then the bed hid him. Mrs. Phelps she jumps for him, and says: “Has he come?” “No,” says her husband. “Good-ness gracious!” she says, “what in the warld can have become of him?” “I can’t imagine,” says the old gentleman; “and I must say it makes me dreadful uneasy.” “Uneasy!” she says; “I’m ready to go distracted! He must a come; and you’ve missed him along the road. I know it’s so—something tells me so.” “Why, Sally, I couldn’t miss him along the road—you know that.” “But oh, dear, dear, what will Sis say! He must a come! You must a missed him. He—” “Oh, don’t distress me any more’n I’m already distressed. I don’t know what in the world to make of it. I’m at my wit’s end, and I don’t mind acknowledging ’t I’m right down scared. But there’s no hope that he’s come; for he couldn’t come and me miss him. Sally, it’s terrible—just terrible—something’s happened to the boat, sure!” “Why, Silas! Look yonder!—up the road!—ain’t that somebody coming?” He sprung to the window at the head of the bed, and that give Mrs. Phelps the chance she wanted. She stooped down quick at the foot of the bed and give me a pull, and out I come; and when he turned back from the window there she stood, a-beaming and a-smiling like a house afire, and I standing pretty meek and sweaty alongside. The old gentleman stared, and says: “Why, who’s that?” “Who do you reckon ’t is?” “I hain’t no idea. Who is it?” “It’s Tom Sawyer!” By jings, I most slumped through the floor! But there warn’t no time to swap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on shaking; and all the time how the woman did dance around and laugh and cry; and then how they both did fire off questions about Sid, and Mary, and the rest of the tribe. But if they was joyful, it warn’t nothing to what I was; for it was like being born again, I was so glad to find out who I was. Well, they froze to me for two hours; and at last, when my chin was so tired it couldn’t hardly go any more, I had told them more about my family—I mean the Sawyer family—than ever happened to any six Sawyer families. And I explained all about how we blowed out a cylinder-head at the mouth of White River, and it took us three days to fix it. Which was all right, and worked first-rate; because they didn’t know but what it would take three days to fix it. If I’d a called it a bolthead it would a done just as well. Now I was feeling pretty comfortable all down one side, and pretty uncomfortable all up the other. Being Tom Sawyer was easy and comfortable, and it stayed easy and comfortable till by and by I hear a steamboat coughing along down the river. Then I says to myself, s’pose Tom Sawyer comes down on that boat? And s’pose he steps in here any minute, and sings out my name before I can throw him a wink to keep quiet? Well, I couldn’t have it that way; it wouldn’t do at all. I must go up the road and waylay him. So I told the folks I reckoned I would go up to the town and fetch down my baggage. The old gentleman was for going along with me, but I said no, I could drive the horse myself, and I druther he wouldn’t take no trouble about me. 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. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved April 2022 from Twain, Mark,1993. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/76/76-h/76-h.htm#c32 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 Photo by on Anoir Chafik Unsplash

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn: Chapter XXXII

Exposing dark patterns in digital publishing Try to leave a gallery or a museum and you’ll find the same pattern almost everywhere, ‘ . To take the action you want, you have to first take the action a company wants you to take. Exit through the gift shop’ Online, companies use their UI in the same way. Creating navigation tunnels that lead the user away from where they want to go. At one end of the spectrum, companies promote the behaviour they want users to take, at the other, they deliberately confuse and trick users into certain actions. This is done by adding unnecessary complications to the UI to keep users clicking, or deliberately obfuscating certain options, hoping to catch a few unsuspecting users into staying subscribed, clicking extra links, or accepting unnecessary charges. These subtle twists of the UI are known as ‘ ’, “a user interface that has been carefully crafted to trick users into doing things, such as buying insurance with their purchase or signing up for recurring bills.” The majority of users are familiar with spam websites using these tactics. The ‘X’ that is actually a disguised link, false downloads, or pop-ups that jump around the screen, generating a few seconds of impression time as you hunt for the close option. These options are extreme, easy to spot. But reputable sites, , also use subtle dark patterns to maximize revenue by keeping their readers on the page a little longer.  Dark patterns are used to give the appearance of engagement when in reality they are just trapped in a maze, searching for an exit. Dark Patterns publishers included Let's take a journey through the most common dark publishing patterns Airlines are seen as the Patient Zero of dark patterns, and rightly so, with optional extras pre-selected, disguised provisos and conditions hiding in every turn of the UI. But, digital publishers are not exempt from using dirty tactics. To inflate impression time, the dark path is to build a dizzying maze that puts walls and missteps between the user and the action they want to take. So, to give the appearance of a clear navigation route, one of the most common dark patterns is to break the consistency of normal design. Flipping UIs gets the user to do the opposite of what they intended, through force of habit. The blue button, usually used to signify agreement / positive intent is now used to cancel the action, confirm is greyed-out. The normal visual grammar of the page has been flipped. In the split-second decisions users take, it’s easy to click the wrong option and continue without ever noticing you've been deceived. With subscriptions and user accounts forming a key strategy of publisher revenue models, disguising the exit of these programs is a common dark pattern. The most frequently seen example is to minimize the button and text of the exit, buried behind pages that implore you stay, and highlighting the option that keeps your account open. Hidden exits Publishers should consider, ‘What will this achieve apart from keeping a small percentage of users subscribed?’. Hidden exits are a victory of data over sense. Publishers can show that the new UI has an impact on reducing unsubscribes at the last minute. What this data doesn’t show is the damage done to brand reputation or the users that notice that dark pattern and resent the implication that they can be fooled, never returning to the website. animation made by from Confirm sharing is Passive-aggressive copy that implies you must be educationally subnormal if you don’t do what the pop-up instructs you to. It’s usually used on newsletters or subscription sign-ups. Wiktor Buksza 10Clouds ConfirmShaming This is another example of how dark patterns can succeed in increasing short term metrics. Some readers might be more convinced to sign up, but like a bad joke, it gets old quickly. Passively implying your readers are stupid is never going to be a long-term strategy to build an engaged audience. Disguised ads Ads disguised as other kinds of content or navigation,  to get you to click on them. This can be one of the most infuriating dark patterns for readers as not only does it fool them, it directs them to a new page, often with uncertain security credentials. A contentious dark pattern that might raise some sympathy among publishers is creating false connectivity issues for readers with ad blockers enabled. Credit False connectivity issues If a publisher relies on ad revenue, they should be explicit. It’s often not the action that users resent, but duplicity from a company they hold to a higher standard. Dark patterns are often pyrrhic victories. Users that get finessed into an extra months subscription are then gone forever. Manipulation is not a sustainable business model. Dark patterns are the UI equivalent of attempting to deceive users with the sophistication of ‘heads I win, tails you lose’. While it might work a few times out of a hundred, the majority of users that are already wise to these tactics suddenly feel as if the house just tried to bottom deal. It casts an ugly film on your brand that will do more to damage your results than any result spikes. One of the most famous consequences of operating a dark pattern was Linkedin’s high profile lawsuit where they found liable for spamming email addresses under the guise of being from a LinkedIn user. The settlement decided that the dark patterns used by Linkedin to bamboozle users into agreeing to hand over messaging rights to their contact list constituted a violation. In addition to major dent to user trust and their brand reputation, Linkedin were forced to pay $13 million in fines and restitution. The goal of a good UI is to help users navigate their way through the site. Publishers will want to do whatever is possible to encourage users to continue reading pages on their site but the line blurs when the goal is to prevent users from taking the action they intend. Let readers take the action they want. Don’t dangle exit buttons or negative actions slightly out of reach. It will do nothing but sour the reader experience for the sake of some falsely inflated metrics. Break navigation down into simple, clear categories with consistent patterns of navigation. If a reader learns to expect action, keep this pattern throughout. For readers, the distinction between the publisher and the advertiser is non-existent. If are ads run dark patterns, you run dark patterns. Ensure ad quality by working with trusted advertising networks and preventing dark formats from displaying on your site. To measure the depth of your darkness, measure by returning users, time spent on pages, and content page views per session. By following the metrics of the average user, rather than those of a single page, you can see the effect that the experience has on the user. Dark patterns do nothing but inflate metrics in the short term before corroding user trust and confidence over time. Just as dark patterns will work to eventually turn users away, consistently good use experiences create returning users and brand advocates. Consequences of darkness So, what's the difference between an effective UI and an a dark pattern? Format UI buttons honestly and clearly Clarity and consistency Work with reputable advertising partners

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