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This paper is available on arxiv under CC 4.0 license. . Authors: Gemini Team, Google Table of Links Abstract and Introduction Model Architecture Training Infrastructure Training Dataset Evaluation Responsible Deployment Discussion and Conclusion, References Contributions and Acknowledgments Appendix 8. Contributions and Acknowledgments Leads Rohan Anil, Co-Lead, Text Sebastian Borgeaud, Co-Lead, Text Yonghui Wu, Co-Lead, Text Jean-Baptiste Alayrac, Co-Lead, MM Vision Jiahui Yu, Co-Lead, MM Vision Radu Soricut*, Co-Lead, MM Vision* Johan Schalkwyk, Lead, MM Audio Andrew M. Dai, Co-Lead, Data Anja Hauth*, Co-Lead, Data* Katie Millican, Co-Lead, Data David Silver, Co-Lead, Fine-Tuning Slav Petrov, Co-Lead, Fine-Tuning Melvin Johnson, Lead, Instruction Tuning Ioannis Antonoglou*, Co-Lead, RL Techniques* Julian Schrittwieser, Co-Lead, RL Techniques Amelia Glaese, Lead, Human Data Jilin Chen, Lead, Safety Emily Pitler, Co-Lead, Tool Use Timothy Lillicrap, Co-Lead, Tool Use Angeliki Lazaridou, Co-Lead, Eval Orhan Firat, Co-Lead, Eval James Molloy, Co-Lead, Infra Michael Isard, Co-Lead, Infra Paul R. Barham, Co-Lead, Infra Tom Hennigan, Co-Lead, Infra Benjamin Lee, Co-Lead, Codebase & Parallelism Fabio Viola, Co-Lead, Codebase & Parallelism Malcolm Reynolds, Co-Lead, Codebase & Parallelism Yuanzhong Xu, Co-Lead, Codebase & Parallelism Ryan Doherty, Lead, Ecosystem Eli Collins, Lead, Product Clemens Meyer, Co-Lead, Operations Eliza Rutherford, Co-Lead, Operations Erica Moreira, Co-Lead, Operations Kareem Ayoub, Co-Lead, Operations Megha Goel, Co-Lead, Operations Core Contributors George Tucker Enrique Piqueras Maxim Krikun Iain Barr Nikolay Savinov Ivo Danihelka Becca Roelofs Core Contributors Anaïs White Anders Andreassen Tamara von Glehn Lakshman Yagati Mehran Kazemi Lucas Gonzalez Misha Khalman Jakub Sygnowski Alexandre Frechette Charlotte Smith Laura Culp Lev Proleev Yi Luan Xi Chen James Lottes Nathan Schucher Federico Lebron Alban Rrustemi Natalie Clay Phil Crone Tomas Kocisky Jeffrey Zhao Bartek Perz Dian Yu Heidi Howard Adam Bloniarz Jack W. Rae Han Lu Laurent Sifre Marcello Maggioni Fred Alcober Dan Garrette Megan Barnes Shantanu Thakoor Jacob Austin Gabriel Barth-Maron William Wong Rishabh Joshi Rahma Chaabouni Deeni Fatiha Arun Ahuja Ruibo Liu Yunxuan Li Sarah Cogan Jeremy Chen Core Contributors Chao Jia Chenjie Gu Qiao Zhang Jordan Grimstad Ale Jakse Hartman Martin Chadwick Gaurav Singh Tomar Xavier Garcia Evan Senter Emanuel Taropa Thanumalayan Sankaranarayana Pillai Jacob Devlin Michael Laskin Diego de Las Casas Dasha Valter Connie Tao Lorenzo Blanco Adrià Puigdomènech Badia David Reitter Mianna Chen Jenny Brennan Clara Rivera Sergey Brin Shariq Iqbal Gabriela Surita Jane Labanowski Abhi Rao Stephanie Winkler Emilio Parisotto Yiming Gu Kate Olszewska Yujing Zhang Ravi Addanki Antoine Miech Annie Louis Laurent El Shafey Denis Teplyashin Geoff Brown Elliot Catt Nithya Attaluri Jan Balaguer Jackie Xiang Pidong Wang Zoe Ashwood Anton Briukhov Albert Webson Sanjay Ganapathy Smit Sanghavi Core Contributors Ajay Kannan Ming-Wei Chang Axel Stjerngren Josip Djolonga Yuting Sun Ankur Bapna Matthew Aitchison Pedram Pejman Henryk Michalewski Tianhe Yu Cindy Wang Juliette Love Junwhan Ahn Dawn Bloxwich Kehang Han Peter Humphreys Thibault Sellam James Bradbury Varun Godbole Sina Samangooei Bogdan Damoc Alex Kaskasoli Sébastien M. R. Arnold Vijay Vasudevan Shubham Agrawal Jason Riesa Dmitry Lepikhin Richard Tanburn Srivatsan Srinivasan Hyeontaek Lim Sarah Hodkinson Pranav Shyam Johan Ferret Steven Hand Ankush Garg Tom Le Paine Jian Li Yujia Li Minh Giang Alexander Neitz Zaheer Abbas Sarah York Machel Reid Elizabeth Cole Aakanksha Chowdhery Dipanjan Das Dominika Rogozińska Vitaly Nikolaev Core Contributors Pablo Sprechmann Zachary Nado Lukas Zilka Flavien Prost Luheng He Marianne Monteiro Gaurav Mishra Chris Welty Josh Newlan Dawei Jia Miltiadis Allamanis Clara Huiyi Hu Raoul de Liedekerke Justin Gilmer Carl Saroufim Shruti Rijhwani Shaobo Hou Disha Shrivastava Anirudh Baddepudi Alex Goldin Adnan Ozturel Albin Cassirer Yunhan Xu Daniel Sohn Devendra Sachan Reinald Kim Amplayo Craig Swanson Dessie Petrova Shashi Narayan Arthur Guez Siddhartha Brahma Jessica Landon Miteyan Patel Ruizhe Zhao Kevin Villela Luyu Wang Wenhao Jia Matthew Rahtz Mai Giménez Legg Yeung Hanzhao Lin James Keeling Petko Georgiev Diana Mincu Boxi Wu Salem Haykal Rachel Saputro Kiran Vodrahalli Core Contributors James Qin Zeynep Cankara Abhanshu Sharma Nick Fernando Will Hawkins Behnam Neyshabur Solomon Kim Adrian Hutter Priyanka Agrawal Alex Castro-Ros George van den Driessche Tao Wang Fan Yang Shuo-yiin Chang Paul Komarek Ross McIlroy Mario Lučić Guodong Zhang Wael Farhan Michael Sharman Paul Natsev Paul Michel Yong Cheng Yamini Bansal Siyuan Qiao Kris Cao Siamak Shakeri Christina Butterfield Justin Chung Paul Kishan Rubenstein Shivani Agrawal Arthur Mensch Kedar Soparkar Karel Lenc Timothy Chung Aedan Pope Loren Maggiore Jackie Kay Priya Jhakra Shibo Wang Joshua Maynez Mary Phuong Taylor Tobin Andrea Tacchetti Maja Trebacz Kevin Robinson Yash Katariya Sebastian Riedel Core Contributors Paige Bailey Kefan Xiao Nimesh Ghelani Lora Aroyo Ambrose Slone Neil Houlsby Xuehan Xiong Zhen Yang Elena Gribovskaya Jonas Adler Mateo Wirth Lisa Lee Music Li Thais Kagohara Jay Pavagadhi Sophie Bridgers Anna Bortsova Sanjay Ghemawat Zafarali Ahmed Tianqi Liu Richard Powell Vijay Bolina Mariko Iinuma Polina Zablotskaia James Besley Da-Woon Chung Timothy Dozat Ramona Comanescu Xiance Si Jeremy Greer Guolong Su Martin Polacek Raphaël Lopez Kaufman Simon Tokumine Hexiang Hu Elena Buchatskaya Yingjie Miao Mohamed Elhawaty Aditya Siddhant Nenad Tomasev Jinwei Xing Christina Greer Helen Miller Shereen Ashraf Aurko Roy Zizhao Zhang Ada Ma Angelos Filos Core Contributors Milos Besta Rory Blevins Ted Klimenko Chih-Kuan Yeh Soravit Changpinyo Jiaqi Mu Oscar Chang Mantas Pajarskas Carrie Muir Vered Cohen Charline Le Lan Krishna Haridasan Amit Marathe Steven Hansen Sholto Douglas Rajkumar Samuel Mingqiu Wang Sophia Austin Chang Lan Jiepu Jiang Justin Chiu Jaime Alonso Lorenzo Lars Lowe Sjösund Sébastien Cevey Zach Gleicher Thi Avrahami Anudhyan Boral Hansa Srinivasan Vittorio Selo Rhys May Konstantinos Aisopos Léonard Hussenot Livio Baldini Soares Kate Baumli Michael B. Chang Adrià Recasens Ben Caine Alexander Pritzel Filip Pavetic Fabio Pardo Anita Gergely Justin Frye Vinay Ramasesh Dan Horgan Kartikeya Badola Nora Kassner Subhrajit Roy Ethan Dyer Core Contributors Víctor Campos Alex Tomala Yunhao Tang Dalia El Badawy Elspeth White Basil Mustafa Oran Lang Abhishek Jindal Sharad Vikram Zhitao Gong Sergi Caelles Ross Hemsley Gregory Thornton Fangxiaoyu Feng Wojciech Stokowiec Ce Zheng Phoebe Thacker Çağlar Ünlü Zhishuai Zhang Mohammad Saleh James Svensson Max Bileschi Piyush Patil Ankesh Anand Roman Ring Katerina Tsihlas Arpi Vezer Marco Selvi Toby Shevlane Mikel Rodriguez Tom Kwiatkowski Samira Daruki Keran Rong Allan Dafoe Nicholas FitzGerald Keren Gu-Lemberg Mina Khan Lisa Anne Hendricks Marie Pellat Vladimir Feinberg James Cobon-Kerr Tara Sainath Maribeth Rauh Sayed Hadi Hashemi Richard Ives Yana Hasson YaGuang Li Eric Noland Core Contributors Yuan Cao Nathan Byrd Le Hou Qingze Wang Thibault Sottiaux Michela Paganini Jean-Baptiste Lespiau Alexandre Moufarek Samer Hassan Kaushik Shivakumar Joost van Amersfoort Amol Mandhane Pratik Joshi Anirudh Goyal Matthew Tung Andrew Brock Hannah Sheahan Vedant Misra Cheng Li Nemanja Rakićević Mostafa Dehghani Fangyu Liu Sid Mittal Junhyuk Oh Seb Noury Eren Sezener Fantine Huot Matthew Lamm Nicola De Cao Charlie Chen Contributors Gamaleldin Elsayed Ed Chi Mahdis Mahdieh Ian Tenney Nan Hua Ivan Petrychenko Patrick Kane Dylan Scandinaro Rishub Jain Jonathan Uesato Romina Datta Adam Sadovsky Oskar Bunyan Dominik Rabiej Shimu Wu John Zhang Contributors Gautam Vasudevan Edouard Leurent Mahmoud Alnahlawi Ionut Georgescu Nan Wei Ivy Zheng Betty Chan Pam G Rabinovitch Piotr Stanczyk Ye Zhang David Steiner Subhajit Naskar Michael Azzam Matthew Johnson Adam Paszke Chung-Cheng Chiu Jaume Sanchez Elias Afroz Mohiuddin Faizan Muhammad Jin Miao Andrew Lee Nino Vieillard Sahitya Potluri Jane Park Elnaz Davoodi Jiageng Zhang Jeff Stanway Drew Garmon Abhijit Karmarkar Zhe Dong Jong Lee Aviral Kumar Luowei Zhou Jonathan Evens William Isaac Zhe Chen Johnson Jia Anselm Levskaya Zhenkai Zhu Chris Gorgolewski Peter Grabowski Yu Mao Alberto Magni Kaisheng Yao Javier Snaider Norman Casagrande Paul Suganthan Evan Palmer Contributors Geoffrey Irving Edward Loper Manaal Faruqui Isha Arkatkar Nanxin Chen Izhak Shafran Michael Fink Alfonso Castaño Irene Giannoumis Wooyeol Kim Mikołaj Rybiński Ashwin Sreevatsa Jennifer Prendki David Soergel Adrian Goedeckemeyer Willi Gierke Mohsen Jafari Meenu Gaba Jeremy Wiesner Diana Gage Wright Yawen Wei Harsha Vashisht Yana Kulizhskaya Jay Hoover Maigo Le Lu Li Chimezie Iwuanyanwu Lu Liu Kevin Ramirez Andrey Khorlin Albert Cui Tian LIN Marin Georgiev Marcus Wu Ricardo Aguilar Keith Pallo Abhishek Chakladar Alena Repina Xihui Wu Tom van der Weide Priya Ponnapalli Caroline Kaplan Jiri Simsa Shuangfeng Li Olivier Dousse Fan Yang Jeff Piper Nathan Ie Contributors Minnie Lui Rama Pasumarthi Nathan Lintz Anitha Vijayakumar Lam Nguyen Thiet Daniel Andor Pedro Valenzuela Cosmin Paduraru Daiyi Peng Katherine Lee Shuyuan Zhang Somer Greene Duc Dung Nguyen Paula Kurylowicz Sarmishta Velury Sebastian Krause Cassidy Hardin Lucas Dixon Lili Janzer Kiam Choo Ziqiang Feng Biao Zhang Achintya Singhal Tejasi Latkar Mingyang Zhang Quoc Le Elena Allica Abellan Dayou Du Dan McKinnon Natasha Antropova Tolga Bolukbasi Orgad Keller David Reid Daniel Finchelstein Maria Abi Raad Remi Crocker Peter Hawkins Robert Dadashi Colin Gaffney Sid Lall Ken Franko Egor Filonov Anna Bulanova Rémi Leblond Vikas Yadav Shirley Chung Harry Askham Luis C. Cobo Contributors Kelvin Xu Felix Fischer Jun Xu Christina Sorokin Chris Alberti Chu-Cheng Lin Colin Evans Hao Zhou Alek Dimitriev Hannah Forbes Dylan Banarse Zora Tung Jeremiah Liu Mark Omernick Colton Bishop Chintu Kumar Rachel Sterneck Ryan Foley Rohan Jain Swaroop Mishra Jiawei Xia Taylor Bos Geoffrey Cideron Ehsan Amid Francesco Piccinno Xingyu Wang Praseem Banzal Petru Gurita Hila Noga Premal Shah Daniel J. Mankowitz Alex Polozov Nate Kushman Victoria Krakovna Sasha Brown MohammadHossein Bateni Dennis Duan Vlad Firoiu Meghana Thotakuri Tom Natan Anhad Mohananey Matthieu Geist Sidharth Mudgal Sertan Girgin Hui Li Jiayu Ye Ofir Roval Reiko Tojo Contributors Michael Kwong James Lee-Thorp Christopher Yew Quan Yuan Sumit Bagri Danila Sinopalnikov Sabela Ramos John Mellor Abhishek Sharma Aliaksei Severyn Jonathan Lai Kathy Wu Heng-Tze Cheng David Miller Nicolas Sonnerat Denis Vnukov Rory Greig Jennifer Beattie Emily Caveness Libin Bai Julian Eisenschlos Alex Korchemniy Tomy Tsai Mimi Jasarevic Weize Kong Phuong Dao Zeyu Zheng Frederick Liu Fan Yang Rui Zhu Mark Geller Tian Huey Teh Jason Sanmiya Evgeny Gladchenko Nejc Trdin Andrei Sozanschi Daniel Toyama Evan Rosen Sasan Tavakkol Linting Xue Chen Elkind Oliver Woodman John Carpenter George Papamakarios Rupert Kemp Sushant Kafle Tanya Grunina Rishika Sinha Contributors Alice Talbert Abhimanyu Goyal Diane Wu Denese Owusu-Afriyie Cosmo Du Chloe Thornton Jordi Pont-Tuset Pradyumna Narayana Jing Li Saaber Fatehi John Wieting Omar Ajmeri Benigno Uria Tao Zhu Yeongil Ko Laura Knight Amélie Héliou Ning Niu Shane Gu Chenxi Pang Dustin Tran Yeqing Li Nir Levine Ariel Stolovich Norbert Kalb Rebeca Santamaria-Fernandez Sonam Goenka Wenny Yustalim Robin Strudel Ali Elqursh Balaji Lakshminarayanan Charlie Deck Shyam Upadhyay Hyo Lee Mike Dusenberry Zonglin Li Xuezhi Wang Kyle Levin Raphael Hoffmann Dan Holtmann-Rice Olivier Bachem Summer Yue Sho Arora Eric Malmi Daniil Mirylenka Qijun Tan Christy Koh Soheil Hassas Yeganeh Contributors Siim Põder Steven Zheng Francesco Pongetti Mukarram Tariq Yanhua Sun Lucian Ionita Mojtaba Seyedhosseini Pouya Tafti Ragha Kotikalapudi Zhiyu Liu Anmol Gulati Jasmine Liu Xinyu Ye Bart Chrzaszcz Lily Wang Nikhil Sethi Tianrun Li Ben Brown Shreya Singh Wei Fan Aaron Parisi Joe Stanton Chenkai Kuang Vinod Koverkathu Christopher A. Choquette-Choo Yunjie Li TJ Lu Abe Ittycheriah Prakash Shroff Pei Sun Mani Varadarajan Sanaz Bahargam Rob Willoughby David Gaddy Ishita Dasgupta Guillaume Desjardins Marco Cornero Brona Robenek Bhavishya Mittal Ben Albrecht Ashish Shenoy Fedor Moiseev Henrik Jacobsson Alireza Ghaffarkhah Morgane Rivière Alanna Walton Clément Crepy Alicia Parrish Contributors Yuan Liu Zongwei Zhou Clement Farabet Carey Radebaugh Praveen Srinivasan Claudia van der Salm Andreas Fidjeland Salvatore Scellato Eri Latorre-Chimoto Hanna Klimczak-Plucińska David Bridson Dario de Cesare Tom Hudson Piermaria Mendolicchio Lexi Walker Alex Morris Ivo Penchev Matthew Mauger Alexey Guseynov Alison Reid Seth Odoom Lucia Loher Victor Cotruta Madhavi Yenugula Dominik Grewe Anastasia Petrushkina Tom Duerig Antonio Sanchez Steve Yadlowsky Amy Shen Amir Globerson Adam Kurzrok Lynette Webb Sahil Dua Dong Li Preethi Lahoti Surya Bhupatiraju Dan Hurt Haroon Qureshi Ananth Agarwal Tomer Shani Matan Eyal Anuj Khare Shreyas Rammohan Belle Lei Wang Chetan Tekur Mihir Sanjay Kale Jinliang Wei Contributors Ruoxin Sang Brennan Saeta Tyler Liechty Yi Sun Yao Zhao Stephan Lee Pandu Nayak Doug Fritz Manish Reddy Vuyyuru John Aslanides Nidhi Vyas Martin Wicke Xiao Ma Taylan Bilal Evgenii Eltyshev Daniel Balle Nina Martin Hardie Cate James Manyika Keyvan Amiri Yelin Kim Xi Xiong Kai Kang Florian Luisier Nilesh Tripuraneni David Madras Mandy Guo Austin Waters Oliver Wang Joshua Ainslie Jason Baldridge Han Zhang Garima Pruthi Jakob Bauer Feng Yang Riham Mansour Jason Gelman Yang Xu George Polovets Ji Liu Honglong Cai Warren Chen XiangHai Sheng Emily Xue Sherjil Ozair Adams Yu Christof Angermueller Contributors Xiaowei Li Weiren Wang Julia Wiesinger Emmanouil Koukoumidis Yuan Tian Anand Iyer Madhu Gurumurthy Mark Goldenson Parashar Shah MK Blake Hongkun Yu Anthony Urbanowicz Jennimaria Palomaki Chrisantha Fernando Kevin Brooks Ken Durden Harsh Mehta Nikola Momchev Elahe Rahimtoroghi Maria Georgaki Amit Raul Sebastian Ruder Morgan Redshaw Jinhyuk Lee Komal Jalan Dinghua Li Ginger Perng Blake Hechtman Parker Schuh Milad Nasr Mia Chen Kieran Milan Vladimir Mikulik Trevor Strohman Juliana Franco Tim Green Program Leads Demis Hassabis Koray Kavukcuoglu Overall Technical Leads (equal contribution) Jeffrey Dean Oriol Vinyals The roles are defined as below: • : Individual(s) responsible for the sub-team throughout the project. Lead Individual that had significant impact throughout the project. • Core Contributor: : Individual that had contributions to the project and was partially involved with the effort. • Contributor Responsible for the organizational aspects of the Gemini effort • Program Lead: Responsible for the technical direction of the overall Gemini effort • Overall Technical Lead: Within each role, contributions are equal, and are listed in a randomized order. Ordering within each role does not indicate ordering of the contributions. Gemini is a cross-Google effort, with members from Google DeepMind (GDM), Google Research (GR), Knowledge and Information (K&I), Core ML, Cloud, Labs, and more. We thank our reviewers and colleagues for their valuable discussions and feedback on the report— Alexandra Belias, Arielle Bier, Eleanor Tomlinson, Emily Hossellman, Gaby Pearl, Helen King, Hollie Dobson, Jaclyn Konzelmann, Jennifer Beroshi, Joel Moss, Jon Small, Jonathan Fildes, Oli Gaymond, Rebecca Bland, Reena Jana, and Tom Lue. Our work is made possible by the dedication and efforts of numerous teams at Google. We would like to acknowledge the support from Abhi Mohan, Adekunle Bello, Aishwarya Nagarajan, Alaa Saade, Alejandro Lince, Alexander Chen, Alexander Kolbasov, Alexander Schiffhauer, Amar Subramanya, Ameya Shringi, Amin Vahdat, Anda Rabatić, Anthonie Gross, Antoine Yang, Anthony Green, Anton Ruddock, Art Khurshudov, Artemis Chen, Arthur Argenson, Avinatan Hassidim, Beiye Liu, Benjamin Schroeder, Bin Ni, Brett Daw, Bryan Chiang, Burak Gokturk, Carl Crous, Carrie Grimes Bostock, Charbel Kaed, Charlotte Banks, Che Diaz, Chris Larkin, Christy Lian, Claire Cui, Clare Bycroft, Corentin Tallec, Daniel Herndon, Dave Burke, David Battle, David Engel, Dipannita Shaw, Donghyun Koo, Doug Ritchie, Dragos Stefanescu, Elissa Wolf, Emre Sargin, Eran Ofek, Eric Herren, Estella King, Fatema Alkhanaizi, Felix Gimeno, Fernando Pereira, Florent Altché, Gabriel Carvajal, Gaurav Gandhi, George Powell, Goran Pavičić, Harry Richardson, Hassan Wassel, Hongji Li, Idan Szpektor, Igor Ivanisevic, Ivan Jambrešić, Ivan Jurin, Jade Fowler, James Assiene, Jay Yagnik, Jeanbastien Grill, Jeff Seibert, Jenna LaPlante, Jessica Austin, Jianxing Lu, Jim O’Keeffe, Jin Huang, Joe Heyward, Johannes Welbl, John Jumper, Jonathan Caton, Josh Woodward, Joshua Foster, Kathryn Tunyasuvunakool, Katrina Wong, Kavya Kopparapu, Kelvin Nguyen, Kira Yin, Konstantin Sharlaimov, Kun Li, Lee Hong, Lilly Taylor, Longfei Shen, Luc Mercier, Maciej Mikuła, Mania Abdi, Manuel Sanchez, Maria Ines Aranguren, Mario Carlos Cortes III, Matthew Tait, Matthias Lochbrunner, Mehdi Ghissassi, Micah Mosley, Michael Bendersky, Michael Figurnov, Michael Harris, Michael Mathieu, Michael O’Neill, Michael Vorburger, Mihir Paradkar, Nandita Dukkipati, Nathan Carter, Nathan Watson, Neil Rabinowitz, Nikhil Dandekar, Nishant Ranka, Obaid Sarvana, Olcan Sercinoglu, Olivier Lacombe, Ottavia Bertolli, Paul Caron, Pranesh Srinivasan, Praveen Kumar, Rahul Sukthankar, Raia Hadsell, Rajagopal Ananthanarayanan, Roberto Lupi, Rosie Zou, Sachin Menezes, Sadegh Jazayeri, Sam Cheung, Sameer Bidichandani, Sania Alex, Sanjiv Kumar, Sara Wiltberger, Sarah Fitzgerald, Saz Basu, Sebastian Nowozin, Shannon Hepburn, Shayne Cardwell, Sissie Hsiao, Srinivasan Venkatachary, Sugato Basu, Sundar Pichai, Sundeep Tirumalareddy, Susannah Young, Swetha Vijayaraghavan, Tania Bedrax-Weiss, Taylor Applebaum, Teiva Harsanyi, Terry Chen, Tim Blyth, Ting Liu, Tom Cobley, Tomas Izo, Trystan Upstill, Varun Singhai, Vedrana Klarić Trupčević, Victor Cai, Vladimir Pudovkin, Vu Dang, Wenbo Zhao, Wesley Crow, Wesley Szeng, Xiaodan Song, Yazhou Zu, Ye Tian, Yicong Wang, Yixing Wang, Yossi Matias, Yunlong Jiao, Zachary Jessup, Zhenchuan Pang, Žiga Avsec, Zimeng Yang, and Zoubin Ghahramani. We’d also like to recognize the AlphaCode team, the Borg Scheduling team, the Facilities team, the Gemini Demo Team, the Global Server Ops (GSO) team, the JAX team, the the Legal team, ML SRE team, the ML Supercomputer (MLSC) team, the PartIR team, the Platforms Infrastructure Engineering (PIE) team, and the XLA Compiler team. We thank everyone at Google not explicitly mentioned above, who have shared excitement, given feedback on early Gemini models or created interesting demo uses of Gemini, and worked with or supported the core Gemini team on many aspects of this project.

Gemini -  A Family of Highly Capable Multimodal Models: Contributions and Acknowledgments

Hi there 👋 Today, let's dive into 7 ML repos that (and those you have likely never heard of)! the top 1% of developers use What defines the top 1%? Ranking developers is a problem, and every methodology has its issues. difficult For example, if you rank developers by the number of lines of code they have written in Python you’ll probably get some pretty good Python developers at the top. However, you may get people who have just copy-pasted lots of Python code to their repos and they aren’t that good. 🙁 At Quine, we , but again not 100% perfect! have developed a methodology that we think is robust in most cases It’s called DevRank (you can read more about how we calculate this ). here The notion of the Top 1% that I use in this article is based on DevRank. And yes, we continue working on this to make it better every day! How do we know which repos the top 1% use? We look at the repos that the 99th percentile has starred. We then compare the propensity of the top 1% of devs vs the bottom 50% of devs to star a repo, and automatically generate the list. In other words, these . repositories are the hidden gems used by the top 1% of developers and are yet to be discovered by the wider developer community CleverCSV I handle your messy CSVs A package developed by some friends of ours . A small but common problem at the start of many ML pipelines, solved well. 🔮 to handle common pain points of loading CSV files CleverCSV is able to detect and load various different CSV dialects, without needing to be told anything in its arguments. CSV files do not provide the necessary information to perform this natively, so some clever inference is required by the library. CleverCSV can even handle messy CSV files, which have mistakes in their formatting. In addition to the Python library, CleverCSV also includes a command line interface for code generation, exploration and standardization. https://github.com/alan-turing-institute/CleverCSV skll Streamline ML workflows with scikit-learn through CLI to obtain cross-validated results with multiple algorithms? Try ’s interface instead for a much cleaner coding experience. ⚡️ Are you writing endless boilerplate in sklearn skll Skll is designed to enable running machine learning experiments with scikit-learn more efficiently, reducing the need for extensive coding. The leading utility provided is called , and it runs a series of learners on datasets specified in a configuration file. run_experiment It also offers a Python API for straightforward integration with existing code, including tools for format conversion and feature file operations. https://github.com/EducationalTestingService/skll BanditPAM k-Medoids Clustering in Almost Linear-Time Back to fundamental algos here — that can run in almost linear time. 🎉 BanditPAM is a new k-medoids (think a robust “k-means”) algorithm Runs in O(nlogn) time rather than O(n^2) time, as per previous algorithms. Cluster centers are data points, and hence correspond to meaningful observations. The center of a k-means cluster may correspond to invalid data; this is not possible with k-medoids. Arbitrary distance metrics can be used (think L1, or Hamming distance for example), efficient k-means algos are typically limited to L2 distance. Implemented from this , BanditPAM is ideal for data scientists looking for a powerful, scalable solution for group work, especially those dealing with large or complex data. paper https://github.com/motiwari/BanditPAM recordlinkage The record matcher and duplicate detector everyone needs Have you ever , or who have slightly different attributes? Use this great library inspired by the , rebuilt for modern Python tooling. 🛠️ struggled to match users within different datasets who have spelt their name wrong Freely Extensible Biomedical Record Linkage (FEBRL) Provides a Python native implementation of the powerful FEBRL library, making use of numpy and pandas. Includes both supervised and unsupervised approaches. Includes tools for generating matching pairs to enable supervised ML approaches. RecordLinkage is ideal for data scientists looking for a flexible, Python-based solution to perform record linkage and data deduplication tasks. https://github.com/J535D165/recordlinkage dragnet A sole focus on web page content extraction . Dragnet focuses on the content and user comments on a page, and ignores the rest. It's handy for our scraper-friends out there. 🕷️ Content extraction from webpages Dragnet aims to extract keywords and phrases from web pages by removing unwanted content such as advertising or navigation equipment. Provides simple Python functions ( and ) with the option to include or exclude comments for extracting content from HTML strings. extract_content extract_content_and_comments A extractor class is there for more advanced use, allowing customisation and training of extractors. sklearn-style https://github.com/dragnet-org/dragnet spacy-stanza The latest StanfordNLP research models directly in spaCy Interested in standard NLP tasks such as part-of-speech tagging, dependency parsing and named entity recognition? 🤔 SpaCy-Stanza wraps the Stanza (formerly StanfordNLP) library to be used in spaCy pipelines. The package includes named entity recognition capabilities for selected languages, extending its utility in natural language processing tasks. It supports 68 languages, making it versatile for various linguistic applications. The package allows your pipeline to be customised with additional spaCy components. https://github.com/explosion/spacy-stanza Littleballoffur "Swiss Army knife for graph sampling tasks" Have you ever worked with a dataset so large that you need to take a sample of it? For simple data, random sampling maintains distribution in a smaller sample. However, in complex networks, snowball sampling - - better captures network structure. where you select initial users and include their connections This helps avoid bias in analysis. 🔦 Now, do you have of it (either for algorithmic or computational reasons)? 👩‍💻 graph-structured data and need to work on samples Littleballoffur offers a range of methods for sampling from graphs and networks, including node-, edge-, and exploration-sampling. Designed with a unified application public interface, making it easy for users to apply complex sampling algorithms without deep technical know-how. https://github.com/benedekrozemberczki/littleballoffur I hope these discoveries are valuable to you and will help build a more robust ML toolkit! ⚒️ If you are interested in leveraging these tools to create impactful projects in open source, you should first find out what your current DevRank is on and see how it evolves in the coming months! Quine Lastly, please consider supporting these projects by starring them. ⭐️ PS: We are not affiliated with them. We just think that great projects deserve great recognition. See you next week, Your Hackernoon buddy 💚 Bap If you want to join the self-proclaimed "coolest" server in open source 😝, you should join our . We are here to help you on your journey in open source. 🫶 discord server

7 Machine Learning Repos That The Top 1% Use and Don't Want You to Know About 

7টি মেশিন লার্নিং রেপো যা শীর্ষ 1% ব্যবহার করে এবং সেগুলি সম্পর্কে আপনি জানতে চান না৷

7 Repositorys für maschinelles Lernen, die die Top 1 % nutzen und von denen Sie nichts erfahren möchten

7 repositorios de aprendizaje automático que el 1% superior utiliza y no quiere que usted sepa

7 dépôts d'apprentissage automatique que les 1 % les plus riches utilisent et ne veulent pas que vous connaissiez

7 मशीन लर्निंग रिपोज़ जिनका शीर्ष 1% उपयोग करते हैं और नहीं चाहते कि आप उनके बारे में जानें

上位 1% が使用している、知られたくない 7 つの機械学習リポジトリ

상위 1%가 사용하지만 여러분이 알기를 원하지 않는 7가지 기계 학습 저장소

7 repositórios de aprendizado de máquina que 1% dos principais usam e não querem que você saiba

7 репозиториев машинного обучения, которые используют 1% лучших и не хотят, чтобы вы знали

En Çok Kullanılan %1'in Kullandığı ve Bilmenizi İstemediği 7 Makine Öğrenimi Reposu

7 kho lưu trữ máy học được 1% sử dụng nhiều nhất và không muốn bạn biết về nó

前 1% 的人使用但不想让您知道的 7 个机器学习存储库

THE STORM BURSTS.

Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . The Bishop's Library here The Bishop's Library And thus the pleasant party at Plumstead was broken up. It had been a very pleasant party as long as they had all remained in good humour with one another. Mrs. Grantly had felt her house to be gayer and brighter than it had been for many a long day, and the archdeacon had been aware that the month had passed pleasantly without attributing the pleasure to any other special merits than those of his own hospitality. Within three or four days of Eleanor's departure, Mr. Harding had also returned, and Mr. Arabin had gone to Oxford to spend one week there previous to his settling at the vicarage of St. Ewold's. He had gone laden with many messages to Dr. Gwynne touching the iniquity of the doings in Barchester palace and the peril in which it was believed the hospital still stood in spite of the assurances contained in Mr. Slope's inauspicious letter. During Eleanor's drive into Barchester she had not much opportunity of reflecting on Mr. Arabin. She had been constrained to divert her mind both from his sins and his love by the necessity of conversing with her sister and maintaining the appearance of parting with her on good terms. When the carriage reached her own door, and while she was in the act of giving her last kiss to her sister and nieces, Mary Bold ran out and exclaimed: "Oh, Eleanor, have you heard? Oh, Mrs. Grantly, have you heard what has happened? The poor dean!" "Good heavens!" said Mrs. Grantly. "What—what has happened?" "This morning at nine he had a fit of apoplexy, and he has not spoken since. I very much fear that by this time he is no more." Mrs. Grantly had been very intimate with the dean, and was therefore much shocked. Eleanor had not known him so well; nevertheless, she was sufficiently acquainted with his person and manners to feel startled and grieved also at the tidings she now received. "I will go at once to the deanery," said Mrs. Grantly; "the archdeacon, I am sure, will be there. If there is any news to send you, I will let Thomas call before he leaves town." And so the carriage drove off, leaving Eleanor and her baby with Mary Bold. Mrs. Grantly had been quite right. The archdeacon was at the deanery. He had come into Barchester that morning by himself, not caring to intrude himself upon Eleanor, and he also immediately on his arrival had heard of the dean's fit. There was, as we have before said, a library or reading-room connecting the cathedral with the dean's house. This was generally called the bishop's library, because a certain bishop of Barchester was supposed to have added it to the cathedral. It was built immediately over a portion of the cloisters, and a flight of stairs descended from it into the room in which the cathedral clergymen put their surplices on and off. As it also opened directly into the dean's house, it was the passage through which that dignitary usually went to his public devotions. Who had or had not the right of entry into it, it might be difficult to say; but the people of Barchester believed that it belonged to the dean, and the clergymen of Barchester believed that it belonged to the chapter. On the morning in question most of the resident clergymen who constituted the chapter, and some few others, were here assembled, and among them as usual the archdeacon towered with high authority. He had heard of the dean's fit before he was over the bridge which led into the town, and had at once come to the well-known clerical trysting place. He had been there by eleven o'clock, and had remained ever since. From time to time the medical men who had been called in came through from the deanery into the library, uttered little bulletins, and then returned. There was, it appears, very little hope of the old man's rallying, indeed no hope of anything like a final recovery. The only question was whether he must die at once speechless, unconscious, stricken to death by his first heavy fit, or whether by due aid of medical skill he might not be so far brought back to this world as to become conscious of his state and enabled to address one prayer to his Maker before he was called to meet Him face to face at the judgement seat. Sir Omicron Pie had been sent for from London. That great man had shown himself a wonderful adept at keeping life still moving within an old man's heart in the case of good old Bishop Grantly, and it might be reasonably expected that he would be equally successful with a dean. In the meantime Dr. Fillgrave and Mr. Rerechild were doing their best, and poor Miss Trefoil sat at the head of her father's bed, longing, as in such cases daughters do long, to be allowed to do something to show her love—if it were only to chafe his feet with her hands, or wait in menial offices on those autocratic doctors—anything so that now in the time of need she might be of use. The archdeacon alone of the attendant clergy had been admitted for a moment into the sick man's chamber. He had crept in with creaking shoes, had said with smothered voice a word of consolation to the sorrowing daughter, had looked on the distorted face of his old friend with solemn but yet eager scrutinising eye, as though he said in his heart "and so some day it will probably be with me," and then, having whispered an unmeaning word or two to the doctors, had creaked his way back again into the library. "He'll never speak again, I fear," said the archdeacon as he noiselessly closed the door, as though the unconscious dying man, from whom all sense had fled, would have heard in his distant chamber the spring of the lock which was now so carefully handled. "Indeed! Indeed! Is he so bad?" said the meagre little prebendary, turning over in his own mind all the probable candidates for the deanery and wondering whether the archdeacon would think it worth his while to accept it. "The fit must have been very violent." "When a man over seventy has a stroke of apoplexy, it seldom comes very lightly," said the burly chancellor. "He was an excellent, sweet-tempered man," said one of the vicars choral. "Heaven knows how we shall repair his loss." "He was indeed," said a minor canon, "and a great blessing to all those privileged to take a share in the services of our cathedral. I suppose the government will appoint, Mr. Archdeacon. I trust we may have no stranger." "We will not talk about his successor," said the archdeacon, "while there is yet hope." "Oh, no, of course not," said the minor canon. "It would be exceedingly indecorous; but—" "I know of no man," said the meagre little prebendary, "who has better interest with the present government than Mr. Slope." "Mr. Slope," said two or three at once almost sotto voce. "Mr. Slope Dean of Barchester!" "Pooh!" exclaimed the burly chancellor. "The bishop would do anything for him," said the little prebendary. "And so would Mrs. Proudie," said the vicar choral. "Pooh!" said the chancellor. The archdeacon had almost turned pale at the idea. What if Mr. Slope should become Dean of Barchester? To be sure there was no adequate ground, indeed no ground at all, for presuming that such a desecration could even be contemplated. But nevertheless it was on the cards. Dr. Proudie had interest with the government, and the man carried as it were Dr. Proudie in his pocket. How should they all conduct themselves if Mr. Slope were to become Dean of Barchester? The bare idea for a moment struck even Dr. Grantly dumb. "It would certainly not be very pleasant for us to have Mr. Slope at the deanery," said the little prebendary, chuckling inwardly at the evident consternation which his surmise had created. "About as pleasant and as probable as having you in the palace," said the chancellor. "I should think such an appointment highly improbable," said the minor canon, "and, moreover, extremely injudicious. Should not you, Mr. Archdeacon?" "I should presume such a thing to be quite out of the question," said the archdeacon, "but at the present moment I am thinking rather of our poor friend who is lying so near us than of Mr. Slope." "Of course, of course," said the vicar choral with a very solemn air; "of course you are. So are we all. Poor Dr. Trefoil; the best of men, but—" "It's the most comfortable dean's residence in England," said a second prebendary. "Fifteen acres in the grounds. It is better than many of the bishops' palaces." "And full two thousand a year," said the meagre doctor. "It is cut down to £1,200," said the chancellor. "No," said the second prebendary. "It is to be fifteen. A special case was made." "No such thing," said the chancellor. "You'll find I'm right," said the prebendary. "I'm sure I read it in the report," said the minor canon. "Nonsense," said the chancellor. "They couldn't do it. There were to be no exceptions but London and Durham." "And Canterbury and York," said the vicar choral modestly. "What do you say, Grantly?" said the meagre little doctor. "Say about what?" said the archdeacon, who had been looking as though he were thinking about his friend the dean, but who had in reality been thinking about Mr. Slope. "What is the next dean to have, twelve or fifteen?" "Twelve," said the archdeacon authoritatively, thereby putting an end at once to all doubt and dispute among his subordinates as far as that subject was concerned. "Well, I certainly thought it was fifteen," said the minor canon. "Pooh!" said the burly chancellor. At this moment the door opened and in came Dr. Fillgrave. "How is he?" "Is he conscious?" "Can he speak?" "I hope not dead?" "No worse news, Doctor, I trust?" "I hope, I trust, something better, Doctor?" said half a dozen voices all at once, each in a tone of extremest anxiety. It was pleasant to see how popular the good old dean was among his clergy. "No change, gentlemen; not the slightest change. But a telegraphic message has arrived—Sir Omicron Pie will be here by the 9.15 P.M. train. If any man can do anything, Sir Omicron Pie will do it. But all that skill can do has been done." "We are sure of that, Dr. Fillgrave," said the archdeacon; "we are quite sure of that. But yet you know—" "Oh, quite right," said the doctor, "quite right—I should have done just the same—I advised it at once. I said to Rerechild at once that with such a life and such a man, Sir Omicron should be summoned—of course I knew expense was nothing—so distinguished, you know, and so popular. Nevertheless, all that human skill can do has been done." Just at this period Mrs. Grantly's carriage drove into the close, and the archdeacon went down to confirm the news which she had heard before. By the 9.15 P.M. train Sir Omicron Pie did arrive. And in the course of the night a sort of consciousness returned to the poor old dean. Whether this was due to Sir Omicron Pie is a question on which it may be well not to offer an opinion. Dr. Fillgrave was very clear in his own mind, but Sir Omicron himself is thought to have differed from that learned doctor. At any rate Sir Omicron expressed an opinion that the dean had yet some days to live. For the eight or ten next days, accordingly, the poor dean remained in the same state, half-conscious and half-comatose; and the attendant clergy began to think that no new appointment would be necessary for some few months to come. 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 (2002). Barchester Towers. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/3409/pg3409-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 Bishop's Library

BARCHESTER TOWERS AND THE THREE CLERKS. 1855-1858.

In the dynamic world of blockchain and technology, visionaries are paving the way for revolutionary change. Ishan Pandey sits down with Andreas Schemm, Ecosystems & Operations Director at HUMAN Protocol, to delve into Andreas’s thrilling journey from gaming to virtual reality and finally to the disruptive arena of blockchain. In this candid chat, they explore challenges, innovations, and the future of decentralized ecosystems. Bridging Gaming, VR, and Blockchain: Andreas Schemm's Tryst with the Future Ishan Pandey: Hi Andreas, great to have you here for our "Behind the Startup" series. Please tell us about your background in technology and gaming and how it has prepared you for your role as an Ecosystems & Operations Director at HUMAN Protocol? Andreas Schemm: Absolutely! Thank you for having me on "Behind the Startup''. It's always a thrill to share about my journey, which feels at times like a thrilling roller coaster ride through the fascinating worlds of tech and gaming. Picture this: It's 2005. I'm starting my adventure in the world of startups, diving headfirst into an exciting blend of tech, entertainment, and e-sports. This chapter sets the pace for what's to come.
Fast forward a few years, I find myself at the helm of LaserTag Germany, leading the charge on turning it into a nationwide sensation with its very own German Tournament League. Picture us, coordinating across the country, fostering a team of over 50 passionate people - it was exhilarating! But like every adventurer, I felt that itch to explore uncharted territories. This led me in 2016 to found Project: Gateway VR Studios. Here, I dived deep into the realm of Virtual Reality, gaming, and digital content, conjuring up disruptive solutions. One of our feats that I'm particularly proud of is our creation of a "digital billboard". This tech wizardry allowed us to embed ad spaces into software without those pesky pop-ups or interstitials, delivering a seamless experience for users. It's like subtly placing billboards in a digital universe! Our path-breaking work didn't stop there. We leveraged the burgeoning technology of blockchain to tackle the thorny issues in digital advertising. This was new, exciting and game-changing!
In 2021, I joined HUMAN, a futuristic platform that's redefining the way humans and machines interact. Here, I wear the hat of an Ecosystem & Operations Director, guiding them on Ecosystem Development and Operations. Think of it as being a sherpa, helping navigate the intricate landscapes of Blockchain and Machine Learning to create vibrant job markets. Even amidst these new roles, my heart remains true to the startup scene. I'm currently advising Blockchain Founders Group (BFG) and contributing to Athena Transformations, adding more flavors to my ever-expanding palate in the tech world. Reflecting on this journey, it's the blend of my experiences - leading teams, pioneering in VR and digital content, delving into blockchain, and continually learning and adapting - that equips me to excel in my role at HUMAN Protocol. It's been an exhilarating ride, and I can't wait to see what thrilling twists and turns await around the corner! : Vested Interest Disclosure This author is an independent contributor publishing via our . Be it through direct compensation, media partnerships, or networking, the author has a vested interest in the company/ies mentioned in this story. HackerNoon has reviewed the report for quality, but the claims herein belong to the author. #DYOR brand-as-author program Ishan Pandey: What motivated you to join the HUMAN Protocol Foundation? What aspects of the protocol and its potential impact on industries appealed to you? : Joining the HUMAN Protocol Foundation was driven by a multifaceted fascination with its mission. The essence of decentralization and democratization, pivotal to the foundation, resonates deeply with my beliefs about the future of work. Andreas Schemm The potential of HUMAN Protocol to catalyze opportunities on a global scale and redefine how tasks are distributed and completed enthralled me. Furthermore, the cross-chain compatibility, incorporating Ethereum, BNB Chain, MultiversX, Polygon, Algorand, Skale, and Moonbeam, demonstrated a robust infrastructure that embraces the diversity of blockchain ecosystems, fueling an unbounded potential to revolutionize industries across the board. Ishan Pandey: What strategies do you use as a seasoned technology leader to build and manage teams within a tech company successfully? How do you encourage creativity and teamwork within your teams? Andreas Schemm: Building and managing successful engineering teams necessitate a clear vision, strategic planning, and fostering an environment conducive to growth and innovation. Here are some strategies I utilize: One of the first steps in successfully managing a team is ensuring everyone understands and buys into the shared vision of our work, specifically within the context of the HUMAN Protocol. This includes understanding how the integration of Routing and Execution layers work towards the common goal of facilitating global collaboration and how their individual contributions fit into this bigger picture. Shared Vision: I strongly believe that innovation thrives in a supportive, open environment. Therefore, I encourage creativity by challenging the team to push boundaries and constantly question the status quo. I foster an atmosphere where unconventional thinking is celebrated and where every idea is welcomed and considered. Promoting Innovation: : The complex and multifaceted nature of HUMAN Protocol projects necessitates a high level of collaboration. I stress the importance of cross-functional cooperation, recognizing that the best solutions often come from diverse perspectives converging towards a common goal. Fostering Collaboration As part of our commitment to continual learning, I encourage my teams to learn from failures as well as successes. Rapid iteration, built on lessons learned, is a key part of our strategy, helping us adapt and evolve in the fast-paced tech landscape. Continual Learning and Iterative Development: Trust and responsibility are important facets of successful teams. By entrusting my team with ownership of their work, they feel more committed to the outcomes, boosting motivation and productivity. Empowerment and Ownership: I believe in acknowledging hard work and accomplishments. Celebrating team and individual successes fosters a sense of achievement and bolsters morale. Recognition and Reward: Managing an engineering team in the blockchain space, especially one that's pioneering a disruptive protocol like HUMAN, requires constant adaptation and a willingness to venture into the unknown. It is a challenging but incredibly rewarding journey. Ishan Pandey: What are some of the major challenges you see to the HUMAN Protocol's widespread adoption in different industries? How do you plan to handle those difficulties? The HUMAN Protocol's path to achieving mainstream adoption across diverse sectors is marked by several intricate challenges. Key among these is the fundamental understanding and acceptance of our underlying technology. As we've witnessed, breakthrough technologies often confront initial skepticism and reluctance, especially when they diverge from traditional norms and practices. Andreas Schemm: Another prominent hurdle is the transition from Web2 to decentralized systems. For many users accustomed to the centralized interfaces and ecosystems of Web2, embracing the decentralized paradigm can be intimidating. Ensuring that they can effortlessly onboard and navigate the HUMAN Protocol without facing unnecessary complexities is crucial. It's not just about making the shift; it's about making it smooth, intuitive, and rewarding. While there are regulatory concerns related to the decentralized nature of blockchain protocols, it's important to clarify that these are not our dominant obstacles. However, acknowledging them is essential, and we are continuously staying abreast of the evolving regulatory environment to ensure compliance and adaptability. Ishan Pandey: What are your views on the recent spat between SEC and Coinbase? How does that impact the crypto industry? Further, what are your views on the recent buzz around Bitcoin ETF listing? The recent encounter between the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) and Coinbase underscores the inherent tension between the innovation driving the cryptocurrency industry and the need for a comprehensive regulatory framework that ensures its stability, transparency, and consumer protection. As new frontiers in financial technology are charted, regulators worldwide grapple with how to best adapt existing legal provisions to accommodate them. Andreas Schemm: Such confrontations, while undoubtedly challenging, are not only inevitable but indeed integral to the evolution and maturation of the industry. They serve as catalysts for important dialogues regarding regulatory oversight, compliance, and the need to balance innovation with protection of investors and market integrity. This dialogue is critical in shaping a regulatory framework that supports the growth of the industry while mitigating the risks associated with digital assets. Moreover, the ongoing conversation about Bitcoin Exchange-Traded Funds (ETFs) serves as a testament to the increasingly intertwined relationship between traditional financial markets and cryptocurrencies. Bitcoin ETF listings are not merely about providing investors with a more accessible and regulated means of investing in Bitcoin. They signal a broader acceptance and legitimization of cryptocurrencies within the financial mainstream, indicating recognition by traditional institutions of the transformative potential of these digital assets. However, these developments should not be considered in isolation. They should be viewed within the broader legal and regulatory landscape that continues to evolve in response to the disruptive force of blockchain technology and cryptocurrencies. As the industry moves forward, it will be crucial for all stakeholders to work in tandem - balancing the need for innovation with the necessity for effective and comprehensive regulatory oversight. This ongoing interplay between law and technology serves as a reminder that the crypto industry is still in its formative years, and we should anticipate further legal discussions, regulatory developments, and even disputes as the industry matures and gains wider acceptance. Ishan Pandey: Can you comment on the current state of the cryptocurrency industry and the direction you expect it to take over the next few years? The cryptocurrency landscape today is witnessing a period of significant metamorphosis and advancement. We are seeing a surge in the development and adoption of decentralized finance (DeFi) protocols, non-fungible tokens (NFTs), and a slew of other applications powered by blockchain technology. These disruptive innovations are reshaping traditional financial models and democratizing access to financial services. Andreas Schemm: Looking ahead, I anticipate the next few years to be marked by an acceleration of these trends. We will see an intensification of efforts to harness the transformative potential of blockchain technology and cryptocurrencies, pushing the boundaries of what's possible within financial systems and beyond. I envisage a future where DeFi becomes the norm rather than the exception, bringing financial inclusivity and empowerment to unprecedented numbers of people globally. The legal and regulatory environment around cryptocurrencies will continue to mature and evolve in tandem. Regulatory authorities around the world are already grappling with the implications of this rapidly advancing industry, and we should expect to see more comprehensive and nuanced legislation and regulation emerge in response. This evolution will aim to provide greater certainty and security for both consumers and businesses operating in the crypto sphere, contributing to the long-term stability and credibility of the industry. In this transformative period, it is more important than ever to ensure that the law keeps pace with technological innovation. Legal practitioners, policymakers, and industry stakeholders must work collaboratively to shape a regulatory environment that supports the potential of blockchain technology while safeguarding market integrity and investor interests. As such, the convergence of legal, technological, and regulatory perspectives will be pivotal in directing the trajectory of the cryptocurrency industry over the coming years. Ishan Pandey: Looking into the future, what do you envision as the long-term impact of the HUMAN Protocol on the blockchain industry and society as a whole? How do you plan to contribute to that vision? The HUMAN Protocol has the potential to alter how we perceive and engage with work fundamentally. It holds the promise of a global, decentralized, and fair workforce, redefining economic relationships and value exchange. In the blockchain industry, it can stand as a testament to blockchain's real-world utility, far beyond speculative trading. My contribution lies in driving technological advancement, nurturing strategic partnerships, and remaining steadfast in the promotion of HUMAN Protocol's ethos - making work accessible, transparent, and rewarding for everyone. Andreas Schemm: Don’t forget to like and share the story!

From Virtual Arenas to Global Workforces: How Andreas Schemm is Transforming Digital Landscapes

The Golden Road by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . OUR LAST EVENING TOGETHER CHAPTER XXXII. OUR LAST EVENING TOGETHER IT was the evening before the day on which the Story Girl and Uncle Blair were to leave us, and we were keeping our last tryst together in the orchard where we had spent so many happy hours. We had made a pilgrimage to all the old haunts—the hill field, the spruce wood, the dairy, Grandfather King’s willow, the Pulpit Stone, Pat’s grave, and Uncle Stephen’s Walk; and now we foregathered in the sere grasses about the old well and feasted on the little jam turnovers Felicity had made that day specially for the occasion. “I wonder if we’ll ever all be together again,” sighed Cecily. “I wonder when I’ll get jam turnovers like this again,” said the Story Girl, trying to be gay but not making much of a success of it. “If Paris wasn’t so far away I could send you a box of nice things now and then,” said Felicity forlornly, “but I suppose there’s no use thinking of that. Dear knows what they’ll give you to eat over there.” “Oh, the French have the reputation of being the best cooks in the world,” rejoined the Story Girl, “but I know they can’t beat your jam turnovers and plum puffs, Felicity. Many a time I’ll be hankering after them.” “If we ever do meet again you’ll be grown up,” said Felicity gloomily. “Well, you won’t have stood still yourselves, you know.” “No, but that’s just the worst of it. We’ll all be different and everything will be changed.” “Just think,” said Cecily, “last New Year’s Eve we were wondering what would happen this year; and what a lot of things have happened that we never expected. Oh, dear!” “If things never happened life would be pretty dull,” said the Story Girl briskly. “Oh, don’t look so dismal, all of you.” “It’s hard to be cheerful when everybody’s going away,” sighed Cecily. “Well, let’s pretend to be, anyway,” insisted the Story Girl. “Don’t let’s think of parting. Let’s think instead of how much we’ve laughed this last year or so. I’m sure I shall never forget this dear old place. We’ve had so many good times here.” “And some bad times, too,” reminded Felix. “Remember when Dan et the bad berries last summer?” “And the time we were so scared over that bell ringing in the house,” grinned Peter. “And the Judgment Day,” added Dan. “And the time Paddy was bewitched,” suggested Sara Ray. “And when Peter was dying of the measles,” said Felicity. “And the time Jimmy Patterson was lost,” said Dan. “Gee-whiz, but that scared me out of a year’s growth.” “Do you remember the time we took the magic seed,” grinned Peter. “Weren’t we silly?” said Felicity. “I really can never look Billy Robinson in the face when I meet him. I’m always sure he’s laughing at me in his sleeve.” “It’s Billy Robinson who ought to be ashamed when he meets you or any of us,” commented Cecily severely. “I’d rather be cheated than cheat other people.” “Do you mind the time we bought God’s picture?” asked Peter. “I wonder if it’s where we buried it yet,” speculated Felix. “I put a stone over it, just as we did over Pat,” said Cecily. “I wish I could forget what God looks like,” sighed Sara Ray. “I can’t forget it—and I can’t forget what the bad place is like either, ever since Peter preached that sermon on it.” “When you get to be a real minister you’ll have to preach that sermon over again, Peter,” grinned Dan. “My Aunt Jane used to say that people needed a sermon on that place once in a while,” retorted Peter seriously. “Do you mind the night I et the cucumbers and milk to make me dream?” said Cecily. And therewith we hunted out our old dream books to read them again, and, forgetful of coming partings, laughed over them till the old orchard echoed to our mirth. When we had finished we stood in a circle around the well and pledged “eternal friendship” in a cup of its unrivalled water. Then we joined hands and sang “Auld Lang Syne.” Sara Ray cried bitterly in lieu of singing. “Look here,” said the Story Girl, as we turned to leave the old orchard, “I want to ask a favour of you all. Don’t say good-bye to me tomorrow morning.” “Why not?” demanded Felicity in astonishment. “Because it’s such a hopeless sort of word. Don’t let’s SAY it at all. Just see me off with a wave of your hands. It won’t seem half so bad then. And don’t any of you cry if you can help it. I want to remember you all smiling.” We went out of the old orchard where the autumn night wind was beginning to make its weird music in the russet boughs, and shut the little gate behind us. Our revels there were ended. 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 .

OUR LAST EVENING TOGETHER

The Golden Road by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . PROPHECIES CHAPTER XXX. PROPHECIES “Here’s a letter for you from father,” said Felix, tossing it to me as he came through the orchard gate. We had been picking apples all day, but were taking a mid-afternoon rest around the well, with a cup of its sparkling cold water to refresh us. I opened the letter rather indifferently, for father, with all his excellent and lovable traits, was but a poor correspondent; his letters were usually very brief and very unimportant. This letter was brief enough, but it was freighted with a message of weighty import. I sat gazing stupidly at the sheet after I had read it until Felix exclaimed, “Bev, what’s the matter with you? What’s in that letter?” “Father is coming home,” I said dazedly. “He is to leave South America in a fortnight and will be here in November to take us back to Toronto.” Everybody gasped. Sara Ray, of course, began to cry, which aggravated me unreasonably. “Well,” said Felix, when he got his second wind, “I’ll be awful glad to see father again, but I tell you I don’t like the thought of leaving here.” I felt exactly the same but, in view of Sara Ray’s tears, admit it I would not; so I sat in grum silence while the other tongues wagged. “If I were not going away myself I’d feel just terrible,” said the Story Girl. “Even as it is I’m real sorry. I’d like to be able to think of you as all here together when I’m gone, having good times and writing me about them.” “It’ll be awfully dull when you fellows go,” muttered Dan. “I’m sure I don’t know what we’re ever going to do here this winter,” said Felicity, with the calmness of despair. “Thank goodness there are no more fathers to come back,” breathed Cecily with a vicious earnestness that made us all laugh, even in the midst of our dismay. We worked very half-heartedly the rest of the day, and it was not until we assembled in the orchard in the evening that our spirits recovered something like their wonted level. It was clear and slightly frosty; the sun had declined behind a birch on a distant hill and it seemed a tree with a blazing heart of fire. The great golden willow at the lane gate was laughter-shaken in the wind of evening. Even amid all the changes of our shifting world we could not be hopelessly low-spirited—except Sara Ray, who was often so, and Peter, who was rarely so. But Peter had been sorely vexed in spirit for several days. The time was approaching for the October issue of Our Magazine and he had no genuine fiction ready for it. He had taken so much to heart Felicity’s taunt that his stories were all true that he had determined to have a really-truly false one in the next number. But the difficulty was to get anyone to write it. He had asked the Story Girl to do it, but she refused; then he appealed to me and I shirked. Finally Peter determined to write a story himself. “It oughtn’t to be any harder than writing a poem and I managed that,” he said dolefully. He worked at it in the evenings in the granary loft, and the rest of us forebore to question him concerning it, because he evidently disliked talking about his literary efforts. But this evening I had to ask him if he would soon have it ready, as I wanted to make up the paper. “It’s done,” said Peter, with an air of gloomy triumph. “It don’t amount to much, but anyhow I made it all out of my own head. Not one word of it was ever printed or told before, and nobody can say there was.” “Then I guess we have all the stuff in and I’ll have Our Magazine ready to read by tomorrow night,” I said. “I s’pose it will be the last one we’ll have,” sighed Cecily. “We can’t carry it on after you all go, and it has been such fun.” “Bev will be a real newspaper editor some day,” declared the Story Girl, on whom the spirit of prophecy suddenly descended that night. She was swinging on the bough of an apple tree, with a crimson shawl wrapped about her head, and her eyes were bright with roguish fire. “How do you know he will?” asked Felicity. “Oh, I can tell futures,” answered the Story Girl mysteriously. “I know what’s going to happen to all of you. Shall I tell you?” “Do, just for the fun of it,” I said. “Then some day we’ll know just how near you came to guessing right. Go on. What else about me?” “You’ll write books, too, and travel all over the world,” continued the Story Girl. “Felix will be fat to the end of his life, and he will be a grandfather before he is fifty, and he will wear a long black beard.” “I won’t,” cried Felix disgustedly. “I hate whiskers. Maybe I can’t help the grandfather part, but I CAN help having a beard.” “You can’t. It’s written in the stars.” “‘Tain’t. The stars can’t prevent me from shaving.” “Won’t Grandpa Felix sound awful funny?” reflected Felicity. “Peter will be a minister,” went on the Story Girl. “Well, I might be something worse,” remarked Peter, in a not ungratified tone. “Dan will be a farmer and will marry a girl whose name begins with K and he will have eleven children. And he’ll vote Grit.” “I won’t,” cried scandalized Dan. “You don’t know a thing about it. Catch ME ever voting Grit! As for the rest of it—I don’t care. Farming’s well enough, though I’d rather be a sailor.” “Don’t talk such nonsense,” protested Felicity sharply. “What on earth do you want to be a sailor for and be drowned?” “All sailors aren’t drowned,” said Dan. “Most of them are. Look at Uncle Stephen.” “You ain’t sure he was drowned.” “Well, he disappeared, and that is worse.” “How do you know? Disappearing might be real easy.” “It’s not very easy for your family.” “Hush, let’s hear the rest of the predictions,” said Cecily. “Felicity,” resumed the Story Girl gravely, “will marry a minister.” Sara Ray giggled and Felicity blushed. Peter tried hard not to look too self-consciously delighted. “She will be a perfect housekeeper and will teach a Sunday School class and be very happy all her life.” “Will her husband be happy?” queried Dan solemnly. “I guess he’ll be as happy as your wife,” retorted Felicity reddening. “He’ll be the happiest man in the world,” declared Peter warmly. “What about me?” asked Sara Ray. The Story Girl looked rather puzzled. It was so hard to imagine Sara Ray as having any kind of future. Yet Sara was plainly anxious to have her fortune told and must be gratified. “You’ll be married,” said the Story Girl recklessly, “and you’ll live to be nearly a hundred years old, and go to dozens of funerals and have a great many sick spells. You will learn not to cry after you are seventy; but your husband will never go to church.” “I’m glad you warned me,” said Sara Ray solemnly, “because now I know I’ll make him promise before I marry him that he will go.” “He won’t keep the promise,” said the Story Girl, shaking her head. “But it is getting cold and Cecily is coughing. Let us go in.” “You haven’t told my fortune,” protested Cecily disappointedly. The Story Girl looked very tenderly at Cecily—at the smooth little brown head, at the soft, shining eyes, at the cheeks that were often over-rosy after slight exertion, at the little sunburned hands that were always busy doing faithful work or quiet kindnesses. A very strange look came over the Story Girl’s face; her eyes grew sad and far-reaching, as if of a verity they pierced beyond the mists of hidden years. “I couldn’t tell any fortune half good enough for you, dearest,” she said, slipping her arm round Cecily. “You deserve everything good and lovely. But you know I’ve only been in fun—of course I don’t know anything about what’s going to happen to us.” “Perhaps you know more than you think for,” said Sara Ray, who seemed much pleased with her fortune and anxious to believe it, despite the husband who wouldn’t go to church. “But I’d like to be told my fortune, even in fun,” persisted Cecily. “Everybody you meet will love you as long as you live.” said the Story Girl. “There that’s the very nicest fortune I can tell you, and it will come true whether the others do or not, and now we must go in.” We went, Cecily still a little disappointed. In later years I often wondered why the Story Girl refused to tell her fortune that night. Did some strange gleam of foreknowledge fall for a moment across her mirth-making? Did she realize in a flash of prescience that there was no earthly future for our sweet Cecily? Not for her were to be the lengthening shadows or the fading garland. The end was to come while the rainbow still sparkled on her wine of life, ere a single petal had fallen from her rose of joy. Long life was before all the others who trysted that night in the old homestead orchard; but Cecily’s maiden feet were never to leave the golden road. 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 .

THE PROPHECIES

The Golden Road by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE PATH TO ARCADY CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PATH TO ARCADY October that year gathered up all the spilled sunshine of the summer and clad herself in it as in a garment. The Story Girl had asked us to try to make the last month together beautiful, and Nature seconded our efforts, giving us that most beautiful of beautiful things—a gracious and perfect moon of falling leaves. There was not in all that vanished October one day that did not come in with auroral splendour and go out attended by a fair galaxy of evening stars—not a day when there were not golden lights in the wide pastures and purple hazes in the ripened distances. Never was anything so gorgeous as the maple trees that year. Maples are trees that have primeval fire in their souls. It glows out a little in their early youth, before the leaves open, in the redness and rosy-yellowness of their blossoms, but in summer it is carefully hidden under a demure, silver-lined greenness. Then when autumn comes, the maples give up trying to be sober and flame out in all the barbaric splendour and gorgeousness of their real nature, making of the hills things out of an Arabian Nights dream in the golden prime of good Haroun Alraschid. You may never know what scarlet and crimson really are until you see them in their perfection on an October hillside, under the unfathomable blue of an autumn sky. All the glow and radiance and joy at earth’s heart seem to have broken loose in a splendid determination to express itself for once before the frost of winter chills her beating pulses. It is the year’s carnival ere the dull Lenten days of leafless valleys and penitential mists come. The time of apple-picking had come around once more and we worked joyously. Uncle Blair picked apples with us, and between him and the Story Girl it was an October never to be forgotten. “Will you go far afield for a walk with me to-day?” he said to her and me, one idle afternoon of opal skies, pied meadows and misty hills. It was Saturday and Peter had gone home; Felix and Dan were helping Uncle Alec top turnips; Cecily and Felicity were making cookies for Sunday, so the Story Girl and I were alone in Uncle Stephen’s Walk. We liked to be alone together that last month, to think the long, long thoughts of youth and talk about our futures. There had grown up between us that summer a bond of sympathy that did not exist between us and the others. We were older than they—the Story Girl was fifteen and I was nearly that; and all at once it seemed as if we were immeasurably older than the rest, and possessed of dreams and visions and forward-reaching hopes which they could not possibly share or understand. At times we were still children, still interested in childish things. But there came hours when we seemed to our two selves very grown up and old, and in those hours we talked our dreams and visions and hopes, vague and splendid, as all such are, over together, and so began to build up, out of the rainbow fragments of our childhood’s companionship, that rare and beautiful friendship which was to last all our lives, enriching and enstarring them. For there is no bond more lasting than that formed by the mutual confidences of that magic time when youth is slipping from the sheath of childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyond those misty hills that bound the golden road. “Where are you going?” asked the Story Girl. “To ‘the woods that belt the gray hillside’—ay, and overflow beyond it into many a valley purple-folded in immemorial peace,” answered Uncle Blair. “I have a fancy for one more ramble in Prince Edward Island woods before I leave Canada again. But I would not go alone. So come, you two gay youthful things to whom all life is yet fair and good, and we will seek the path to Arcady. There will be many little things along our way to make us glad. Joyful sounds will ‘come ringing down the wind;’ a wealth of gypsy gold will be ours for the gathering; we will learn the potent, unutterable charm of a dim spruce wood and the grace of flexile mountain ashes fringing a lonely glen; we will tryst with the folk of fur and feather; we’ll hearken to the music of gray old firs. Come, and you’ll have a ramble and an afternoon that you will both remember all your lives.” We did have it; never has its remembrance faded; that idyllic afternoon of roving in the old Carlisle woods with the Story Girl and Uncle Blair gleams in my book of years, a page of living beauty. Yet it was but a few hours of simplest pleasure; we wandered pathlessly through the sylvan calm of those dear places which seemed that day to be full of a great friendliness; Uncle Blair sauntered along behind us, whistling softly; sometimes he talked to himself; we delighted in those brief reveries of his; Uncle Blair was the only man I have ever known who could, when he so willed, “talk like a book,” and do it without seeming ridiculous; perhaps it was because he had the knack of choosing “fit audience, though few,” and the proper time to appeal to that audience. We went across the fields, intending to skirt the woods at the back of Uncle Alec’s farm and find a lane that cut through Uncle Roger’s woods; but before we came to it we stumbled on a sly, winding little path quite by accident—if, indeed, there can be such a thing as accident in the woods, where I am tempted to think we are led by the Good People along such of their fairy ways as they have a mind for us to walk in. “Go to, let us explore this,” said Uncle Blair. “It always drags terribly at my heart to go past a wood lane if I can make any excuse at all for traversing it: for it is the by-ways that lead to the heart of the woods and we must follow them if we would know the forest and be known of it. When we can really feel its wild heart beating against ours its subtle life will steal into our veins and make us its own for ever, so that no matter where we go or how wide we wander in the noisy ways of cities or over the lone ways of the sea, we shall yet be drawn back to the forest to find our most enduring kinship.” “I always feel so SATISFIED in the woods,” said the Story Girl dreamily, as we turned in under the low-swinging fir boughs. “Trees seem such friendly things.” “They are the most friendly things in God’s good creation,” said Uncle Blair emphatically. “And it is so easy to live with them. To hold converse with pines, to whisper secrets with the poplars, to listen to the tales of old romance that beeches have to tell, to walk in eloquent silence with self-contained firs, is to learn what real companionship is. Besides, trees are the same all over the world. A beech tree on the slopes of the Pyrenees is just what a beech tree here in these Carlisle woods is; and there used to be an old pine hereabouts whose twin brother I was well acquainted with in a dell among the Apennines. Listen to those squirrels, will you, chattering over yonder. Did you ever hear such a fuss over nothing? Squirrels are the gossips and busybodies of the woods; they haven’t learned the fine reserve of its other denizens. But after all, there is a certain shrill friendliness in their greeting.” “They seem to be scolding us,” I said, laughing. “Oh, they are not half such scolds as they sound,” answered Uncle Blair gaily. “If they would but ‘tak a thought and mend’ their shrew-like ways they would be dear, lovable creatures enough.” “If I had to be an animal I think I’d like to be a squirrel,” said the Story Girl. “It must be next best thing to flying.” “Just see what a spring that fellow gave,” laughed Uncle Blair. “And now listen to his song of triumph! I suppose that chasm he cleared seemed as wide and deep to him as Niagara Gorge would to us if we leaped over it. Well, the wood people are a happy folk and very well satisfied with themselves.” Those who have followed a dim, winding, balsamic path to the unexpected hollow where a wood-spring lies have found the rarest secret the forest can reveal. Such was our good fortune that day. At the end of our path we found it, under the pines, a crystal-clear thing with lips unkissed by so much as a stray sunbeam. “It is easy to dream that this is one of the haunted springs of old romance,” said Uncle Blair. “‘Tis an enchanted spot this, I am very sure, and we should go softly, speaking low, lest we disturb the rest of a white, wet naiad, or break some spell that has cost long years of mystic weaving.” “It’s so easy to believe things in the woods,” said the Story Girl, shaping a cup from a bit of golden-brown birch bark and filling it at the spring. “Drink a toast in that water, Sara,” said Uncle Blair. “There’s not a doubt that it has some potent quality of magic in it and the wish you wish over it will come true.” The Story Girl lifted her golden-hued flagon to her red lips. Her hazel eyes laughed at us over the brim. “Here’s to our futures,” she cried, “I wish that every day of our lives may be better than the one that went before.” “An extravagant wish—a very wish of youth,” commented Uncle Blair, “and yet in spite of its extravagance, a wish that will come true if you are true to yourselves. In that case, every day WILL be better than all that went before—but there will be many days, dear lad and lass, when you will not believe it.” We did not understand him, but we knew Uncle Blair never explained his meaning. When asked it he was wont to answer with a smile, “Some day you’ll grow to it. Wait for that.” So we addressed ourselves to follow the brook that stole away from the spring in its windings and doublings and tricky surprises. “A brook,” quoth Uncle Blair, “is the most changeful, bewitching, lovable thing in the world. It is never in the same mind or mood two minutes. Here it is sighing and murmuring as if its heart were broken. But listen—yonder by the birches it is laughing as if it were enjoying some capital joke all by itself.” It was indeed a changeful brook; here it would make a pool, dark and brooding and still, where we bent to look at our mirrored faces; then it grew communicative and gossiped shallowly over a broken pebble bed where there was a diamond dance of sunbeams and no troutling or minnow could glide through without being seen. Sometimes its banks were high and steep, hung with slender ashes and birches; again they were mere, low margins, green with delicate mosses, shelving out of the wood. Once it came to a little precipice and flung itself over undauntedly in an indignation of foam, gathering itself up rather dizzily among the mossy stones below. It was some time before it got over its vexation; it went boiling and muttering along, fighting with the rotten logs that lie across it, and making far more fuss than was necessary over every root that interfered with it. We were getting tired of its ill-humour and talked of leaving it, when it suddenly grew sweet-tempered again, swooped around a curve—and presto, we were in fairyland. It was a little dell far in the heart of the woods. A row of birches fringed the brook, and each birch seemed more exquisitely graceful and golden than her sisters. The woods receded from it on every hand, leaving it lying in a pool of amber sunshine. The yellow trees were mirrored in the placid stream, with now and then a leaf falling on the water, mayhap to drift away and be used, as Uncle Blair suggested, by some adventurous wood sprite who had it in mind to fare forth to some far-off, legendary region where all the brooks ran into the sea. “Oh, what a lovely place!” I exclaimed, looking around me with delight. “A spell of eternity is woven over it, surely,” murmured Uncle Blair. “Winter may not touch it, or spring ever revisit it. It should be like this for ever.” “Let us never come here again,” said the Story Girl softly, “never, no matter how often we may be in Carlisle. Then we will never see it changed or different. We can always remember it just as we see it now, and it will be like this for ever for us.” “I’m going to sketch it,” said Uncle Blair. While he sketched it the Story Girl and I sat on the banks of the brook and she told me the story of the Sighing Reed. It was a very simple little story, that of the slender brown reed which grew by the forest pool and always was sad and sighing because it could not utter music like the brook and the birds and the winds. All the bright, beautiful things around it mocked it and laughed at it for its folly. Who would ever look for music in it, a plain, brown, unbeautiful thing? But one day a youth came through the wood; he was as beautiful as the spring; he cut the brown reed and fashioned it according to his liking; and then he put it to his lips and breathed on it; and, oh, the music that floated through the forest! It was so entrancing that everything—brooks and birds and winds—grew silent to listen to it. Never had anything so lovely been heard; it was the music that had for so long been shut up in the soul of the sighing reed and was set free at last through its pain and suffering. I had heard the Story Girl tell many a more dramatic tale; but that one stands out for me in memory above them all, partly, perhaps, because of the spot in which she told it, partly because it was the last one I was to hear her tell for many years—the last one she was ever to tell me on the golden road. When Uncle Blair had finished his sketch the shafts of sunshine were turning crimson and growing more and more remote; the early autumn twilight was falling over the woods. We left our dell, saying good-bye to it for ever, as the Story Girl had suggested, and we went slowly homeward through the fir woods, where a haunting, indescribable odour stole out to meet us. “There is magic in the scent of dying fir,” Uncle Blair was saying aloud to himself, as if forgetting he was not quite alone. “It gets into our blood like some rare, subtly-compounded wine, and thrills us with unutterable sweetnesses, as of recollections from some other fairer life, lived in some happier star. Compared to it, all other scents seem heavy and earth-born, luring to the valleys instead of the heights. But the tang of the fir summons onward and upward to some ‘far-off, divine event’—some spiritual peak of attainment whence we shall see with unfaltering, unclouded vision the spires of some aerial City Beautiful, or the fulfilment of some fair, fadeless land of promise.” He was silent for a moment, then added in a lower tone, “Felicity, you loved the scent of dying fir. If you were here tonight with me—Felicity—Felicity!” Something in his voice made me suddenly sad. I was comforted when I felt the Story Girl slip her hand into mine. So we walked out of the woods into the autumn dusk. We were in a little valley. Half-way up the opposite slope a brush fire was burning clearly and steadily in a maple grove. There was something indescribably alluring in that fire, glowing so redly against the dark background of forest and twilit hill. “Let us go to it,” cried Uncle Blair, gaily, casting aside his sorrowful mood and catching our hands. “A wood fire at night has a fascination not to be resisted by those of mortal race. Hasten—we must not lose time.” “Oh, it will burn a long time yet,” I gasped, for Uncle Blair was whisking us up the hill at a merciless rate. “You can’t be sure. It may have been lighted by some good, honest farmer-man, bent on tidying up his sugar orchard, but it may also, for anything we know, have been kindled by no earthly woodman as a beacon or summons to the tribes of fairyland, and may vanish away if we tarry.” It did not vanish and presently we found ourselves in the grove. It was very beautiful; the fire burned with a clear, steady glow and a soft crackle; the long arcades beneath the trees were illuminated with a rosy radiance, beyond which lurked companies of gray and purple shadows. Everything was very still and dreamy and remote. “It is impossible that out there, just over the hill, lies a village of men, where tame household lamps are shining,” said Uncle Blair. “I feel as if we must be thousands of miles away from everything we’ve ever known,” murmured the Story Girl. “So you are!” said Uncle Blair emphatically. “You’re back in the youth of the race—back in the beguilement of the young world. Everything is in this hour—the beauty of classic myths, the primal charm of the silent and the open, the lure of mystery. Why, it’s a time and place when and where everything might come true—when the men in green might creep out to join hands and dance around the fire, or dryads steal from their trees to warm their white limbs, grown chilly in October frosts, by the blaze. I wouldn’t be much surprised if we should see something of the kind. Isn’t that the flash of an ivory shoulder through yonder gloom? And didn’t you see a queer little elfin face peering at us around that twisted gray trunk? But one can’t be sure. Mortal eyesight is too slow and clumsy a thing to match against the flicker of a pixy-litten fire.” Hand in hand we wandered through that enchanted place, seeking the folk of elf-land, “and heard their mystic voices calling, from fairy knoll and haunted hill.” Not till the fire died down into ashes did we leave the grove. Then we found that the full moon was gleaming lustrously from a cloudless sky across the valley. Between us and her stretched up a tall pine, wondrously straight and slender and branchless to its very top, where it overflowed in a crest of dark boughs against the silvery splendour behind it. Beyond, the hill farms were lying in a suave, white radiance. “Doesn’t it seem a long, long time to you since we left home this afternoon?” asked the Story Girl. “And yet it is only a few hours.” Only a few hours—true; yet such hours were worth a cycle of common years untouched by the glory and the dream. 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 .

THE PATH TO ARCADY

The Golden Road by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH CHAPTER XXVII. THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH “I am going away with father when he goes. He is going to spend the winter in Paris, and I am to go to school there.” The Story Girl told us this one day in the orchard. There was a little elation in her tone, but more regret. The news was not a great surprise to us. We had felt it in the air ever since Uncle Blair’s arrival. Aunt Janet had been very unwilling to let the Story Girl go. But Uncle Blair was inexorable. It was time, he said, that she should go to a better school than the little country one in Carlisle; and besides, he did not want her to grow into womanhood a stranger to him. So it was finally decided that she was to go. “Just think, you are going to Europe,” said Sara Ray in an awe-struck tone. “Won’t that be splendid!” “I suppose I’ll like it after a while,” said the Story Girl slowly, “but I know I’ll be dreadfully homesick at first. Of course, it will be lovely to be with father, but oh, I’ll miss the rest of you so much!” “Just think how WE’LL miss YOU,” sighed Cecily. “It will be so lonesome here this winter, with you and Peter both gone. Oh, dear, I do wish things didn’t have to change.” Felicity said nothing. She kept looking down at the grass on which she sat, absently pulling at the slender blades. Presently we saw two big tears roll down over her cheeks. The Story Girl looked surprised. “Are you crying because I’m going away, Felicity?” she asked. “Of course I am,” answered Felicity, with a big sob. “Do you think I’ve no f-f-eeling?” “I didn’t think you’d care much,” said the Story Girl frankly. “You’ve never seemed to like me very much.” “I d-don’t wear my h-heart on my sleeve,” said poor Felicity, with an attempt at dignity. “I think you m-might stay. Your father would let you s-stay if you c-coaxed him.” “Well, you see I’d have to go some time,” sighed the Story Girl, “and the longer it was put off the harder it would be. But I do feel dreadfully about it. I can’t even take poor Paddy. I’ll have to leave him behind, and oh, I want you all to promise to be kind to him for my sake.” We all solemnly assured her that we would. “I’ll g-give him cream every m-morning and n-night,” sobbed Felicity, “but I’ll never be able to look at him without crying. He’ll make me think of you.” “Well, I’m not going right away,” said the Story Girl, more cheerfully. “Not till the last of October. So we have over a month yet to have a good time in. Let’s all just determine to make it a splendid month for the last. We won’t think about my going at all till we have to, and we won’t have any quarrels among us, and we’ll just enjoy ourselves all we possibly can. So don’t cry any more, Felicity. I’m awfully glad you do like me and am sorry I’m going away, but let’s all forget it for a month.” Felicity sighed, and tucked away her damp handkerchief. “It isn’t so easy for me to forget things, but I’ll try,” she said disconsolately, “and if you want any more cooking lessons before you go I’ll be real glad to teach you anything I know.” This was a high plane of self-sacrifice for Felicity to attain. But the Story Girl shook her head. “No, I’m not going to bother my head about cooking lessons this last month. It’s too vexing.” “Do you remember the time you made the pudding—” began Peter, and suddenly stopped. “Out of sawdust?” finished the Story Girl cheerfully. “You needn’t be afraid to mention it to me after this. I don’t mind any more. I begin to see the fun of it now. I should think I do remember it—and the time I baked the bread before it was raised enough.” “People have made worse mistakes than that,” said Felicity kindly. “Such as using tooth-powd—” but here Dan stopped abruptly, remembering the Story Girl’s plea for a beautiful month. Felicity coloured, but said nothing—did not even LOOK anything. “We HAVE had lots of fun together one way or another,” said Cecily, retrospectively. “Just think how much we’ve laughed this last year or so,” said the Story Girl. “We’ve had good times together; but I think we’ll have lots more splendid years ahead.” “Eden is always behind us—Paradise always before,” said Uncle Blair, coming up in time to hear her. He said it with a sigh that was immediately lost in one of his delightful smiles. “I like Uncle Blair so much better than I expected to,” Felicity confided to me. “Mother says he’s a rolling stone, but there really is something very nice about him, although he says a great many things I don’t understand. I suppose the Story Girl will have a very gay time in Paris.” “She’s going to school and she’ll have to study hard,” I said. “She says she’s going to study for the stage,” said Felicity. “Uncle Roger thinks it is all right, and says she’ll be very famous some day. But mother thinks it’s dreadful, and so do I.” “Aunt Julia is a concert singer,” I said. “Oh, that’s very different. But I hope poor Sara will get on all right,” sighed Felicity. “You never know what may happen to a person in those foreign countries. And everybody says Paris is such a wicked place. But we must hope for the best,” she concluded in a resigned tone. That evening the Story Girl and I drove the cows to pasture after milking, and when we came home we sought out Uncle Blair in the orchard. He was sauntering up and down Uncle Stephen’s Walk, his hands clasped behind him and his beautiful, youthful face uplifted to the western sky where waves of night were breaking on a dim primrose shore of sunset. “See that star over there in the south-west?” he said, as we joined him. “The one just above that pine? An evening star shining over a dark pine tree is the whitest thing in the universe—because it is LIVING whiteness—whiteness possessing a soul. How full this old orchard is of twilight! Do you know, I have been trysting here with ghosts.” “The Family Ghost?” I asked, very stupidly. “No, not the Family Ghost. I never saw beautiful, broken-hearted Emily yet. Your mother saw her once, Sara—that was a strange thing,” he added absently, as if to himself. “Did mother really see her?” whispered the Story Girl. “Well, she always believed she did. Who knows?” “Do you think there are such things as ghosts, Uncle Blair?” I asked curiously. “I never saw any, Beverley.” “But you said you were trysting with ghosts here this evening,” said the Story Girl. “Oh, yes—the ghosts of the old years. I love this orchard because of its many ghosts. We are good comrades, those ghosts and I; we walk and talk—we even laugh together—sorrowful laughter that has sorrow’s own sweetness. And always there comes to me one dear phantom and wanders hand in hand with me—a lost lady of the old years.” “My mother?” said the Story Girl very softly. “Yes, your mother. Here, in her old haunts, it is impossible for me to believe that she can be dead—that her LAUGHTER can be dead. She was the gayest, sweetest thing—and so young—only three years older than you, Sara. Yonder old house had been glad because of her for eighteen years when I met her first.” “I wish I could remember her,” said the Story Girl, with a little sigh. “I haven’t even a picture of her. Why didn’t you paint one, father?” “She would never let me. She had some queer, funny, half-playful, half-earnest superstition about it. But I always meant to when she would become willing to let me. And then—she died. Her twin brother Felix died the same day. There was something strange about that, too. I was holding her in my arms and she was looking up at me; suddenly she looked past me and gave a little start. ‘Felix!’ she said. For a moment she trembled and then she smiled and looked up at me again a little beseechingly. ‘Felix has come for me, dear,’ she said. ‘We were always together before you came—you must not mind—you must be glad I do not have to go alone.’ Well, who knows? But she left me, Sara—she left me.” There was that in Uncle Blair’s voice that kept us silent for a time. Then the Story Girl said, still very softly: “What did mother look like, father? I don’t look the least little bit like her, do I?” “No, I wish you did, you brown thing. Your mother’s face was as white as a wood-lily, with only a faint dream of rose in her cheeks. She had the eyes of one who always had a song in her heart—blue as a mist, those eyes were. She had dark lashes, and a little red mouth that quivered when she was very sad or very happy like a crimson rose too rudely shaken by the wind. She was as slim and lithe as a young, white-stemmed birch tree. How I loved her! How happy we were! But he who accepts human love must bind it to his soul with pain, and she is not lost to me. Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.” Uncle Blair looked up at the evening star. We saw that he had forgotten us, and we slipped away, hand in hand, leaving him alone in the memory-haunted shadows of the old orchard. 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 .

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