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HE SPOKE

hespoke

SQUIRE HAMLEY'S SORROW.

MADAME GOESLER'S LEGACY.

Phineas attended Parliament with fair average punctuality

Phineas Redux by Anthony Trollope, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . PHINEAS AFTER THE TRIAL. here PHINEAS AFTER THE TRIAL. Ten days passed by, and Phineas Finn had not been out of his lodgings till after daylight, and then he only prowled about in the manner described in the last chapter. His sisters had returned to Ireland, and he saw no one, even in his own room, but two or three of his most intimate friends. Among those Mr. Low and Lord Chiltern were the most frequently with him, but Fitzgibbon, Barrington Erle, and Mr. Monk had also been admitted. People had called by the hundred, till Mrs. Bunce was becoming almost tired of her lodger's popularity; but they came only to inquire,—because it had been reported that Mr. Finn was not well after his imprisonment. The Duchess of Omnium had written to him various notes, asking when he would come to her, and what she could do for him. Would he dine, would he spend a quiet evening, would he go to Matching? Finally, would he become her guest and the Duke's next September for the partridge shooting? They would have a few friends with them, and Madame Goesler would be one of the number. Having had this by him for a week, he had not as yet answered the invitation. He had received two or three notes from Lady Laura, who had frankly explained to him that if he were really ill she would of course go to him, but that as matters stood she could not do so without displeasing her brother. He had answered each note by an assurance that his first visit should be made in Portman Square. To Madame Goesler he had written a letter of thanks,—a letter which had in truth cost him some pains. "I know," he said, "for how much I have to thank you, but I do not know in what words to do it. I ought to be with you telling you in person of my gratitude; but I must own to you that for the present what has occurred has so unmanned me that I am unfit for the interview. I should only weep in your presence like a school-girl, and you would despise me." It was a long letter, containing many references to the circumstances of the trial, and to his own condition of mind throughout its period. Her answer to him, which was very short, was as follows:— Park Lane, Sunday—. My dear Mr. Finn, I can well understand that for a while you should be too agitated by what has passed to see your friends. Remember, however, that you owe it to them as well as to yourself not to sink into seclusion. Send me a line when you think that you can come to me that I may be at home. My journey to Prague was nothing. You forget that I am constantly going to Vienna on business connected with my own property there. Prague lies but a few hours out of the route. Most sincerely yours, M. M. G. His friends who did see him urged him constantly to bestir himself, and Mr. Monk pressed him very much to come down to the House. "Walk in with me to-night, and take your seat as though nothing had happened," said Mr. Monk. "But so much has happened." "Nothing has happened to alter your outward position as a man. No doubt many will flock round you to congratulate you, and your first half-hour will be disagreeable; but then the thing will have been done. You owe it to your constituents to do so." Then Phineas for the first time expressed an opinion that he would resign his seat,—that he would take the Chiltern Hundreds, and retire altogether from public life. "Pray do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Monk. "I do not think you quite understand," said Phineas, "how such an ordeal as this works upon a man, how it may change a man, and knock out of him what little strength there ever was there. I feel that I am broken, past any patching up or mending. Of course it ought not to be so. A man should be made of better stuff;—but one is only what one is." "We'll put off the discussion for another week," said Mr. Monk. "There came a letter to me when I was in prison from one of the leading men in Tankerville, saying that I ought to resign. I know they all thought that I was guilty. I do not care to sit for a place where I was so judged,—even if I was fit any longer for a seat in Parliament." He had never felt convinced that Mr. Monk had himself believed with confidence his innocence, and he spoke with soreness, and almost with anger. "A letter from one individual should never be allowed to create interference between a member and his constituents. It should simply be answered to that effect, and then ignored. As to the belief of the townspeople in your innocence,—what is to guide you? I believed you innocent with all my heart." "Did you?" "But there was always sufficient possibility of your guilt to prevent a rational man from committing himself to the expression of an absolute conviction." The young member's brow became black as he heard this. "I can see that I offend you by saying so,—but if you will think of it, I must be right. You were on your trial; and I as your friend was bound to await the result,—with much confidence, because I knew you; but with no conviction, because both you and I are human and fallible. If the electors at Tankerville, or any great proportion of them, express a belief that you are unfit to represent them because of what has occurred, I shall be the last to recommend you to keep your seat;—but I shall be surprised indeed if they should do so. If there were a general election to-morrow, I should regard your seat as one of the safest in England." Both Mr. Low and Lord Chiltern were equally urgent with him to return to his usual mode of life,—using different arguments for their purpose. Lord Chiltern told him plainly that he was weak and womanly,—or rather that he would be were he to continue to dread the faces of his fellow-creatures. The Master of the Brake hounds himself was a man less gifted than Phineas Finn, and therefore hardly capable of understanding the exaggerated feelings of the man who had recently been tried for his life. Lord Chiltern was affectionate, tender-hearted, and true;—but there were no vacillating fibres in his composition. The balance which regulated his conduct was firmly set, and went well. The clock never stopped, and wanted but little looking after. But the works were somewhat rough, and the seconds were not scored. He had, however, been quite true to Phineas during the dark time, and might now say what he pleased. "I am womanly," said Phineas. "I begin to feel it. But I can't alter my nature." "I never was so much surprised in my life," said Lord Chiltern. "When I used to look at you in the dock, by heaven I envied you your pluck and strength." "I was burning up the stock of coals, Chiltern." "You'll come all right after a few weeks. You've been knocked out of time;—that's the truth of it." Mr. Low treated his patient with more indulgence; but he also was surprised, and hardly understood the nature of the derangement of the mechanism in the instrument which he was desirous of repairing. "I should go abroad for a few months if I were you," said Mr. Low. "I should stick at the first inn I got to," said Phineas. "I think I am better here. By and bye I shall travel, I dare say,—all over the world, as far as my money will last. But for the present I am only fit to sit still." Mrs. Low had seen him more than once, and had been very kind to him; but she also failed to understand. "I always thought that he was such a manly fellow," she said to her husband. "If you mean personal courage, there is no doubt that he possesses it,—as completely now, probably, as ever." "Oh yes;—he could go over to Flanders and let that lord shoot at him; and he could ride brutes of horses, and not care about breaking his neck. That's not what I mean. I thought that he could face the world with dignity;—but now it seems that he breaks down." "He has been very roughly used, my dear." "So he has,—and tenderly used too. Nobody has had better friends. I thought he would have been more manly." The property of manliness in a man is a great possession, but perhaps there is none that is less understood,—which is more generally accorded where it does not exist, or more frequently disallowed where it prevails. There are not many who ever make up their minds as to what constitutes manliness, or even inquire within themselves upon the subject. The woman's error, occasioned by her natural desire for a master, leads her to look for a certain outward magnificence of demeanour, a pretended indifference to stings and little torments, a would-be superiority to the bread-and-butter side of life, an unreal assumption of personal grandeur. But a robe of State such as this,—however well the garment may be worn with practice,—can never be the raiment natural to a man; and men, dressing themselves in women's eyes, have consented to walk about in buckram. A composure of the eye, which has been studied, a reticence as to the little things of life, a certain slowness of speech unless the occasion call for passion, an indifference to small surroundings, these,—joined, of course, with personal bravery,—are supposed to constitute manliness. That personal bravery is required in the composition of manliness must be conceded, though, of all the ingredients needed, it is the lowest in value. But the first requirement of all must be described by a negative. Manliness is not compatible with affectation. Women's virtues, all feminine attributes, may be marred by affectation, but the virtues and the vice may co-exist. An affected man, too, may be honest, may be generous, may be pious;—but surely he cannot be manly. The self-conscious assumption of any outward manner, the striving to add,—even though it be but a tenth of a cubit to the height,—is fatal, and will at once banish the all but divine attribute. Before the man can be manly, the gifts which make him so must be there, collected by him slowly, unconsciously, as are his bones, his flesh, and his blood. They cannot be put on like a garment for the nonce,—as may a little learning. A man cannot become faithful to his friends, unsuspicious before the world, gentle with women, loving with children, considerate to his inferiors, kindly with servants, tender-hearted with all,—and at the same time be frank, of open speech, with springing eager energies,—simply because he desires it. These things, which are the attributes of manliness, must come of training on a nature not ignoble. But they are the very opposites, the antipodes, the direct antagonism, of that staring, posed, bewhiskered and bewigged deportment, that , self-remembering assumption of manliness, that endeavour of twopence halfpenny to look as high as threepence, which, when you prod it through, has in it nothing deeper than deportment. We see the two things daily, side by side, close to each other. Let a man put his hat down, and you shall say whether he has deposited it with affectation or true nature. The natural man will probably be manly. The affected man cannot be so. nil admirari Mrs. Low was wrong when she accused our hero of being unmanly. Had his imagination been less alert in looking into the minds of men, and in picturing to himself the thoughts of others in reference to the crime with which he had been charged, he would not now have shrunk from contact with his fellow-creatures as he did. But he could not pretend to be other than he was. During the period of his danger, when men had thought that he would be hung,—and when he himself had believed that it would be so,—he had borne himself bravely without any conscious effort. When he had confronted the whole Court with that steady courage which had excited Lord Chiltern's admiration, and had looked the Bench in the face as though he at least had no cause to quail, he had known nothing of what he was doing. His features had answered the helm from his heart, but had not been played upon by his intellect. And it was so with him now. The reaction had overcome him, and he could not bring himself to pretend that it was not so. The tears would come to his eyes, and he would shiver and shake like one struck by palsy. Mr. Monk came to him often, and was all but forgiven for the apparent defection in his faith. "I have made up my mind to one thing," Phineas said to him at the end of the ten days. "And what is the one thing?" "I will give up my seat." "I do not see a shadow of a reason for it." "Nevertheless I will do it. Indeed, I have already written to Mr. Ratler for the Hundreds. There may be and probably are men down at Tankerville who still think that I am guilty. There is an offensiveness in murder which degrades a man even by the accusation. I suppose it wouldn't do for you to move for the new writ." "Ratler will do it, as a matter of course. No doubt there will be expressions of great regret, and my belief is that they will return you again." "If so, they'll have to do it without my presence." Mr. Ratler did move for a new writ for the borough of Tankerville, and within a fortnight of his restoration to liberty Phineas Finn was no longer a Member of Parliament. It cannot be alleged that there was any reason for what he did, and yet the doing of it for the time rather increased than diminished his popularity. Both Mr. Gresham and Mr. Daubeny expressed their regret in the House, and Mr. Monk said a few words respecting his friend, which were very touching. He ended by expressing a hope that they soon might see him there again, and an opinion that he was a man peculiarly fitted by the tone of his mind, and the nature of his intellect, for the duties of Parliament. Then at last, when all this had been settled, he went to Lord Brentford's house in Portman Square. He had promised that that should be the first house he would visit, and he was as good as his word. One evening he crept out, and walked slowly along Oxford Street, and knocked timidly at the door. As he did so he longed to be told that Lady Laura was not at home. But Lady Laura was at home,—as a matter of course. In those days she never went into society, and had not passed an evening away from her father's house since Mr. Kennedy's death. He was shown up into the drawing-room in which she sat, and there he found her—alone. "Oh, Phineas, I am so glad you have come." "I have done as I said, you see." "I could not go to you when they told me that you were ill. You will have understood all that?" "Yes; I understand." "People are so hard, and cold, and stiff, and cruel, that one can never do what one feels, oneself, to be right. So you have given up your seat." "Yes,—I am no longer a Member of Parliament." "Barrington says that they will certainly re-elect you." "We shall see. You may be sure at any rate of this,—that I shall never ask them to do so. Things seem to be so different now from what they did. I don't care for the seat. It all seems to be a bore and a trouble. What does it matter who sits in Parliament? The fight goes on just the same. The same falsehoods are acted. The same mock truths are spoken. The same wrong reasons are given. The same personal motives are at work." "And yet, of all believers in Parliament, you used to be the most faithful." "One has time to think of things, Lady Laura, when one lies in Newgate. It seems to me to be an eternity of time since they locked me up. And as for that trial, which they tell me lasted a week, I look back at it till the beginning is so distant that I can hardly remember it. But I have resolved that I will never talk of it again. Lady Chiltern is out probably." "Yes;—she and Oswald are dining with the Baldocks." "She is well?" "Yes;—and most anxious to see you. Will you go to their place in September?" He had almost made up his mind that if he went anywhere in September he would go to Matching Priory, accepting the offer of the Duchess of Omnium; but he did not dare to say so to Lady Laura, because she would have known that Madame Goesler also would be there. And he had not as yet accepted the invitation, and was still in doubt whether he would not escape by himself instead of attempting to return into the grooves of society. "I think not;—I am hardly as yet sufficiently master of myself to know what I shall do." "They will be much disappointed." "And you?—what will you do?" "I shall not go there. I am told that I ought to visit Loughlinter, and I suppose I shall. Oswald has promised to go down with me before the end of the month, but he will not remain above a day or two." "And your father?" "We shall leave him at Saulsby. I cannot look it all in the face yet. It is not possible that I should remain all alone in that great house. The people all around would hate and despise me. I think Violet will come down with me, but of course she cannot remain there. Oswald must go to Harrington because of the hunting. It has become the business of his life. And she must go with him." "You will return to Saulsby." "I cannot say. They seem to think that I should live at Loughlinter;—but I cannot live there alone." He soon took leave of her, and did so with no warmer expressions of regard on either side than have here been given. Then he crept back to his lodgings, and she sat weeping alone in her father's house. When he had come to her during her husband's lifetime at Dresden, or even when she had visited him at his prison, it had been better than this. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Anthony Trollope (2006). Phineas Redux. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/18640/pg18640-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

PHINEAS AFTER THE TRIAL.

MR. KIRKPATRICK, Q.C.

Showing What Happened in the Churchyard

At Lucerne

Mark Twain's Speeches by Mark Twain, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . CARNEGIE THE BENEFACTOR here CARNEGIE THE BENEFACTOR At the dinner given in honor of Andrew Carnegie by the Lotos
          Club, March 17, 1909, Mr. Clemens appeared in a white suit from
          head to feet.  He wore a white double-breasted coat, white
          trousers, and white shoes.  The only relief was a big black
          cigar, which he confidentially informed the company was not
          from his usual stack bought at $3 per barrel. The State of Missouri has for its coat of arms a barrel-head with two Missourians, one on each side of it, and mark the motto—“United We Stand, Divided We Fall.” Mr. Carnegie, this evening, has suffered from compliments. It is interesting to hear what people will say about a man. Why, at the banquet given by this club in my honor, Mr. Carnegie had the inspiration for which the club is now honoring him. If Dunfermline contributed so much to the United States in contributing Mr. Carnegie, what would have happened if all Scotland had turned out? These Dunfermline folk have acquired advantages in coming to America. Doctor McKelway paid the top compliment, the cumulation, when he said of Mr. Carnegie: “There is a man who wants to pay more taxes than he is charged.” Richard Watson Gilder did very well for a poet. He advertised his magazine. He spoke of hiring Mr. Carnegie—the next thing he will be trying to hire me. If I undertook to pay compliments I would do it stronger than any others have done it, for what Mr. Carnegie wants are strong compliments. Now, the other side of seventy, I have preserved, as my chiefest virtue, modesty. 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

CARNEGIE THE BENEFACTOR

MR. KENNEDY'S WILL.

MOLLY GIBSON'S WORTH IS DISCOVERED.

Like every single other developer on the planet, I've been somewhat inundated with GenAI over the past year or so. I find it as fascinating as most folks (ask me about the number of times I've had cat-related conversions with ChatGPT) but while it's fun to play with, I've also been thinking a lot about the aspects of it, especially via API and integrations. I am still new to all this and, I'll admit, still fuzzy on a lot of details, but I thought I'd share some initial impressions I've had working with Google's LLM, . practical incredibly way PaLM 2 First and foremost, note that the PaLM API, and MakerSuite, which is a web-based front-end, requires a Google login, and at least the API itself requires asking for access. For me, this took less then twenty-four hours, and I believe this time is even quicker now as Google is shrinking the waitlist. As I said, I had a pretty quick approval and I expect that's what most folks will have, but YMMV. When you load up MakerSuite, you are presented a set of different prompts to start playing with the API: When I first got here, I went right into the "Text prompt" option as I figured that would be the simplest and most recognizable of the options. Right away, I really appreciated the samples to help get started: I started with this prompt: Write a story about a magic cat who can only do magic when speaking in reverse. 
Also, their magic normally backfires in a humorous and harmless manner. 
The story should be appropriate for a young child. And got: Once upon a time, there was a magic cat named Mr. Mistoffelees. He was a 
very special cat, because he could only do magic when he spoke in reverse.

One day, Mr. Mistoffelees was walking down the street when he saw a 
little girl crying. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I lost my doll," the little girl said. "I've looked everywhere for it, 
but I can't find it."

Mr. Mistoffelees thought for a moment. "I can help you find your doll,"
 he said. "But I can only do it if you speak in reverse."

The little girl was confused, but she agreed. "Okay," she said. "I'll try."

"Dolla," the little girl said. "Lose, I did."

Mr. Mistoffelees smiled. "Your doll is under the bed," he said.

The little girl ran to her house and looked under the bed. Sure enough, 
there was her doll. She picked it up and hugged it tightly. 
"Thank you," she said to Mr. Mistoffelees. "You're a very kind cat."

"You're welcome," Mr. Mistoffelees said. "I'm always happy to help."

Mr. Mistoffelees continued to use his magic to help people. He made 
lost children find their way home, he helped people find their lost 
pets, and he even helped people find their lost keys. But sometimes, 
his magic would backfire in a humorous way.

One day, Mr. Mistoffelees was trying to help a woman find her 
lost car. He said the magic words in reverse, but instead of making 
the car appear, it made the woman's hair stand on end. The woman 
laughed so hard that she forgot all about her car.

Another time, Mr. Mistoffelees was trying to help a man get a job. He 
said the magic words in reverse, but instead of getting the man a job,
it made the man's tie fall off. The man laughed so hard that he forgot
all about his interview.

Mr. Mistoffelees' magic was always a lot of fun, and it always made 
people happy. He was a very special cat, and he used his magic to 
make the world a better place. This is pretty much on par with what I'd expect from ChatGPT and other services, although I was a bit surprised by the spelling of the cat. For folks curious, it looks to be a misspelling of , although if it was going for a pun on "fleas," then that's pretty cool. Mephistopheles What I gravitated towards right away was the "Get code" button top. Clicking on this brings up four unique options: While it oddly included the response in the code, I absolutely loved how simple this was! Here's the JavaScript after I manually removed the response: const { TextServiceClient } = require("@google-ai/generativelanguage");
const { GoogleAuth } = require("google-auth-library");

const MODEL_NAME = "models/text-bison-001";
const API_KEY = "YOUR API KEY";

const client = new TextServiceClient({
  authClient: new GoogleAuth().fromAPIKey(API_KEY),
});

const promptString = `Write a story about a magic cat who can only do magic when speaking in reverse. Also, their magic normally backfires in a humorous and harmless manner. The story should be appropriate for a young child.`;
const stopSequences = [];

client.generateText({
  // required, which model to use to generate the result
  model: MODEL_NAME,
  // optional, 0.0 always uses the highest-probability result
  temperature: 0.7,
  // optional, how many candidate results to generate
  candidateCount: 1,
  // optional, number of most probable tokens to consider for generation
  top_k: 40,
  // optional, for nucleus sampling decoding strategy
  top_p: 0.95,
  // optional, maximum number of output tokens to generate
  max_output_tokens: 1024,
  // optional, sequences at which to stop model generation
  stop_sequences: stopSequences,
  // optional, safety settings
  safety_settings: [{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_DEROGATORY","threshold":1},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_TOXICITY","threshold":1},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_VIOLENCE","threshold":2},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_SEXUAL","threshold":2},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_MEDICAL","threshold":2},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_DANGEROUS","threshold":2}],
  prompt: {
    text: promptString,
  },
}).then(result => {
  console.log(JSON.stringify(result, null, 2));
}); First off, look how easy the authentication is - I literally need to paste in my key. I've used a lot of Google APIs in the past, and nearly every time, the authentication is a pain in the rear. (That's probably completely my fault!) Also, note the great use of commenting here for the sample code. I'll be honest and say even with the comments, there's stuff here I don't quite get, but outside of that, I had this running locally nearly immediately. Here's the result of that: [
  {
    "candidates": [
      {
        "safetyRatings": [
          {
            "category": "HARM_CATEGORY_DEROGATORY",
            "probability": "NEGLIGIBLE"
          },
          {
            "category": "HARM_CATEGORY_TOXICITY",
            "probability": "NEGLIGIBLE"
          },
          {
            "category": "HARM_CATEGORY_VIOLENCE",
            "probability": "NEGLIGIBLE"
          },
          {
            "category": "HARM_CATEGORY_SEXUAL",
            "probability": "NEGLIGIBLE"
          },
          {
            "category": "HARM_CATEGORY_MEDICAL",
            "probability": "NEGLIGIBLE"
          },
          {
            "category": "HARM_CATEGORY_DANGEROUS",
            "probability": "NEGLIGIBLE"
          }
        ],
        "output": "Once upon a time, there was a magic cat named Mr. Mistoffelees. He was a very special cat, because he could only do magic when he spoke in reverse.\n\nOne day, Mr. Mistoffelees was playing in the forest when he saw a little girl who was crying. \"What's wrong?\" he asked.\n\n\"I'm lost,\" the little girl said. \"I can't find my way home.\"\n\nMr. Mistoffelees smiled. \"Don't worry,\" he said. \"I can help you.\"\n\nHe took a deep breath and said, \"Sdrawkcab eht revo spmuj I.\"\n\nSuddenly, the little girl was surrounded by a bright light. When the light faded, she was standing in front of her house.\n\n\"Thank you!\" she said. \"You're a lifesaver!\"\n\nMr. Mistoffelees smiled. \"You're welcome,\" he said. \"Just remember, my magic only works when I speak in reverse.\"\n\nThe little girl nodded. \"I'll remember,\" she said.\n\nThe next day, the little girl was playing in the forest again when she saw a group of boys picking on a smaller boy.\n\n\"Leave him alone!\" she shouted.\n\nThe boys turned to look at her. \"What are you going to do about it?\" one of them asked.\n\nThe little girl took a deep breath and said, \"Sdrawkcab eht revo spmuj I.\"\n\nSuddenly, the boys were surrounded by a bright light. When the light faded, they were all wearing dresses.\n\nThe boys started to laugh. \"What happened to our clothes?\" they asked.\n\n\"That's what you get for picking on a smaller boy,\" the little girl said.\n\nThe boys ran away, laughing.\n\nThe little girl smiled. \"I guess my magic really does work,\" she said.\n\nMr. Mistoffelees was watching from a nearby tree. He smiled. \"I'm glad my magic could help you,\" he said.\n\nThe little girl smiled back. \"Thanks, Mr. Mistoffelees,\" she said. \"You're the best.\"\n\nMr. Mistoffelees purred. \"You're welcome,\" he said. \"I'm always happy to help.\"\n\nThe little girl and Mr. Mistoffelees continued to play in the forest together. They had many more adventures, and Mr. Mistoffelees' magic always helped them out. But even though his magic was powerful, it was also very silly. And it always seemed to backfire in a humorous way.\n\nOne day, Mr. Mistoffelees was trying to help the little girl get a bird out of a tree. He said, \"Sdrawkcab eht revo spmuj I.\"\n\nSuddenly, the bird flew out of the tree and landed on the little girl's head.\n\nThe little girl laughed. \"Thanks, Mr. Mistoffelees,\" she said. \"But I think I would have been able to get the bird out of the tree myself.\"\n\nMr. Mistoffelees purred. \"You're welcome,\" he said. \"I'm just glad I could help.\"\n\nThe little girl and Mr. Mistoffelees continued to play together. They had many more adventures, and Mr. Mistoffelees' magic always helped them out. And even though his magic was silly, it was always kind and helpful."
      }
    ],
    "filters": [],
    "safetyFeedback": []
  },
  null,
  null
] I find the safety ratings aspect the most fascinating, as it looks to be a great way to add 'guardrails' to your automated responses. After I had played with this, I took a look at the "Data prompt" feature: From what I could tell, this feature lets you take a sample list of data, and based on that input, you can then add rows of data and have PaLM specify the corresponding second column. I used the 'Opposites' sample as it seemed the simplest: additional Running with their sample works as expected: I tried "Dumb", "Cold", and "Left", and got: As you can see, it failed to find an opposite to dumb but worked correctly for the others. The code for this, from what I can see, simply 'formats' the tabular data in a prompt: const { TextServiceClient } = require("@google-ai/generativelanguage");
const { GoogleAuth } = require("google-auth-library");

const MODEL_NAME = "models/text-bison-001";
const API_KEY = "YOUR API KEY";

const client = new TextServiceClient({
  authClient: new GoogleAuth().fromAPIKey(API_KEY),
});

const Word = 'Left';
const promptString = `Find a word or phrase with opposite meaning.
Word: Strong
Opposite: Weak
Word: Thick
Opposite: Thin
Word: Sparse
Opposite: Dense
Word: Sloppy
Opposite: Organized
Word: ${Word}
Opposite:`;
const stopSequences = [];

client.generateText({
  // required, which model to use to generate the result
  model: MODEL_NAME,
  // optional, 0.0 always uses the highest-probability result
  temperature: 0.7,
  // optional, how many candidate results to generate
  candidateCount: 1,
  // optional, number of most probable tokens to consider for generation
  top_k: 40,
  // optional, for nucleus sampling decoding strategy
  top_p: 0.95,
  // optional, maximum number of output tokens to generate
  max_output_tokens: 1024,
  // optional, sequences at which to stop model generation
  stop_sequences: stopSequences,
  // optional, safety settings
  safety_settings: [{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_DEROGATORY","threshold":1},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_TOXICITY","threshold":1},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_VIOLENCE","threshold":2},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_SEXUAL","threshold":2},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_MEDICAL","threshold":2},{"category":"HARM_CATEGORY_DANGEROUS","threshold":2}],
  prompt: {
    text: promptString,
  },
}).then(result => {
  console.log(JSON.stringify(result, null, 2));
}); One thing to note, though, is that variables are allowed in prompts, which is pretty cool. When I ran this, the output (specifically the value in JSON, I'm ignoring the result of the result) was short and sweet: "Right," which is nice. My guess is the more complex and complete your table, the better this will work. output So... first impressions - I'm digging how well MakerSuite lets me test on the web and how quickly I'm able to take that to code and start working. I was so impressed that yesterday, I built a "real" demo with this in about twenty minutes. really Also published . here

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It was not long after the breaking out of the Greek Revolution

THE HALF-SISTERS.

Business English: A Practice Book by Rose Buhlig is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . THE ADJECTIVE AND THE ADVERB here THE ADJECTIVE AND THE ADVERB As a rule, adverbs present more difficulty than do adjectives. Careless pupils frequently use an adjective when an adverb is necessary; as, Wrong: He solved the problem very . quick Right: He solved the problem very . quickly Wrong: This is good candy. real Right: This is (or ) good candy. really very Until the habit of correct usage is formed, every sentence must be watched. When a word modifies a verb, an adjective, or an adverb, another adverb must be used, and an adjective may not correctly be substituted. As a rule, adverbs express the following ideas: Adverb modifying a verb: See how slowly the man walks! Adverb modifying an adjective: The weather has been extremely warm. Adverb modifying an adverb: He dictates very rapidly. It must be remembered, however, that verbs of the senses—taste, feel, look, smell, sound, and the like—are sometimes almost equal in meaning to the verb be. In that case, they are followed by adjectives and not by adverbs; as, Adjective: 	He looked angry.
Adverb: 	He looked angrily at us. Exercise 90 Name the adjectives in the following selection, explaining with what noun each belongs. Name the adverbs, explaining what part of speech each modifies. Since 1904 the number of live cattle exported from this country has been steadily growing smaller. Exports of dressed beef have also shrunk to such insignificant proportions that the United States is no longer an important factor in the foreign markets for beef. Often has it been said that the competition of cheap Argentine beef has deprived us of foreign markets. It would be more nearly true to say that foreigners buy the inferior article only because we cannot supply them with all they want of the best grade. Take, for instance, the Englishman's willingness to pay considerably more for American corn-fed beef than for Argentine. The raising of cattle is important, also, from the standpoint of the leather business. Obviously, with a 21 per cent increase in population in each decade, many more shoes are necessary. Automobile and other industries are making constantly increasing demands for leather. Shoes cannot become cheaper in the face of increased demand and diminished supply. Too much depends upon the cattle industry for us to allow it to wane. Exercise 91 Which of the italicized words should you use in the following, and why? Why do you walk so slow—slowly? Speak louder—more loudly. I cannot explain why he spoke so gentle—gently. The automobile was going very swift—swiftly. The well has been dug very deep—deeply. He is not near—nearly so tall as you are. Are you cutting that even—evenly? She does pen and ink sketches beautiful—beautifully. Why can't I grow quicker—more quickly? I feel bad—badly this morning. Can you do all I have asked? Easy—easily. She does her work good—well. She does her work fine—finely. I am real—very much surprised to see you. He became real—very angry. I'm afraid it's not near—nearly big enough. She works twice as quick—quickly as you do. He sure—surely is a good speaker. He seems sure—surely of himself. Are you going? Sure—surely? He says he is near—nearly starved. He worked steady—steadily all morning. The others did not work near—nearly so hard. I am speaking as serious—seriously as I can. The orange tastes bitter—bitterly. Don't you think he has been acting queer—queerly? The coat is finished nice—nicely. Exercise 92 Explain the proper position of the italicized adverbs in the following sentences. Remember that an adverb must stand as closely as possible to the word that it modifies, but remember also that an infinitive, although made up of two parts, is one word and should not be split by an adverb. I merely want the Milwaukee list of customers. You almost write like her. Your writing is like hers almost. I can not find one of the papers I had on the desk. He told me to carefully add the figures in the column. I expect to quickly finish my dictation. I don't even understand the first problem in the lesson. Don't say you don't ever expect to go to school again. All the statements are not on my desk. He promised to quickly settle the matter. I wish you to clearly understand the situation. I only have two more items to enter. I only expect to take a short vacation this year. He only spoke of two causes of the loss in trade. I only decided to take the Western instead of the Eastern trip at the last moment. Adjectives are compared so as to express different degrees of quality. There are three degrees of comparison, the positive, the comparative, and the superlative. When the object modified or described by the adjective is not compared with another, the first or positive degree is used. When two objects are compared, the second or comparative degree is used to denote more or less of the quality expressed by the adjective. When several objects are compared, the superlative degree of the adjective is used to express the highest or the lowest possible degree of the adjective. Exercise 93—Comparison The usual method of comparing an adjective is to add er to the positive to form the comparative, and est to form the superlative. Frequently, however, especially for an adjective of two or more syllables, the comparative is formed by prefixing more or less to the positive, and the superlative by prefixing most or least. Besides the adjectives in these two classes there are some which do not follow any regular method and must, therefore, be watched a little more closely. The following table illustrates the different methods of comparison: Positive Comparative Superlative bright brighter brightest dangerous more dangerous most dangerous beautiful more beautiful most beautiful good better best bad worse worst ill worse worst Be careful to avoid using a double sign for the comparative degree; as, This writing is than yours. Wrong: more neater Some adverbs are also compared; as, Positive Comparative Superlative well better best quickly more quickly most quickly Some adjectives and adverbs cannot be compared because the positive degree in itself expresses a complete or meaning; as, absolute absolute,-ly eternal perfect sufficient circular extreme perpendicular supreme continual faultless perpetual unanimous dead full right unique decisive impossible round universal empty incurable square white Compare those of the following adjectives that may be compared. Explain why some do not admit of comparison. great spotless expensive wise tall dear parallel high desirable east old new honorable early exclusive blank **Exercise 94 In the following exercise, select the correct one of the two italicized forms. Remember that the comparative degree is used in comparing two objects, the superlative in comparing three or more. I had three pens. I have lost the better—best one. I have two clerks. John is the older—oldest. Of the two colors, I think the tan is the more—most becoming to you. You are the taller—tallest of all the boys. Of two professions, choose the more—most honorable. He is the faster—fastest workman in the shop. Which of your hands is the cleaner—cleanest? Which do you like better—best, skating or sleighing? Which of your eyes has the better—best vision? Of all the shops, she likes Leslie's better—best. Which is more—most durable, serge or broadcloth? Which tree lives longer—longest, the poplar or the elm? Which is the best—better policy, honesty or dishonesty? He is the wittier—wittiest one in the class. He is the wittier—wittiest boy in the class. There is only one boy in the class besides him. Of our twenty salesmen, he is considered better—best because he is quicker—quickest witted than any other. You should not mention the two men in one breath. The former—first is famous and the latter—last infamous. Which of you two do you think deserves more—most praise? Which of you two deserves less—least praise? Which of you two can run the faster—fastest? Exercise 95 Remember that the double negative is wrong; as, *Wrong:*I haven't no paper. I have no paper. Right: Correct any of the following sentences that contain this mistake: None of them didn't come. I couldn't do the problem neither. This paper isn't very good, I don't think. Couldn't you find no better pen? I didn't choose none of them. I don't see nothing to complain of. He couldn't hardly see across the street. We didn't find the paper nowhere. They can't scarcely believe the report. She couldn't stay with us only a few minutes. Exercise 96—Fewer, Less Fewer refers to a smaller number by counting, less refers to a smaller quantity by measuring. Insert the correct word: You are making —— mistakes each day. I am having —— difficulty in writing shorthand. There are —— houses on this street than I had thought. The farther inland we went the —— signs of habitation we saw. Each year there is —— opportunity for an uneducated man to rise. Each year there are —— opportunities for the uneducated man to rise. Most, Almost Most refers to quantity or number; almost means not quite. Insert the correct word: —— people enjoy their work. I have —— finished the course in stenography. —— European cities are beautiful. —— all European cities are beautiful. Real, Very Real is an adjective meaning actual; very is an adverb of degree. Insert the correct word: I'm —— glad to see you. Is your comb —— amber? The men of the Titanic were —— heroes. He is a —— good soloist. She is —— entertaining in conversation; it was a —— pleasure to meet her. Exercise 97—Adjectives and Adverbs Incorrectly Used Wrong Right 1. I don't like kind of pens. those He solved the problem very . quickly 2. What sort of course are you taking? a What sort of course are you taking? 3. His statements made me . mad His statements made me . angry 4. Yours . respectively Yours . respectfully (Consult a dictionary for the correct use of respectively) 5. Do you want in? Do you want to come in? 6. Go with me. some place Go with me. somewhere 7. My father is better. some My father is better. somewhat 8. He comes . every once in a while He comes . occasionally 9. Did you recognize the girl who drove past? Did you recognize the girl who drove by? 10. The two are alike. both The two are alike. 11. He is to come any minute. liable He is to come at any minute. likely 12. That ring has a design. funny That ring has an design. odd 13. I'd stay at home. sooner I'd stay at home. rather 14. Are you ready? most Are you ready? almost 15. I'm sleepy. kind of I'm sleepy. rather 16. What hat do you wear? size What hat do you wear? sized 17. book is the one I wish. This here book is the one I wish. This 18. He spoke . angry like He spoke . angrily 19. His ideas are good. no His ideas are (or ). worthless not good 20. He makes a mistake. seldom ever He ( ) makes a mistake. seldom hardly ever 21. I didn't work last night. any I didn't work last night. at all 22. I walked far yesterday. this I walked yesterday. as far as this 23. I want to see you . badly I want to see you . very much 24. He sells insurance . on the side he sells insurance. In addition to his other business 25. Don't talk . out loud Don't talk . aloud 26. She is disappointed. very She is disappointed. very much (Before a perfect participle or may not be used without the addition of the adverb ) too very much 27. She is a (or ) child. cute cunning She is a child. pretty (Look up the words and in a dictionary) cute cunning 28. He was lying face on the grass. down He was lying face on the grass. downward 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. Rose Buhlig (2011). Business English: A Practice Book. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/38046/pg38046-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 ADJECTIVE AND THE ADVERB

North and South by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . CHAPTER XXI. here CHAPTER XXI. THE DARK NIGHT. “On earth is known to none The smile that is not sister to a tear.” Elliott. Margaret and her father walked home. The night was fine, the streets clean, and with her pretty white silk, like Leezie Lindsay’s gown o’ green satin, in the ballad, “kilted up to her knee,” she was off with her father—ready to dance along with the excitement of the cool, fresh night air. “I rather think Thornton is not quite easy in his mind about this strike. He seemed very anxious to-night.” “I should wonder if he were not. But he spoke with his usual coolness to the others, when they suggested different things, just before we came away.” “So he did after dinner as well. It would take a good deal to stir him from his cool manner of speaking; but his face strikes me as anxious.” “I should be, if I were he. He must know of the growing anger and hardly smothered hatred of his workpeople, who all looked upon him as what the Bible calls a ‘hard man,’—not so much unjust as unfeeling; clear in judgment, standing upon his ‘rights’ as no human being ought to stand, considering what we and all our petty rights are in the sight of the Almighty. I am glad you think he looks anxious. When I remember Boucher’s half mad words and ways, I cannot bear to think how coolly Mr. Thornton spoke.” “In the first place, I am not so convinced as you are about that man Boucher’s utter distress; for the moment, he was badly off, I don’t doubt. But there is always a mysterious supply of money from these Unions; and, from what you said, it was evident the man was of a passionate, demonstrative nature, and gave strong expression to all he felt.” “Oh, papa!” “Well! I only want you to do justice to Mr. Thornton, who is, I suspect, of an exactly opposite nature—a man who is far too proud to show his feelings. Just the character I should have thought beforehand, you would have admired, Margaret.” “So I do—so I should; but I don’t feel quite so sure as you do of the existence of those feelings. He is a man of great strength of character—of unusual intellect, considering the few advantages he has had.” “Not so few. He has led a practical life from a very early age, has been called upon to exercise judgment and self-control. All that developes one part of the intellect. To be sure, he needs some of the knowledge of the past, which gives the truest basis for conjecture as to the future; but he knows this need—he perceives it, and that is something. You are quite prejudiced against Mr. Thornton, Margaret.” “He is the first specimen of a manufacturer—of a person engaged in trade—that I had ever the opportunity of studying, papa. He is my first olive: let me make a face while I swallow it. I know he is good of his kind, and by and by I shall like the kind. I rather think I am already beginning to do so. I was very much interested by what the gentlemen were talking about, although I did not understand half of it. I was quite sorry when Miss Thornton came to take me to the other end of the room, saying she was sure I should be uncomfortable at being the only lady among so many gentlemen. I had never thought about it, I was so busy listening; and the ladies were so dull, papa—oh, so dull! Yet I think it was clever too. It reminded me of our old game of having each so many nouns to introduce into a sentence.” “What do you mean, child?” asked Mr. Hale. “Why, they took nouns that were signs of things which gave evidence of wealth,—housekeepers, under-gardeners, extent of glass, valuable lace, diamonds, and all such things; and each one formed her speech so as to bring them all in, in the prettiest accidental manner possible.” “You will be as proud of your one servant when you get her, if all is true about her that Mrs. Thornton says.” “To be sure, I shall. I felt like a great hypocrite to-night, sitting there in my white silk gown, with my idle hands before me, when I remembered all the good, thorough, house-work they had done to-day. They took me for a fine lady, I’m sure.” “Even I was mistaken enough to think you looked like a lady, my dear,” said Mr. Hale, quietly smiling. But smiles were changed to white and trembling looks when they saw Dixon’s face, as she opened the door. “Oh, master!—Oh, Miss Margaret! Thank God you are come! Dr. Donaldson is here. The servant next door went for him, for the charwoman is gone home. She’s better now; but, oh sir! I thought she’d have died an hour ago.” Mr. Hale caught Margaret’s arm to steady himself from falling. He looked at her face, and saw an expression upon it of surprise and extremest sorrow, but not the agony of terror that contracted his own unprepared heart. She knew more than he did, and yet she listened with that hopeless expression of awed apprehension. “Oh! I should not have left her—wicked daughter that I am!” moaned forth Margaret, as she supported her trembling father’s hasty steps upstairs. Dr. Donaldson met them on the landing. “She is better now,” he whispered. “The opiate has taken effect. The spasms were very bad: no wonder they frightened your maid; but she’ll rally this time.” “This time! Let me go to her!” Half an hour ago Mr. Hale was a middle-aged man; now his sight was dim, his senses wavering, his walk tottering, as if he were seventy years of age. Dr. Donaldson took his arm, and led him into the bedroom. Margaret followed close. There lay her mother, with an unmistakeable look on her face. She might be better now; she was sleeping, but Death had signed her for his own, and it was clear that ere long he would return to take possession. Mr. Hale looked at her for some time without a word. Then he began to shake all over, and, turning away from Dr. Donaldson’s anxious care, he groped to find the door; he could not see it, although several candles, brought in the sudden affright, were burning and flaring there. He staggered into the drawing-room, and felt about for a chair. Dr. Donaldson wheeled one to him, and placed him in it. He felt his pulse. “Speak to him, Miss Hale. We must rouse him.” “Papa!” said Margaret, with a crying voice that was wild with pain. “Papa! Speak to me!” The speculation came again into his eyes, and he made a great effort. “Margaret, did you know of this? Oh, it was cruel of you!” “No, sir, it was not cruel!” replied Dr. Donaldson, with quick decision. “Miss Hale acted under my directions. There may have been a mistake, but it was not cruel. Your wife will be a different creature to-morrow, I trust. She has had spasms, as I anticipated, though I did not tell Miss Hale of my apprehensions. She has taken the opiate I brought with me; she will have a good long sleep; and to-morrow that look which has alarmed you so much will have passed away.” “But not the disease?” Dr. Donaldson glanced at Margaret. Her bent head, her face raised with no appeal for a temporary reprieve, showed that quick observer of human nature that she thought it better that the whole truth should be told. “Not the disease. We cannot touch the disease, with all our poor vaunted skill. We can only delay its progress—alleviate the pain it causes. Be a man, sir—a Christian. Have faith in the immortality of the soul, which no pain, no mortal disease, can assail or touch!” But all the reply he got was in the choked words, “You have never been married, Dr. Donaldson; you don’t know what it is,” and in the deep, manly sobs, which went through the stillness of the night like heavy pulses of agony. Margaret knelt by him, caressing him with tearful caresses. No one, not even Dr. Donaldson, knew how the time went by. Mr. Hale was the first to dare to speak of the necessities of the present moment. “What must we do?” asked he. “Tell us both. Margaret is my staff—my right hand.” Dr. Donaldson gave his clear, sensible directions. No fear for to-night—nay, even peace for to-morrow, and for many days yet. But no enduring hope of recovery. He advised Mr. Hale to go to bed, and leave only one to watch the slumber, which he hoped would be undisturbed. He promised to come again early in the morning. And, with a warm and kindly shake of the hand, he left them. They spoke but few words; they were too much exhausted by their terror to do more than decide upon the immediate course of action. Mr. Hale was resolved to sit up through the night, and all that Margaret could do was to prevail upon him to rest on the drawing-room sofa. Dixon stoutly and bluntly refused to go to bed; and, as for Margaret, it was simply impossible that she should leave her mother, let all the doctors in the world speak of “husbanding resources,” and “one watcher only being required.” So, Dixon sat, and stared, and winked, and drooped, and picked herself up again with a jerk, and finally gave up the battle, and fairly snored. Margaret had taken off her gown and tossed it aside with a sort of impatient disgust, and put on her dressing-gown. She felt as if she never could sleep again; as if her whole senses were acutely vital, and all endued with double keenness, for the purpose of watching. Every sight and sound—nay, even every thought, touched some nerve to the very quick. For more than two hours, she heard her father’s restless movements in the next room. He came perpetually to the door of her mother’s chamber, pausing there to listen, till she, not hearing his close unseen presence, went and opened it to tell him how all went on, in reply to the questions his baked lips could hardly form. At last he, too, fell asleep, and all the house was still. Margaret sat behind the curtain thinking. Far away in time, far away in space, seemed all the interests of past days. Not more than thirty-six hours ago, she cared for Bessy Higgins and her father, and her heart was wrung for Boucher; now, that was all like a dreaming memory of some former life;—everything that had passed out of doors seemed dissevered from her mother, and therefore unreal. Even Harley Street appeared more distinct; there she remembered, as if it were yesterday, how she had pleased herself with tracing out her mother’s features in her Aunt Shaw’s face,—and how letters had come, making her dwell on the thoughs of home with all the longing of love. Helstone, itself, was in the dim past. The dull gray days of the preceding winter and spring, so uneventless and monotonous, seemed more associated with what she cared for now above all price. She would fain have caught at the skirts of that departing time, and prayed it to return, and give her back what she had too little valued while it was yet in her possession. What a vain show Life seemed! How unsubstantial, and flickering, and flitting! It was as if from some aërial belfry, high up above the stir and jar of the earth, there was a bell continually tolling, “All are shadows!—all are passing!—all is past!” And when the morning dawned, cool and gray, like many a happier morning before—when Margaret looked one by one at the sleepers, it seemed as if the terrible night were unreal as a dream; it, too, was a shadow. It, too, was past. Mrs. Hale herself was not aware when she awoke, how ill she had been the night before. She was rather surprised at Dr. Donaldson’s early visit, and perplexed by the anxious faces of husband and child. She consented to remain in bed that day, saying she certainly was tired; but, the next, she insisted on getting up; and Dr. Donaldson gave his consent to her returning into the drawing-room. She was restless and uncomfortable in every position, and before night she became very feverish. Mr. Hale was utterly listless, and incapable of deciding on anything. “What can we do to spare mamma such another night?” asked Margaret on the third day. “It is to a certain degree, the reaction after the powerful opiates I have been obliged to use. It is more painful for you to see than for her to bear, I believe. But, I think, if we could get a water-bed it might be a good thing. Not but what she will be better to-morrow; pretty much like herself as she was before this attack. Still, I should like her to have a water-bed. Mrs. Thornton has one, I know. I’ll try and call there this afternoon. Stay,” said he, his eye catching on Margaret’s face, blanched with watching in a sick room, “I’m not sure whether I can go; I’ve a long round to take. It would do you no harm to have a brisk walk to Marlborough Street, and ask Mrs. Thornton if she can spare it.” “Certainly,” said Margaret. “I could go while mamma is asleep this afternoon. I’m sure Mrs. Thornton would lend it to us.” Dr. Donaldson’s experience told him rightly. Mrs. Hale seemed to shake off the consequences of her attack, and looked brighter and better this afternoon than Margaret had ever hoped to see her again. Her daughter left her after dinner, sitting in her easy chair, with her hand lying in her husband’s, who looked more worn and suffering than she by far. Still, he could smile now—rather slowly, rather faintly, it is true; but a day or two before, Margaret never thought to see him smile again. It was about two miles from their house in Crampton Crescent to Marlborough Street. It was too hot to walk very quickly. An August sun beat straight down into the street at three o’clock in the afternoon. Margaret went along, without noticing anything very different from usual in the first mile and a half of her journey; she was absorbed in her own thoughts, and had learnt by this time to thread her way through the irregular stream of human beings that flowed through Milton streets. But, by and by, she was struck with an unusual heaving among the mass of people in the crowded road on which she was entering. They did not appear to be moving on, so much as talking, and listening, and buzzing with excitement without much stirring from the spot where they might happen to be. Still, as they made way for her, and, wrapt up in the purpose of her errand, and the necessities that suggested it, she was less quick of observation than she might have been, if her mind had been at ease. She had got into Marlborough Street before the full conviction forced itself upon her, that there was a restless, oppressive sense of irritation abroad among the people; a thunderous atmosphere, morally as well as physically, around her. From every narrow lane opening out on Marlborough Street came up a low distant roar, as of myriads of fierce indignant voices. The inhabitants of each poor squalid dwelling were gathered round the doors and windows, if indeed they were not actually standing in the middle of the narrow ways—all with looks intent towards one point. Marlborough Street itself was the focus of all those human eyes, that betrayed intensest interest of various kinds; some fierce with anger, some lowering with relentless threats! some dilated with fear, or imploring entreaty; and as Margaret reached the small side-entrance by the folding doors, in the great dead wall of Marlborough mill-yard, and waited the porter’s answer to the bell, she looked round and heard the first long far-off roll of the tempest;—saw the first slow-surging wave of the dark crowd come, with its threatening crest, tumble over, and retreat, at the far end of the street, which a moment ago seemed so full of repressed noise, but which now was ominously still; all these circumstances forced themselves on Margaret’s notice, but did not sink down into her pre-occupied heart. She did not know what they meant—what was their deep significance; while she did know, did feel the keen sharp pressure of the knife that was soon to stab her through and through by leaving her motherless. She was trying to realise that, in order that, when it came, she might be ready to comfort her father. The porter opened the door cautiously, not nearly wide enough to admit her. “It’s you, is it, ma’am?” said he, drawing a long breath, and widening the entrance, but still not opening it fully. Margaret went in. He hastily bolted it behind her. “Th’ folk are all coming up here, I reckon?” asked he. “I don’t know. Something unusual seemed going on; but this street is quite empty, I think.” She went across the yard and put up the steps to the house door. There was no near sound,—no steam engine at work with beat and pant,—no click of machinery, no mingling and clashing of many sharp voices; but far away, the ominous gathering roar, deep-clamouring. 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. Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell (2003). North and South. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/4276/pg4276-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 DARK NIGHT.

Mathilda by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . CHAPTER X here CHAPTER X It was six months after this miserable conclusion to his long nursed hopes that I first saw him. He had retired to a part of the country where he was not known that he might peacefully indulge his grief. All the world, by the death of his beloved Elinor, was changed to him, and he could no longer remain in any spot where he had seen her or where her image mingled with the most rapturous hopes had brightened all around with a light of joy which would now be transformed to a darkness blacker than midnight since she, the sun of his life, was set for ever. He lived for some time never looking on the light of heaven but shrouding his eyes in a perpetual darkness far from all that could remind him of what he had been; but as time softened his grief like a true child of Nature he sought in the enjoyment of her beauties for a consolation in his unhappiness. He came to a part of the country where he was entirely unknown and where in the deepest solitude he could converse only with his own heart. He found a relief to his impatient grief in the breezes of heaven and in the sound of waters and woods. He became fond of riding; this exercise distracted his mind and elevated his spirits; on a swift horse he could for a moment gain respite from the image that else for ever followed him; Elinor on her death bed, her sweet features changed, and the soft spirit that animated her gradually waning into extinction. For many months Woodville had in vain endeavoured to cast off this terrible remembrance; it still hung on him untill memory was too great a burthen for his loaded soul, but when on horseback the spell that seemingly held him to this idea was snapt; then if he thought of his lost bride he pictured her radiant in beauty; he could hear her voice, and fancy her “a sylvan Huntress by his side,” while his eyes brightened as he thought he gazed on her cherished form. I had several times seen him ride across the heath and felt angry that my solitude should be disturbed. It was so long since I had spoken to any but peasants that I felt a disagreable sensation at being gazed on by one of superior rank. I feared also that it might be some one who had seen me before: I might be recognized, my impostures discovered and I dragged back to a life of worse torture than that I had before endured. These were dreadful fears and they even haunted my dreams. I was one day seated on the verge of the clump of pines when Woodville rode past. As soon as I perceived him I suddenly rose to escape from his observation by entering among the trees. My rising startled his horse; he reared and plunged and the Rider was at length thrown. The horse then galopped swiftly across the heath and the stranger remained on the ground stunned by his fall. He was not materially hurt, a little fresh water soon recovered him. I was struck by his exceeding beauty, and as he spoke to thank me the sweet but melancholy cadence of his voice brought tears into my eyes. A short conversation passed between us, but the next day he again stopped at my cottage and by degrees an intimacy grew between us. It was strange to him to see a female in extreme youth, I was not yet twenty, evidently belonging to the first classes of society & possessing every accomplishment an excellent education could bestow, living alone on a desolate health —One on whose forehead the impress of grief was strongly marked, and whose words and motions betrayed that her thoughts did not follow them but were intent on far other ideas; bitter and overwhelming miseries. I was dressed also in a whimsical nunlike habit which denoted that I did not retire to solitude from necessity, but that I might indulge in a luxury of grief, and fanciful seclusion. sic He soon took great interest in me, and sometimes forgot his own grief to sit beside me and endeavour to cheer me. He could not fail to interest even one who had shut herself from the whole world, whose hope was death, and who lived only with the departed. His personal beauty; his conversation which glowed with imagination and sensibility; the poetry that seemed to hang upon his lips and to make the very air mute to listen to him were charms that no one could resist. He was younger, less worn, more passionless than my father and in no degree reminded me of him: he suffered under immediate grief yet its gentle influence instead of calling feelings otherwise dormant into action, seemed only to veil that which otherwise would have been too dazzling for me. When we were together I spoke little yet my selfish mind was sometimes borne away by the rapid course of his ideas; I would lift my eyes with momentary brilliancy until memories that never died and seldom slept would recur, and a tear would dim them. Woodville for ever tried to lead me to the contemplation of what is beautiful and happy in the world. His own mind was constitunially bent to a former belief in good rather than in evil and this feeling which must even exhilirate the hopeless ever shone forth in his words. He would talk of the wonderful powers of man, of their present state and of their hopes: of what they had been and what they were, and when reason could no longer guide him, his imagination as if inspired shed light on the obscurity that veils the past and the future. He loved to dwell on what might have been the state of the earth before man lived on it, and how he first arose and gradually became the strange, complicated, but as he said, the glorious creature he now is. Covering the earth with their creations and forming by the power of their minds another world more lovely than the visible frame of things, even all the world that we find in their writings. A beautiful creation, he would say, which may claim this superiority to its model, that good and evil is more easily seperated: the good rewarded in the way they themselves desire; the evil punished as all things evil ought to be punished, not by pain which is revolting to all philanthropy to consider but by quiet obscurity, which simply deprives them of their harmful qualities; why kill the serpent when you have extracted his fangs? sic The poetry of his language and ideas which my words ill convey held me enchained to his discourses. It was a melancholy pleasure to me to listen to his inspired words; to catch for a moment the light of his eyes; to feel a transient sympathy and then to awaken from the delusion, again to know that all this was nothing,—a dream—a shadow for that there was no reallity for me; my father had for ever deserted me, leaving me only memories which set an eternal barrier between me and my fellow creatures. I was indeed fellow to none. He—Woodville, mourned the loss of his bride: others wept the various forms of misery as they visited them: but infamy and guilt was mingled with my portion; unlawful and detestable passion had poured its poison into my ears and changed all my blood, so that it was no longer the kindly stream that supports life but a cold fountain of bitterness corrupted in its very source. It must be the excess of madness that could make me imagine that I could ever be aught but one alone; struck off from humanity; bearing no affinity to man or woman; a wretch on whom Nature had set her ban. Sometimes Woodville talked to me of himself. He related his history brief in happiness and woe and dwelt with passion on his and Elinor’s mutual love. “She was”, he said, “the brightest vision that ever came upon the earth: there was somthing in her frank countenance, in her voice, and in every motion of her graceful form that overpowered me, as if it were a celestial creature that deigned to mingle with me in intercourse more sweet than man had ever before enjoyed. Sorrow fled before her; and her smile seemed to possess an influence like light to irradiate all mental darkness. It was not like a human loveliness that these gentle smiles went and came; but as a sunbeam on a lake, now light and now obscure, flitting before as you strove to catch them, and fold them for ever to your heart. I saw this smile fade for ever. Alas! I could never have believed that it was indeed Elinor that died if once when I spoke she had not lifted her almost benighted eyes, and for one moment like nought beside on earth, more lovely than a sunbeam, slighter, quicker than the waving plumage of a bird, dazzling as lightning and like it giving day to night, yet mild and faint, that smile came; it went, and then there was an end of all joy to me.” Thus his own sorrows, or the shapes copied from nature that dwelt in his mind with beauty greater than their own, occupied our talk while I railed in my own griefs with cautious secresy. If for a moment he shewed curiosity, my eyes fell, my voice died away and my evident suffering made him quickly endeavour to banish the ideas he had awakened; yet he for ever mingled consolation in his talk, and tried to soften my despair by demonstrations of deep sympathy and compassion. “We are both unhappy—” he would say to me; “I have told you my melancholy tale and we have wept together the loss of that lovely spirit that has so cruelly deserted me; but you hide your griefs: I do not ask you to disclose them, but tell me if I may not console you. It seems to me a wild adventure to find in this desart one like you quite solitary: you are young and lovely; your manners are refined and attractive; yet there is in your settled melancholy, and something, I know not what, in your expressive eyes that seems to seperate you from your kind: you shudder; pardon me, I entreat you but I cannot help expressing this once at least the lively interest I feel in your destiny. “You never smile: your voice is low, and you utter your words as if you were afraid of the slight sound they would produce: the expression of awful and intense sorrow never for a moment fades from your countenance. I have lost for ever the loveliest companion that any man could ever have possessed, one who rather appears to have been a superior spirit who by some strange accident wandered among us earthly creatures, than as belonging to our kind. Yet I smile, and sometimes I speak almost forgetful of the change I have endured. But your sad mien never alters; your pulses beat and you breathe, yet you seem already to belong to another world; and sometimes, pray pardon my wild thoughts, when you touch my hand I am surprised to find your hand warm when all the fire of life seems extinct within you. “When I look upon you, the tears you shed, the soft deprecating look with which you withstand enquiry; the deep sympathy your voice expresses when I speak of my lesser sorrows add to my interest for you. You stand here shelterless. You have cast yourself from among us and you wither on this wild plain forlorn and helpless: some dreadful calamity must have befallen you. Do not turn from me; I do not ask you to reveal it: I only entreat you to listen to me and to become familiar with the voice of consolation and kindness. If pity, and admiration, and gentle affection can wean you from despair let me attempt the task. I cannot see your look of deep grief without endeavouring to restore you to happier feelings. Unbend your brow; relax the stern melancholy of your regard; permit a friend, a sincere, affectionate friend, I will be one, to convey some relief, some momentary pause to your sufferings. “Do not think that I would intrude upon your confidence: I only ask your patience. Do not for ever look sorrow and never speak it; utter one word of bitter complaint and I will reprove it with gentle exhortation and pour on you the balm of compassion. You must not shut me from all communion with you: do not tell me why you grieve but only say the words, “I am unhappy,” and you will feel relieved as if for some time excluded from all intercourse by some magic spell you should suddenly enter again the pale of human sympathy. I entreat you to believe in my most sincere professions and to treat me as an old and tried friend: promise me never to forget me, never causelessly to banish me; but try to love me as one who would devote all his energies to make you happy. Give me the name of friend; I will fulfill its duties; and if for a moment complaint and sorrow would shape themselves into words let me be near to speak peace to your vext soul.” I repeat his persuasions in faint terms and cannot give you at the same time the tone and gesture that animated them. Like a refreshing shower on an arid soil they revived me, and although I still kept their cause secret he led me to pour forth my bitter complaints and to clothe my woe in words of gall and fire. With all the energy of desperate grief I told him how I had fallen at once from bliss to misery; how that for me there was no joy, no hope; that death however bitter would be the welcome seal to all my pangs; death the skeleton was to be beautiful as love. I know not why but I found it sweet to utter these words to human ears; and though I derided all consolation yet I was pleased to see it offered me with gentleness and kindness. I listened quietly, and when he paused would again pour out my misery in expressions that shewed how far too deep my wounds were for any cure. But now also I began to reap the fruits of my perfect solitude. I had become unfit for any intercourse, even with Woodville the most gentle and sympathizing creature that existed. I had become captious and unreasonable: my temper was utterly spoilt. I called him my friend but I viewed all he did with jealous eyes. If he did not visit me at the appointed hour I was angry, very angry, and told him that if indeed he did feel interest in me it was cold, and could not be fitted for me, a poor worn creature, whose deep unhappiness demanded much more than his worldly heart could give. When for a moment I imagined that his manner was cold I would fretfully say to him—“I was at peace before you came; why have you disturbed me? You have given me new wants and now your trifle with me as if my heart were as whole as yours, as if I were not in truth a shorn lamb thrust out on the bleak hill side, tortured by every blast. I wished for no friend, no sympathy. I avoided you, you know I did, but you forced yourself upon me and gave me those wants which you see with triumph give you power over me. Oh the brave power of the bitter north wind which freezes the tears it has caused to shed! But I will not bear this; go: the sun will rise and set as before you came, and I shall sit among the pines or wander on the heath weeping and complaining without wishing for you to listen. You are cruel, very cruel, to treat me who bleed at every pore in this rough manner.” And then, when in answer to my peevish words, I saw his countenance bent with living pity on me, when I saw him Gli occhi drizzo ver me con quel sembianteChe madre fa sopra figlioul deliro Paradiso. C 1. I wept and said, “Oh, pardon me! You are good and kind but I am not fit for life. Why am I obliged to live? To drag hour after hour, to see the trees wave their branches restlessly, to feel the air, & to suffer in all I feel keenest agony. My frame is strong, but my soul sinks beneath this endurance of living anguish. Death is the goal that I would attain, but, alas! I do not even see the end of the course. Do you, my compassionate friend, tell me how to die peacefully and innocently and I will bless you: all that I, poor wretch, can desire is a painless death.” But Woodville’s words had magic in them, when beginning with the sweetest pity, he would raise me by degrees out of myself and my sorrows until I wondered at my own selfishness: but he left me and despair returned; the work of consolation was ever to begin anew. I often desired his entire absence; for I found that I was grown out of the ways of life and that by long seclusion, although I could support my accustomed grief, and drink the bitter daily draught with some degree of patience, yet I had become unfit for the slightest novelty of feeling. Expectation, and hopes, and affection were all too much for me. I knew this, but at other times I was unreasonable and laid the blame upon him, who was most blameless, and pevishly thought that if his gentle soul were more gentle, if his intense sympathy were more intense, he could drive the fiend from my soul and make me more human. I am, I thought, a tragedy; a character that he comes to see act: now and then he gives me my cue that I may make a speech more to his purpose: perhaps he is already planning a poem in which I am to figure. I am a farce and play to him, but to me this is all dreary reality: he takes all the profit and I bear all the burthen. 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 (2005). Mathilda. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/15238/pg15238-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

It was six months after this miserable conclusion to his long nursed hopes that I first saw him

North and South by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . CHAPTER XVIII. here CHAPTER XVIII. LIKES AND DISLIKES. “My heart revolts within me, and two voices Make themselves audible within my bosom.” Wallenstein. On Margaret’s return home she found two letters on the table: one was a note for her mother,—the other, which had come by the post, was evidently from her aunt Shaw—covered with foreign post-marks—thin, silvery, and rustling. She took up the other, and was examining it, when her father came in suddenly: “So your mother is tired, and gone to bed early! I’m afraid, such a thundery day was not the best in the world for the doctor to see her. What did he say? Dixon tells me he spoke to you about her.” Margaret hesitated. Her father’s looks became more grave and anxious: “He does not think her seriously ill?” “Not at present; she needs care, he says; he was very kind, and he said he would call again, and see how his medicines worked.” “Only care?—he did not recommend change of air?—he did not say this smoky town was doing her any harm, did he, Margaret?” “No! not a word,” she replied, gravely. “He was anxious, I think.” “Doctors have that anxious manner; its professional,” said he. Margaret saw, in her father’s nervous ways, that the first impression of possible danger was made upon his mind, in spite of all his making light of what she told him. He could not forget the subject,—could not pass from it to other things; he kept recurring to it through the evening, with an unwillingness to receive even the slightest unfavourable idea, which made Margaret inexpressibly sad. “This letter is from Aunt Shaw, papa. She has got to Naples, and finds it too hot, so she has taken apartments at Sorrento. But I don’t think she likes Italy.” “He did not say anything about diet, did he?” “It was to be nourishing, and digestible. Mamma’s appetite is pretty good, I think.” “Yes! and that makes it all the more strange he should have thought of speaking about diet.” “I asked him, papa.” Another pause. Then Margaret went on: “Aunt Shaw says she has sent me some coral ornaments, papa: but,” added Margaret, half smiling, “she’s afraid the Milton dissenters won’t appreciate them. She has got all her ideas of Dissenters from the Quakers, has she not?” “If ever you hear or notice that your mother wishes for anything, be sure you let me know. I am so afraid she does not tell me always what she would like. Pray, see after that girl Mrs. Thornton named. If we had a good, efficient house-servant, Dixon could be constantly with her, and I’d answer for it we’d soon set her up amongst us, if care will do it. She’s been very much tired of late, with the hot weather, and the difficulty of getting a servant. A little rest will put her quite to rights—eh, Margaret?” “I hope so,” said Margaret,—but so sadly, that her father took notice of it. He pinched her cheek. “Come; if you look so pale as this, I must rouge you up a little. Take care of yourself, child, or you’ll be wanting the doctor next.” But he could not settle to anything that evening. He was continually going backwards and forwards, on laborious tiptoe, to see if his wife was still asleep. Margaret’s heart ached at his restlessness—his trying to stifle and strangle the hideous fear that was looming out of the dark places of his heart. He came back at last, somewhat comforted. “She’s awake now, Margaret. She quite smiled as she saw me standing by her. Just her old smile. And she says she feels refreshed, and ready for tea. Where’s the note for her? She want’s to see it. I’ll read it to her while you make tea.” The note proved to be a formal invitation from Mrs. Thornton, to Mr., Mrs., and Miss Hale to dinner, on the twenty-first instant. Margaret was surprised to find an acceptance contemplated, after all she had learnt of sad probabilities during the day. But so it was. The idea of her husband’s and daughter’s going to this dinner had quite captivated Mrs. Hale’s fancy, even before Margaret had heard the contents of the note. It was an event to diversify the monotony of the invalid’s life; and she clung to the idea of their going, with even fretful pertinacity, when Margaret objected. “Nay, Margaret: if she wishes it, I’m sure we’ll both go willingly. She never would wish it unless she felt herself really stronger—really better than we thought she was, eh, Margaret?” said Mr. Hale, anxiously, as she prepared to write the note of acceptance, the next day. “Eh! Margaret?” questioned he, with a nervous motion of his hands. It seemed cruel to refuse him the comfort he craved for. And besides, his passionate refusal to admit the existence of fear, almost inspired Margaret herself with hope. “I do think she is better since last night,” said she. “Her eyes look brighter, and her complexion clearer.” “God bless you,” said her father earnestly. “But is it true? Yesterday was so sultry every one felt ill. It was a most unlucky day for Mr. Donaldson to see her on.” So he went away to his day’s duties, now increased by the preparation of some lectures he had promised to deliver to the working people at a neighbouring Lyceum. He had chosen Ecclesiastical Architecture as his subject, rather more in accordance with his own taste and knowledge than as falling in with the character of the place or the desire for particular kinds of information among those to whom he was to lecture. And the institution itself, being in debt, was only too glad to get a gratis course from an educated and accomplished man like Mr. Hale, let the subject be what it might. “Well, mother,” asked Mr. Thornton that night, “who have accepted your invitations for the twenty-first?” “Fanny, where are the notes? The Slicksons accept, Collingbrooks accept, Stephenses accept, Browns decline. Hales—father and daughter come—mother too great an invalid—Macphersons come, and Mr. Horsfall, and Mr. Young. I was thinking of asking the Porters, as the Browns can’t come.” “Very good. Do you know, I’m really afraid Mrs. Hale is very far from well, from what Dr. Donaldson says.” “It’s strange of them to accept a dinner-invitation if she’s very ill,” said Fanny. “I didn’t say very ill,” said her brother, rather sharply. “I only said far from well. They may not know it either.” And then he suddenly remembered that, from what Dr. Donaldson had told him, Margaret, at any rate, must be aware of the exact state of the case. “Very probably they are quite aware of what you said yesterday, John—of the great advantage it would be to them—to Mr. Hale, I mean, to be introduced to such people as the Stephenses and the Collingbrooks.” “I’m sure that motive would not influence them. No! I think I understand how it is.” “John!” said Fanny, laughing in her little, weak, nervous way. “How you profess to understand these Hales, and how you never will allow that we can know anything about them. Are they really so very different to most people one meets with?” She did not mean to vex him; but if she had intended it, she could not have done it more thoroughly. He chafed in silence, however, not deigning to reply to her question. “They do not seem to me out of the common way,” said Mrs. Thornton. “He appears a worthy kind of man enough; rather too simple for trade—so it’s perhaps as well he should have been a clergyman first, and now a teacher. She’s a bit of a fine lady, with her invalidism; and as for the girl—she’s the only one who puzzles me when I think about her,—which I don’t often do. She seems to have a great notion of giving herself airs; and I can’t make out why. I could almost fancy she thinks herself too good for her company at times. And yet they’re not rich; from all I can hear they never have been.” “And she’s not accomplished, mamma. She can’t play.” “Go on, Fanny. What else; does she want to bring her up to your standard?” “Nay! John,” said his mother, “that speech of Fanny’s did no harm. I myself heard Miss Hale say she could not play. If you would let us alone, we could perhaps like her, and see her merits.” “I’m sure I never could!” murmured Fanny, protected by her mother. Mr. Thornton heard, but did not care to reply. He was walking up and down the dining-room, wishing that his mother would order candles, and allow him to set to work at either reading or writing, and so put a stop to the conversation. But he never thought of interfering in any of the small domestic regulations that Mrs. Thornton observed, in habitual remembrance of her old economies. “Mother,” said he, stopping, and bravely speaking out the truth, “I wish you would like Miss Hale.” “Why,” asked she, startled by his earnest, yet tender manner. “You’re never thinking of marrying her?—a girl without a penny.” “She would never have me,” said he, with a short laugh. “No, I don’t think she would,” answered his mother. “She laughed in my face, when I praised her for speaking out something Mr. Bell had said in your favour. I liked the girl for doing so frankly, for it made me sure she had no thought of you; and the next minute she vexed me so by seeming to think—— Well, never mind! Only you’re right in saying she’s too good an opinion of herself to think of you! The saucy jade! I should like to know where she’d find a better!” “Well, as I’m just as much convinced of the truth of what you have been saying as you can be; and as I have no thought or expectation of ever asking her to be my wife, you’ll believe me for the future that I’m quite disinterested in speaking about her. I foresee trouble for that girl—perhaps, want of motherly care—and I only wish you to be ready to be a friend to her, in case she needs one. Now, Fanny,” said he, “I trust you have delicacy enough to understand, that it is as great an injury to Miss Hale as to me—in fact, she would think it a greater—to suppose that I have any reason, more than I now give, for begging you and my mother to show her every kindly attention.” “I cannot forgive her her pride,” said his mother; “I will befriend her, if there is need, for your asking, John. I would befriend Jezebel herself if you asked me. But this girl, who turns up her nose at us all—who turns up her nose at you——” “Nay, mother; I have never yet put myself, and I mean never to put myself, within reach of her contempt.” “Contempt, indeed!”—(One of Mrs. Thornton’s expressive snorts.)—“Don’t go on speaking of Miss Hale, John, if I’ve to be kind to her. When I’m with her, I don’t know if I like or dislike her most; but when I think of her, and hear you talk of her, I hate her. I can see she’s given herself airs to you as well as if you’d told me out.” “And if she has,” said he—and then he paused for a moment—then went on: “I’m not a lad, to be cowed by a proud look from a woman, or to care for her misunderstanding me and my position. I can laugh at it!” “To be sure! and at her too, with her fine notions, and haughty tosses!” “I only wonder why you talk so much about her, then,” said Fanny. “I’m sure, I’m tired enough of the subject.” “Well!” said her brother, with a shade of bitterness. “Suppose we find some more agreeable subject. What do you say to a strike, by way of something pleasant to talk about?” “Have the hands actually turned out?” asked Mrs. Thornton, with vivid interest. “Hamper’s men are actually out. Mine are working out their week, through fear of being prosecuted for breach of contract. I’d have had every one of them up and punished for it, that left his work before his time was out.” “The law expenses would have been more than the hands themselves were worth—a set of ungrateful naughts!” said his mother. “To be sure. But I’d have shown them how to keep my word, and how I mean them to keep their’s. They know me by this time. Slickson’s men are off—pretty certain he won’t spend money in getting them punished. We’re in for a turn-out, mother.” “I hope there are not many orders in hand?” “Of course there are. They know that well enough. But they don’t quite understand all, though they think they do.” “What do you mean, John?” Candles had been brought, and Fanny had taken up her interminable piece of worsted-work, over which she was yawning; throwing herself back in her chair, from time to time to gaze at vacancy, and think of nothing at her ease. “Why,” said he, “the Americans are getting their yarns so into the general market, that our only chance is producing them at a lower rate. If we can’t, we may shut up shop at once, and hands and masters alike go on tramp. Yet these fools go back to the prices paid three years ago—nay, some of their leaders quote Dickinson’s price now—though they know as well as we do that, what with fines pressed out of their wages, as no honourable man would extort them, the real rate of wage paid at Dickinson’s is less than at ours. Upon my word, mother, I wish the old combination laws were in force. It is too bad to find out that fools—ignorant, wayward men like these—just by uniting their silly heads, are to rule over the fortunes of those who bring all the wisdom that knowledge and experience, and often painful thought and anxiety, can give. The next thing will be—indeed, we’ve all but come to it now—that we shall have to go and ask—stand hat in hand—and humbly ask the secretary of the Spinner’s Union to be so kind as to furnish us with labour at their own price. That’s what they want—they, who haven’t the sense to see that, if we don’t get a fair share of the profits to compensate us for our wear and tear here in England, we can move off to some other country; and that, what with home and foreign competition, we are none of us likely to make above a fair share, and may be thankful enough if we can get that, in an average number of years.” “Can’t you get hands from Ireland? I wouldn’t keep these fellows a day. I’d teach them that I was master, and could employ what servants I liked.” “Yes! to be sure, I can; and will, too, if they go on long. It will be trouble and expense, and I fear there will be some danger; but I will do it, rather than give in.” “If there is to be all this extra expense, I’m sorry we’re giving a dinner just now.” “So am I,—not because of the expense, but because I shall have much to think about, and many unexpected calls on my time. But we must have had Mr. Horsfall, and he does not stay in Milton long. And as for the others, we owe them dinners, and it’s all one trouble.” He kept on with his restless walk—not speaking any more, but drawing a deep breath from time to time, as if endeavouring to throw off some annoying thought. Fanny asked her mother numerous small questions, all having nothing to do with the subject, which a wiser person would have perceived was occupying her attention. Consequently, she received many short answers. She was not sorry when, at ten o’clock, the servants filed in to prayers. These her mother always read,—first reading a chapter. They were now working steadily through the Old Testament. When prayers were ended, and his mother had wished him good-night, with that long steady look of hers which conveyed no expression of the tenderness that was in her heart, but yet had the intensity of a blessing, Mr. Thornton continued his walk. All his business plans had received a check, a sudden pull-up, from this approaching turn-out. The forethought of many anxious hours was thrown away, utterly wasted by their insane folly, which would injure themselves even more than him, though no one could set any limit to the mischief they were doing. And these were the men who thought themselves fitted to direct the masters in the disposal of their capital; Hamper had said, only this very day, that if he were ruined by the strike, he would start life again, comforted by the conviction that those who had brought it on were in a worse predicament than he himself,—for he had head as well as hands, while they had only hands; and if they drove away their market, they could not follow it, nor turn to anything else. But this thought was no consolation to Mr. Thornton. It might be that revenge gave him no pleasure; it might be that he valued the position he had earned with the sweat of his brow, so much that he keenly felt its being endangered by the ignorance or folly of others,—so keenly that he had no thoughts to spare for what would be the consequences of their conduct to themselves. He paced up and down, setting his teeth now and then. At last it struck two. The candles were flickering in their sockets. He lighted his own, muttering to himself: “Once for all they shall know whom they have got to deal with. I can give them a fortnight,—no more. If they don’t see their madness before the end of that time, I must have hands from Ireland. I believe it’s Slickson’s doing,—confound him and his dodges! He thought he was overstocked; so he seemed to yield at first, when the deputation came to him,—and of course, he only confirmed them in their folly, as he meant to do. That’s where it spread from.” 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. Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell (2003). North and South. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/4276/pg4276-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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