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THE FABLE OF THE CICADA AND THE ANT

Social Life in the Insect World by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE FABLE OF THE CIGALE AND THE ANT CHAPTER I. THE FABLE OF THE CIGALE AND THE ANT Fame is the daughter of Legend. In the world of creatures, as in the world of men, the story precedes and outlives history. There are many instances of the fact that if an insect attract our attention for this reason or that, it is given a place in those legends of the people whose last care is truth. For example, who is there that does not, at least by hearsay, know the Cigale? Where in the entomological world shall we find a more famous reputation? Her fame as an impassioned singer, careless of the future, was the subject of our earliest lessons in repetition. In short, easily remembered lines of verse, we learned how she was destitute when the winter winds arrived, and how she went begging for food to the Ant, her neighbour. A poor welcome she received, the would-be borrower!—a welcome that has become proverbial, and her chief title to celebrity. The petty malice of the two short lines— Vous chantiez! j'en suis bien aise, Eh bien, dansez maintenant! DURING THE DROUGHTS OF SUMMER THIRSTING INSECTS, AND NOTABLY THE ANT, FLOCK TO THE DRINKING-PLACES OF THE CIGALE. As we see, reality completely reverses the action described by the fable. The shameless beggar, who does not hesitate at theft, is the Ant; the industrious worker, willingly sharing her goods with the suffering, is the Cigale. Yet another detail, and the reversal of the fable is further emphasised. After five or six weeks of gaiety, the songstress falls from the tree, exhausted by the fever of life. The sun shrivels her body; the feet of the passers-by crush it. A bandit always in search of booty, the Ant discovers the remains. She divides the rich find, dissects it, and cuts it up into tiny fragments, which go to swell her stock of provisions. It is not uncommon to see a dying Cigale, whose wings are still trembling in the dust, drawn and quartered by a gang of knackers. Her body is black with them. After this instance of cannibalism the truth of the relations between the two insects is obvious. Antiquity held the Cigale in high esteem. The Greek Béranger, Anacreon, devoted an ode to her, in which his praise of her is singularly exaggerated. "Thou art almost like unto the Gods," he says. The reasons which he has given for this apotheosis are none of the best. They consist in these three privileges: γηγενἡϛ, ἁπαθἡϛ, ἁναιμὁσαρκε; born of the earth, insensible to pain, bloodless. We will not reproach the poet for these mistakes; they were then generally believed, and were perpetuated long afterwards, until the exploring eye of scientific observation was directed upon them. And in minor poetry, whose principal merit lies in rhythm and harmony, we must not look at things too closely. Even in our days, the Provençal poets, who know the Cigale as Anacreon never did, are scarcely more careful of the truth in celebrating the insect which they have taken for their emblem. A friend of mine, an eager observer and a scrupulous realist, does not deserve this reproach. He gives me permission to take from his pigeon-holes the following Provençal poem, in which the relations between the Cigale and the Ant are expounded with all the rigour of science. I leave to him the responsibility for his poetic images and his moral reflections, blossoms unknown to my naturalist's garden; but I can swear to the truth of all he says, for it corresponds with what I see each summer on the lilac-trees of my garden. LA CIGALO E LA FOURNIGO. I. Jour de Dièu, queto caud! Bèu tèms pèr la Cigalo, Que, trefoulido, se regalo D'uno raisso de fio; bèu tèms per la meissoun. Dins lis erso d'or, lou segaire, Ren plega, pitre au vent, rustico e canto gaire; Dins soun gousiè, la set estranglo la cansoun. Tèms benesi pèr tu. Dounc, ardit! cigaleto, Fai-lei brusi, ti chimbaleto, E brandusso lou ventre à creba ti mirau. L'Ome enterin mando le daio, Que vai balin-balan de longo e que dardaio L'ulau de soun acié sus li rous espigau. Plèn d'aigo pèr la péiro e tampouna d'erbiho Lou coufié sus l'anco pendiho. Si la péiro es au frès dins soun estui de bos, E se de longo es abèurado, L'Ome barbelo au fio d'aqueli souleiado Que fan bouli de fes la mesoulo dis os. Tu, Cigalo, as un biais pèr la set: dins la rusco Tendro e jutouso d'uno busco, L'aguio de toun bè cabusso e cavo un pous. Lou siro monto pèr la draio. T'amourres à la fon melicouso que raio, E dou sourgènt sucra bèves lou teta-dous. Mai pas toujour en pas. Oh! que nàni; de laire, Vesin, vesino o barrulaire, T'an vist cava lou pous. An set; vènon, doulènt, Te prène un degout pèr si tasso. Mesfiso-te, ma bello: aqueli curo-biasso, Umble d'abord, soun lèu de gusas insoulènt. Quiston un chicouloun di rèn, pièi de ti resto Soun plus countènt, ausson la testo E volon tout: L'auran. Sis arpioun en rastèu Te gatihoun lou bout de l'alo. Sus tu larjo esquinasso es un mounto-davalo; T'aganton pèr lou bè, li bano, lis artèu; Tiron d'eici, d'eilà. L'impaciènci te gagno. Pst! pst! d'un giscle de pissagno Aspèrges l'assemblado e quites lou ramèu. T'en vas bèn liuen de la racaio, Que t'a rauba lou pous, e ris, e se gougaio, E se lipo li brego enviscado de mèu. Or d'aqueli boumian abèura sens fatigo, Lou mai tihous es la fournigo. Mousco, cabrian, guespo e tavan embana, Espeloufi de touto meno, Costo-en-long qu'à toun pous lou soulcias ameno, N'an pas soun testardige à te faire enana. Pèr l'esquicha l'artèu, te coutiga lou mourre, Te pessuga lou nas, pèr courre A l'oumbro du toun ventre, osco! degun la vau. Lou marrit-pèu prend pèr escalo Uno patto e te monto, ardido, sus lis alo, E s'espasso, insoulènto, e vai d'amont, d'avau. II. Aro veici qu'es pas de crèire. Ancian tèms, nous dison li rèire, Un jour d'ivèr; la fam te prenguè. Lou front bas E d'escoundoun anères vèire, Dins si grand magasin, la fournigo, eilàbas. L'endrudido au soulèu secavo, Avans de lis escoundre en cavo, Si blad qu'aviè mousi l'eigagno de la niue. Quand èron lest lis ensacavo. Tu survènes alor, emé de plour is iue. Iè disés: "Fai bèn fre; l'aurasso D'un caire à l'autre me tirasso Avanido de fam. A toun riche mouloun Leisso-me prène pèr ma biasso. Te lou rendrai segur au bèu tèms di meloun. "Presto-me un pan de gran." Mai, bouto, Se cresès que l'autro t'escouto, T'enganes. Di gros sa, rèn de rèn sara tièu. "Vai-t'en plus liuen rascla de bouto; Crebo de fam l'ivèr, tu que cantes l'estièu." Ansin charro la fablo antico Pèr nous counséia la pratico Di sarro-piastro, urous de nousa li cordoun De si bourso.—Que la coulico Rousiguè la tripaio en aqueli coudoun! Me fai susa, lou fabulisto, Quand dis que l'ivèr vas en quisto De mousco, verme, gran, tu que manges jamai. De blad! Que n'en fariès, ma fisto! As ta fon melicouso e demandes rèn mai. Que t'enchau l'ivèr! Ta famiho A la sousto en terro soumiho, Et tu dormes la som que n'a ges de revèi; Toun cadabre toumbo en douliho. Un jour, en tafurant, la fournigo lou véi, De tu magro péu dessecado La marriasso fai becado; Te curo lou perus, te chapouto à moucèu, T'encafourno pèr car-salado, Requisto prouvisioun, l'ivèr, en tèms de neu. III. Vaqui l'istori veritablo Bèn liuen dôu conte de la fablo. Que n'en pensas, canèu de sort! —O rammaissaire de dardeno Det croucu, boumbudo bedeno Que gouvernas lou mounde emé lou coffre-fort, Fasès courre lou bru, canaio, Que l'artisto jamai travaio E dèu pati, lou bedigas. Teisas-vous dounc: quand di lambrusco La Cigalo a cava la rusco, Raubas soun bèure, e pièi, morto, la rousigas. So speaks my friend in the expressive Provençal idiom, rehabilitating the creature so libelled by the fabulist. Translated with a little necessary freedom, the English of it is as follows:— I. Fine weather for the Cigale! God, what heat! Half drunken with her joy, she feasts In a hail of fire. Pays for the harvest meet; A golden sea the reaper breasts, Loins bent, throat bare; silent, he labours long, For thirst within his throat has stilled the song. A blessed time for thee, little Cigale. Thy little cymbals shake and sound, Shake, shake thy stomach till thy mirrors fall! Man meanwhile swings his scythe around; Continually back and forth it veers, Flashing its steel amidst the ruddy ears. Grass-plugged, with water for the grinder full, A flask is hung upon his hip; The stone within its wooden trough is cool, Free all the day to sip and sip; But man is gasping in the fiery sun, That makes his very marrow melt and run. Thou, Cigale, hast a cure for thirst: the bark, Tender and juicy, of the bough. Thy beak, a very needle, stabs it. Mark The narrow passage welling now; The sugared stream is flowing, thee beside, Who drinkest of the flood, the honeyed tide. Not in peace always; nay, for thieves arrive, Neighbours and wives, or wanderers vile; They saw thee sink the well, and ill they thrive Thirsting; they seek to drink awhile; Beauty, beware! the wallet-snatcher's face, Humble at first, grows insolent apace. They seek the merest drop; thy leavings take; Soon discontent, their heads they toss; They crave for all, and all will have. They rake Their claws thy folded wings across; Thy back a mountain, up and down each goes; They seize thee by the beak, the horns, the toes. This way and that they pull. Impatient thou: Pst! Pst! a jet of nauseous taste O'er the assembly sprinklest. Leave the bough And fly the rascals thus disgraced, Who stole thy well, and with malicious pleasure Now lick their honey'd lips, and feed at leisure. See these Bohemians without labour fed! The ant the worst of all the crew— Fly, drone, wasp, beetle too with horned head, All of them sharpers thro' and thro', Idlers the sun drew to thy well apace— None more than she was eager for thy place, More apt thy face to tickle, toe to tread, Or nose to pinch, and then to run Under the shade thine ample belly spread; Or climb thy leg for ladder; sun Herself audacious on thy wings, and go Most insolently o'er thee to and fro. II. Now comes a tale that no one should believe. In other times, the ancients say, The winter came, and hunger made thee grieve. Thou didst in secret see one day The ant below the ground her treasure store away. The wealthy ant was drying in the sun Her corn the dew had wet by night, Ere storing it again; and one by one She filled her sacks as it dried aright. Thou camest then, and tears bedimmed thy sight, Saying: "'Tis very cold; the bitter bise Blows me this way and that to-day. I die of hunger. Of your riches please Fill me my bag, and I'll repay, When summer and its melons come this way. "Lend me a little corn." Go to, go to! Think you the ant will lend an ear? You are deceived. Great sacks, but nought for you! "Be off, and scrape some barrel clear! You sing of summer: starve, for winter's here!" 'Tis thus the ancient fable sings To teach us all the prudence ripe Of farthing-snatchers, glad to knot the string That tie their purses. May the gripe Of colic twist the guts of all such tripe! He angers me, this fable-teller does, Saying in winter thou dost seek Flies, grubs, corn—thou dost never eat like us! —Corn! Couldst thou eat it, with thy beak? Thou hast thy fountain with its honey'd reek. To thee what matters winter? Underground Slumber thy children, sheltered; thou The sleep that knows no waking sleepest sound. Thy body, fallen from the bough, Crumbles; the questing ant has found thee now. The wicked ant of thy poor withered hide A banquet makes; in little bits She cuts thee up, and empties thine inside, And stores thee where in wealth she sits: Choice diet when the winter numbs the wits. III. Here is the tale related duly, And little resembling the fable, truly! Hoarders of farthings, I know, deuce take it. It isn't the story as you would make it! Crook-fingers, big-bellies, what do you say, Who govern the world with the cash-box—hey? You have spread the story, with shrug and smirk, That the artist ne'er does a stroke of work; And so let him suffer, the imbecile! Be you silent! 'Tis you, I think, When the Cigale pierces the vine to drink, Drive her away, her drink to steal; And when she is dead—you make your meal! 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. Jean-Henri Fabre (2006). Social Life in the Insect World. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/18350/pg18350-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 FABLE OF THE CIGALE AND THE ANT

Scientific American, Volume XXIV., No. 12, March 18, 1871 by Various, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . To Manufacturers of Knitted Goods. here To Manufacturers of Knitted Goods. is now in England, completing arrangements so as to be able to supply his American friends with his improved Knitting Machines with greater dispatch, and with all the latest improvements. He would beg to call especial attention to JOHN KENT The Improved Rib Top Frame, now so well known, and acknowledged to be the best rib top frame ever built, for speed and quality of goods produced. Price, delivered free in New York, $520, currency. The Improved Circular Web Frame, for drawers and shirts, built of any size and gage. Price for a 4-head set, 17 inch to 20 inch diameter, $810, currency, delivered free in New York. The Circular Stocking Frame, from 2 in. to 5½ in. diameter. These circular frames, with my last improvements, are as near perfection as possible. The Patent Full-fashioned Shirt, Drawers and Stocking Frames produce the most perfect goods ever made by steam-power machinery, and cost fifty per cent less to keep in repair than any other Knitting Machine. Built 10 to 24 gage, and from 30 to 140 inch wide, to order. The Improved Circular Looping Frame, for putting on shirt cuffs, drawers bands, clearing the top of circular shirts, &c., built to order, of any size, from 2 in. to 22 in. diameter, and of any gage. Steel Needles and Sinkers to pattern. Persons wishing to order while Mr. Kent is in England, will please address JOHN KENT, Nottingham, up to April 12th, or, if they prefer, may send through depot. Address JOHN KENT, 348 Pearl st., New York. PUMPS. —For Description, Price Lists etc., of the Best Centrifugal Pump ever invented, with Overwhelming Testimony in its favor, send for new illustrated pamphlet (40 pp.) to Messrs. HEALD, SISCO & CO., Baldwinsville, N. Y. BRICK PRESSES. **FOR RED AND FIRE BRICK.
\ Factory 309 S. Fifth street, Philadelphia, Pa. S. P. MILLER. ST. JOSEPH, Mo., Nov. 10, 1870. T. R. BAILEY & VAIL, Lockport, N. Y.: Gentlemen:—The Lathe you shipped me has arrived, and I have it in full operation. It works perfectly, and I think it the best lathe made in the world for Bedstead and Chair work. I would recommend it to any one desirous of obtaining such a lathe. Yours truly, H. R. BRISTOL. WOOLEN MILL FOR SALE. With House and 3 acres of land, Seymour, Ct., (Naugatuck Valley,) 2 miles from R. R. depot. Never-failing stream. 3 ft. fall, dam and wheel in good condition. Inquire of JAS. ORMSBEE, on the premises. Portable & Stationary Steam Engines AND HOISTING ENGINES. A good article at low prices. Every machine warranted. Send for descriptive Price List. H. B. BIGELOW & CO., New Haven, Conn. PATENT BANDSAW MACHINES Of the most approved kinds, of various sizes , to saw bevel as well as square, without inclining the table, by , 452 to 456 Tenth ave., New York. Price $250, $275, $350, and $400. At present (Oct. 16), there are in operation, in this city alone, 88 of our machines. Send for circular. Manufacture, also, an improved saw-filing apparatus; price, $30. Have also on hand a large stock of best French Bandsaw Blades. FIRST & PRYIBIL L. & J. W. FEUCHTWANGER, 55 Cedar st., New York, Chemists, Manufacturers, and Importers of Specialities, Silicates, Soda and Potash, Chloride of Calcium, Peroxide of Manganese, Hydrofluoric Acid, Metallic Oxides, Steel and Glass Makers' and Potters' Articles, Publishers of Treatises on "Soluble Glass," "Gems," and "Fermented Liquors." PIMLICO BRACES, SOMETHING NEW. THIS invention is based on a strictly scientific principle, and is a valuable improvement on old style suspenders. It is simple in construction, and combines the qualities of Brace and Suspender. They are unequaled for elegance, durability and comfort. Manufactured at the Monumental Silk Works, Baltimore. JOHN M. DAVIES & CO., Sole Agents, 384 & 386 B'd'y, N. Y. Dr. J. ARMSTRONG'S (Patent) Improved Heater, Filter, Lime Extractor, and Condenser Combined, For Steam Boilers. MANUFACTURED BY Toledo, Ohio. Armstrong & Starr, Send for Circulars. Formerly Armstrong & Welsh. —An Engine, 12x36 in. cylinder, and two Boilers, 4x15 feet, in good order, will be sold cheap. FOR SALE. J. J. TAYLOR & CO., 68 Courtlandt st., New York. Trapping and Fishing. All about it. Sent free. Address "Hunter," Hinsdale, N. H. HUNTING, First Premium awarded by Am. Inst., 1870 T. H. McALLISTER, Optician, 49 Nassau st., N. Y. Rare and Beautiful Flowers —AND— CHOICE VEGETABLES Can always be obtained by Sowing The Seventeenth Annual Edition of their celebrated "SEED CATALOGUE AND GUIDE TO THE FLOWER AND KITCHEN GARDEN," is now ready for distribution. It contains Four Beautifully Colored Lithographs, and about 300 choice Engravings of favorite Flowers and Vegetables, 136 pages of closely-printed matter, and a list of Twenty-five Hundred species and varieties of Flower and Vegetable Seeds, with explicit directions for their culture, and much other useful information upon the subject of Gardening. A copy will be mailed to all applicants inclosing 25 cts. Regular customers supplied gratis. Address B. K. BLISS & SONS, Nos. 23 Park Place, and 20 Murray st., P. O. Box No. 5712. New York. Science for the Million. THE Boston Journal of Chemistry, Devoted to the Science of Home Life, the Arts, Agriculture, and Medicine. JAMES R. NICHOLS, M.D., WILLIAM A. ROLFE, A.M., } Editors. ONE DOLLAR PER YEAR. A paper which commends itself at once to Physicians, Druggists, Chemists, Teachers, Farmers, Mechanics—in short, to Professional and Practical Men of every class. The Domestic Recipes and Formulæ for Art Processes are of themselves worth many times the cost of subscription. Specimen Copies Sent Free. Address **BOSTON JOURNAL OF CHEMISTRY,
\ 150 Congress st., Boston. FOOT LATHES, And all kinds of small tools. Illustrated catalogue free. GOODNOW & WIGHTMAN, 23 Cornhill, Boston, Mass. AGENTS WANTED.—To sell Stephens' which embraces a Rule, Level, Square, Plumb, Bevel, Slope Level, T Square, etc., in one compact tool. These instruments retail at $3.50 each, and energetic salesmen can make money by selling them among mechanics. We warrant them in every particular, as the construction and graduation is faultless. Send for descriptive circular, cuts, and terms. Patent Combination Rule, STEPHENS & CO., Riverton, Conn. FELT. THE BEST, CHEAPEST and MOST DURABLE non-conductor known, for sale by the Original Manufacturer, at the BOILER FELTING WORKS, 46 Courtland st., New York. Universal Wood Worker. For Agricultural, Railroad, Car, Carriage, and Wagon Works, Planing Mill, Sash, Door and Blind, Bedstead, Cabinet and Furniture Factories. McBETH, BENTEL & MARGEDANT, Hamilton, O. , Inventor's Exchange 245 Broadway, N. Y., "Am. 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The buildings are ample and commodious. In addition to the Rolling Mills are two brick buildings (50x125 feet and 40x90 feet), now containing an 80 H.P. Engine, and Spike Machinery, but which could be used for the manufacture of Nails, Horseshoes, or any other branch of heavy hardware. This property offers an unusual opportunity to capitalists, and will be sold at a reasonable price. For further description address MARSHALL  P. SMITH, P. O. Box 1158, Baltimore, Md. BURDON IRON WORKS.—Manufacturers of Pumping Engines for Water Works, High & Low Pressure Engines, Portable Engines and Boilers, of all kinds, Sugar Mills, Screw, Lever, Drop, & Hydraulic Presses, Machinery in general. HUBBARD & WHITTAKER, 102 Front st., Brooklyn. ENGINES AND MACHINERY FOR SALE, at a great sacrifice. Two new Steam Engines, 12 and 20 horse power; 1 Faribain's Riveting Machine; 1 large Power Shears; 1 ditto Table Punch; 2 ditto Flange Punches; 1 set Power Bending Rolls; together with a large lot of Turning Lathes, Drilling Machines, Machinists' and Smiths' Hand Tools, Pulleys, Hangers, and 6 Fairbanks' Platform Scales. Send for catalogue, or apply at the South Brooklyn Steam Engine Works, cor. Imlay and Summit sts., Brooklyn. SHINGLE AND HEADING MACHINE— Law's Patent with Trevor & Co.'s Improvements. The Simplest and Best in use. Also, Shingle, Heading and Stave Jointers, Equalizers, Heading Turners, Planers etc. AddressTREVOR & CO., Lockport, N. Y. AGENTS WANTED—($225 A MONTH) by the AMERICAN KNITTING MACHINE CO. Boston, Mass., or St. Louis, Mo. THE UNITED STATES Brick Machine IS THE BEST IN THE WORLD, BECAUSE IT MAKES THE , , and GREATEST NUMBER THE BEST THE CHEAPEST BRICKS. It is the Perfection of Simplicity. It is Durable, and not likely to get out of Repair. See Scientific American, Sept. 17, 1870. For Descriptive Circular apply to F. C. WELLS, President, Room 13, 98 Madison st.,\CHICAGO. MACHINES can be seen in operation at the Company's Works, Chicago; at rear 59 Ann st., New York city; and at Novelty Iron Works, corner of Delord and Peter sts., New Orleans. PREPARED Asphalte Roofing Felt. This new prepared production is ready coated, and can be applied on the roof without further trouble. It is easy of application, and does not require any repairs for a long time. It is more durable than some slates, and has been found a suitable substitute for iron or tin roofs. It has a sanded or stony surface, which renders it Exposed to the most intense fire, and sparks falling upon it, it will not propagate the fire. Under the influence of the sun it will not run, which makes it specially adapted to hot climates. Its easy application and pleasing appearance have made it a favorite roofing material throughout all the Indies and other colonies. Being not cumbrous for transport, it is of invaluable service to settlers and farmers in far remote districts. When used for temporary purposes it may be taken off and applied again to another construction. It replaces common Asphalting on Terraces, Lobbies, Counting-houses, Office Floors, etc.; is a great preservative against dampness and vermin, and equalizes the temperature. It is 32 inches wide, and made in rolls of 25 yards each. Send for circular to UNINFLAMMABLE and FIRE-PROOF. E. H. MARTIN, 70 Maiden Lane and 9 Liberty St., N. Y. J. J. H. GREGORY'S Seed Catalogue. My Annual Illustrated Catalogue, containing a list of many new and rare Vegetables, some of which are not found in any other catalogue, and all the standard vegetables of the farm and garden (over one hundred of which I grow on my three seed farms), with a carefully selected list of flower seed, will be sent free to all. All my seed is sold under three warrants: 1st. That all money sent shall reach me. 2d. That all seed ordered shall reach the purchaser. 3d. That my seeds shall be fresh and true to name. JAMES J. H. GREGORY, Marblehead, Mass. THE NEW WILSON Under-Feed Shuttle\SEWING MACHINES! $25 cheaper than any other! For Simplicity, Durability and Beauty they stand For Stitching, Hemming, Tucking, Felling, Quilting, Cording, Binding, Braiding, Gathering, Gathering & sewing on gathers, For particulars address unrivalled! they are unexcelled! Wilson Sewing Machine Co., Cleveland, O., or St. Louis, Mo. , **NEW and 2d-HAND.—
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To Manufacturers of Knitted Goods

A Treatise on Painting by da Vinci Leonardo, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . MISCELLANEOUS OBSERVATIONS here MISCELLANEOUS OBSERVATIONS. Chap. CCCXLIV.— Why a painted Object does not appear so far distant as a real one, though they be conveyed to the Eye by equal Angles. If a house be painted on the pannel B C, at the apparent distance of one mile, and by the side of it a real one be perceived at the true distance of one mile also; which objects are so disposed, that the pannel, or picture, A C, intersects the pyramidical rays with the same opening of angles; yet these two objects will never appear of the same size, nor at the same distance, if seen with both eyes. Chap. CCCXLV.— How to draw a Figure standing upon its Feet, to appear forty Braccia high, in a Space of twenty Braccia, with proportionate Members. In this, as in any other case, the painter is not to mind what kind of surface he has to work upon; particularly if his painting is to be seen from a determined point, such as a window, or any other opening. Because the eye is not to attend to the evenness or roughness of the wall, but only to what is to be represented as beyond that wall; such as a landscape, or any thing else. Nevertheless a curved surface, such as F R G, would be the best, because it has no angles. Chap. CCCXLVI.— Plate XXII. How to draw a Figure twenty-four Braccia high, upon a Wall twelve Braccia high. Draw upon part of the wall M N, half the figure you mean to represent; and the other half upon the cove above, M R. But before that, it will be necessary to draw upon a flat board, or a paper, the profile of the wall and cove, of the same shape and dimension, as that upon which you are to paint. Then draw also the profile of your figure, of whatever size you please, by the side of it; draw all the lines to the point F, and where they intersect the profile M R, you will have the dimensions of your figure as they ought to be drawn upon the real spot. You will find, that on the straight part of the wall M N, it will come of its proper form, because the going off perpendicularly will diminish it naturally; but that part which comes upon the curve will be diminished upon your drawing. The whole must be traced afterwards upon the real spot, which is similar to M N. This is a good and safe method. Chap. CCCXLVII.— Why, on measuring a Face, and then painting it of the same Size, it will appear larger than the natural one. A B is the breadth of the space, or of the head, and it is placed on the paper at the distance C F, where the cheeks are, and it would have to stand back all A C, and then the temples would be carried to the distance O R of the lines A F, B F; so that there is the difference C O and R D. It follows that the line C F, and the line D F, in order to become shorter, have to go and find the paper where the whole height is drawn, that is to say, the lines F A, and F B, where the true size is; and so it makes the difference, as I have said, of C O, and R D. Chap. CCCXLVIII.— Why the most perfect Imitation of Nature will not appear to have the same Relief as Nature itself. If nature is seen with two eyes, it will be impossible to imitate it upon a picture so as to appear with the same relief, though the lines, the lights, shades, and colour, be perfectly imitated. It is proved thus: let the eyes A B, look at the object C, with the concurrence of both the central visual rays A C and B C. I say, that the sides of the visual angles (which contain these central rays) will see the space G D, behind the object C. The eye A will see all the space FD, and the eye B all the space G E. Therefore the two eyes will see behind the object C all the space F E; for which reason that object C becomes as it were transparent, according to the definition of transparent bodies, behind which nothing is hidden. This cannot happen if an object were seen with one eye only, provided it be larger than the eye. From all that has been said, we may conclude, that a painted object, occupying all the space it has behind, leaves no possible way to see any part of the ground, which it covers entirely by its own circumference. Chap. CCCXLIX.— Universality of Painting; a Precept. A painter cannot be said to aim at universality in the art, unless he love equally every species of that art. For instance, if he delight only in landscape, his can be esteemed only as a simple investigation; and, as our friend Botticello remarks, is but a vain study; since, by throwing a sponge impregnated with various colours against a wall, it leaves some spots upon it, which may appear like a landscape. It is true also, that a variety of compositions may be seen in such spots, according to the disposition of mind with which they are considered; such as heads of men, various animals, battles, rocky scenes, seas, clouds, woods, and the like. It may be compared to the sound of bells, which may seem to say whatever we choose to imagine. In the same manner also, those spots may furnish hints for compositions, though they do not teach us how to finish any particular part; and the imitators of them are but sorry landscape-painters. Chap. CCCL.— In what Manner the Mirror is the true Master of Painters. When you wish to know if your picture be like the object you mean to represent, have a flat looking-glass, and place it so as to reflect the object you have imitated, and compare carefully the original with the copy. You see upon a flat mirror the representation of things which appear real; Painting is the same. They are both an even superficies, and both give the idea of something beyond their superficies. Since you are persuaded that the looking-glass, by means of lines and shades, gives you the representation of things as if they were real; you being in possession of colours which in their different lights and shades are stronger than those of the looking-glass, may certainly, if you employ the rules with judgment, give to your picture the same appearance of Nature as you admire in the looking-glass. Or rather, your picture will be like Nature itself seen in a large looking-glass. This looking-glass (being your master) will shew you the lights and shades of any object whatever. Amongst your colours there are some lighter than the lightest part of your model, and also some darker than the strongest shades; from which it follows, that you ought to represent Nature as seen in your looking-glass, when you look at it with one eye only; because both eyes surround the objects too much, particularly when they are small. Chap. CCCLI.— Which Painting is to be esteemed the best. That painting is the most commendable which has the greatest conformity to what is meant to be imitated. This kind of comparison will often put to shame a certain description of painters, who pretend they can mend the works of Nature; as they do, for instance, when they pretend to represent a child twelve months old, giving him eight heads in height, when Nature in its best proportion admits but five. The breadth of the shoulders also, which is equal to the head, they make double, giving to a child a year old, the proportions of a man of thirty. They have so often practised, and seen others practise these errors, that they have converted them into habit, which has taken so deep a root in their corrupted judgment, that they persuade themselves that Nature and her imitators are wrong in not following their own practice. Chap. CCCLII.— Of the Judgment to be made of a Painter’s Work. The first thing to be considered is, whether the figures have their proper relief, according to their respective situations, and the light they are in: that the shadows be not the same at the extremities of the groups, as in the middle; because being surrounded by shadows, or shaded only on one side, produce very different effects. The groups in the middle are surrounded by shadows from the other figures, which are between them and the light. Those which are at the extremities have the shadows only on one side, and receive the light on the other. The strongest and smartest touches of shadows are to be in the interstice between the figures of the principal group where the light cannot penetrate. Secondly, that by the order and disposition of the figures they appear to be accommodated to the subject, and the true representation of the history in question. Thirdly, that the figures appear alive to the occasion which brought them together, with expressions suited to their attitudes. Chap. CCCLIII.— How to make an imaginary Animal appear natural. It is evident that it will be impossible to invent any animal without giving it members, and these members must individually resemble those of some known animal. If you wish, therefore, to make a chimera, or imaginary animal, appear natural (let us suppose a serpent); take the head of a mastiff, the eyes of a cat, the ears of a porcupine, the mouth of a hare, the brows of a lion, the temples of an old cock, and the neck of a sea tortoise. Chap. CCCLIV.— Painters are not to imitate one another. One painter ought never to imitate the manner of any other; because in that case he cannot be called the child of Nature, but the grandchild. It is always best to have recourse to Nature, which is replete with such abundance of objects, than to the productions of other masters, who learnt every thing from her. Chap. CCCLV.— How to judge of one’s own Work. It is an acknowledged fact, that we perceive errors in the works of others more readily than in our own. A painter, therefore, ought to be well instructed in perspective, and acquire a perfect knowledge of the dimensions of the human body; he should also be a good architect, at least as far as concerns the outward shape of buildings, with their different parts; and where he is deficient, he ought not to neglect taking drawings from Nature. It will be well also to have a looking-glass by him, when he paints, to look often at his work in it, which being seen the contrary way, will appear as the work of another hand, and will better shew his faults. It will be useful also to quit his work often, and take some relaxation, that his judgment may be clearer at his return; for too great application and sitting still is sometimes the cause of many gross errors. Chap. CCCLVI.— Of correcting Errors which you discover. Remember, that when, by the exercise of your own judgment, or the observation of others, you discover any errors in your work, you immediately set about correcting them, lest, in exposing your works to the public, you expose your defects also. Admit not any self-excuse, by persuading yourself that you shall retrieve your character, and that by some succeeding work you shall make amends for your shameful negligence; for your work does not perish as soon as it is out of your hands, like the sound of music, but remains a standing monument of your ignorance. If you excuse yourself by saying that you have not time for the study necessary to form a great painter, having to struggle against necessity, you yourself are only to blame; for the study of what is excellent is food both for mind and body. How many philosophers, born to great riches, have given them away, that they might not be retarded in their pursuits! Chap. CCCLVII.— The best Place for looking at a Picture. Let us suppose, that A B is the picture, receiving the light from D; I say, that whoever is placed between C and E, will see the picture very badly, particularly if it be painted in oil, or varnished; because it will shine, and will appear almost of the nature of a looking-glass. For these reasons, the nearer you go towards C, the less you will be able to see, because of the light from the window upon the picture, sending its reflection to that point. But if you place yourself between E D, you may conveniently see the picture, and the more so as you draw nearer to the point D, because that place is less liable to be struck by the reflected rays. Chap. CCCLVIII.— Of Judgment. There is nothing more apt to deceive us than our own judgment, in deciding on our own works; and we should derive more advantage from having our faults pointed out by our enemies, than by hearing the opinions of our friends, because they are too much like ourselves, and may deceive us as much as our own judgment. Chap. CCCLIX.— Of Employment anxiously wished for by Painters. And you, painter, who are desirous of great practice, understand, that if you do not rest it on the good foundation of Nature, you will labour with little honour and less profit; and if you do it on a good ground your works will be many and good, to your great honour and advantage. Chap. CCCLX.— Advice to Painters. A painter ought to study universal Nature, and reason much within himself on all he sees, making use of the most excellent parts that compose the species of every object before him. His mind will by this method be like a mirror, reflecting truly every object placed before it, and become, as it were, a second Nature. Chap. CCCLXI.— Of Statuary. To execute a figure in marble, you must first make a model of it in clay, or plaster, and when it is finished, place it in a square case, equally capable of receiving the block of marble intended to be shaped like it. Have some peg-like sticks to pass through holes made in the sides, and all round the case; push them in till every one touches the model, marking what remains of the sticks outwards with ink, and making a countermark to every stick and its hole, so that you may at pleasure replace them again. Then having taken out the model, and placed the block of marble in its stead, take so much out of it, till all the pegs go in at the same holes to the marks you had made. To facilitate the work, contrive your frame so that every part of it, separately, or all together, may be lifted up, except the bottom, which must remain under the marble. By this method you may chop it off with great facility. Chap. CCCLXII.— On the Measurement and Division of Statues into Parts. Divide the head into twelve parts, each part into twelve degrees, each degree into twelve minutes, and these minutes into seconds. Chap. CCCLXIII.— A Precept for the Painter. The painter who entertains no doubt of his own ability, will attain very little. When the work succeeds beyond the judgment, the artist acquires nothing; but when the judgment is superior to the work, he never ceases improving, if the love of gain do not retard his progress. Chap. CCCLXIV.— On the Judgment of Painters. When the work is equal to the knowledge and judgment of the painter, it is a bad sign; and when it surpasses the judgment, it is still worse, as is the case with those who wonder at having succeeded so well. But when the judgment surpasses the work, it is a perfectly good sign; and the young painter who possesses that rare disposition, will, no doubt, arrive at great perfection. He will produce few works, but they will be such as to fix the admiration of every beholder. Chap. CCCLXV.— That a Man ought not to trust to himself, but ought to consult Nature. Whoever flatters himself that he can retain in his memory all the effects of Nature, is deceived, for our memory is not so capacious; therefore consult Nature for every thing. THE END. 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. da Vinci Leonardo (2014). A Treatise on Painting. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/46915/pg46915-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

MISCELLANEOUS OBSERVATIONS

How to Write Clearly: Rules and Exercises on English Composition by Edwin Abbott Abbott, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . WORDS. here WORDS. 1. Use words in their proper sense. Write, not "His apparent guilt justified his friends in disowning him," but "his evident guilt." "Conscious" and "aware," "unnatural" and "supernatural," "transpire" and "occur," "circumstance" and "event," "reverse" and "converse," "eliminate" and "elicit," are often confused together. This rule forbids the use of the same word in different senses. "It is in my power to refuse your request, and since I have power to do this, I may lawfully do it." Here the second "power" is used for "authority." This rule also forbids the slovenly use of "nice," "awfully," "delicious," "glorious," &c. See (2). 2. Avoid exaggerations. "The boundless plains in the heart of the empire furnished inexhaustible supplies of corn, that would have almost sufficed for twice the population." Here "inexhaustible" is inconsistent with what follows. The words "unprecedented," "incalculable," "very," and "stupendous" are often used in the same loose way. 3. Avoid useless circumlocution and "fine writing." "Her Majesty here partook of lunch." Write "lunched." "Partook of" implies sharing, and is incorrect as well as lengthy. So, do not use "apex" for "top," "species" for "kind," "individual" for "man," "assist" for "help," &c. [5] 4. Be careful how you use the following words: "not … and," "any," "only," "not … or," "that." See below, "Or." And. —"I am not bound to receive any messenger that you send."
Does this mean every, or a single? Use "every" or "a single." —(1) "I do not intend to help you, because you are my enemy &c." ought to mean (2), "I intend not to help you, and my reason for not helping you is, because you are my enemy." But it is often wrongly used to mean (3), "I intend to help you, not because you are my enemy (but because you are poor, blind, &c.)." In the latter case, not ought to be separated from intend. By distinctly marking the limits to which the influence of not extends, the ambiguity may be removed. Any. Not. is often used ambiguously for alone. "The rest help me to revenge myself; you only advise me to wait." This ought to mean, "you only advise, instead of helping;" but in similar sentences "you only" is often used for "you alone." But see 21. Only —When "or" is preceded by a negative, as "I do not want butter or honey," "or" ought not, strictly speaking, to be used like "and," nor like "nor." The strict use of "not … or" would be as follows:— Or. "You say you don't want both butter and honey—you want butter or honey; I, on the contrary, do not want butter or honey—I want them both." Practically, however, this meaning is so rare, that "I don't want butter or honey" is regularly used for "I want neither butter nor honey." But where there is the slightest danger of ambiguity, it is desirable to use nor. The same ambiguity attends "not … and." "I do not see Thomas and John" is commonly used for "I see neither Thomas nor John;" but it might mean, "I do not see them both—I see only one of them." —The different uses of "that" produce much ambiguity, e.g. "I am so much surprised by this statement that I am desirous of resigning, that I scarcely know what reply to make." Here it is impossible to tell, till one has read past "resigning," whether the first "that" depends upon "so" or "statement." Write: "The statement that I am desirous of resigning surprises me so much that I scarcely know &c." That. 4 a. Be careful in the use of ambiguous words, e.g. "certain." "Certain" is often used for "some," as in "Independently of his earnings, he has a certain property," where the meaning might be "unfailing." Under this head may be mentioned the double use of words, such as "left" in the same form and sound, but different in meaning. Even where there is no obscurity, the juxtaposition of the same word twice used in two senses is inelegant, e.g. (Bain), "He turned to the left and left the room." I have known the following slovenly sentence misunderstood: "Our object is that, with the aid of practice, we may sometime arrive at the point where we think eloquence in its most praiseworthy form to lie." "To lie" has been supposed to mean "to deceive." (For "which" see 8.) The ambiguity arising from the use of he applying to different persons is well known. 5. Be careful how you use "he," "it," "they," "these," &c. "He told his friend that if he did not feel better in half an hour he thought he had better return." See (6) for remedy. Much ambiguity is also caused by excessive use of such phrases as in this way, of this sort, &c. "God, foreseeing the disorders of human nature, has given us certain passions and affections which arise from, or whose objects are, these disorders. Of this sort are fear, resentment, compassion." Repeat the noun: "Among these passions and affections are fear &c." Two distinct uses of it may be noted. It, when referring to something that precedes, may be called "retrospective;" but when to something that follows, "prospective." In "Avoid indiscriminate charity: it is a crime," "it" is retrospective.[6] In "It is a crime to give indiscriminately," "it" is prospective. The prospective "it," if productive of ambiguity, can often be omitted by using the infinitive as a subject: "To give indiscriminately is a crime." Speeches in the third person afford a particular, though very common case, of the general ambiguity mentioned in (5). Instead of "He told his friend that if he did not feel better &c.," write "He said to his friend, 'If, I (or you) don't feel better &c.'" 6. Report a speech in the First, not the Third Person, where necessary to avoid ambiguity. Thus, where Essex is asking Sir Robert Cecil that Francis Bacon may be appointed Attorney-General, the dialogue is (as it almost always is in Lord Macaulay's writings) in the First Person, except where it becomes tedious and uninteresting so as to require condensation, and then it drops into the Third Person: 6 a. Sometimes, where the writer cannot know the exact words, or where the exact words are unimportant, or lengthy and uninteresting, the Third Person is preferable. "Sir Robert had nothing to say but that he thought his own abilities equal to the place which he hoped to obtain, and that his father's long services deserved such a mark of gratitude from the Queen." —Even when a speech is reported in the third person, "that" need not always be inserted before the dependent verb. Thus, instead of "He said that he took it ill that his promises were not believed," we may write, "'He took it ill,' he said, 'that &c.'" This gives a little more life, and sometimes more clearness also. 6 b. Omission of "that" in a speech reported in the Third Person. 7. When you use a Participle, as "walking," implying "when," "while," "though," "that," make it clear by the context what is implied. "Republics, in the first instance, are never desired for their own sakes. I do not think they will finally be desired at all, unaccompanied by courtly graces and good breeding." Here there is a little doubt whether the meaning is "since they are, or, if they are, unaccompanied." —"Men walking (that walk, or when they walk) on ice sometimes fall." That or when. It is better to use "men walking" to mean "men when they walk." If the relative is meant, use "men that walk," instead of the participle. (1) "While he was } Walking on { (1) the road, } he fell." (2) "Because he was } { (2) the ice, } When the participle precedes the subject, it generally implies a cause: "Seeing this, he retired." Otherwise it generally has its proper participial meaning, e.g. "He retired, keeping his face towards us." If there is any ambiguity, write "on seeing,"—"at the same time, or while, keeping." (1) "Though he was} {(1) he nevertheless stood
} { his ground." (2) "Since he was } Struck with terror, {(2) he rapidly retreated." (3) "If he is } {(3) he will soon retreat.” 8. When using the Relative Pronoun, use "who" and "which" where the meaning is "and he, it, &c.," "for he, it, &c." In other cases use "that," if euphony allows. "I heard this from the inspector, who (and he) heard it from the guard that travelled with the train." "Fetch me (all) the books that lie on the table, and also the pamphlets, which (and these) you will find on the floor." An adherence to this rule would remove much ambiguity. Thus: "There was a public-house next door, which was a great nuisance," means "and this (i.e. the fact of its being next door) was a great nuisance;" whereas that would have meant "Next door was a public-house that (i.e. the public-house) was a great nuisance." Thus, in the first example above, "inspector" is complete in itself, and "who" introduces a new fact about him; "guard" is incomplete, and requires "that travelled with the train" to complete the meaning. "Who," "which," &c. introduce a new fact about the antecedent, whereas "that" introduces something without which the antecedent is incomplete or undefined. It is not, and cannot be, maintained that this rule, though observed in Elizabethan English, is observed by our best modern authors. (Probably a general impression that "that" cannot be used to refer to persons has assisted "who" in supplanting "that" as a relative.) But the convenience of the rule is so great that beginners in composition may with advantage adhere to the rule. The following are some of the cases where who and which are mostly used, contrary to the rule, instead of that. — Exceptions: (a) When the antecedent is defined, e.g. by a possessive case, modern English uses who instead of that. It is rare, though it would be useful,[7] to say "His English friends that had not seen him" for "the English friends, or those of his English friends, that had not seen him." (b) That sounds ill when separated from its verb and from its antecedents, and emphasized by isolation: "There are many persons that, though unscrupulous, are commonly good-tempered, and that, if not strongly incited by self-interest, are ready for the most part to think of the interest of their neighbours." Shakespeare frequently uses who after that when the relative is repeated. See "Shakespearian Grammar," par. 260. (c) If the antecedent is qualified by that, the relative must not be that. Besides other considerations, the repetition is disagreeable. Addison ridicules such language as "That remark that I made yesterday is not that that I said that I regretted that I had made." (d) That cannot be preceded by a preposition, and hence throws the preposition to the end. "This is the rule that I adhere to." This is perfectly good English, though sometimes unnecessarily avoided. But, with some prepositions, the construction is harsh and objectionable, e.g. "This is the mark that I jumped beyond," "Such were the prejudices that he rose above." The reason is that some of these disyllabic prepositions are used as adverbs, and, when separated from their nouns, give one the impression that they are used as adverbs. (e) After pronominal adjectives used for personal pronouns, modern English prefers who. "There are many, others, several, those, who can testify &c." (f) After that used as a conjunction there is sometimes a dislike to use that as a relative. See (c). 9. Do not use redundant "and" before "which."[8] "I gave him a very interesting book for a present, and which cost me five shillings." In short sentences the absurdity is evident, but in long sentences it is less evident, and very common. "A petition was presented for rescinding that portion of the bye-laws which permits application of public money to support sectarian schools over which ratepayers have no control, this being a violation of the principle of civil and religious liberty, and which the memorialists believe would provoke a determined and conscientious resistance." Here which ought grammatically to refer to "portion" or "schools." But it seems intended to refer to "violation." Omit "and," or repeat "a violation" before "which," or turn the sentence otherwise. 10. Equivalents for Relative. —"Men thirsting (for 'men that thirst') for revenge are not indifferent to plunder." The objection to the participle is that here, as often, it creates a little ambiguity. The above sentence may mean, "men, when they thirst," or "though they thirst," as well as "men that thirst." Often however there is no ambiguity: "I have documents proving this conclusively." (a) Participle. —Instead of "He was the first that entered" you can write "to enter;" for "He is not a man who will act dishonestly," "to act." This equivalent cannot often be used. (b) Infinitive. can sometimes be used for "by which," "in which," so as to avoid a harsh repetition of "which." "The means whereby this may be effected." But this use is somewhat antiquated. (c) Whereby, wherein, &c., —"The man that does not care for music is to be pitied" can be written (though not so forcibly), "If a man does not care for music, he is to be pitied." It is in long sentences that this equivalent will be found most useful. (d) If. —"He did his best, which was all that could be expected," can be written, "and this was all that, &c." (e) And this. —"Let me repeat that which[9] you ought to know, that that which is worth doing is worth doing well." "Let me repeat, what you ought to know, that what is worth doing is worth doing well." (f) What. —It is sometimes thought ungrammatical to omit the relative, as in "The man (that) you speak of." On the contrary, that when an object (not when a subject) may be omitted, wherever the antecedent and the subject of the relative sentence are brought into juxtaposition by the omission. (g) Omission of Relative. This is particularly useful after a negative: "He said that he would not even hear me, which I confess I had expected." Here the meaning may be, "I had expected that he would," or "that he would not, hear me." Write, "a refusal, or, a favour, that I confess I had expected." See (38). 10 a'. Repeat the Antecedent in some new form, where there is any ambiguity. —This is a most important rule. Instead of "I have neither the necessaries of life nor the means of procuring them," write (if you can with truth), "I have not a crust of bread, nor a penny to buy one." 11. Use particular for general terms. CAUTION.—There is a danger in this use. The meaning is vividly expressed but sometimes may be exaggerated or imperfect. Crust of bread may be an exaggeration; on the other hand, if the speaker is destitute not only of bread, but also of shelter and clothing, then crust of bread is an imperfect expression of the meaning. In philosophy and science, where the language ought very often to be inclusive and brief, general and not particular terms must be used. The disadvantage of the use of Verbal Nouns is this, that, unless they are immediately preceded by prepositions, they are sometimes liable to be confounded with participles. The following is an instance of an excessive use of Verbal Nouns: 11 a. Avoid Verbal Nouns where Verbs can be used instead. "The pretended confession of the secretary was only collusion to lay the jealousies of the king's favouring popery, which still hung upon him, notwithstanding his writing on the Revelation, and affecting to enter on all occasions into controversy, asserting in particular that the Pope was Antichrist." Write "notwithstanding that he wrote and affected &c." 12. Use a particular Person instead of a class. "What is the splendour of the greatest monarch compared with the beauty of a flower?" "What is the splendour of Solomon compared with the beauty of a daisy?" Under this head may come the forcible use of Noun for Adjective: "This fortress is weakness itself." An excess of this use is lengthy and pedantically bombastic, e.g., the following paraphrase for "in every British colony:"—"under Indian palm-groves, amid Australian gum-trees, in the shadow of African mimosas, and beneath Canadian pines." 13. Use Metaphor instead of literal statement. "The ship ploughs the sea" is clearer than "the ship cleaves the sea," and shorter than "the ship cleaves the sea as a plough cleaves the land." Of course there are some subjects for which Metaphor should not be used. See (14 a) and (14 b). 14. Do not confuse Metaphor. "In a moment the thunderbolt was upon them, deluging their country with invaders." The following is attributed to Sir Boyle Roche: "Mr. Speaker, I smell a rat, I see him brewing in the air; but, mark me, I shall yet nip him in the bud." Some words, once metaphorical, have ceased to be so regarded. Hence many good writers say "under these circumstances" instead of "in these circumstances." An excessive regard for disused metaphor savours of pedantry: disregard is inelegant. Write, not, "unparalleled complications," but "unprecedented complications;" and "he threw light on obscurities," instead of "he unravelled obscurities." 14 a. Do not introduce literal statement immediately after Metaphor. "He was the father of Chemistry, and brother to the Earl of Cork." "He was a very thunderbolt of war,
And was lieutenant to the Earl of Mar." Thus, we may say "a poet soars," or even, though rarely, "a nation soars to greatness," but you could not say "Consols soared to 94-1/2." Even commonplace subjects may be illustrated by metaphor: for it is a metaphor, and quite unobjectionable, to say "Consols mounted, or jumped to 94-1/2." But commonplace subjects must be illustrated by metaphor that is commonplace. 14 b. Do not use poetic metaphor to illustrate a prosaic subject. 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. Edwin Abbott Abbott (2007). How to Write Clearly: Rules and Exercises on English Composition. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/22600/pg22600.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

Use words in their proper sense

LIGHT and SHADOW

On the Effect of Taxes and of Legal Restrictions upon Manufactures

INVENTION, or COMPOSITION

The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . MARIE MELMOTTE'S FATE here MARIE MELMOTTE'S FATE. In the meantime Marie Melmotte was living with Madame Melmotte in their lodgings up at Hampstead, and was taking quite a new look out into the world. Fisker had become her devoted servant,—not with that old-fashioned service which meant making love, but with perhaps a truer devotion to her material interests. He had ascertained on her behalf that she was the undoubted owner of the money which her father had made over to her on his first arrival in England,—and she also had made herself mistress of that fact with equal precision. It would have astonished those who had known her six months since could they now have seen how excellent a woman of business she had become, and how capable she was of making the fullest use of Mr. Fisker's services. In doing him justice it must be owned that he kept nothing back from her of that which he learned, probably feeling that he might best achieve success in his present project by such honesty,—feeling also, no doubt, the girl's own strength in discovering truth and falsehood. "She's her father's own daughter," he said one day to Croll in Abchurch Lane;—for Croll, though he had left Melmotte's employment when he found that his name had been forged, had now returned to the service of the daughter in some undefined position, and had been engaged to go with her and Madame Melmotte to New York. "Ah; yees," said Croll, "but bigger. He vas passionate, and did lose his 'ead; and vas blow'd up vid bigness." Whereupon Croll made an action as though he were a frog swelling himself to the dimensions of an ox. "'E bursted himself, Mr. Fisker. 'E vas a great man; but the greater he grew he vas always less and less vise. 'E ate so much that he became too fat to see to eat his vittels." It was thus that Herr Croll analyzed the character of his late master. "But Ma'me'selle,—ah, she is different. She vill never eat too moch, but vill see to eat alvays." Thus too he analyzed the character of his young mistress. At first things did not arrange themselves pleasantly between Madame Melmotte and Marie. The reader will perhaps remember that they were in no way connected by blood. Madame Melmotte was not Marie's mother, nor, in the eye of the law, could Marie claim Melmotte as her father. She was alone in the world, absolutely without a relation, not knowing even what had been her mother's name,—not even knowing what was her father's true name, as in the various biographies of the great man which were, as a matter of course, published within a fortnight of his death, various accounts were given as to his birth, parentage, and early history. The general opinion seemed to be that his father had been a noted coiner in New York,—an Irishman of the name of Melmody,—and, in one memoir, the probability of the descent was argued from Melmotte's skill in forgery. But Marie, though she was thus isolated, and now altogether separated from the lords and duchesses who a few weeks since had been interested in her career, was the undoubted owner of the money,—a fact which was beyond the comprehension of Madame Melmotte. She could understand,—and was delighted to understand,—that a very large sum of money had been saved from the wreck, and that she might therefore look forward to prosperous tranquillity for the rest of her life. Though she never acknowledged so much to herself, she soon learned to regard the removal of her husband as the end of her troubles. But she could not comprehend why Marie should claim all the money as her own. She declared herself to be quite willing to divide the spoil,—and suggested such an arrangement both to Marie and to Croll. Of Fisker she was afraid, thinking that the iniquity of giving all the money to Marie originated with him, in order that he might obtain it by marrying the girl. Croll, who understood it all perfectly, told her the story a dozen times,—but quite in vain. She made a timid suggestion of employing a lawyer on her own behalf, and was only deterred from doing so by Marie's ready assent to such an arrangement. Marie's equally ready surrender of any right she might have to a portion of the jewels which had been saved had perhaps some effect in softening the elder lady's heart. She thus was in possession of a treasure of her own,—though a treasure small in comparison with that of the younger woman; and the younger woman had promised that in the event of her marriage she would be liberal. It was distinctly understood that they were both to go to New York under Mr. Fisker's guidance as soon as things should be sufficiently settled to allow of their departure; and Madame Melmotte was told, about the middle of August, that their places had been taken for the 3rd of September. But nothing more was told her. She did not as yet know whether Marie was to go out free or as the affianced bride of Hamilton Fisker. And she felt herself injured by being left so much in the dark. She herself was inimical to Fisker, regarding him as a dark, designing man, who would ultimately swallow up all that her husband had left behind him,—and trusted herself entirely to Croll, who was personally attentive to her. Fisker was, of course, going on to San Francisco. Marie also had talked of crossing the American continent. But Madame Melmotte was disposed to think that for her, with her jewels, and such share of the money as Marie might be induced to give her, New York would be the most fitting residence. Why should she drag herself across the continent to California? Herr Croll had declared his purpose of remaining in New York. Then it occurred to the lady that as Melmotte was a name which might be too well known in New York, and which it therefore might be wise to change, Croll would do as well as any other. She and Herr Croll had known each other for a great many years, and were, she thought, of about the same age. Croll had some money saved. She had, at any rate, her jewels,—and Croll would probably be able to get some portion of all that money, which ought to be hers, if his affairs were made to be identical with her own. So she smiled upon Croll, and whispered to him; and when she had given Croll two glasses of Curaçoa,—which comforter she kept in her own hands, as safe-guarded almost as the jewels,—then Croll understood her. But it was essential that she should know what Marie intended to do. Marie was anything but communicative, and certainly was not in any way submissive. "My dear," she said one day, asking the question in French, without any preface or apology, "are you going to be married to Mr. Fisker?" "What makes you ask that?" "It is so important I should know. Where am I to live? What am I to do? What money shall I have? Who will be a friend to me? A woman ought to know. You will marry Fisker if you like him. Why cannot you tell me?" "Because I do not know. When I know I will tell you. If you go on asking me till to-morrow morning I can say no more." And this was true. She did not know. It certainly was not Fisker's fault that she should still be in the dark as to her own destiny, for he had asked her often enough, and had pressed his suit with all his eloquence. But Marie had now been wooed so often that she felt the importance of the step which was suggested to her. The romance of the thing was with her a good deal worn, and the material view of matrimony had also been damaged in her sight. She had fallen in love with Sir Felix Carbury, and had assured herself over and over again that she worshipped the very ground on which he stood. But she had taught herself this business of falling in love as a lesson, rather than felt it. After her father's first attempts to marry her to this and that suitor because of her wealth,—attempts which she had hardly opposed amidst the consternation and glitter of the world to which she was suddenly introduced,—she had learned from novels that it would be right that she should be in love, and she had chosen Sir Felix as her idol. The reader knows what had been the end of that episode in her life. She certainly was not now in love with Sir Felix Carbury. Then she had as it were relapsed into the hands of Lord Nidderdale,—one of her early suitors,—and had felt that as love was not to prevail, and as it would be well that she should marry some one, he might probably be as good as any other, and certainly better than many others. She had almost learned to like Lord Nidderdale and to believe that he liked her, when the tragedy came. Lord Nidderdale had been very good-natured,—but he had deserted her at last. She had never allowed herself to be angry with him for a moment. It had been a matter of course that he should do so. Her fortune was still large, but not so large as the sum named in the bargain made. And it was moreover weighted with her father's blood. From the moment of her father's death she had never dreamed that he would marry her. Why should he? Her thoughts in reference to Sir Felix were bitter enough;—but as against Nidderdale they were not at all bitter. Should she ever meet him again she would shake hands with him and smile,—if not pleasantly as she thought of the things which were past,—at any rate with good humour. But all this had not made her much in love with matrimony generally. She had over a hundred thousand pounds of her own, and, feeling conscious of her own power in regard to her own money, knowing that she could do as she pleased with her wealth, she began to look out into life seriously. What could she do with her money, and in what way would she shape her life, should she determine to remain her own mistress? Were she to refuse Fisker how should she begin? He would then be banished, and her only remaining friends, the only persons whose names she would even know in her own country, would be her father's widow and Herr Croll. She already began to see Madame Melmotte's purport in reference to Croll, and could not reconcile herself to the idea of opening an establishment with them on a scale commensurate with her fortune. Nor could she settle in her own mind any pleasant position for herself as a single woman, living alone in perfect independence. She had opinions of women's rights,—especially in regard to money; and she entertained also a vague notion that in America a young woman would not need support so essentially as in England. Nevertheless, the idea of a fine house for herself in Boston, or Philadelphia,—for in that case she would have to avoid New York as the chosen residence of Madame Melmotte,—did not recommend itself to her. As to Fisker himself,—she certainly liked him. He was not beautiful like Felix Carbury, nor had he the easy good-humour of Lord Nidderdale. She had seen enough of English gentlemen to know that Fisker was very unlike them. But she had not seen enough of English gentlemen to make Fisker distasteful to her. He told her that he had a big house at San Francisco, and she certainly desired to live in a big house. He represented himself to be a thriving man, and she calculated that he certainly would not be here, in London, arranging her father's affairs, were he not possessed of commercial importance. She had contrived to learn that, in the United States, a married woman has greater power over her own money than in England, and this information acted strongly in Fisker's favour. On consideration of the whole subject she was inclined to think that she would do better in the world as Mrs. Fisker than as Marie Melmotte,—if she could see her way clearly in the matter of her own money. "I have got excellent berths," Fisker said to her one morning at Hampstead. At these interviews, which were devoted first to business and then to love, Madame Melmotte was never allowed to be present. "I am to be alone?" "Oh, yes. There is a cabin for Madame Melmotte and the maid, and a cabin for you. Everything will be comfortable. And there is another lady going,—Mrs. Hurtle,—whom I think you will like." "Has she a husband?" "Not going with us," said Mr. Fisker evasively. "But she has one?" "Well, yes;—but you had better not mention him. He is not exactly all that a husband should be." "Did she not come over here to marry some one else?"—For Marie in the days of her sweet intimacy with Sir Felix Carbury had heard something of Mrs. Hurtle's story. "There is a story, and I dare say I shall tell you all about it some day. But you may be sure I should not ask you to associate with any one you ought not to know." "Oh,—I can take care of myself." "No doubt, Miss Melmotte,—no doubt. I feel that quite strongly. But what I meant to observe was this,—that I certainly should not introduce a lady whom I aspire to make my own lady to any lady whom a lady oughtn't to know. I hope I make myself understood, Miss Melmotte." "Oh, quite." "And perhaps I may go on to say that if I could go on board that ship as your accepted lover, I could do a deal more to make you comfortable, particularly when you land, than just as a mere friend, Miss Melmotte. You can't doubt my heart." "I don't see why I shouldn't. Gentlemen's hearts are things very much to be doubted as far as I've seen 'em. I don't think many of 'em have 'em at all." "Miss Melmotte, you do not know the glorious west. Your past experiences have been drawn from this effete and stone-cold country in which passion is no longer allowed to sway. On those golden shores which the Pacific washes man is still true,—and woman is still tender." "Perhaps I'd better wait and see, Mr. Fisker." But this was not Mr. Fisker's view of the case. There might be other men desirous of being true on those golden shores. "And then," said he, pleading his cause not without skill, "the laws regulating woman's property there are just the reverse of those which the greediness of man has established here. The wife there can claim her share of her husband's property, but hers is exclusively her own. America is certainly the country for women,—and especially California." "Ah;—I shall find out all about it, I suppose, when I've been there a few months." "But you would enter San Francisco, Miss Melmotte, under such much better auspices,—if I may be allowed to say so,—as a married lady or as a lady just going to be married." "Ain't single ladies much thought of in California?" "It isn't that. Come, Miss Melmotte, you know what I mean." "Yes, I do." "Let us go in for life together. We've both done uncommon well. I'm spending 30,000 dollars a year,—at that rate,—in my own house. You'll see it all. If we put them both together,—what's yours and what's mine,—we can put our foot out as far as about any one there, I guess." "I don't know that I care about putting my foot out. I've seen something of that already, Mr. Fisker. You shouldn't put your foot out farther than you can draw it in again." "You needn't fear me as to that, Miss Melmotte. I shouldn't be able to touch a dollar of your money. It would be such a triumph to go into Francisco as man and wife." "I shouldn't think of being married till I had been there a while and looked about me." "And seen the house! Well;—there's something in that. The house is all there, I can tell you. I'm not a bit afraid but what you'll like the house. But if we were engaged, I could do every thing for you. Where would you be, going into San Francisco all alone? Oh, Miss Melmotte, I do admire you so much!" I doubt whether this last assurance had much efficacy. But the arguments with which it was introduced did prevail to a certain extent. "I'll tell you how it must be then," she said. "How shall it be?" and as he asked the question he jumped up and put his arm round her waist. "Not like that, Mr. Fisker," she said, withdrawing herself. "It shall be in this way. You may consider yourself engaged to me." "I'm the happiest man on this continent," he said, forgetting in his ecstasy that he was not in the United States. "But if I find when I get to Francisco anything to induce me to change my mind, I shall change it. I like you very well, but I'm not going to take a leap in the dark, and I'm not going to marry a pig in a poke." "There you're quite right," he said,—"quite right." "You may give it out on board the ship that we're engaged, and I'll tell Madame Melmotte the same. She and Croll don't mean going any farther than New York." "We needn't break our hearts about that;—need we?" "It don't much signify. Well;—I'll go on with Mrs. Hurtle, if she'll have me." "Too much delighted she'll be." "And she shall be told we're engaged." "My darling!" "But if I don't like it when I get to Frisco, as you call it, all the ropes in California shan't make me do it. Well;—yes; you may give me a kiss I suppose now if you care about it." And so,—or rather so far,—Mr. Fisker and Marie Melmotte became engaged to each other as man and wife. After that Mr. Fisker's remaining business in England went very smoothly with him. It was understood up at Hampstead that he was engaged to Marie Melmotte,—and it soon came to be understood also that Madame Melmotte was to be married to Herr Croll. No doubt the father of the one lady and the husband of the other had died so recently as to make these arrangements subject to certain censorious objections. But there was a feeling that Melmotte had been so unlike other men, both in his life and in his death, that they who had been concerned with him were not to be weighed by ordinary scales. Nor did it much matter, for the persons concerned took their departure soon after the arrangement was made, and Hampstead knew them no more. On the 3rd of September Madame Melmotte, Marie, Mrs. Hurtle, Hamilton K. Fisker, and Herr Croll left Liverpool for New York; and the three ladies were determined that they never would revisit a country of which their reminiscences certainly were not happy. The writer of the present chronicle may so far look forward,—carrying his reader with him,—as to declare that Marie Melmotte did become Mrs. Fisker very soon after her arrival at San Francisco. 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 (2004). The Way We Live Now. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5231/pg5231-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

MARIE MELMOTTE'S FATE

A Treatise on Painting by da Vinci Leonardo, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . PROPORTION. here PROPORTION. Chap. I.— What the young Student in Painting ought in the first Place to learn. The young student should, in the first place, acquire a knowledge of perspective, to enable him to give to every object its proper dimensions: after which, it is requisite that he be under the care of an able master, to accustom him, by degrees, to a good style of drawing the parts. Next, he must study Nature, in order to confirm and fix in his mind the reason of those precepts which he has learnt. He must also bestow some time in viewing the works of various old masters, to form his eye and judgment, in order that he may be able to put in practice all that he has been taught. Chap. II.— Rule for a young Student in Painting. The organ of sight is one of the quickest, and takes in at a single glance an infinite variety of forms; notwithstanding which, it cannot perfectly comprehend more than one object at a time. For example, the reader, at one look over this page, immediately perceives it full of different characters; but he cannot at the same moment distinguish each letter, much less can he comprehend their meaning. He must consider it word by word, and line by line, if he be desirous of forming a just notion of these characters. In like manner, if we wish to ascend to the top of an edifice, we must be content to advance step by step, otherwise we shall never be able to attain it. A young man, who has a natural inclination to the study of this art, I would advise to act thus: In order to acquire a true notion of the form of things, he must begin by studying the parts which compose them, and not pass to a second till he has well stored his memory, and sufficiently practised the first; otherwise he loses his time, and will most certainly protract his studies. And let him remember to acquire accuracy before he attempts quickness. Chap. III.— How to discover a young Man’s Disposition for Painting. Many are very desirous of learning to draw, and are very fond of it, who are, notwithstanding, void of a proper disposition for it. This may be known by their want of perseverance; like boys, who draw every thing in a hurry, never finishing, or shadowing. Chap. IV.— Of Painting, and its Divisions. Painting is divided into two principal parts. The first is the figure, that is, the lines which distinguish the forms of bodies, and their component parts. The second is the colour contained within those limits. Chap. V.— Division of the Figure. The form of bodies is divided into two parts; that is, the proportion of the members to each other, which must correspond with the whole; and the motion, expressive of what passes in the mind of the living figure. Chap. VI.— Proportion of Members. The proportion of members is again divided into two parts, viz. equality, and motion. By equality is meant (besides the measure corresponding with the whole), that you do not confound the members of a young subject with those of old age, nor plump ones with those that are lean; and that, moreover, you do not blend the robust and firm muscles of man with feminine softness: that the attitudes and motions of old age be not expressed with the quickness and alacrity of youth; nor those of a female figure like those of a vigorous young man. The motions and members of a strong man should be such as to express his perfect state of health. Chap. VII.— Of Dimensions in general. In general, the dimensions of the human body are to be considered in the length, and not in the breadth; because in the wonderful works of Nature, which we endeavour to imitate, we cannot in any species find any one part in one model precisely similar to the same part in another. Let us be attentive, therefore, to the variation of forms, and avoid all monstrosities of proportion; such as long legs united to short bodies, and narrow chests with long arms. Observe also attentively the measure of joints, in which Nature is apt to vary considerably; and imitate her example by doing the same. Chap. VIII.— Motion, Changes, and Proportion of Members. The measures of the human body vary in each member, according as it is more or less bent, or seen in different views, increasing on one side as much as they diminish on the other. Chap. IX.— The Difference of Proportion between Children and grown Men. In men and children I find a great difference between the joints of the one and the other in the length of the bones. A man has the length of two heads from the extremity of one shoulder to the other, the same from the shoulder to the elbow, and from the elbow to the fingers; but the child has only one, because Nature gives the proper size first to the seat of the intellect, and afterwards to the other parts. Chap. X.— The Alterations in the Proportion of the human Body from Infancy to full Age. A man, in his infancy, has the breadth of his shoulders equal to the length of the face, and to the length of the arm from the shoulder to the elbow, when the arm is bent. It is the same again from the lower belly to the knee, and from the knee to the foot. But, when a man is arrived at the period of his full growth, every one of these dimensions becomes double in length, except the face, which, with the top of the head, undergoes but very little alteration in length. A well-proportioned and full-grown man, therefore, is ten times the length of his face; the breadth of his shoulders will be two faces, and in like manner all the above lengths will be double. The rest will[Pg 6] be explained in the general measurement of the human body. Chap. XI.— Of the Proportion of Members. All the parts of any animal whatever must be correspondent with the whole. So that, if the body be short and thick, all the members belonging to it must be the same. One that is long and thin must have its parts of the same kind; and so of the middle size. Something of the same may be observed in plants, when uninjured by men or tempests; for when thus injured they bud and grow again, making young shoots from old plants, and by those means destroying their natural symmetry. Chap. XII.— That every Part be proportioned to its Whole. If a man be short and thick, be careful that all his members be of the same nature, viz. short arms and thick, large hands, short fingers, with broad joints; and so of the rest. Chap. XIII.— Of the Proportion of the Members. Measure upon yourself the proportion of the parts, and, if you find any of them defective, note it down, and be very careful to avoid it in drawing your own compositions. For this is reckoned a common fault in painters, to delight in the imitation of themselves. Chap. XIV.— The Danger of forming an erroneous Judgment in regard to the Proportion and Beauty of the Parts. If the painter has clumsy hands, he will be apt to introduce them into his works, and so of any other part of his person, which may not happen to be so beautiful as it ought to be. He must, therefore, guard particularly against that self-love, or too good opinion of his own person, and study by every means to acquire the knowledge of what is most beautiful, and of his own defects, that he may adopt the one and avoid the other. Chap. XV.— Another Precept. The young painter must, in the first instance, accustom his hand to copying the drawings of good masters; and when his hand is thus formed, and ready, he should, with the advice of his director, use himself also to draw from relievos; according to the rules we shall point out in the treatise on drawing from relievos. Chap. XVI.— The Manner of drawing from Relievos, and rendering Paper fit for it. When you draw from relievos, tinge your paper of some darkish demi-tint. And after you have made your outline, put in the darkest shadows, and, last of all, the principal lights, but sparingly, especially the smaller ones; because those are easily lost to the eye at a very moderate distance. Chap. XVII.— Of drawing from Casts or Nature. In drawing from relievo, the draftsman must place himself in such a manner, as that the eye of the figure to be drawn be level with his own. Chap. XVIII.— To draw Figures from Nature. Accustom yourself to hold a plummet in your hand, that you may judge of the bearing of the parts. Chap. XIX.— Of drawing from Nature. When you draw from Nature, you must be at the distance of three times the height of the object; and when you begin to draw, form in your own mind a certain principal line (suppose a perpendicular); observe well the bearing of the parts towards that line; whether they intersect, are parallel to it, or oblique. Chap. XX.— Of drawing Academy Figures. When you draw from a naked model, always sketch in the whole of the figure, suiting all the members well to each other; and though you finish only that part which appears the best, have a regard to the rest, that, whenever you make use of such studies, all the parts may hang together. In composing your attitudes, take care not to turn the head on the same side as the breast, nor let the arm go in a line with the leg. If the head turn towards the right shoulder, the parts must be lower on the left side than on the other; but if the chest come forward, and the head turn towards the left, the parts on the right side are to be the highest. Chap. XXI.— Of studying in the Dark, on first waking in the Morning, and before going to sleep. I have experienced no small benefit, when in the dark and in bed, by retracing in my mind the outlines of those forms which I had previously studied, particularly such as had appeared the most difficult to comprehend and retain; by this method they will be confirmed and treasured up in the memory. Chap. XXII.— Observations on drawing Portraits. The cartilage, which raises the nose in the middle of the face, varies in eight different ways. It is equally straight, equally concave, or equally convex, which is the first sort. Or, secondly, unequally straight, concave, or convex. Or, thirdly, straight in the upper part, and concave in the under. Or, fourthly, straight again in the upper part, and convex in those below. Or, fifthly, it may be concave and straight beneath. Or, sixthly, concave above, and convex below. Or, seventhly, it may be convex in the upper part, and straight in the lower. And in the eighth and last place, convex above, and concave beneath. The uniting of the nose with the brows is in two ways, either it is straight or concave. The forehead has three different forms. It is straight, concave, or round. The first is divided into two parts, viz. it is either convex in the upper part, or in the lower, sometimes both; or else flat above and below. Chap. XXIII.— The Method of retaining in the Memory the Likeness of a Man, so as to draw his Profile, after having seen him only once. You must observe and remember well the variations of the four principal features in the profile; the nose, mouth, chin, and forehead. And first of the nose, of which there are three different sorts, straight, concave, and convex. Of the straight there are but four variations, short or long, high at the end, or low. Of the concave there are three sorts; some have the concavity above, some in the middle, and some at the end. The convex noses also vary three ways; some project in the upper part, some in the middle, and others at the bottom. Nature, which seems to delight in infinite variety, gives again three changes to those noses which have a projection in the middle; for some have it straight, some concave, and some convex. Chap. XXIV.— How to remember the Form of a Face. If you wish to retain with facility the general look of a face, you must first learn how to draw well several faces, mouths, eyes, noses, chins, throats, necks, and shoulders; in short, all those principal parts which distinguish one man from another. For instance, noses are often different sorts. Straight, bunched, concave, some raised above, some below the middle, aquiline, flat, round, and sharp. These affect the profile. In the front view there are eleven different sorts. Even, thick in the middle, thin in the middle, thick at the tip, thin at the beginning, thin at the tip, and thick at the beginning. Broad, narrow, high, and low nostrils; some with a large opening, and some more shut towards the tip. The same variety will be found in the other parts of the face, which must be drawn from Nature, and retained in the memory. Or else, when you mean to draw a likeness from memory, take with you a pocket-book, in which you have marked all these variations of features, and after having given a look at the face you mean to draw, retire a little aside, and note down in your book which of the features are similar to it; that you may put it all together at home. Chap. XXV.— That a Painter should take Pleasure in the Opinion of every body. A painter ought not certainly to refuse listening to the opinion of any one; for we know that, although a man be not a painter, he may have just notions of the forms of men; whether a man has a hump on his back, a thick leg, or a large hand; whether he be lame, or have any other defect. Now, if we know that men are able to judge of the works of Nature, should we not think them more able to detect our errors? 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. da Vinci Leonardo (2014). A Treatise on Painting. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/46915/pg46915-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

What the young Student in Painting ought in the first Place to learn

PHINEAS FINN'S SUCCESS.

Proper Circumstances for the Application of Machinery

THE LIFE OF LEONARDO DA VINCI.

Reflections on the Decline of Science in England, and on Some of Its Causes by Charles Babbage, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Section 2 here SECTION 2. ON THE ART OF OBSERVING. The remarks in this section are not proposed for the assistance of those who are already observers, but are intended to show to persons not familiar with the subject, that in observations demanding no unrivalled accuracy, the principles of common sense may be safely trusted, and that any gentleman of liberal education may, by perseverance and attention, ascertain the limits within which he may trust both his instrument and himself. If the instrument is a divided one, the first thing is to learn to read the verniers. If the divisions are so fine that the coincidence is frequently doubtful, the best plan will be for the learner to get some acquaintance who is skilled in the use of instruments, and having set the instrument at hazard, to write down the readings of the verniers, and then request his friend to do the same; whenever there is any difference, he should carefully examine the doubtful one, and ask his friend to point out the minute peculiarities on which he founds his decision. This should be repeated frequently; and after some practice, he should note how many times in a hundred his reading differs from his friend's, and also how many divisions they usually differ. The next point is, to ascertain the precision with which the learner can bisect an object with the wires of the telescope. This can be done without assistance. It is not necessary even to adjust the instrument, but merely to point it to a distant object. When it bisects any remarkable point, read off the verniers, and write down the result; then displace the telescope a little, and adjust it again. A series of such observations will show the confidence which is due to the observer's eye in bisecting an object, and also in reading the verniers; and as the first direction gave him some measure of the latter, he may, in a great measure, appreciate his skill in the former. He should also, when he finds a deviation in the reading, return to the telescope, and satisfy himself if he has made the bisection as complete as he can. In general, the student should practise each adjustment separately, and write down the results wherever he can measure its deviations. Having thus practised the adjustments, the next step is to make an observation; but in order to try both himself and the instrument, let him take the altitude of some fixed object, a terrestrial one, and having registered the result, let him derange the adjustment, and repeat the process fifty or a hundred times. This will not merely afford him excellent practice, but enable him to judge of his own skill. The first step in the use of every instrument, is to find the limits within which its employer can measure the SAME OBJECT UNDER THE SAME CIRCUMSTANCES. It is only from a knowledge of this, that he can have confidence in his measures of the SAME OBJECT UNDER DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCES, and after that, of DIFFERENT OBJECTS UNDER DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCES. These principles are applicable to almost all instruments. If a person is desirous of ascertaining heights by a mountain barometer, let him begin by adjusting the instrument in his own study; and having made the upper contact, let him write down the reading of the vernier, and then let him derange the UPPER adjustment ONLY, re-adjust, and repeat the reading. When he is satisfied about the limits within which he can make that adjustment, let him do the same repeatedly with the lower; but let him not, until he knows his own errors in reading and adjusting, pronounce upon those of the instrument. In the case of a barometer, he must also be assured, that the temperature of the mercury does not change during the interval. A friend once brought to me a beautifully constructed piece of mechanism, for marking minute portions of time; the three-hundredth parts of a second were indicated by it. It was a kind of watch, with a pin for stopping one of the hands. I proposed that we should each endeavour to stop it twenty times in succession, at the same point. We were both equally unpractised, and our first endeavours showed that we could not be confident of the twentieth part of a second. In fact, both the time occupied in causing the extremities of the fingers to obey the volition, as well as the time employed in compressing the flesh before the fingers acted on the stop, appeared to influence the accuracy of our observations. From some few experiments I made, I thought I perceived that the rapidity of the transmission of the effects of the will, depended on the state of fatigue or health of the body. If any one were to make experiments on this subject, it might be interesting, to compare the rapidity of the transmission of volition in different persons, with the time occupied in obliterating an impression made on one of the senses of the same persons. For example, by having a mechanism to make a piece of ignited charcoal revolve with different degrees of velocity, some persons will perceive a continuous circle of light before others, whose retina does not retain so long impressions that are made upon it. 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. Charles Babbage (1998).Reflections on the Decline of Science in England, and on Some of Its Causes. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1216/pg1216-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

ON THE ART OF OBSERVING.

Scientific American, Volume XXXVI., No. 8, February 24, 1877 by Various, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . The Iron Trade In England. here The Iron Trade In England. The British of January 15 states that the situation and prospects of the iron trade have not materially improved in the month of December, but some week or two must elapse yet before trade returns to its regular channels. In the north of England the tone of the market is tolerably cheerful, and prospects, though still vague, are considered encouraging. Makers of pig iron go into the next quarter with a good supply of orders on their books, and merchants and consumers are desirous of buying over the first half of the year. Notwithstanding the great depression which has ruled throughout 1876, there is likely to be a greater production of pig iron by several thousand tons than ever there was before, and the total make must considerably exceed two million tons, which is twice the quantity turned out in Scotland, though in the latter district a greater number of furnaces have been kept in blast. Prices are nominally the same as were quoted last week, but show an upward tendency. The bulk of the mills and forges, foundries, etc., have resumed work, and the finished iron trade is again in full swing. The plate department is well provided with orders, but the rail manufacturers, though rather better off than they were, are still in a poor position. The miscellaneous branches of the iron trade, such as the foundries and tube, wire, and cut-nail manufactories are generally well off for orders, and engineers find plenty to do. The wages agreement in the finished iron trade ends this week, but it is thought that no alteration will be made. In the South Staffordshire iron trade, work has been only partially resumed as yet, and many of the mills and forges will not be started until the quarterly meetings, next week. Orders have rarely been so scarce as they are at this moment, arrears having been pretty generally cleared off before the holidays, and no new ones coming in. Nevertheless, the feeling of the trade is more hopeful than it was a month ago. The number of furnaces in blast in this district is now only 58 out of 153; but should the expected improvement in trade arrive with the quarterly meeting, this number will soon be increased. In the finished iron branch, in which quotations for marked iron contain the basis of $45 for bars, makers of leading brands of sheets and bars are better off than the manufacturers of cheap iron, who suffer much from competition in the north. Some considerable contracts for girders, bridges, gasometers, etc., are under execution at the works devoted to constructive ironwork; but the merchant iron trade, as a whole, is very dull. Unmarked iron is weak and variable, and to this circumstance may be attributed the reduction, announced this week, in various descriptions of common iron hardware. Mercantile Gazette 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. Various (2006). Scientific American, Volume XXXVI., No. 8, February 24, 1877. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/19406/pg19406-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 Iron Trade In England

Phineas Redux by Anthony Trollope, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . PHINEAS FINN IS RE-ELECTED. here PHINEAS FINN IS RE-ELECTED. The manner in which Phineas Finn was returned a second time for the borough of Tankerville was memorable among the annals of English elections. When the news reached the town that their member was to be tried for murder no doubt every elector believed that he was guilty. It is the natural assumption when the police and magistrates and lawyers, who have been at work upon the matter carefully, have come to that conclusion, and nothing but private knowledge or personal affection will stand against such evidence. At Tankerville there was nothing of either, and our hero's guilt was taken as a certainty. There was an interest felt in the whole matter which was full of excitement, and not altogether without delight to the Tankervillians. Of course the borough, as a borough, would never again hold up its head. There had never been known such an occurrence in the whole history of this country as the hanging of a member of the House of Commons. And this Member of Parliament was to be hung for murdering another member, which, no doubt, added much to the importance of the transaction. A large party in the borough declared that it was a judgment. Tankerville had degraded itself among boroughs by sending a Roman Catholic to Parliament, and had done so at the very moment in which the Church of England was being brought into danger. This was what had come upon the borough by not sticking to honest Mr. Browborough! There was a moment,—just before the trial was begun,—in which a large proportion of the electors was desirous of proceeding to work at once, and of sending Mr. Browborough back to his own place. It was thought that Phineas Finn should be made to resign. And very wise men in Tankerville were much surprised when they were told that a member of Parliament cannot resign his seat,—that when once returned he is supposed to be, as long as that Parliament shall endure, the absolute slave of his constituency and his country, and that he can escape from his servitude only by accepting some office under the Crown. Now it was held to be impossible that a man charged with murder should be appointed even to the stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds. The House, no doubt, could expel a member, and would, as a matter of course, expel the member for Tankerville,—but the House could hardly proceed to expulsion before the member's guilt could have been absolutely established. So it came to pass that there was no escape for the borough from any part of the disgrace to which it had subjected itself by its unworthy choice, and some Tankervillians of sensitive minds were of opinion that no Tankervillian ever again ought to take part in politics. Then, quite suddenly, there came into the borough the tidings that Phineas Finn was an innocent man. This happened on the morning on which the three telegrams from Prague reached London. The news conveyed by the telegrams was at Tankerville almost as soon as in the Court at the Old Bailey, and was believed as readily. The name of the lady who had travelled all the way to Bohemia on behalf of their handsome young member was on the tongue of every woman in Tankerville, and a most delightful romance was composed. Some few Protestant spirits regretted the now assured escape of their Roman Catholic enemy, and would not even yet allow themselves to doubt that the whole murder had been arranged by Divine Providence to bring down the scarlet woman. It seemed to them to be so fitting a thing that Providence should interfere directly to punish a town in which the sins of the scarlet woman were not held to be abominable! But the multitude were soon convinced that their member was innocent; and as it was certain that he had been in great peril,—as it was known that he was still in durance, and as it was necessary that the trial should proceed, and that he should still stand at least for another day in the dock,—he became more than ever a hero. Then came the further delay, and at last the triumphant conclusion of the trial. When acquitted, Phineas Finn was still member for Tankerville and might have walked into the House on that very night. Instead of doing so he had at once asked for the accustomed means of escape from his servitude, and the seat for Tankerville was vacant. The most loving friends of Mr. Browborough perceived at once that there was not a chance for him. The borough was all but unanimous in resolving that it would return no one as its member but the man who had been unjustly accused of murder. Mr. Ruddles was at once despatched to London with two other political spirits,—so that there might be a real deputation,—and waited upon Phineas two days after his release from prison. Ruddles was very anxious to carry his member back with him, assuring Phineas of an entry into the borough so triumphant that nothing like to it had ever been known at Tankerville. But to all this Phineas was quite deaf. At first he declined even to be put in nomination. "You can't escape from it, Mr. Finn, you can't indeed," said Ruddles. "You don't at all understand the enthusiasm of the borough; does he, Mr. Gadmire?" "I never knew anything like it in my life before," said Gadmire. "I believe Mr. Finn would poll two-thirds of the Church party to-morrow," said Mr. Troddles, a leading dissenter in Tankerville, who on this occasion was the third member of the deputation. "I needn't sit for the borough unless I please, I suppose," pleaded Phineas. "Well, no;—at least I don't know," said Ruddles. "It would be throwing us over a good deal, and I'm sure you are not the gentleman to do that. And then, Mr. Finn, don't you see that though you have been knocked about a little lately—" "By George, he has,—most cruel," said Troddles. "You'll miss the House if you give it up; you will, after a bit, Mr. Finn. You've got to come round again, Mr. Finn,—if I may be so bold as to say so, and you shouldn't put yourself out of the way of coming round comfortably." Phineas knew that there was wisdom in the words of Mr. Ruddles, and consented. Though at this moment he was low in heart, disgusted with the world, and sick of humanity,—though every joint in his body was still sore from the rack on which he had been stretched, yet he knew that it would not be so with him always. As others recovered so would he, and it might be that he would live to "miss the House," should he now refuse the offer made to him. He accepted the offer, but he did so with a positive assurance that no consideration should at present take him to Tankerville. "We ain't going to charge you, not one penny," said Mr. Gadmire, with enthusiasm. "I feel all that I owe to the borough," said Phineas, "and to the warm friends there who have espoused my cause; but I am not in a condition at present, either of mind or body, to put myself forward anywhere in public. I have suffered a great deal." "Most cruel!" said Troddles. "And am quite willing to confess that I am therefore unfit in my present position to serve the borough." "We can't admit that," said Gadmire, raising his left hand. "We mean to have you," said Troddles. "There isn't a doubt about your re-election, Mr. Finn," said Ruddles. "I am very grateful, but I cannot be there. I must trust to one of you gentlemen to explain to the electors that in my present condition I am unable to visit the borough." Messrs. Ruddles, Gadmire, and Troddles returned to Tankerville,—disappointed no doubt at not bringing with them him whose company would have made their feet glorious on the pavement of their native town,—but still with a comparative sense of their own importance in having seen the great sufferer whose woes forbade that he should be beheld by common eyes. They never even expressed an idea that he ought to have come, alluding even to their past convictions as to the futility of hoping for such a blessing; but spoke of him as a personage made almost sacred by the sufferings which he had been made to endure. As to the election, that would be a matter of course. He was proposed by Mr. Ruddles himself, and was absolutely seconded by the rector of Tankerville,—the staunchest Tory in the place, who on this occasion made a speech in which he declared that as an Englishman, loving justice, he could not allow any political or even any religious consideration to bias his conduct on this occasion. Mr. Finn had thrown up his seat under the pressure of a false accusation, and it was, the rector thought, for the honour of the borough that the seat should be restored to him. So Phineas Finn was re-elected for Tankerville without opposition and without expense; and for six weeks after the ceremony parcels were showered upon him by the ladies of the borough who sent him worked slippers, scarlet hunting waistcoats, pocket handkerchiefs, with "P.F." beautifully embroidered, and chains made of their own hair. In this conjunction of affairs the editor of The People's Banner found it somewhat difficult to trim his sails. It was a rule of life with Mr. Quintus Slide to persecute an enemy. An enemy might at any time become a friend, but while an enemy was an enemy he should be trodden on and persecuted. Mr. Slide had striven more than once to make a friend of Phineas Finn; but Phineas Finn had been conceited and stiff-necked. Phineas had been to Mr. Slide an enemy of enemies, and by all his ideas of manliness, by all the rules of his life, by every principle which guided him, he was bound to persecute Phineas to the last. During the trial and the few weeks before the trial he had written various short articles with the view of declaring how improper it would be should a newspaper express any opinion of the guilt or innocence of a suspected person while under trial; and he gave two or three severe blows to contemporaries for having sinned in the matter; but in all these articles he had contrived to insinuate that the member for Tankerville would, as a matter of course, be dealt with by the hands of justice. He had been very careful to recapitulate all circumstances which had induced Finn to hate the murdered man, and had more than once related the story of the firing of the pistol at Macpherson's Hotel. Then came the telegram from Prague, and for a day or two Mr. Slide was stricken dumb. The acquittal followed, and Quintus Slide had found himself compelled to join in the general satisfaction evinced at the escape of an innocent man. Then came the re-election for Tankerville, and Mr. Slide felt that there was opportunity for another reaction. More than enough had been done for Phineas Finn in allowing him to elude the gallows. There could certainly be no need for crowning him with a political chaplet because he had not murdered Mr. Bonteen. Among a few other remarks which Mr. Slide threw together, the following appeared in the columns of The People's Banner:— We must confess that we hardly understand the principle on which Mr. Finn has been re-elected for Tankerville with so much enthusiasm,—free of expense,—and without that usual compliment to the constituency which is implied by the personal appearance of the candidate. We have more than once expressed our belief that he was wrongly accused in the matter of Mr. Bonteen's murder. Indeed our readers will do us the justice to remember that, during the trial and before the trial, we were always anxious to allay the very strong feeling against Mr. Finn with which the public mind was then imbued, not only by the facts of the murder, but also by the previous conduct of that gentleman. But we cannot understand why the late member should be thought by the electors of Tankerville to be especially worthy of their confidence because he did not murder Mr. Bonteen. He himself, instigated, we hope, by a proper feeling, retired from Parliament as soon as he was acquitted. His career during the last twelve months has not enhanced his credit, and cannot, we should think, have increased his comfort. We ventured to suggest after that affair in Judd Street, as to which the police were so benignly inefficient, that it would not be for the welfare of the nation that a gentleman should be employed in the public service whose public life had been marked by the misfortune which had attended Mr. Finn. Great efforts were made by various ladies of the old Whig party to obtain official employment for him, but they were made in vain. Mr. Gresham was too wise, and our advice,—we will not say was followed,—but was found to agree with the decision of the Prime Minister. Mr. Finn was left out in the cold in spite of his great friends,—and then came the murder of Mr. Bonteen. Can it be that Mr. Finn's fitness for Parliamentary duties has been increased by Mr. Bonteen's unfortunate death, or by the fact that Mr. Bonteen was murdered by other hands than his own? We think not. The wretched husband, who, in the madness of jealousy, fired a pistol at this young man's head, has since died in his madness. Does that incident in the drama give Mr. Finn any special claim to consideration? We think not;—and we think also that the electors of Tankerville would have done better had they allowed Mr. Finn to return to that obscurity which he seems to have desired. The electors of Tankerville, however, are responsible only to their borough, and may do as they please with the seat in Parliament which is at their disposal. We may, however, protest against the employment of an unfit person in the service of his country,—simply because he has not committed a murder. We say so much now because rumours of an arrangement have reached our ears, which, should it come to pass,—would force upon us the extremely disagreeable duty of referring very forcibly to past circumstances, which may otherwise, perhaps, be allowed to be forgotten. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Anthony Trollope (2006). Phineas Redux. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/18640/pg18640-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

PHINEAS FINN IS RE-ELECTED.

On the Economy of Machinery and Manufactures by Charles Babbage is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . On the Division of Labour here Chapter 20. On the Division of Labour We have already mentioned what may, perhaps, appear paradoxical to some of our readers that the division of labour can be applied with equal success to mental as to mechanical operations, and that it ensures in both the same economy of time. A short account of its practical application, in the most extensive series of calculations ever executed, will offer an interesting illustration of this fact, whilst at the same time it will afford an occasion for shewing that the arrangements which ought to regulate the interior economy of a manufactory, are founded on principles of deeper root than may have been supposed, and are capable of being usefully employed in preparing the road to some of the sublimest investigations of the human mind. In the midst of that excitement which accompanied the Revolution of France and the succeeding wars, the ambition of the nation, unexhausted by its fatal passion for military renown, was at the same time directed to some of the nobler and more permanent triumphs which mark the era of a people's greatness and which receive the applause of posterity long after their conquests have been wrested from them, or even when their existence as a nation may be told only by the page of history. Amongst their enterprises of science, the French Government was desirous of producing a series of mathematical tables, to facilitate the application of the decimal system which they had so recently adopted. They directed, therefore, their mathematicians to construct such tables, on the most extensive scale. Their most distinguished philosophers, responding fully to the call of their country, invented new methods for this laborious task; and a work, completely answering the large demands of the Government, was produced in a remarkably short period of time. M. Prony, to whom the superintendence of this great undertaking was confided, in speaking of its commencement, observes: Je m'y livrai avec toute l'ardeur dont j'etois capable, et je m'occupai d'abord du plan general de l'execution. Toutes les conditions que j'avois a remplir necessitoient l'emploi d'un grand nombre de calculateurs; et il me vint bientot a la pensee d'appliquer a la connection de ces Tables la division du travail, dont les Arts de Commerce tirent un parti si avantageux pour reunir a la pernection de main-d'oeuvre l'economie de la depense et du temps. The circumstance which gave rise to this singular application of the principle of the division on labour is so interesting, that no apology is necessary for introducing it from a small pamphlet printed at Paris a few years since, when a proposition was made by the English to the French Government, that the two countries should print these tables at their joint expense. The origin of the idea is related in the following extract: C'est a un chapitre d'un ouvrage Anglais,(1*) justement celebre, (I.) qu'est probablement due l'existence de l'ouvrage dont le gouvernement Britannique veut faire jouir le monde savant: Voici l'anecdote: M. de Prony s'etait engage. avec les comites de gouvernement. a composer pour la division centesimale du cercle, des tables logarithmiques et trigonometriques, qui, non seulement ne laissassent rien a desirer quant a l'exactitude, mais qui formassent le monument de calcul 1e plus vaste et le plus imposant qui eut jamais ete execute, ou meme concu. Les logarithmes des nombres de 1 a 200.000 formaient a ce travail un supplement necessaire et exige. Il fut aise a M. de Prony de s'assurer que meme en s'associant trois ou quatre habiles co-operateurs. La plus grande duree presumable de sa vie ne lui sufirai pas pour remplir ses engagements. Il etait occupe de cette facheuse pensee lorsque. Se trouvant devant la boutique d'un marchand de livres. Il appercut la belle edition Anglaise de Smith, donnee a Londres en 1776: il ouvrit le livre au hazard. et tomba sur le premier chapitre, qui traite de la division du travail, et ou la fabrication des epingles est citee pour exemple. A peine avait-il parcouru les premieres pages, que, par une espece d'inspiration. il concut l'expedient de mettre ses logarithmes en manufacture comme les epingles. Il faisait en ce moment, a l'ecole polytechnique, des lecons sur une partie d'analyse liee a ce genre de travail, la methode des differences, et ses applications a l'interpolation. Il alla passer quelques jours a la campagne. et revint a Paris avec le plan de fabrication. qui a ete suivi dans l'execution. Il rassembla deux ateliers. qui faisai ent separement les memes calculs, et se servaient de verification reciproque.(2*) The ancient methods of computing tables were altogether inapplicable to such a proceeding. M. Prony, therefore, wishing to avail himself of all the talent of his country in devising new methods, formed the first section of those who were to take part in this enterprise out of five or six of the most eminent mathematicians in France. First section. The duty of this first section was to investigate, amongst the various analytical expressions which could be found for the same function, that which was most readily adapted to simple numerical calculation by many individuals employed at the same time. This section had little or nothing to do with the actual numerical work. When its labours were concluded, the formulae on the use of which it had decided, were delivered to the second section. Second section. This section consisted of seven or eight persons of considerable acquaintance with mathematics: and their duty was to convert into numbers the formulae put into their hands by the first section an operation of great labour; and then to deliver out these formulae to the members of the third section, and receive from them the finished calculations. The members of this second section had certain means of verifying the calculations without the necessity of repeating, or even of examining, the whole of the work done by the third section. Third section. The members of this section, whose number varied from sixty to eighty, received certain numbers from the second section, and, using nothing more than simple addition and subtraction, they returned to that section the tables in a finished state. It is remarkable that nine-tenths of this class had no knowledge of arithmetic beyond the two first rules which they were thus called upon to exercise, and that these persons were usually found more correct in their calculations, than those who possessed a more extensive knowledge of the subject. When it is stated that the tables thus computed occupy seventeen large folio volumes, some idea may perhaps be formed of the labour. From that part executed by the third class, which may almost be termed mechanical, requiring the least knowledge and by far the greatest exertions, the first class were entirely exempt. Such labour can always be purchased at an easy rate. The duties of the second class, although requiring considerable skill in arithmetical operations, were yet in some measure relieved by the higher interest naturally felt in those more difficult operations. The exertions of the first class are not likely to require, upon another occasion, so much skill and labour as they did upon the first attempt to introduce such a method; but when the completion of a calculating engine shall have produced a substitute for the whole of the third section of computers, the attention of analysts will naturally be directed to simplifying its application, by a new discussion of the methods of converting analytical formulae into numbers. The proceeding of M. Prony, in this celebrated system of calculation, much resembles that of a skilful person about to construct a cotton or silk mill, or any similar establishment. Having, by his own genius, or through the aid of his friends, found that some improved machinery may be successfully applied to his pursuit, he makes drawings of his plans of the machinery, and may himself be considered as constituting the first section. He next requires the assistance of operative engineers capable of executing the machinery he has designed, some of whom should understand the nature of the processes to be carried on; and these constitute his second section. When a sufficient number of machines have been made, a multitude of other persons, possessed of a lower degree of skill, must be employed in using them; these form the third section: but their work, and the just performance of the machines, must be still superintended by the second class. As the possibility of performing arithmetical calculations by machinery may appear to non-mathematical readers to be rather too large a postulate, and as it is connected with the subject of the division of labour, I shall here endeavour, in a few lines, to give some slight perception of the manner in which this can be done—and thus to remove a small portion of the veil which covers that apparent mystery. That nearly all tables of numbers which follow any law, however complicated, may be formed, to a greater or less extent, solely by the proper arrangement of the successive addition and subtraction of numbers befitting each table, is a general principle which can be demonstrated to those only who are well acquainted with mathematics; but the mind, even of the reader who is but very slightly acquainted with that science, will readily conceive that it is not impossible, by attending to the following example. The subjoined table is the beginning of one in very extensive use, which has been printed and reprinted very frequently in many countries, and is called a table of square numbers. Terms of Table A Table B first Difference C second Difference 1 1
                            3
    2 4 2
                            5
    3 9 2
                            7
    4 16 2
                            9
    5 25 2
                           11
    6 36 2
                           13
    7 49 Any number in the table, column A, may be obtained, by multiplying the number which expresses the distance of that term from the commencement of the table by itself; thus, 25 is the fifth term from the beginning of the table, and 5 multiplied by itself, or by 5, is equal to 25. Let us now subtract each term of this table from the next succeeding term, and place the results in another column (B), which may be called first difference column. If we again subtract each term of this first difference from the succeeding term, we find the result is always the number 2, (column C); and that the same number will always recur in that column, which may be called the second difference, will appear to any person who takes the trouble to carry on the table a few terms further. Now when once this is admitted, it is quite clear that, provided the first term (1) of the table, the first term (3) of the first differences, and the first term (2) of the second or constant difference, are originally given, we can continue the table of square numbers to any extent, merely by addition: for the series of first differences may be formed by repeatedly adding the constant difference (2) to (3) the first number in column B, and we then have the series of numbers, 3, 5, 6, etc.: and again, by successively adding each of these to the first number (1) of the table, we produce the square numbers. Having thus, I hope, thrown some light upon the theoretical part of the question, I shall endeavour to shew that the mechanical execution of such an engine, as would produce this series of numbers, is not so far removed from that of ordinary machinery as might be conceived.(3*) Let the reader imagine three clocks, placed on a table side by side, each having only one hand, and each having a thousand divisions instead of twelve hours marked on the face; and every time a string is pulled, let them strike on a bell the numbers of the divisions to which their hands point. Let him further suppose that two of the clocks, for the sake of distinction called B and C, have some mechanism by which the clock C advances the hand of the clock B one division, for each stroke it makes upon its own bell: and let the clock B by a similar contrivance advance the hand of the clock A one division, for each stroke it makes on its own bell. With such an arrangement, having set the hand of the clock A to the division I, that of B to III, and that of C to II, let the reader imagine the repeating parts of the clocks to be set in motion continually in the following order: viz.—pull the string of clock A; pull the string of clock B; pull the string of clock C. The table on the following page will then express the series of movements and their results. If now only those divisions struck or pointed at by the clock A be attended to and written down, it will be found that they produce the series of the squares of the natural numbers. Such a series could, of course, be carried by this mechanism only so far as the numbers which can be expressed by three figures; but this may be sufficient to give some idea of the construction—and was, in fact, the point to which the first model of the calculating engine, now in progress, extended. We have seen, then, that the effect of the division of labour, both in mechanical and in mental operations, is, that it enables us to purchase and apply to each process precisely that quantity of skill and knowledge which is required for it: we avoid employing any part of the time of a man who can get eight or ten shillings a day by his skill in tempering needles, in turning a wheel, which can be done for sixpence a day; and we equally avoid the loss arising from the employment of an accomplished mathematician in performing the lowest processes of arithmetic. The division of labour cannot be successfully practised unless there exists a great demand for its produce; and it requires a large capital to be employed in those arts in which it is used. In watchmaking it has been carried, perhaps, to the greatest extent. It was stated in evidence before a committee of the House of Commons, that there are a hundred and two distinct branches of this art, to each of which a boy may be put apprentice: and that he only learns his master's department, and is unable, after his apprenticeship has expired, without subsequent instruction, to work at any other branch. The watch-finisher, whose business is to put together the scattered parts, is the only one, out of the hundred and two persons, who can work in any other department than his own. In one of the most difficult arts, that of mining, great improvements have resulted from the judicious distribution of the duties; and under the arrangments which have gradually been introduced, the whole system of the mine and its government is now placed under the control of the following officers. A manager, who has the general knowledge of all that is to be done, and who may be assisted by one or more skilful persons. Underground captains direct the proper mining operations, and govern the working miners. The purser and book-keeper manage the accounts. The engineer erects the engines, and superintends the men who work them. A chief pitman has charge of the pumps and the apparatus of the shafts. A surface-captain, with assistants, receives the ores raised, and directs the dressing department, the object of which is to render them marketable. The head carpenter superintends many constructions. The foreman of the smiths regulates the ironwork and tools. A materials man selects, purchases, receives and delivers all articles required. The roper has charge of ropes and cordage of all sorts. Notes: An Enquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, by Adam Smith. Note sur la publication, proposee par le gouvernement Anglais des grandes tables logarithmiques et trigonometriques de M de Prony De l'imprimerie de F. Didot, December 1, 1829, p. 7 Since the publication of the second edition of this work, one portion of the engine which I have been constructing for some years past has been put together. It calculates, in three columns, a table with its first and second differences. Each column can be expressed as far as five figures, so that these fifteen figures constitute about one ninth part of the larger engine. The ease and precision with which it works leave no room to doubt its success in the more extended form. Besides tables of squares, cubes, and portions of logarithmic tables, it possesses the power of calculating certain series whose differences are not constant; and it has already tabulated parts of series formed from the following equations: The third differential of ux = units figur of delta ux The third differential of ux = nearest whole no. to (1/10,000 delta ux) The subjoined is one amongst the series which it has calculated: 0 3, 486 42,972 0 4,991 50,532 1 6,907 58,812 14 9,295 67,826 70 12,236 77,602 230 15,741 88,202
495 19,861 99,627
916 24,597 111,928
1,504 30,010 125,116
2,340 36,131 139,272 The general term of this is, ux = (x(x-1)(x-2))/(1 X 2 X 3) + the whole number in x/10 + 10 Sigma^3 (units figure of (x(x-1)/2) 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. Charles Babbage (2003). On the Economy of Machinery and Manufactures. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/4238/pg4238.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

On the Division of Labour

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

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