In biogeography and paleontology, a relict is a population or taxon of organisms that was more widespread or more diverse in the past. A relictual population is a population currently inhabiting a restricted area whose range was far wider during a previous geologic epoch.

Relict (biology) - Wikipedia

Word originC16: from Latin relictus left behind, from relinquere to relinquish · These examples have been automatically selected and may contain sensitive content that does not reflect the opinions or policies of Collins, or its parent company HarperCollins.

RELICT definition in American English | Collins English Dictionary

Sense 3, Middle English relicte, from Medieval Latin relicta, from feminine past participle of Latin relinquere.] American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fifth Edition. Copyright © 2016 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt ...

Relict - definition of relict by The Free Dictionary

For example, the first human groups to inhabit the Caribbean islands were hunter-gatherer tribes from South and Central America. Genetic testing of natives of Cuba show that, in late pre-Columbian times, the island was home to agriculturalists of Taino ethnicity. In addition, a relict population ...

Relict - Wikipedia

Relict The term relict is used to refer to surviving remnants of natural phenomena. Compare relic which is used to refer to human artifacts or remains. In

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The meaning of RELICT is widow. How to use relict in a sentence. Did you know?

Relict Definition & Meaning - Merriam-Webster

Relict definition: . See examples of RELICT used in a sentence.

RELICT Definition & Usage Examples | Dictionary.com

Inherited from Middle English relicte (“widow”), from Middle French relicte (“widow”), from Late Latin relicta (“widow”), from Latin relictus, past participle of relinquō (“I abandon, I relinquish, I leave (behind)”), from re- + linquō (“I leave, quit, forsake, depart from”).

relict - Wiktionary, the free dictionary

Relict definition: Of or relating to something that has survived, as structures or minerals after destructive processes.

Relict Definition & Meaning | YourDictionary

Some geologic processes are destructive or transformative of structures or minerals, and when a process is not complete or does not completely destroy certain features, the left-over feature is a relict of what was there before. For example, relict permafrost is an area of ancient permafrost ...

Relict (geology) - Wikipedia

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Relicts are a type of creature and/or monster in The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. Relicts include:

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Mrs. Greenow's Little Dinner in the Close

The Golden Road by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . PEG BOWEN COMES TO CHURCH CHAPTER XXI. PEG BOWEN COMES TO CHURCH When those of us who are still left of that band of children who played long years ago in the old orchard and walked the golden road together in joyous companionship, foregather now and again in our busy lives and talk over the events of those many merry moons—there are some of our adventures that gleam out more vividly in memory than the others, and are oftener discussed. The time we bought God’s picture from Jerry Cowan—the time Dan ate the poison berries—the time we heard the ghostly bell ring—the bewitchment of Paddy—the visit of the Governor’s wife—and the night we were lost in the storm—all awaken reminiscent jest and laughter; but none more than the recollection of the Sunday Peg Bowen came to church and sat in our pew. Though goodness knows, as Felicity would say, we did not think it any matter for laughter at the time—far from it. It was one Sunday evening in July. Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet, having been out to the morning service, did not attend in the evening, and we small fry walked together down the long hill road, wearing Sunday attire and trying, more or less successfully, to wear Sunday faces also. Those walks to church, through the golden completeness of the summer evenings, were always very pleasant to us, and we never hurried, though, on the other hand, we were very careful not to be late. This particular evening was particularly beautiful. It was cool after a hot day, and wheat fields all about us were ripening to their harvestry. The wind gossiped with the grasses along our way, and over them the buttercups danced, goldenly-glad. Waves of sinuous shadow went over the ripe hayfields, and plundering bees sang a freebooting lilt in wayside gardens. “The world is so lovely tonight,” said the Story Girl. “I just hate the thought of going into the church and shutting all the sunlight and music outside. I wish we could have the service outside in summer.” “I don’t think that would be very religious,” said Felicity. “I’d feel ever so much more religious outside than in,” retorted the Story Girl. “If the service was outside we’d have to sit in the graveyard and that wouldn’t be very cheerful,” said Felix. “Besides, the music isn’t shut out,” added Felicity. “The choir is inside.” “‘Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,’” quoted Peter, who was getting into the habit of adorning his conversation with similar gems. “That’s in one of Shakespeare’s plays. I’m reading them now, since I got through with the Bible. They’re great.” “I don’t see when you get time to read them,” said Felicity. “Oh, I read them Sunday afternoons when I’m home.” “I don’t believe they’re fit to read on Sundays,” exclaimed Felicity. “Mother says Valeria Montague’s stories ain’t.” “But Shakespeare’s different from Valeria,” protested Peter. “I don’t see in what way. He wrote a lot of things that weren’t true, just like Valeria, and he wrote swear words too. Valeria never does that. Her characters all talk in a very refined fashion.” “Well, I always skip the swear words,” said Peter. “And Mr. Marwood said once that the Bible and Shakespeare would furnish any library well. So you see he put them together, but I’m sure that he would never say that the Bible and Valeria would make a library.” “Well, all I know is, I shall never read Shakespeare on Sunday,” said Felicity loftily. “I wonder what kind of a preacher young Mr. Davidson is,” speculated Cecily. “Well, we’ll know when we hear him tonight,” said the Story Girl. “He ought to be good, for his uncle before him was a fine preacher, though a very absent-minded man. But Uncle Roger says the supply in Mr. Marwood’s vacation never amounts to much. I know an awfully funny story about old Mr. Davidson. He used to be the minister in Baywater, you know, and he had a large family and his children were very mischievous. One day his wife was ironing and she ironed a great big nightcap with a frill round it. One of the children took it when she wasn’t looking and hid it in his father’s best beaver hat—the one he wore on Sundays. When Mr. Davidson went to church next Sunday he put the hat on without ever looking into the crown. He walked to church in a brown study and at the door he took off his hat. The nightcap just slipped down on his head, as if it had been put on, and the frill stood out around his face and the string hung down his back. But he never noticed it, because his thoughts were far away, and he walked up the church aisle and into the pulpit, like that. One of his elders had to tiptoe up and tell him what he had on his head. He plucked it off in a dazed fashion, held it up, and looked at it. ‘Bless me, it is Sally’s nightcap!’ he exclaimed mildly. ‘I do not know how I could have got it on.’ Then he just stuffed it into his pocket calmly and went on with the service, and the long strings of the nightcap hung down out of his pocket all the time.” “It seems to me,” said Peter, amid the laughter with which we greeted the tale, “that a funny story is funnier when it is about a minister than it is about any other man. I wonder why.” “Sometimes I don’t think it is right to tell funny stories about ministers,” said Felicity. “It certainly isn’t respectful.” “A good story is a good story—no matter who it’s about,” said the Story Girl with ungrammatical relish. There was as yet no one in the church when we reached it, so we took our accustomed ramble through the graveyard surrounding it. The Story Girl had brought flowers for her mother’s grave as usual, and while she arranged them on it the rest of us read for the hundredth time the epitaph on Great-Grandfather King’s tombstone, which had been composed by Great-Grandmother King. That epitaph was quite famous among the little family traditions that entwine every household with mingled mirth and sorrow, smiles and tears. It had a perennial fascination for us and we read it over every Sunday. Cut deeply in the upright slab of red Island sandstone, the epitaph ran as follows:— SWEET DEPARTED SPIRIT Do receive the vows a grateful widow pays, Each future day and night shall hear her speak her Isaac’s praise. Though thy beloved form must in the grave decay Yet from her heart thy memory no time, no change shall steal away. Do thou from mansions of eternal bliss Remember thy distressed relict. Look on her with an angel’s love— Soothe her sad life and cheer her end Through this world’s dangers and its griefs. Then meet her with thy well-known smiles and welcome At the last great day. “Well, I can’t make out what the old lady was driving at,” said Dan. “That’s a nice way to speak of your great-grandmother,” said Felicity severely. “How does The Family Guide say you ought to speak of your great-grandma, sweet one?” asked Dan. “There is one thing about it that puzzles me,” remarked Cecily. “She calls herself a GRATEFUL widow. Now, what was she grateful for?” “Because she was rid of him at last,” said graceless Dan. “Oh, it couldn’t have been that,” protested Cecily seriously. “I’ve always heard that Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother were very much attached to each other.” “Maybe, then, it means she was grateful that she’d had him as long as she did,” suggested Peter. “She was grateful to him because he had been so kind to her in life, I think,” said Felicity. “What is a ‘distressed relict’?” asked Felix. “‘Relict’ is a word I hate,” said the Story Girl. “It sounds so much like relic. Relict means just the same as widow, only a man can be a relict, too.” “Great-Grandmother seemed to run short of rhymes at the last of the epitaph,” commented Dan. “Finding rhymes isn’t as easy as you might think,” avowed Peter, out of his own experience. “I think Grandmother King intended the last of the epitaph to be in blank verse,” said Felicity with dignity. There was still only a sprinkling of people in the church when we went in and took our places in the old-fashioned, square King pew. We had just got comfortably settled when Felicity said in an agitated whisper, “Here is Peg Bowen!” We all stared at Peg, who was pacing composedly up the aisle. We might be excused for so doing, for seldom were the decorous aisles of Carlisle church invaded by such a figure. Peg was dressed in her usual short drugget skirt, rather worn and frayed around the bottom, and a waist of brilliant turkey red calico. She wore no hat, and her grizzled black hair streamed in elf locks over her shoulders. Face, arms and feet were bare—and face, arms and feet were liberally powdered with FLOUR. Certainly no one who saw Peg that night could ever forget the apparition. Peg’s black eyes, in which shone a more than usually wild and fitful light, roved scrutinizingly over the church, then settled on our pew. “She’s coming here,” whispered Felicity in horror. “Can’t we spread out and make her think the pew is full?” But the manoeuvre was too late. The only result was that Felicity and the Story Girl in moving over left a vacant space between them and Peg promptly plumped down in it. “Well, I’m here,” she remarked aloud. “I did say once I’d never darken the door of Carlisle church again, but what that boy there”—nodding at Peter—“said last winter set me thinking, and I concluded maybe I’d better come once in a while, to be on the safe side.” Those poor girls were in an agony. Everybody in the church was looking at our pew and smiling. We all felt that we were terribly disgraced; but we could do nothing. Peg was enjoying herself hugely, beyond all doubt. From where she sat she could see the whole church, including pulpit and gallery, and her black eyes darted over it with restless glances. “Bless me, there’s Sam Kinnaird,” she exclaimed, still aloud. “He’s the man that dunned Jacob Marr for four cents on the church steps one Sunday. I heard him. ‘I think, Jacob, you owe me four cents on that cow you bought last fall. Rec’llect you couldn’t make the change?’ Well, you know, ‘twould a-made a cat laugh. The Kinnairds were all mighty close, I can tell you. That’s how they got rich.” What Sam Kinnaird felt or thought during this speech, which everyone in the church must have heard, I know not. Gossip had it that he changed colour. We wretched occupants of the King pew were concerned only with our own outraged feelings. “And there’s Melita Ross,” went on Peg. “She’s got the same bonnet on she had last time I was in Carlisle church six years ago. Some folks has the knack of making things last. But look at the style Mrs. Elmer Brewer wears, will yez? Yez wouldn’t think her mother died in the poor-house, would yez, now?” Poor Mrs. Brewer! From the tip of her smart kid shoes to the dainty cluster of ostrich tips in her bonnet—she was most immaculately and handsomely arrayed; but I venture to think she could have taken small pleasure in her fashionable attire that evening. Some of the unregenerate, including Dan, were shaking with suppressed laughter, but most of the people looked as if they were afraid to smile, lest their turn should come next. “There’s old Stephen Grant coming in,” exclaimed Peg viciously, shaking her floury fist at him, “and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He may be an elder, but he’s a scoundrel just the same. He set fire to his house to get the insurance and then blamed ME for doing it. But I got even with him for it. Oh, yes! He knows that, and so do I! He, he!” Peg chuckled quite fiendishly and Stephen Grant tried to look as if nothing had been said. “Oh, will the minister never come?” moaned Felicity in my ear. “Surely she’ll have to stop then.” But the minister did not come and Peg had no intention of stopping. “There’s Maria Dean.” she resumed. “I haven’t seen Maria for years. I never call there for she never seems to have anything to eat in the house. She was a Clayton and the Claytons never could cook. Maria sorter looks as if she’d shrunk in the wash, now, don’t she? And there’s Douglas Nicholson. His brother put rat poison in the family pancakes. Nice little trick that, wasn’t it? They say it was by mistake. I hope it WAS a mistake. His wife is all rigged out in silk. Yez wouldn’t think to look at her she was married in cotton—and mighty thankful to get married in anything, it’s my opinion. There’s Timothy Patterson. He’s the meanest man alive—meaner’n Sam Kinnaird even. Timothy pays his children five cents apiece to go without their suppers, and then steals the cents out of their pockets after they’ve gone to bed. It’s a fact. And when his old father died he wouldn’t let his wife put his best shirt on him. He said his second best was plenty good to be buried in. That’s another fact.” “I can’t stand much more of this,” wailed Felicity. “See here, Miss Bowen, you really oughtn’t to talk like that about people,” expostulated Peter in a low tone, goaded thereto, despite his awe of Peg, by Felicity’s anguish. “Bless you, boy,” said Peg good-humouredly, “the only difference between me and other folks is that I say these things out loud and they just think them. If I told yez all the things I know about the people in this congregation you’d be amazed. Have a peppermint?” To our horror Peg produced a handful of peppermint lozenges from the pocket of her skirt and offered us one each. We did not dare refuse but we each held our lozenge very gingerly in our hands. “Eat them,” commanded Peg rather fiercely. “Mother doesn’t allow us to eat candy in church,” faltered Felicity. “Well, I’ve seen just as fine ladies as your ma give their children lozenges in church,” said Peg loftily. She put a peppermint in her own mouth and sucked it with gusto. We were relieved, for she did not talk during the process; but our relief was of short duration. A bevy of three very smartly dressed young ladies, sweeping past our pew, started Peg off again. “Yez needn’t be so stuck up,” she said, loudly and derisively. “Yez was all of yez rocked in a flour barrel. And there’s old Henry Frewen, still above ground. I called my parrot after him because their noses were exactly alike. Look at Caroline Marr, will yez? That’s a woman who’d like pretty well to get married, And there’s Alexander Marr. He’s a real Christian, anyhow, and so’s his dog. I can always size up what a man’s religion amounts to by the kind of dog he keeps. Alexander Marr is a good man.” It was a relief to hear Peg speak well of somebody; but that was the only exception she made. “Look at Dave Fraser strutting in,” she went on. “That man has thanked God so often that he isn’t like other people that it’s come to be true. He isn’t! And there’s Susan Frewen. She’s jealous of everybody. She’s even jealous of Old Man Rogers because he’s buried in the best spot in the graveyard. Seth Erskine has the same look he was born with. They say the Lord made everybody but I believe the devil made all the Erskines.” “She’s getting worse all the time. What WILL she say next?” whispered poor Felicity. But her martyrdom was over at last. The minister appeared in the pulpit and Peg subsided into silence. She folded her bare, floury arms over her breast and fastened her black eyes on the young preacher. Her behaviour for the next half-hour was decorum itself, save that when the minister prayed that we might all be charitable in judgment Peg ejaculated “Amen” several times, loudly and forcibly, somewhat to the discomfiture of the Young man, to whom Peg was a stranger. He opened his eyes, glanced at our pew in a startled way, then collected himself and went on. Peg listened to the sermon, silently and motionlessly, until Mr. Davidson was half through. Then she suddenly got on her feet. “This is too dull for me,” she exclaimed. “I want something more exciting.” Mr. Davidson stopped short and Peg marched down the aisle in the midst of complete silence. Half way down the aisle she turned around and faced the minister. “There are so many hypocrites in this church that it isn’t fit for decent people to come to,” she said. “Rather than be such hypocrites as most of you are it would be better for you to go miles into the woods and commit suicide.” Wheeling about, she strode to the door. Then she turned for a Parthian shot. “I’ve felt kind of worried for God sometimes, seeing He has so much to attend to,” she said, “but I see I needn’t be, so long’s there’s plenty of ministers to tell Him what to do.” With that Peg shook the dust of Carlisle church from her feet. Poor Mr. Davidson resumed his discourse. Old Elder Bayley, whose attention an earthquake could not have distracted from the sermon, afterwards declared that it was an excellent and edifying exhortation, but I doubt if anyone else in Carlisle church tasted it much or gained much good therefrom. Certainly we of the King household did not. We could not even remember the text when we reached home. Felicity was comfortless. “Mr. Davidson would be sure to think she belonged to our family when she was in our pew,” she said bitterly. “Oh, I feel as if I could never get over such a mortification! Peter, I do wish you wouldn’t go telling people they ought to go to church. It’s all your fault that this happened.” “Never mind, it will be a good story to tell sometime,” remarked the Story Girl with relish. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. L. M. Montgomery (2008). The Golden Road. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/316/pg316-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

PEG BOWEN COMES TO CHURCH

Anne's House of Dreams by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . MISS CORNELIA MAKES A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT CHAPTER XXXVII. MISS CORNELIA MAKES A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT Miss Cornelia sailed down to the little house one drowsy afternoon, when the gulf was the faint, bleached blue of the August seas, and the orange lilies at the gate of Anne's garden held up their imperial cups to be filled with the molten gold of August sunshine. Not that Miss Cornelia concerned herself with painted oceans or sun-thirsty lilies. She sat in her favorite rocker in unusual idleness. She sewed not, neither did she spin. Nor did she say a single derogatory word concerning any portion of mankind. In short, Miss Cornelia's conversation was singularly devoid of spice that day, and Gilbert, who had stayed home to listen to her, instead of going a-fishing, as he had intended, felt himself aggrieved. What had come over Miss Cornelia? She did not look cast down or worried. On the contrary, there was a certain air of nervous exultation about her. "Where is Leslie?" she asked—not as if it mattered much either. "Owen and she went raspberrying in the woods back of her farm," answered Anne. "They won't be back before supper time—if then." "They don't seem to have any idea that there is such a thing as a clock," said Gilbert. "I can't get to the bottom of that affair. I'm certain you women pulled strings. But Anne, undutiful wife, won't tell me. Will you, Miss Cornelia?" "No, I shall not. But," said Miss Cornelia, with the air of one determined to take the plunge and have it over, "I will tell you something else. I came today on purpose to tell it. I am going to be married." Anne and Gilbert were silent. If Miss Cornelia had announced her intention of going out to the channel and drowning herself the thing might have been believable. This was not. So they waited. Of course Miss Cornelia had made a mistake. "Well, you both look sort of kerflummexed," said Miss Cornelia, with a twinkle in her eyes. Now that the awkward moment of revelation was over, Miss Cornelia was her own woman again. "Do you think I'm too young and inexperienced for matrimony?" "You know—it IS rather staggering," said Gilbert, trying to gather his wits together. "I've heard you say a score of times that you wouldn't marry the best man in the world." "I'm not going to marry the best man in the world," retorted Miss Cornelia. "Marshall Elliott is a long way from being the best." "Are you going to marry Marshall Elliott?" exclaimed Anne, recovering her power of speech under this second shock. "Yes. I could have had him any time these twenty years if I'd lifted my finger. But do you suppose I was going to walk into church beside a perambulating haystack like that?" "I am sure we are very glad—and we wish you all possible happiness," said Anne, very flatly and inadequately, as she felt. She was not prepared for such an occasion. She had never imagined herself offering betrothal felicitations to Miss Cornelia. "Thanks, I knew you would," said Miss Cornelia. "You are the first of my friends to know it." "We shall be so sorry to lose you, though, dear Miss Cornelia," said Anne, beginning to be a little sad and sentimental. "Oh, you won't lose me," said Miss Cornelia unsentimentally. "You don't suppose I would live over harbor with all those MacAllisters and Elliotts and Crawfords, do you? 'From the conceit of the Elliotts, the pride of the MacAllisters and the vain-glory of the Crawfords, good Lord deliver us.' Marshall is coming to live at my place. I'm sick and tired of hired men. That Jim Hastings I've got this summer is positively the worst of the species. He would drive anyone to getting married. What do you think? He upset the churn yesterday and spilled a big churning of cream over the yard. And not one whit concerned about it was he! Just gave a foolish laugh and said cream was good for the land. Wasn't that like a man? I told him I wasn't in the habit of fertilising my back yard with cream." "Well, I wish you all manner of happiness too, Miss Cornelia," said Gilbert, solemnly; "but," he added, unable to resist the temptation to tease Miss Cornelia, despite Anne's imploring eyes, "I fear your day of independence is done. As you know, Marshall Elliott is a very determined man." "I like a man who can stick to a thing," retorted Miss Cornelia. "Amos Grant, who used to be after me long ago, couldn't. You never saw such a weather-vane. He jumped into the pond to drown himself once and then changed his mind and swum out again. Wasn't that like a man? Marshall would have stuck to it and drowned." "And he has a bit of a temper, they tell me," persisted Gilbert. "He wouldn't be an Elliott if he hadn't. I'm thankful he has. It will be real fun to make him mad. And you can generally do something with a tempery man when it comes to repenting time. But you can't do anything with a man who just keeps placid and aggravating." "You know he's a Grit, Miss Cornelia." "Yes, he IS," admitted Miss Cornelia rather sadly. "And of course there is no hope of making a Conservative of him. But at least he is a Presbyterian. So I suppose I shall have to be satisfied with that." "Would you marry him if he were a Methodist, Miss Cornelia?" "No, I would not. Politics is for this world, but religion is for both." "And you may be a 'relict' after all, Miss Cornelia." "Not I. Marshall will live me out. The Elliotts are long-lived, and the Bryants are not." "When are you to be married?" asked Anne. "In about a month's time. My wedding dress is to be navy blue silk. And I want to ask you, Anne, dearie, if you think it would be all right to wear a veil with a navy blue dress. I've always thought I'd like to wear a veil if I ever got married. Marshall says to have it if I want to. Isn't that like a man?" "Why shouldn't you wear it if you want to?" asked Anne. "Well, one doesn't want to be different from other people," said Miss Cornelia, who was not noticeably like anyone else on the face of the earth. "As I say, I do fancy a veil. But maybe it shouldn't be worn with any dress but a white one. Please tell me, Anne, dearie, what you really think. I'll go by your advice." "I don't think veils are usually worn with any but white dresses," admitted Anne, "but that is merely a convention; and I am like Mr. Elliott, Miss Cornelia. I don't see any good reason why you shouldn't have a veil if you want one." But Miss Cornelia, who made her calls in calico wrappers, shook her head. "If it isn't the proper thing I won't wear it," she said, with a sigh of regret for a lost dream. "Since you are determined to be married, Miss Cornelia," said Gilbert solemnly, "I shall give you the excellent rules for the management of a husband which my grandmother gave my mother when she married my father." "Well, I reckon I can manage Marshall Elliott," said Miss Cornelia placidly. "But let us hear your rules." "The first one is, catch him." "He's caught. Go on." "The second one is, feed him well." "With enough pie. What next?" "The third and fourth are—keep your eye on him." "I believe you," said Miss Cornelia emphatically. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. L. M. Montgomery (1996). Anne's House of Dreams. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/544/pg544-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html. The lead image was generated using HackerNoon's Stable Disffusion Al Image Generator feature, via the prompt "ANNE'S HOUSE OF DREAMS".

MISS CORNELIA MAKES A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT

Anne's House of Dreams by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . ODDS AND ENDS CHAPTER 28. ODDS AND ENDS "I've been reading obituary notices," said Miss Cornelia, laying down the Daily Enterprise and taking up her sewing. The harbor was lying black and sullen under a dour November sky; the wet, dead leaves clung drenched and sodden to the window sills; but the little house was gay with firelight and spring-like with Anne's ferns and geraniums. "It's always summer here, Anne," Leslie had said one day; and all who were the guests of that house of dreams felt the same. "The Enterprise seems to run to obituaries these days," quoth Miss Cornelia. "It always has a couple of columns of them, and I read every line. It's one of my forms of recreation, especially when there's some original poetry attached to them. Here's a choice sample for you: She's gone to be with her Maker, Never more to roam. She used to play and sing with joy The song of Home, Sweet Home. Who says we haven't any poetical talent on the Island! Have you ever noticed what heaps of good people die, Anne, dearie? It's kind of pitiful. Here's ten obituaries, and every one of them saints and models, even the men. Here's old Peter Stimson, who has 'left a large circle of friends to mourn his untimely loss.' Lord, Anne, dearie, that man was eighty, and everybody who knew him had been wishing him dead these thirty years. Read obituaries when you're blue, Anne, dearie—especially the ones of folks you know. If you've any sense of humor at all they'll cheer you up, believe ME. I just wish I had the writing of the obituaries of some people. Isn't 'obituary' an awful ugly word? This very Peter I've been speaking of had a face exactly like one. I never saw it but I thought of the word OBITUARY then and there. There's only one uglier word that I know of, and that's RELICT. Lord, Anne, dearie, I may be an old maid, but there's this comfort in it—I'll never be any man's 'relict.'" "It IS an ugly word," said Anne, laughing. "Avonlea graveyard was full of old tombstones 'sacred to the memory of So-and-So, RELICT of the late So-and-So.' It always made me think of something worn out and moth eaten. Why is it that so many of the words connected with death are so disagreeable? I do wish that the custom of calling a dead body 'the remains' could be abolished. I positively shiver when I hear the undertaker say at a funeral, 'All who wish to see the remains please step this way.' It always gives me the horrible impression that I am about to view the scene of a cannibal feast." "Well, all I hope," said Miss Cornelia calmly, "is that when I'm dead nobody will call me 'our departed sister.' I took a scunner at this sister-and-brothering business five years ago when there was a travelling evangelist holding meetings at the Glen. I hadn't any use for him from the start. I felt in my bones that there was something wrong with him. And there was. Mind you, he was pretending to be a Presbyterian—PresbyTARian, HE called it—and all the time he was a Methodist. He brothered and sistered everybody. He had a large circle of relations, that man had. He clutched my hand fervently one night, and said imploringly, 'My DEAR sister Bryant, are you a Christian?' I just looked him over a bit, and then I said calmly, 'The only brother I ever had, MR. Fiske, was buried fifteen years ago, and I haven't adopted any since. As for being a Christian, I was that, I hope and believe, when you were crawling about the floor in petticoats.' THAT squelched him, believe ME. Mind you, Anne dearie, I'm not down on all evangelists. We've had some real fine, earnest men, who did a lot of good and made the old sinners squirm. But this Fiske-man wasn't one of them. I had a good laugh all to myself one evening. Fiske had asked all who were Christians to stand up. I didn't, believe me! I never had any use for that sort of thing. But most of them did, and then he asked all who wanted to be Christians to stand up. Nobody stirred for a spell, so Fiske started up a hymn at the top of his voice. Just in front of me poor little Ikey Baker was sitting in the Millison pew. He was a home boy, ten years old, and Millison just about worked him to death. The poor little creature was always so tired he fell asleep right off whenever he went to church or anywhere he could sit still for a few minutes. He'd been sleeping all through the meeting, and I was thankful to see the poor child getting a rest, believe ME. Well, when Fiske's voice went soaring skyward and the rest joined in, poor Ikey wakened with a start. He thought it was just an ordinary singing and that everybody ought to stand up, so he scrambled to his feet mighty quick, knowing he'd get a combing down from Maria Millison for sleeping in meeting. Fiske saw him, stopped and shouted, 'Another soul saved! Glory Hallelujah!' And there was poor, frightened Ikey, only half awake and yawning, never thinking about his soul at all. Poor child, he never had time to think of anything but his tired, overworked little body. "Leslie went one night and the Fiske-man got right after her—oh, he was especially anxious about the souls of the nice-looking girls, believe me!—and he hurt her feelings so she never went again. And then he prayed every night after that, right in public, that the Lord would soften her hard heart. Finally I went to Mr. Leavitt, our minister then, and told him if he didn't make Fiske stop that I'd just rise up the next night and throw my hymn book at him when he mentioned that 'beautiful but unrepentant young woman.' I'd have done it too, believe ME. Mr. Leavitt did put a stop to it, but Fiske kept on with his meetings until Charley Douglas put an end to his career in the Glen. Mrs. Charley had been out in California all winter. She'd been real melancholy in the fall—religious melancholy—it ran in her family. Her father worried so much over believing that he had committed the unpardonable sin that he died in the asylum. So when Rose Douglas got that way Charley packed her off to visit her sister in Los Angeles. She got perfectly well and came home just when the Fiske revival was in full swing. She stepped off the train at the Glen, real smiling and chipper, and the first thing she saw staring her in the face on the black, gable-end of the freight shed, was the question, in big white letters, two feet high, 'Whither goest thou—to heaven or hell?' That had been one of Fiske's ideas, and he had got Henry Hammond to paint it. Rose just gave a shriek and fainted; and when they got her home she was worse than ever. Charley Douglas went to Mr. Leavitt and told him that every Douglas would leave the church if Fiske was kept there any longer. Mr. Leavitt had to give in, for the Douglases paid half his salary, so Fiske departed, and we had to depend on our Bibles once more for instructions on how to get to heaven. After he was gone Mr. Leavitt found out he was just a masquerading Methodist, and he felt pretty sick, believe ME. Mr. Leavitt fell short in some ways, but he was a good, sound Presbyterian." "By the way, I had a letter from Mr. Ford yesterday," said Anne. "He asked me to remember him kindly to you." "I don't want his remembrances," said Miss Cornelia, curtly. "Why?" said Anne, in astonishment. "I thought you liked him." "Well, so I did, in a kind of way. But I'll never forgive him for what he done to Leslie. There's that poor child eating her heart out about him—as if she hadn't had trouble enough—and him ranting round Toronto, I've no doubt, enjoying himself same as ever. Just like a man." "Oh, Miss Cornelia, how did you find out?" "Lord, Anne, dearie, I've got eyes, haven't I? And I've known Leslie since she was a baby. There's been a new kind of heartbreak in her eyes all the fall, and I know that writer-man was behind it somehow. I'll never forgive myself for being the means of bringing him here. But I never expected he'd be like he was. I thought he'd just be like the other men Leslie had boarded—conceited young asses, every one of them, that she never had any use for. One of them did try to flirt with her once and she froze him out—so bad, I feel sure he's never got himself thawed since. So I never thought of any danger." "Don't let Leslie suspect you know her secret," said Anne hurriedly. "I think it would hurt her." "Trust me, Anne, dearie. I wasn't born yesterday. Oh, a plague on all the men! One of them ruined Leslie's life to begin with, and now another of the tribe comes and makes her still more wretched. Anne, this world is an awful place, believe me." "There's something in the world amiss Will be unriddled by and by," quoted Anne dreamily. "If it is, it'll be in a world where there aren't any men," said Miss Cornelia gloomily. "What have the men been doing now?" asked Gilbert, entering. "Mischief—mischief! What else did they ever do?" "It was Eve ate the apple, Miss Cornelia." "'Twas a he-creature tempted her," retorted Miss Cornelia triumphantly. Leslie, after her first anguish was over, found it possible to go on with life after all, as most of us do, no matter what our particular form of torment has been. It is even possible that she enjoyed moments of it, when she was one of the gay circle in the little house of dreams. But if Anne ever hoped that she was forgetting Owen Ford she would have been undeceived by the furtive hunger in Leslie's eyes whenever his name was mentioned. Pitiful to that hunger, Anne always contrived to tell Captain Jim or Gilbert bits of news from Owen's letters when Leslie was with them. The girl's flush and pallor at such moments spoke all too eloquently of the emotion that filled her being. But she never spoke of him to Anne, or mentioned that night on the sand-bar. One day her old dog died and she grieved bitterly over him. "He's been my friend so long," she said sorrowfully to Anne. "He was Dick's old dog, you know—Dick had him for a year or so before we were married. He left him with me when he sailed on the Four Sisters. Carlo got very fond of me—and his dog-love helped me through that first dreadful year after mother died, when I was alone. When I heard that Dick was coming back I was afraid Carlo wouldn't be so much mine. But he never seemed to care for Dick, though he had been so fond of him once. He would snap and growl at him as if he were a stranger. I was glad. It was nice to have one thing whose love was all mine. That old dog has been such a comfort to me, Anne. He got so feeble in the fall that I was afraid he couldn't live long—but I hoped I could nurse him through the winter. He seemed pretty well this morning. He was lying on the rug before the fire; then, all at once, he got up and crept over to me; he put his head on my lap and gave me one loving look out of his big, soft, dog eyes—and then he just shivered and died. I shall miss him so." "Let me give you another dog, Leslie," said Anne. "I'm getting a lovely Gordon setter for a Christmas present for Gilbert. Let me give you one too." Leslie shook her head. "Not just now, thank you, Anne. I don't feel like having another dog yet. I don't seem to have any affection left for another. Perhaps—in time—I'll let you give me one. I really need one as a kind of protection. But there was something almost human about Carlo—it wouldn't be DECENT to fill his place too hurriedly, dear old fellow." Anne went to Avonlea a week before Christmas and stayed until after the holidays. Gilbert came up for her, and there was a glad New Year celebration at Green Gables, when Barrys and Blythes and Wrights assembled to devour a dinner which had cost Mrs. Rachel and Marilla much careful thought and preparation. When they went back to Four Winds the little house was almost drifted over, for the third storm of a winter that was to prove phenomenally stormy had whirled up the harbor and heaped huge snow mountains about everything it encountered. But Captain Jim had shovelled out doors and paths, and Miss Cornelia had come down and kindled the hearth-fire. "It's good to see you back, Anne, dearie! But did you ever see such drifts? You can't see the Moore place at all unless you go upstairs. Leslie'll be so glad you're back. She's almost buried alive over there. Fortunately Dick can shovel snow, and thinks it's great fun. Susan sent me word to tell you she would be on hand tomorrow. Where are you off to now, Captain?" "I reckon I'll plough up to the Glen and sit a bit with old Martin Strong. He's not far from his end and he's lonesome. He hasn't many friends—been too busy all his life to make any. He's made heaps of money, though." "Well, he thought that since he couldn't serve God and Mammon he'd better stick to Mammon," said Miss Cornelia crisply. "So he shouldn't complain if he doesn't find Mammon very good company now." Captain Jim went out, but remembered something in the yard and turned back for a moment. "I'd a letter from Mr. Ford, Mistress Blythe, and he says the life-book is accepted and is going to be published next fall. I felt fair uplifted when I got the news. To think that I'm to see it in print at last." "That man is clean crazy on the subject of his life-book," said Miss Cornelia compassionately. "For my part, I think there's far too many books in the world now." About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. L. M. Montgomery (1996). Anne's House of Dreams. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/544/pg544-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html. The lead image was generated using HackerNoon's Stable Disffusion Al Image Generator feature, via the prompt "ANNE'S HOUSE OF DREAMS".

ODDS AND ENDS

Of the power of the eleventh horn of Daniel's fourth Beast, to change times and laws

Hackernoon already contains two articles about the generations of blockchain technology: the and the . First Article Second Article This article attempts to cover the missing things in both articles and the explanations of the 4th and 5th generations of blockchain networks. Before diving into the main matter of discussion, here is a brief description of the root of this ground-breaking technology. The evolution of foundational technologies such as the computer, mobile, and internet was not a rapid process. The first generation of computers (1940–1956) was started from a large size vacuum tube. Over time, the evolution of computers can be systematically studied by classifying them into five generations: Today, computers are far more advanced with features like less expensive, more powerful, high working efficiency, smaller size, etc. According to the pace of technology, Artificial Intelligence (AI) enabled powerful machines are coming into the existence to make human lives easier. All the foundational technologies (mentioned earlier) in the digital world, were the backbones to give the birth of blockchain technology i.e.another breakthrough in the digital world. The era of blockchain technology started once Satoshi Nakamoto re-invented this technology to introduce Bitcoin in 2009. The five generations of blockchain technology are classified as below: The Bitcoin blockchain network was the 1st generation of blockchain technology that follows the Proof-of-Work (PoW) consensus algorithm. Bitcoins paved the road to inspire so many altcoins like Ethereum, Litecoin, etc. to evolve in the cryptocurrency world. Basically, the Bitcoin blockchain network was created to make the transactions of Bitcoin by forming immutable data across the distributed ledger but over time, the blockchain technology was not just limited to a financial instrument. Revolutionary technologies like the smart contract, Proof-of-Stake (PoS)-based blockchain, Mixed Bag: BC2BC, and AI-enabled blockchain networks have proved blockchain technology is more than just a financial instrument. The Bitcoin blockchain itself has so many downsides like disputable energy consumption to run the mining equipment, adjusting mining rigs that need expensive hardware setups and notorious scalability problems. Despite some disadvantages of the Bitcoin blockchain network, it has unique advantages too. After Bitcoin, the next generation of blockchain technology was started from the Ethereum blockchain network in  2015. For the first time, developers introduced Smart Contracts (self-executing and fully automated programs) through the Ethereum Blockchain network. Ethereum was the first blockchain network to help the evolution of Decentralized Finance( DeFi) as MakerDAO was the first DeFi application to offer fully smart contract-based financial services which were the next level's practice to give financial freedom to everyone. Image: Ethereum Smart Contract Working Mechanism; Source: ResearchGate Apart from the financial sector, use cases of the Ethereum blockchain network are as follows: Blockchain voting to prevent election fraud Web browsing Gaming Advertising Identity management Supply chain management The Bitcoin and Ethereum blockchains are based on the PoW consensus algorithm and both have notorious problems: scalability and overpower consumption to run the mining equipment. Other blockchain networks like ETC suffered from the majority or 51% attack. The third generation of blockchain networks like NANO, Banano, Cardano, etc was capable of solving the persisting problems in second generations of blockchain networks like scalability, 51% attack, high power consumptions, interoperability, sustainability, etc. The most important point is that Proof-of-Stake consensus algorithm-based blockchain networks like Cardano fall in this generation. If Cardano is taken as a reference, it has attempted to create a stable blockchain ecosystem. Fourth Generation of Blockchain Technology: The first three generations have helped to increase the use cases and applicability of blockchain technology but still failed to help the mainstream adoption of the technology in the financial, industrial, institutional, and governmental sectors due to the cost and complexity of their implementations. The fourth-generation blockchains have solved the major problems seen in the blockchains of the previous generations to a bigger extent and the things which are done by 4rth generation blockchains are as follows: High efficiency to process the transactions with enhanced scalability and lower costs Highly secured blockchains: SYBIL, DDoS, and 51% attack resistant Easy to use for so many business-related applications Utilization of the Hashgraph Technology that is responsible for creating fairness in the consensus mechanism. For a better understanding of the fourth-generation blockchain technology, here are some references to the game-changing blockchain networks: EOS: EOS blockchain is based on Delegated Proof-of-Stake (DPoS) model and DPoS uses real-time voting coming from the EOS holders to determine the validators to add the new block into the blockchain. The latest release of the was in June 2018 which is capable of processing millions of transactions per second. The most remarkable achievement of this blockchain network is that it eliminates the transaction fees for miners. The feeless transaction feature of the EOS blockchain helps to run real-world applications. EOS blockchain Image source: LeewayHertz The following are the key features of the EOS blockchain network which help to distinguish the EOS blockchain from the other blockchains from the previous generations. EOS supports millions of users in the real-time Free usage Easy to upgrade and fix the bugs that persisted in the smart contracts of different applications based on the EOS blockchain Low latency of the transactions to offer the reliable blockchain-based services Sequential and parallel performance Permission Mapping Atomic transactions with multiple accounts by forming the same shard Supports freezing accounts, recovery of stolen keys, and inter-blockchain communications Polkadot: The network protocol is another level blockchain that has made things possible to transfer both tokens and arbitrary data across the blockchain. Polkadot The decent multi-chain supporting features of Polkadot have helped to allow cross-chain computation and cross-chain registries which are genuine features in the blockchain sphere. The blockchain has followed the PoS BFT consensus algorithm and is capable of processing 1000 transactions per second. There are four basic roles: collator, fisherman, nominator, and validator in order to upkeep the blockchain. Image: Polkadot blockchain Here are some unique features of the Polkadot blockchain: The impressive ecosystem of Polkadot allows the creation of private and public blockchains based on the main Polkadot blockchain network. The main Polkadot network remains a unified network to allow the connection of different blockchains and this feature promotes interoperability. Validators can operate and manage the different blockchains with enhanced scalability within the Polkadot ecosystem. The user-friendly Polkadot blockchain allows the implementation of so many real-world applications. Even the government can use this blockchain for various purposes. Polkadot does not allow forks, which means integrating the new features, and fixing the bugs can be done without having the forks. Better security Fifth Generation of Blockchain Technology: Currently, so many experts may deny considering the fifth generation of blockchain technology. They might argue based on the existence of fully AI-enabled blockchain but according to the pace of technology to back the rapidly advancing blockchain, it may not be a problem to raise concerns even for 5th-generation blockchains for a systematic study of the technology. Developers of some blockchain projects like have independently claimed that they have brought the AI-enabled 5th generation blockchain technology into existence, and the crypto community can conduct the discussions on whether they meet so many parameters to be 5th generation blockchain technology or not. Everscale, Propersix, and Relictum Pro Despite the vast improvements in the blockchains of the fourth generation, there were still notable challenges like Interfacing complex data to provide them across the blockchain, back-end full control over the system integrity and security, high scalability based on the sharding, and the tightly-coupled blockchain (Almost all blockchains from 4th generations are not tightly-coupled). The Everscale blockchain attempts to solve the mentioned challenges faced by fourth-generation blockchains. Let's dive into the Everscale blockchain. Everscale: The open-source and Telegram abandoned blockchain project TON is claimed to be the first 5th generation blockchain technology as Dr. Nikolai Durov (Creator of TON blockchain) describes TON as the first fifth-generation blockchain technology. Recently, an independent group of developers, members, and validators introduced the multi-blockchain in 2020 which is based on the original TON blockchain protocol and its ecosystem refers to as DAO. The Everscale uses the BFT PoS consensus algorithm and it is a mixed homogeneous/heterogeneous multichain smart-contract enabled system. Everscale According to the developers, the Everscale is a cluster of supercomputers to offer various services, and virtual machines developed by Telegram are also integrated into the Everscale in order to provide a wide range of real-world applications to millions of people worldwide. Here are some unique features of Everscale that are helpful to distinguish it from the other blockchains from the previous generations: The first blockchain introduces special features like the "self-healing" vertical blockchain mechanism. It supports shardable custom work chain with native sharding support. The first tightly-coupled blockchain to support the forwarding messages between shards almost instantly within the Everscale ecosystem. Arbitrary data sharing across the blockchain is made possible with improved scalability. The first blockchain to support Dynamic Mapping i.e. Automatic data refresh. Truly scalable general-purpose blockchain to allow the integrations of blockchain-based real worlds applications like micropayment channels and off-chain payment supports, multi-currency transfer, blockchain voting, gaming, government registries, energy-related services, property right registrations, and supply chain management. Developers are working to introduce new and advanced blockchain technologies. In the future, the next era of computers is more likely to start with quantum computers having huge computing powers. If quantum computers are the mainstream adopted computers in the future, vast improvements are also required in encryptions and the AI-powered system of the blockchains. So, what are the expected blockchain features in the future? Fully Artificial Intelligence (AI) based consensus algorithms to replace the presence of humans from the different roles in the blockchain like transactions validation, adding new blocks into the blockchain, etc. This sort of consensus algorithm will also help to save time and overconsumption of energy as Bitcoin and Ethereum do. Once the instructions are offered to AI, it cannot be biased to exhibit unequal behaviors to the engaged users of the blockchain for getting the various services. So fair operations can be gained from this sort of blockchain and the blockchain will be the most trusted to go for the mass adoption trend. Use cases of future blockchain technology should not just limit to the services which are currently being offered by the existing blockchains but should be able to accommodate the Internet of Everything (IOX) with the help of an AI-powered cluster of computers. Bugs-free high-tech blockchain architectures. Easy to access the blockchain effectively even by using smartphones. Conclusion: Without being skeptical, blockchain technology is the ground-breaking technology to solve so many business problems, finance-related problems, data security, and many more but still, it has not had a substantial transformational impact on this world as expected no matter how far blockchain technology has gone so far from the first generation blockchain to the present blockchain technology. Cybersecurity has always been a significant challenge to impact the advancement and the mass adoption of blockchain technology. Not to get worried at all, let's see how developers will face all the challenges to invent other advanced technologies in the future.

Fifth Generation of Blockchain Technology

The Wonderful Visit by H. G. Wells, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . The Angel Explores the Village The Angel Explores the Village. XXIV. Very unwisely, as I think, the Vicar allowed the Angel to go down into the village by himself, to enlarge his ideas of humanity. Unwisely, because how was he to imagine the reception the Angel would receive? Not thoughtlessly, I am afraid. He had always carried himself with decorum in the village, and the idea of a slow procession through the little street with all the inevitable curious remarks, explanations, pointings, was too much for him. The Angel might do the strangest things, the village was certain to think them. Peering faces. "Who's he got now?" Besides, was it not his duty to prepare his sermon in good time? The Angel, duly directed, went down cheerfully by himself—still innocent of most of the peculiarities of the human as distinguished from the angelic turn of mind. The Angel walked slowly, his white hands folded behind his hunched back, his sweet face looking this way and that. He peered curiously into the eyes of the people he met. A little child picking a bunch of vetch and honeysuckle looked in his face, and forthwith came and put them in his hand. It was about the only kindness he had from a human being (saving only the Vicar and one other). He heard Mother Gustick scolding that granddaughter of hers as he passed the door. "You Brazen Faggit—you!" said Mother Gustick. "You Trumpery Baggage!" The Angel stopped, startled at the strange sounds of Mother Gustick's voice. "Put yer best clo'es on, and yer feather in yer 'at, and off you goes to meet en, fal lal, and me at 'ome slaving for ye. 'Tis a Fancy Lady you'll be wantin' to be, my gal, a walkin' Touch and Go, with yer idleness and finery——" The voice ceased abruptly, and a great peace came upon the battered air. "Most grotesque and strange!" said the Angel, still surveying this wonderful box of discords. "Walking Touch and Go!" He did not know that Mrs Gustick had suddenly become aware of his existence, and was scrutinizing his appearance through the window-blind. Abruptly the door flew open, and she stared out into the Angel's face. A strange apparition, grey and dusty hair, and the dirty pink dress unhooked to show the stringy throat, a discoloured gargoyle, presently to begin spouting incomprehensible abuse. "Now, then, Mister," began Mrs Gustick. "Have ye nothin' better to do than listen at people's doors for what you can pick up?" The Angel stared at her in astonishment. "D'year!" said Mrs Gustick, evidently very angry indeed. "Listenin'." "Have you any objection to my hearing...." "Object to my hearing! Course I have! Whad yer think? You aint such a Ninny...." "But if ye didn't want me to hear, why did you cry out so loud? I thought...." "You thought! Softie—that's what you are! You silly girt staring Gaby, what don't know any better than to come holding yer girt mouth wide open for all that you can catch holt on? And then off up there to tell! You great Fat-Faced, Tale-Bearin' Silly-Billy! I'd be ashamed to come poking and peering round quiet people's houses...." The Angel was surprised to find that some inexplicable quality in her voice excited the most disagreeable sensations in him and a strong desire to withdraw. But, resisting this, he stood listening politely (as the custom is in the Angelic Land, so long as anyone is speaking). The entire eruption was beyond his comprehension. He could not perceive any reason for the sudden projection of this vituperative head, out of infinity, so to speak. And questions without a break for an answer were outside his experience altogether. Mrs Gustick proceeded with her characteristic fluency, assured him he was no gentleman, enquired if he called himself one, remarked that every tramp did as much nowadays, compared him to a Stuck Pig, marvelled at his impudence, asked him if he wasn't ashamed of himself standing there, enquired if he was rooted to the ground, was curious to be told what he meant by it, wanted to know whether he robbed a scarecrow for his clothes, suggested that an abnormal vanity prompted his behaviour, enquired if his mother knew he was out, and finally remarking, "I got somethin'll move you, my gentleman," disappeared with a ferocious slamming of the door. The interval struck the Angel as singularly peaceful. His whirling mind had time to analyse his sensations. He ceased bowing and smiling, and stood merely astonished. "This is a curious painful feeling," said the Angel. "Almost worse than Hungry, and quite different. When one is hungry one wants to eat. I suppose she was a woman. Here one wants to get away. I suppose I might just as well go." He turned slowly and went down the road meditating. He heard the cottage door re-open, and turning his head, saw through intervening scarlet runners Mrs Gustick with a steaming saucepan full of boiling cabbage water in her hand. "'Tis well you went, Mister Stolen Breeches," came the voice of Mrs Gustick floating down through the vermilion blossoms. "Don't you come peeping and prying round this yer cottage again or I'll learn ye manners, I will!" The Angel stood in a state of considerable perplexity. He had no desire to come within earshot of the cottage again—ever. He did not understand the precise import of the black pot, but his general impression was entirely disagreeable. There was no explaining it. "I mean it!" said Mrs Gustick, crescendo. "Drat it!—I mean it." The Angel turned and went on, a dazzled look in his eyes. "She was very grotesque!" said the Angel. "Very. Much more than the little man in black. And she means it.—— But what she means I don't know!..." He became silent. "I suppose they all mean something,", he said, presently, still perplexed. XXV. Then the Angel came in sight of the forge, where Sandy Bright's brother was shoeing a horse for the carter from Upmorton. Two hobbledehoys were standing by the forge staring in a bovine way at the proceedings. As the Angel approached these two and then the carter turned slowly through an angle of thirty degrees and watched his approach, staring quietly and steadily at him. The expression on their faces was one of abstract interest. The Angel became self-conscious for the first time in his life. He drew nearer, trying to maintain an amiable expression on his face, an expression that beat in vain against their granitic stare. His hands were behind him. He smiled pleasantly, looking curiously at the (to him) incomprehensible employment of the smith. But the battery of eyes seemed to angle for his regard. Trying to meet the three pairs at once, the Angel lost his alertness and stumbled over a stone. One of the yokels gave a sarcastic cough, and was immediately covered with confusion at the Angel's enquiring gaze, nudging his companion with his elbow to cover his disorder. None spoke, and the Angel did not speak. So soon as the Angel had passed, one of the three hummed this tune in an aggressive tone. Then all three of them laughed. One tried to sing something and found his throat contained phlegm. The Angel proceeded on his way. "Who's e then?" said the second hobbledehoy. "Ping, ping, ping," went the blacksmith's hammer. "Spose he's one of these here foweners," said the carter from Upmorton. "Däamned silly fool he do look to be sure." "Tas the way with them foweners," said the first hobbledehoy sagely. "Got something very like the 'ump," said the carter from Upmorton. "Dää-ä-ämned if 'E ent. Then the silence healed again, and they resumed their quiet expressionless consideration of the Angel's retreating figure. "Very like the 'ump et is," said the carter after an enormous pause XXVI. The Angel went on through the village, finding it all wonderful enough. "They begin, and just a little while and then they end," he said to himself in a puzzled voice. "But what are they doing meanwhile?" Once he heard some invisible mouth chant inaudible words to the tune the man at the forge had hummed. "That's the poor creature the Vicar shot with that great gun of his," said Sarah Glue (of 1, Church Cottages) peering over the blind. "He looks Frenchified," said Susan Hopper, peering through the interstices of that convenient veil on curiosity. "He has sweet eyes," said Sarah Glue, who had met them for a moment. The Angel sauntered on. The postman passed him and touched his hat to him; further down was a dog asleep in the sun. He went on and saw Mendham, who nodded distantly and hurried past. (The Curate did not care to be seen talking to an angel in the village, until more was known about him). There came from one of the houses the sound of a child screaming in a passion, that brought a puzzled look to the angelic face. Then the Angel reached the bridge below the last of the houses, and stood leaning over the parapet watching the glittering little cascade from the mill. "They begin, and just a little while, and then they end," said the weir from the mill. The water raced under the bridge, green and dark, and streaked with foam. Beyond the mill rose the square tower of the church, with the churchyard behind it, a spray of tombstones and wooden headboards splashed up the hillside. A half dozen of beech trees framed the picture. Then the Angel heard a shuffling of feet and the gride of wheels behind him, and turning his head saw a man dressed in dirty brown rags and a felt hat grey with dust, who was standing with a slight swaying motion and fixedly regarding the Angelic back. Beyond him was another almost equally dirty, pushing a knife grinder's barrow over the bridge. "Mornin'," said the first person smiling weakly. "Goomorn'." He arrested an escaping hiccough. The Angel stared at him. He had never seen a really fatuous smile before. "Who are you?" said the Angel. The fatuous smile faded. "No your business whoaaam. Wishergoomorn." "Carm on:" said the man with the grindstone, passing on his way. "Wishergoomorn," said the dirty man, in a tone of extreme aggravation. "Carncher Answerme?" "Carm on you fool!" said the man with the grindstone—receding. "I don't understand," said the Angel. "Donunderstan'. Sim'l enough. Wishergoomorn'. Willyanswerme? Wontchr? gemwishergem goomorn. Cusom answer goomorn. No gem. Haverteachyer." The Angel was puzzled. The drunken man stood swaying for a moment, then he made an unsteady snatch at his hat and threw it down at the Angel's feet. "Ver well," he said, as one who decides great issues. "Carm on!" said the voice of the man with the grindstone—stopping perhaps twenty yards off. "You wan fight, you ——" the Angel failed to catch the word. "I'll show yer, not answer gem's goomorn." He began to struggle with his jacket. "Think I'm drun," he said, "I show yer." The man with the grindstone sat down on the shaft to watch. "Carm on," he said. The jacket was intricate, and the drunken man began to struggle about the road, in his attempts to extricate himself, breathing threatenings and slaughter. Slowly the Angel began to suspect, remotely enough, that these demonstrations were hostile. "Mur wun know yer when I done wi' yer," said the drunken man, coat almost over his head. At last the garment lay on the ground, and through the frequent interstices of his reminiscences of a waistcoat, the drunken tinker displayed a fine hairy and muscular body to the Angel's observant eyes. He squared up in masterly fashion. "Take the paint off yer," he remarked, advancing and receding, fists up and elbows out. "Carm on," floated down the road. The Angel's attention was concentrated on two huge hairy black fists, that swayed and advanced and retreated. "Come on d'yer say? I'll show yer," said the gentleman in rags, and then with extraordinary ferocity; "My crikey! I'll show yer." Suddenly he lurched forward, and with a newborn instinct and raising a defensive arm as he did so, the Angel stepped aside to avoid him. The fist missed the Angelic shoulder by a hairsbreadth, and the tinker collapsed in a heap with his face against the parapet of the bridge. The Angel hesitated over the writhing dusty heap of blasphemy for a moment, and then turned towards the man's companion up the road. "Lemmeget up," said the man on the bridge: "Lemmeget up, you swine. I'll show yer." A strange disgust, a quivering repulsion came upon the Angel. He walked slowly away from the drunkard towards the man with the grindstone. "What does it all mean?" said the Angel. "I don't understand it." "Dam fool!... say's it's 'is silver weddin'," answered the man with the grindstone, evidently much annoyed; and then, in a tone of growing impatience, he called down the road once more; "Carm on!" "Silver wedding!" said the Angel. "What is a silver wedding?" "Jest is rot," said the man on the barrow. "But 'E's always avin' some 'scuse like that. Fair sickenin it is. Lars week it wus 'is bloomin' birthday, and then 'e ad'nt ardly got sober orf a comlimentary drunk to my noo barrer. (Carm on, you fool.)" "But I don't understand," said the Angel. "Why does he sway about so? Why does he keep on trying to pick up his hat like that—and missing it?" "Why!" said the tinker. "Well this is a blasted innocent country! Why! Because 'E's blind! Wot else? (Carm on—Dam yer). Because 'E's just as full as 'E can 'old. That's why!" The Angel noticing the tone of the second tinker's voice, judged it wiser not to question him further. But he stood by the grindstone and continued to watch the mysterious evolutions on the bridge. "Carm on! I shall 'ave to go and pick up that 'at I suppose.... 'E's always at it. I ne'er 'ad such a blooming pard before. Always at it, 'e is." The man with the barrow meditated. "Taint as if 'e was a gentleman and 'adnt no livin' to get. An' 'e's such a reckless fool when 'e gets a bit on. Goes offerin out everyone 'e meets. (There you go!) I'm blessed if 'e didn't offer out a 'ole bloomin' Salvation Army. No judgment in it. (Oh! Carm on! Carm on!). 'Ave to go and pick this bloomin' 'at up now I s'pose. 'E don't care, wot trouble 'e gives." The Angel watched the second tinker walk back, and, with affectionate blasphemy, assist the first to his hat and his coat. Then he turned, absolutely mystified, towards the village again. XXVII. After that incident the Angel walked along past the mill and round behind the church, to examine the tombstones. "This seems to be the place where they put the broken pieces," said the Angel—reading the inscriptions. "Curious word—relict! Resurgam! Then they are not done with quite. What a huge pile it requires to keep her down.... It is spirited of her." "Hawkins?" said the Angel softly,.... "Hawkins? The name is strange to me.... He did not die then.... It is plain enough,—Joined the Angelic Hosts, May 17, 1863. He must have felt as much out of place as I do down here. But I wonder why they put that little pot thing on the top of this monument. Curious! There are several others about—little stone pots with a rag of stiff stone drapery over them." Just then the boys came pouring out of the National School, and first one and then several stopped agape at the Angel's crooked black figure among the white tombs. "Ent 'e gart a bääk on en!" remarked one critic. "'E's got 'air like a girl!" said another. The Angel turned towards them. He was struck by the queer little heads sticking up over the lichenous wall. He smiled faintly at their staring faces, and then turned to marvel at the iron railings that enclosed the Fitz-Jarvis tomb. "A queer air of uncertainty," he said. "Slabs, piles of stone, these railings.... Are they afraid?... Do these Dead ever try and get up again? There's an air of repression—fortification——" "Gét yer 'air cut, Gét yer 'air cut," sang three little boys together. "Curious these Human Beings are!" said the Angel. "That man yesterday wanted to cut off my wings, now these little creatures want me to cut off my hair! And the man on the bridge offered to take the 'paint' off me. They will leave nothing of me soon." "Where did you get that 'at?" sang another little boy. "Where did you get them clo'es?" "They ask questions that they evidently do not want answered," said the Angel. "I can tell from the tone." He looked thoughtfully at the little boys. "I don't understand the methods of Human intercourse. These are probably friendly advances, a kind of ritual. But I don't know the responses. I think I will go back to the little fat man in black, with the gold chain across his stomach, and ask him to explain. It is difficult." He turned towards the lych gate. "Oh!" said one of the little boys, in a shrill falsetto, and threw a beech-nut husk. It came bounding across the churchyard path. The Angel stopped in surprise. This made all the little boys laugh. A second imitating the first, said "Oh!" and hit the Angel. His astonishment was really delicious. They all began crying "Oh!" and throwing beechnut husks. One hit the Angel's hand, another stung him smartly by the ear. The Angel made ungainly movements towards them. He spluttered some expostulation and made for the roadway. The little boys were amazed and shocked at his discomfiture and cowardice. Such sawney behaviour could not be encouraged. The pelting grew vigorously. You may perhaps be able to imagine those vivid moments, daring small boys running in close and delivering shots, milder small boys rushing round behind with flying discharges. Milton Screever's mongrel dog was roused to yelping ecstacy at the sight, and danced (full of wild imaginings) nearer and nearer to the angelic legs. "Hi, hi!" said a vigorous voice. "I never did! Where's Mr Jarvis? Manners, manners! you young rascals." The youngsters scattered right and left, some over the wall into the playground, some down the street. "Frightful pest these boys are getting!" said Crump, coming up. "I'm sorry they have been annoying you." The Angel seemed quite upset. "I don't understand," he said. "These Human ways...." "Yes, of course. Unusual to you. How's your excrescence?" "My what?" said the Angel. "Bifid limb, you know. How is it? Now you're down this way, come in. Come in and let me have a look at it again. You young roughs! And meanwhile these little louts of ours will be getting off home. They're all alike in these villages. Can't understand anything abnormal. See an odd-looking stranger. Chuck a stone. No imagination beyond the parish.... (I'll give you physic if I catch you annoying strangers again.) ... I suppose it's what one might expect.... Come along this way." So the Angel, horribly perplexed still, was hurried into the surgery to have his wound re-dressed. 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. H. G. Wells (2010). The Wonderful Visit. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022, from https://www.gutenberg.org/files/33913/33913-h/33913-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

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