Yonderis in the Employer Insurance Industry

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UNLOOKED-FOR ARRIVALS.

We had now reached Switzerland

Mark Twain's Speeches by Mark Twain, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . SIXTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY here SIXTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY AT THE METROPOLITAN CLUB, NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 28, 1902

          Address at a dinner given in honor of Mr. Clemens by Colonel
          Harvey, President of Harper & Brothers. I think I ought to be allowed to talk as long as I want to, for the reason that I have cancelled all my winter’s engagements of every kind, for good and sufficient reasons, and am making no new engagements for this winter, and, therefore, this is the only chance I shall have to disembowel my skull for a year—close the mouth in that portrait for a year. I want to offer thanks and homage to the chairman for this innovation which he has introduced here, which is an improvement, as I consider it, on the old-fashioned style of conducting occasions like this. That was bad that was a bad, bad, bad arrangement. Under that old custom the chairman got up and made a speech, he introduced the prisoner at the bar, and covered him all over with compliments, nothing but compliments, not a thing but compliments, never a slur, and sat down and left that man to get up and talk without a text. You cannot talk on compliments; that is not a text. No modest person, and I was born one, can talk on compliments. A man gets up and is filled to the eyes with happy emotions, but his tongue is tied; he has nothing to say; he is in the condition of Doctor Rice’s friend who came home drunk and explained it to his wife, and his wife said to him, “John, when you have drunk all the whiskey you want, you ought to ask for sarsaparilla.” He said, “Yes, but when I have drunk all the whiskey I want I can’t say sarsaparilla.” And so I think it is much better to leave a man unmolested until the testimony and pleadings are all in. Otherwise he is dumb—he is at the sarsaparilla stage. Before I get to the higgledy-piggledy point, as Mr. Howells suggested I do, I want to thank you, gentlemen, for this very high honor you are doing me, and I am quite competent to estimate it at its value. I see around me captains of all the illustrious industries, most distinguished men; there are more than fifty here, and I believe I know thirty-nine of them well. I could probably borrow money from—from the others, anyway. It is a proud thing to me, indeed, to see such a distinguished company gather here on such an occasion as this, when there is no foreign prince to be feted—when you have come here not to do honor to hereditary privilege and ancient lineage, but to do reverence to mere moral excellence and elemental veracity-and, dear me, how old it seems to make me! I look around me and I see three or four persons I have known so many, many years. I have known Mr. Secretary Hay—John Hay, as the nation and the rest of his friends love to call him—I have known John Hay and Tom Reed and the Reverend Twichell close upon thirty-six years. Close upon thirty-six years I have known those venerable men. I have known Mr. Howells nearly thirty-four years, and I knew Chauncey Depew before he could walk straight, and before he learned to tell the truth. Twenty-seven years ago, I heard him make the most noble and eloquent and beautiful speech that has ever fallen from even his capable lips. Tom Reed said that my principal defect was inaccuracy of statement. Well, suppose that that is true. What’s the use of telling the truth all the time? I never tell the truth about Tom Reed—but that is his defect, truth; he speaks the truth always. Tom Reed has a good heart, and he has a good intellect, but he hasn’t any judgment. Why, when Tom Reed was invited to lecture to the Ladies’ Society for the Procreation or Procrastination, or something, of morals, I don’t know what it was—advancement, I suppose, of pure morals—he had the immortal indiscretion to begin by saying that some of us can’t be optimists, but by judiciously utilizing the opportunities that Providence puts in our way we can all be bigamists. You perceive his limitations. Anything he has in his mind he states, if he thinks it is true. Well, that was true, but that was no place to say it—so they fired him out. A lot of accounts have been settled here tonight for me; I have held grudges against some of these people, but they have all been wiped out by the very handsome compliments that have been paid me. Even Wayne MacVeagh—I have had a grudge against him many years. The first time I saw Wayne MacVeagh was at a private dinner-party at Charles A. Dana’s, and when I got there he was clattering along, and I tried to get a word in here and there; but you know what Wayne MacVeagh is when he is started, and I could not get in five words to his one—or one word to his five. I struggled along and struggled along, and—well, I wanted to tell and I was trying to tell a dream I had had the night before, and it was a remarkable dream, a dream worth people’s while to listen to, a dream recounting Sam Jones the revivalist’s reception in heaven. I was on a train, and was approaching the celestial way-station—I had a through ticket—and I noticed a man sitting alongside of me asleep, and he had his ticket in his hat. He was the remains of the Archbishop of Canterbury; I recognized him by his photograph. I had nothing against him, so I took his ticket and let him have mine. He didn’t object—he wasn’t in a condition to object—and presently when the train stopped at the heavenly station—well, I got off, and he went on by request—but there they all were, the angels, you know, millions of them, every one with a torch; they had arranged for a torch-light procession; they were expecting the Archbishop, and when I got off they started to raise a shout, but it didn’t materialize. I don’t know whether they were disappointed. I suppose they had a lot of superstitious ideas about the Archbishop and what he should look like, and I didn’t fill the bill, and I was trying to explain to Saint Peter, and was doing it in the German tongue, because I didn’t want to be too explicit. Well, I found it was no use, I couldn’t get along, for Wayne MacVeagh was occupying the whole place, and I said to Mr. Dana, “What is the matter with that man? Who is that man with the long tongue? What’s the trouble with him, that long, lank cadaver, old oil-derrick out of a job—who is that?” “Well, now,” Mr. Dana said, “you don’t want to meddle with him; you had better keep quiet; just keep quiet, because that’s a bad man. Talk! He was born to talk. Don’t let him get out with you; he’ll skin you.” I said, “I have been skinned, skinned, and skinned for years, there is nothing left.” He said, “Oh, you’ll find there is; that man is the very seed and inspiration of that proverb which says, ‘No matter how close you skin an onion, a clever man can always peel it again.’” Well, I reflected and I quieted down. That would never occur to Tom Reed. He’s got no discretion. Well, MacVeagh is just the same man; he hasn’t changed a bit in all those years; he has been peeling Mr. Mitchell lately. That’s the kind of man he is. Mr. Howells—that poem of his is admirable; that’s the way to treat a person. Howells has a peculiar gift for seeing the merits of people, and he has always exhibited them in my favor. Howells has never written anything about me that I couldn’t read six or seven times a day; he is always just and always fair; he has written more appreciatively of me than any one in this world, and published it in the North American Review. He did me the justice to say that my intentions—he italicized that—that my intentions were always good, that I wounded people’s conventions rather than their convictions. Now, I wouldn’t want anything handsomer than that said of me. I would rather wait, with anything harsh I might have to say, till the convictions become conventions. Bangs has traced me all the way down. He can’t find that honest man, but I will look for him in the looking-glass when I get home. It was intimated by the Colonel that it is New England that makes New York and builds up this country and makes it great, overlooking the fact that there’s a lot of people here who came from elsewhere, like John Hay from away out West, and Howells from Ohio, and St. Clair McKelway and me from Missouri, and we are doing what we can to build up New York a little-elevate it. Why, when I was living in that village of Hannibal, Missouri, on the banks of the Mississippi, and Hay up in the town of Warsaw, also on the banks of the Mississippi River it is an emotional bit of the Mississippi, and when it is low water you have to climb up to it on a ladder, and when it floods you have to hunt for it; with a deep-sea lead—but it is a great and beautiful country. In that old time it was a paradise for simplicity—it was a simple, simple life, cheap but comfortable, and full of sweetness, and there was nothing of this rage of modern civilization there at all. It was a delectable land. I went out there last June, and I met in that town of Hannibal a schoolmate of mine, John Briggs, whom I had not seen for more than fifty years. I tell you, that was a meeting! That pal whom I had known as a little boy long ago, and knew now as a stately man three or four inches over six feet and browned by exposure to many climes, he was back there to see that old place again. We spent a whole afternoon going about here and there and yonder, and hunting up the scenes and talking of the crimes which we had committed so long ago. It was a heartbreaking delight, full of pathos, laughter, and tears, all mixed together; and we called the roll of the boys and girls that we picnicked and sweethearted with so many years ago, and there were hardly half a dozen of them left; the rest were in their graves; and we went up there on the summit of that hill, a treasured place in my memory, the summit of Holiday’s Hill, and looked out again over that magnificent panorama of the Mississippi River, sweeping along league after league, a level green paradise on one side, and retreating capes and promontories as far as you could see on the other, fading away in the soft, rich lights of the remote distance. I recognized then that I was seeing now the most enchanting river view the planet could furnish. I never knew it when I was a boy; it took an educated eye that had travelled over the globe to know and appreciate it; and John said, “Can you point out the place where Bear Creek used to be before the railroad came?” I said, “Yes, it ran along yonder.” “And can you point out the swimming-hole?” “Yes, out there.” And he said, “Can you point out the place where we stole the skiff?” Well, I didn’t know which one he meant. Such a wilderness of events had intervened since that day, more than fifty years ago, it took me more than five minutes to call back that little incident, and then I did call it back; it was a white skiff, and we painted it red to allay suspicion. And the saddest, saddest man came along—a stranger he was—and he looked that red skiff over so pathetically, and he said: “Well, if it weren’t for the complexion I’d know whose skiff that was.” He said it in that pleading way, you know, that appeals for sympathy and suggestion; we were full of sympathy for him, but we weren’t in any condition to offer suggestions. I can see him yet as he turned away with that same sad look on his face and vanished out of history forever. I wonder what became of that man. I know what became of the skiff. Well, it was a beautiful life, a lovely life. There was no crime. Merely little things like pillaging orchards and watermelon-patches and breaking the Sabbath—we didn’t break the Sabbath often enough to signify—once a week perhaps. But we were good boys, good Presbyterian boys, all Presbyterian boys, and loyal and all that; anyway, we were good Presbyterian boys when the weather was doubtful; when it was fair, we did wander a little from the fold. Look at John Hay and me. There we were in obscurity, and look where we are now. Consider the ladder which he has climbed, the illustrious vocations he has served—and vocations is the right word; he has in all those vocations acquitted himself with high credit and honor to his country and to the mother that bore him. Scholar, soldier, diplomat, poet, historian—now, see where we are. He is Secretary of State and I am a gentleman. It could not happen in any other country. Our institutions give men the positions that of right belong to them through merit; all you men have won your places, not by heredities, and not by family influence or extraneous help, but only by the natural gifts God gave you at your birth, made effective by your own energies; this is the country to live in. Now, there is one invisible guest here. A part of me is present; the larger part, the better part, is yonder at her home; that is my wife, and she has a good many personal friends here, and I think it won’t distress any one of them to know that, although she is going to be confined to that bed for many months to come from that nervous prostration, there is not any danger and she is coming along very well—and I think it quite appropriate that I should speak of her. I knew her for the first time just in the same year that I first knew John Hay and Tom Reed and Mr. Twichell—thirty-six years ago—and she has been the best friend I have ever had, and that is saying a good deal; she has reared me—she and Twichell together—and what I am I owe to them. Twichell—why, it is such a pleasure to look upon Twichell’s face! For five-and-twenty years I was under the Rev. Mr. Twichell’s tuition, I was in his pastorate, occupying a pew in his church, and held him in due reverence. That man is full of all the graces that go to make a person companionable and beloved; and wherever Twichell goes to start a church the people flock there to buy the land; they find real estate goes up all around the spot, and the envious and the thoughtful always try to get Twichell to move to their neighborhood and start a church; and wherever you see him go you can go and buy land there with confidence, feeling sure that there will be a double price for you before very long. I am not saying this to flatter Mr. Twichell; it is the fact. Many and many a time I have attended the annual sale in his church, and bought up all the pews on a margin—and it would have been better for me spiritually and financially if I had stayed under his wing. I have tried to do good in this world, and it is marvellous in how many different ways I have done good, and it is comfortable to reflect—now, there’s Mr. Rogers—just out of the affection I bear that man many a time I have given him points in finance that he had never thought of—and if he could lay aside envy, prejudice, and superstition, and utilize those ideas in his business, it would make a difference in his bank account. Well, I like the poetry. I like all the speeches and the poetry, too. I liked Doctor Van Dyke’s poem. I wish I could return thanks in proper measure to you, gentlemen, who have spoken and violated your feelings to pay me compliments; some were merited and some you overlooked, it is true; and Colonel Harvey did slander every one of you, and put things into my mouth that I never said, never thought of at all. And now, my wife and I, out of our single heart, return you our deepest and most grateful thanks, and—yesterday was her birthday. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Mark Twain (2004). Mark Twain's Speeches. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/3188/pg3188-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

SIXTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY

Of the crucifixion of Jesus; and of his last words upon the cross.

Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . OLD WAYS AND NEW WAYS. here CHAPTER XXX. OLD WAYS AND NEW WAYS. Mr. Preston was now installed in his new house at Hollingford; Mr. Sheepshanks having entered into dignified idleness at the house of his married daughter, who lived in the county town. His successor had plunged with energy into all manner of improvements; and among others, he fell to draining a piece of outlying waste and unreclaimed land of Lord Cumnor's, which was close to Squire Hamley's property—that very piece for which he had had the Government grant, but which now lay neglected, and only half drained, with stacks of mossy tiles, and lines of upturned furrows telling of abortive plans. It was not often that the Squire rode in this direction now-a-days; but the cottage of a man who had been the squire's gamekeeper in those more prosperous days when the Hamleys could afford to "preserve," was close to the rush-grown ground. This old servant and tenant was ill, and had sent a message up to the Hall, asking to see the Squire: not to reveal any secret, or to say anything particular, but only from the feudal loyalty, which made it seem to the dying man as if it would be a comfort to shake the hand, and look once more into the eyes of the lord and master whom he had served, and whose ancestors his own forbears had served for so many generations. And the Squire was as fully alive as old Silas to the claims of the tie that existed between them. Though he hated the thought, and still more, should hate the sight of the piece of land, on the side of which Silas's cottage stood, the Squire ordered his horse, and rode off within half-an-hour of receiving the message. As he drew near the spot he thought he heard the sound of tools, and the hum of many voices, just as he used to hear them a year or two before. He listened with surprise. Yes! Instead of the still solitude he had expected, there was the clink of iron, the heavy gradual thud of the fall of barrows-ful of soil—the cry and shout of labourers. But not on his land—better worth expense and trouble by far than the reedy clay common on which the men were, in fact, employed. He knew it was Lord Cumnor's property; and he knew Lord Cumnor and his family had gone up in the world ("the Whig rascals!"), both in wealth and in station, as the Hamleys had gone down. But all the same—in spite of long known facts, and in spite of reason—the Squire's ready anger rose high at the sight of his neighbour doing what he had been unable to do, and he a Whig, and his family only in the county since Queen Anne's time. He went so far as to wonder whether they might not—the labourers he meant—avail themselves of his tiles, lying so conveniently close to hand. All these thoughts, regrets, and wonders were in his mind as he rode up to the cottage he was bound to, and gave his horse in charge to a little lad, who had hitherto found his morning's business and amusement in playing at "houses" with a still younger sister, with some of the Squire's neglected tiles. But he was old Silas's grandson, and he might have battered the rude red earthenware to pieces—a whole stack—one by one, and the Squire would have said little or nothing. It was only that he would not spare one to a labourer of Lord Cumnor's. No! not one. Old Silas lay in a sort of closet, opening out of the family living-room. The small window that gave it light looked right on to the "moor," as it was called; and by day the check curtain was drawn aside so that he might watch the progress of the labour. Everything about the old man was clean, if coarse; and, with Death, the leveller, so close at hand, it was the labourer who made the first advances, and put out his horny hand to the Squire. "I thought you'd come, Squire. Your father came for to see my father as he lay a-dying." "Come, come, my man!" said the Squire, easily affected, as he always was. "Don't talk of dying, we shall soon have you out, never fear. They've sent you up some soup from the Hall, as I bade 'em, haven't they?" "Ay, ay, I've had all as I could want for to eat and to drink. The young squire and Master Roger was here yesterday." "Yes, I know." "But I'm a deal nearer Heaven to-day, I am. I should like you to look after th' covers in th' West Spinney, Squire; them gorse, you know, where th' old fox had her hole—her as give 'em so many a run. You'll mind it, Squire, though you was but a lad. I could laugh to think on her tricks yet." And, with a weak attempt at a laugh, he got himself into a violent fit of coughing, which alarmed the squire, who thought he would never get his breath again. His daughter-in-law came in at the sound, and told the Squire that he had these coughing-bouts very frequently, and that she thought he would go off in one of them before long. This opinion of hers was spoken simply out before the old man, who now lay gasping and exhausted upon his pillow. Poor people acknowledge the inevitableness and the approach of death in a much more straightforward manner than is customary among more educated folk. The Squire was shocked at her hard-heartedness, as he considered it; but the old man himself had received much tender kindness from his daughter-in-law; and what she had just said was no more news to him than the fact that the sun would rise to-morrow. He was more anxious to go on with his story. "Them navvies—I call 'em navvies because some on 'em is strangers, though some on 'em is th' men as was turned off your own works, squire, when there came orders to stop 'em last fall—they're a-pulling up gorse and brush to light their fire for warming up their messes. It's a long way off to their homes, and they mostly dine here; and there'll be nothing of a cover left, if you don't see after 'em. I thought I should like to tell ye afore I died. Parson's been here; but I did na tell him. He's all for the earl's folk, and he'd not ha' heeded. It's the earl as put him into his church, I reckon, for he said what a fine thing it were for to see so much employment a-given to the poor, and he never said nought o' th' sort when your works were agait, Squire." This long speech had been interrupted by many a cough and gasp for breath; and having delivered himself of what was on his mind, he turned his face to the wall, and appeared to be going to sleep. Presently he roused himself with a start:— "I know I flogged him well, I did. But he were after pheasants' eggs, and I didn't know he were an orphan. Lord, forgive me!" "He's thinking on David Morton, the cripple, as used to go about trapping vermin," whispered the woman. "Why, he died long ago—twenty year, I should think," replied the Squire. "Ay, but when grandfather goes off i' this way to sleep after a bout of talking he seems to be dreaming on old times. He'll not waken up yet, sir; you'd best sit down if you'd like to stay," she continued, as she went into the house-place and dusted a chair with her apron. "He was very particular in bidding me wake him if he were asleep, and you or Mr. Roger was to call. Mr. Roger said he'd be coming again this morning—but he'll likely sleep an hour or more, if he's let alone." "I wish I'd said good-by, I should like to have done that." "He drops off so sudden," said the woman. "But if you'd be better pleased to have said it, Squire, I'll waken him up a bit." "No, no!" the Squire called out as the woman was going to be as good as her word. "I'll come again, perhaps to-morrow. And tell him I was sorry; for I am indeed. And be sure and send to the Hall for anything you want! Mr. Roger is coming, is he? He'll bring me word how he is, later on. I should like to have bidden him good-by." So, giving sixpence to the child who had held his horse, the Squire mounted. He sate still a moment, looking at the busy work going on before him, and then at his own half-completed drainage. It was a bitter pill. He had objected to borrowing from Government, in the first instance; and then his wife had persuaded him to the step; and after it was once taken, he was as proud as could be of the only concession to the spirit of progress he ever made in his life. He had read and studied the subject pretty thoroughly, if also very slowly, during the time his wife had been influencing him. He was tolerably well up in agriculture, if in nothing else; and at one time he had taken the lead among the neighbouring landowners, when he first began tile-drainage. In those days people used to speak of Squire Hamley's hobby; and at market ordinaries, or county dinners, they rather dreaded setting him off on long repetitions of arguments from the different pamphlets on the subject which he had read. And now the proprietors all around him were draining—draining; his interest to Government was running on all the same, though his works were stopped, and his tiles deteriorating in value. It was not a soothing consideration, and the Squire was almost ready to quarrel with his shadow. He wanted a vent for his ill-humour; and suddenly remembering the devastations on his covers, which he had heard about not a quarter of an hour before, he rode towards the men busy at work on Lord Cumnor's land. Just before he got up to them he encountered Mr. Preston, also on horseback, come to overlook his labourers. The Squire did not know him personally, but from the agent's manner of speaking, and the deference that was evidently paid to him, Mr. Hamley saw that he was a responsible person. So he addressed the agent:—"I beg your pardon, I suppose you are the manager of these works?" Mr. Preston replied,—"Certainly. I am that and many other things besides, at your service. I have succeeded Mr. Sheepshanks in the management of my lord's property. Mr. Hamley of Hamley, I believe?" The Squire bowed stiffly. He did not like his name to be asked or presumed upon in that manner. An equal might conjecture who he was, or recognize him, but, till he announced himself, an inferior had no right to do more than address him respectfully as "sir." That was the Squire's code of etiquette. "I am Mr. Hamley of Hamley. I suppose you are as yet ignorant of the boundary of Lord Cumnor's land, and so I will inform you that my property begins at the pond yonder—just where you see the rise in the ground." "I am perfectly acquainted with that fact, Mr. Hamley," said Mr. Preston, a little annoyed at the ignorance attributed to him. "But may I inquire why my attention is called to it just now?" The Squire was beginning to boil over; but he tried to keep his temper in. The effort was very much to be respected, for it was a great one. There was something in the handsome and well-dressed agent's tone and manner inexpressibly irritating to the squire, and it was not lessened by an involuntary comparison of the capital roadster on which Mr. Preston was mounted with his own ill-groomed and aged cob. "I have been told that your men out yonder do not respect these boundaries, but are in the habit of plucking up gorse from my covers to light their fires." "It is possible they may!" said Mr. Preston, lifting his eyebrows, his manner being more nonchalant than his words. "I daresay they think no great harm of it. However, I'll inquire." "Do you doubt my word, sir?" said the Squire, fretting his mare till she began to dance about. "I tell you I've heard it only within this last half-hour." "I don't mean to doubt your word, Mr. Hamley; it's the last thing I should think of doing. But you must excuse my saying that the argument which you have twice brought up for the authenticity of your statement, 'that you have heard it within the last half-hour,' is not quite so forcible as to preclude the possibility of a mistake." "I wish you'd only say in plain language that you doubt my word," said the Squire, clenching and slightly raising his horsewhip. "I can't make out what you mean—you use so many words." "Pray don't lose your temper, sir. I said I should inquire. You have not seen the men pulling up gorse yourself, or you would have named it. I, surely, may doubt the correctness of your information until I have made some inquiry; at any rate, that is the course I shall pursue, and if it gives you offence, I shall be sorry, but I shall do it just the same. When I am convinced that harm has been done to your property, I shall take steps to prevent it for the future, and of course, in my lord's name, I shall pay you compensation—it may probably amount to half-a-crown." He added these last words in a lower tone, as if to himself, with a slight contemptuous smile on his face. "Quiet, mare, quiet," said the Squire, totally unaware that he was the cause of her impatient movements by the way he was perpetually tightening her reins; and also, perhaps, he unconsciously addressed the injunction to himself. Neither of them saw Roger Hamley, who was just then approaching them with long, steady steps. He had seen his father from the door of old Silas's cottage, and, as the poor fellow was still asleep, he was coming to speak to his father, and was near enough now to hear the next words. "I don't know who you are, but I've known land-agents who were gentlemen, and I've known some who were not. You belong to this last set, young man," said the squire, "that you do. I should like to try my horsewhip on you for your insolence." "Pray, Mr. Hamley," replied Mr. Preston, coolly, "curb your temper a little, and reflect. I really feel sorry to see a man of your age in such a passion:"—moving a little farther off, however, but really more with a desire to save the irritated man from carrying his threat into execution, out of a dislike to the slander and excitement it would cause, than from any personal dread. Just at this moment Roger Hamley came close up. He was panting a little, and his eyes were very stern and dark; but he spoke quietly enough. "Mr. Preston, I can hardly understand what you mean by your last words. But, remember, my father is a gentleman of age and position, and not accustomed to receive advice as to the management of his temper from young men like you." "I desired him to keep his men off my land," said the Squire to his son—his wish to stand well in Roger's opinion restraining his temper a little; but though his words might be a little calmer, there were all other signs of passion present—the discoloured complexion, the trembling hands, the fiery cloud in his eyes. "He refused, and doubted my word." Mr. Preston turned to Roger, as if appealing from Philip drunk to Philip sober, and spoke in a tone of cool explanation, which, though not insolent in words, was excessively irritating in manner. "Your father has misunderstood me—perhaps it is no wonder," trying to convey, by a look of intelligence at the son, his opinion that the father was in no state to hear reason. "I never refused to do what was just and right. I only required further evidence as to the past wrong-doing; your father took offence at this," and then he shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his eyebrows in a manner he had formerly learnt in France. "At any rate, sir! I can scarcely reconcile the manner and words to my father, which I heard you use when I first came up, with the deference you ought to have shown to a man of his age and position. As to the fact of the trespass—" "They are pulling up all the gorse, Roger—there'll be no cover whatever for game soon," put in the Squire. Roger bowed to his father, but took up his speech at the point it was at before the interruption. "I will inquire into it myself at a cooler moment; and if I find that such trespass or damage has been committed, of course I shall expect that you will see it put a stop to. Come, father! I am going to see old Silas—perhaps you don't know that he is very ill." So he endeavoured to wile the Squire away to prevent further words. He was not entirely successful. Mr. Preston was enraged by Roger's calm and dignified manner, and threw after them this parting shaft, in the shape of a loud soliloquy,— "Position, indeed! What are we to think of the position of a man who begins works like these without counting the cost, and comes to a stand-still, and has to turn off his labourers just at the beginning of winter, leaving—" They were too far off to hear the rest. The Squire was on the point of turning back before this, but Roger took hold of the reins of the old mare, and led her over some of the boggy ground, as if to guide her into sure footing, but, in reality, because he was determined to prevent the renewal of the quarrel. It was well that the cob knew him, and was, indeed, old enough to prefer quietness to dancing; for Mr. Hamley plucked hard at the reins, and at last broke out with an oath,—"Damn it, Roger! I'm not a child; I won't be treated as such. Leave go, I say!" Roger let go; they were now on firm ground, and he did not wish any watchers to think that he was exercising any constraint over his father; and this quiet obedience to his impatient commands did more to soothe the Squire than anything else could have effected just then. "I know I turned them off—what could I do? I'd no more money for their weekly wages; it's a loss to me, as you know. He doesn't know, no one knows, but I think your mother would, how it cut me to turn 'em off just before winter set in. I lay awake many a night thinking of it, and I gave them what I had—I did, indeed. I hadn't got money to pay 'em, but I had three barren cows fattened, and gave every scrap of meat to the men, and I let 'em go into the woods and gather what was fallen, and I winked at their breaking off old branches, and now to have it cast up against me by that cur—that servant. But I'll go on with the works, by ——, I will, if only to spite him. I'll show him who I am. My position, indeed! A Hamley of Hamley takes a higher position than his master. I'll go on with the works, see if I don't! I'm paying between one and two hundred a year interest on Government money. I'll raise some more if I go to the Jews; Osborne has shown me the way, and Osborne shall pay for it—he shall. I'll not put up with insults. You shouldn't have stopped me, Roger! I wish to heaven I'd horsewhipped the fellow!" He was lashing himself again into an impotent rage, painful to a son to witness; but just then the little grandchild of old Silas, who had held the Squire's horse during his visit to the sick man, came running up, breathless: "Please, sir, please, squire, mammy has sent me; grandfather has wakened up sudden, and mammy says he's dying, and would you please come; she says he'd take it as a kind compliment, she's sure." So they went to the cottage, the Squire speaking never a word, but suddenly feeling as if lifted out of a whirlwind and set down in a still and awful place. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell (2003). Wives and Daughters. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/4274/pg4274-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

OLD WAYS AND NEW WAYS.

Mark Twain's Speeches by Mark Twain, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN AID OF THE BLIND here IN AID OF THE BLIND ADDRESS AT A PUBLIC MEETING OF THE NEW YORK ASSOCIATION FOR
          PROMOTING THE INTERESTS OF THE BLIND AT THE WALDORF ASTORIA,
          MARCH 29, 1906 If you detect any awkwardness in my movements and infelicities in my conduct I will offer the explanation that I never presided at a meeting of any kind before in my life, and that I do find it out of my line. I supposed I could do anything anybody else could, but I recognize that experience helps, and I do feel the lack of that experience. I don’t feel as graceful and easy as I ought to be in order to impress an audience. I shall not pretend that I know how to umpire a meeting like this, and I shall just take the humble place of the Essex band. There was a great gathering in a small New England town, about twenty-five years ago. I remember that circumstance because there was something that happened at that time. It was a great occasion. They gathered in the militia and orators and everybody from all the towns around. It was an extraordinary occasion. The little local paper threw itself into ecstasies of admiration and tried to do itself proud from beginning to end. It praised the orators, the militia, and all the bands that came from everywhere, and all this in honest country newspaper detail, but the writer ran out of adjectives toward the end. Having exhausted his whole magazine of praise and glorification, he found he still had one band left over. He had to say something about it, and he said: “The Essex band done the best it could.” I am an Essex band on this occasion, and I am going to get through as well as inexperience and good intentions will enable me. I have got all the documents here necessary to instruct you in the objects and intentions of this meeting and also of the association which has called the meeting. But they are too voluminous. I could not pack those statistics into my head, and I had to give it up. I shall have to just reduce all that mass of statistics to a few salient facts. There are too many statistics and figures for me. I never could do anything with figures, never had any talent for mathematics, never accomplished anything in my efforts at that rugged study, and to-day the only mathematics I know is multiplication, and the minute I get away up in that, as soon as I reach nine times seven— [Mr. Clemens lapsed into deep thought for a moment. He was trying to figure out nine times seven, but it was a hopeless task, and he turned to St. Clair McKelway, who sat near him. Mr. McKelway whispered the answer, and the speaker resumed:] I’ve got it now. It’s eighty-four. Well, I can get that far all right with a little hesitation. After that I am uncertain, and I can’t manage a statistic. “This association for the—” [Mr. Clemens was in another dilemma. Again he was obliged to turn to Mr. McKelway.] Oh yes, for promoting the interests of the blind. It’s a long name. If I could I would write it out for you and let you take it home and study it, but I don’t know how to spell it. And Mr. Carnegie is down in Virginia somewhere. Well, anyway, the object of that association which has been recently organized, five months ago, in fact, is in the hands of very, very energetic, intelligent, and capable people, and they will push it to success very surely, and all the more surely if you will give them a little of your assistance out of your pockets. The intention, the purpose, is to search out all the blind and find work for them to do so that they may earn, their own bread. Now it is dismal enough to be blind—it is dreary, dreary life at best, but it can be largely ameliorated by finding something for these poor blind people to do with their hands. The time passes so heavily that it is never day or night with them, it is always night, and when they have to sit with folded hands and with nothing to do to amuse or entertain or employ their minds, it is drearier and drearier. And then the knowledge they have that they must subsist on charity, and so often reluctant charity, it would renew their lives if they could have something to do with their hands and pass their time and at the same time earn their bread, and know the sweetness of the bread which is the result of the labor of one’s own hands. They need that cheer and pleasure. It is the only way you can turn their night into day, to give them happy hearts, the only thing you can put in the place of the blessed sun. That you can do in the way I speak of. Blind people generally who have seen the light know what it is to miss the light. Those who have gone blind since they were twenty years old—their lives are unendingly dreary. But they can be taught to use their hands and to employ themselves at a great many industries. That association from which this draws its birth in Cambridge, Massachusetts, has taught its blind to make many things. They make them better than most people, and more honest than people who have the use of their eyes. The goods they make are readily salable. People like them. And so they are supporting themselves, and it is a matter of cheer, cheer. They pass their time now not too irksomely as they formerly did. What this association needs and wants is $15,000. The figures are set down, and what the money is for, and there is no graft in it or I would not be here. And they hope to beguile that out of your pockets, and you will find affixed to the programme an opportunity, that little blank which you will fill out and promise so much money now or to-morrow or some time. Then, there is another opportunity which is still better, and that is that you shall subscribe an annual sum. I have invented a good many useful things in my time, but never anything better than that of getting money out of people who don’t want to part with it. It is always for good objects, of course. This is the plan: When you call upon a person to contribute to a great and good object, and you think he should furnish about $1,000, he disappoints you as like as not. Much the best way to work him to supply that thousand dollars is to split it into parts and contribute, say a hundred dollars a year, or fifty, or whatever the sum maybe. Let him contribute ten or twenty a year. He doesn’t feel that, but he does feel it when you call upon him to contribute a large amount. When you get used to it you would rather contribute than borrow money. I tried it in Helen Keller’s case. Mr. Hutton wrote me in 1896 or 1897 when I was in London and said: “The gentleman who has been so liberal in taking care of Helen Keller has died without making provision for her in his will, and now they don’t know what to do.” They were proposing to raise a fund, and he thought $50,000 enough to furnish an income of $2400 or $2500 a year for the support of that wonderful girl and her wonderful teacher, Miss Sullivan, now Mrs. Macy. I wrote to Mr. Hutton and said: “Go on, get up your fund. It will be slow, but if you want quick work, I propose this system,” the system I speak of, of asking people to contribute such and such a sum from year to year and drop out whenever they please, and he would find there wouldn’t be any difficulty, people wouldn’t feel the burden of it. And he wrote back saying he had raised the $2400 a year indefinitely by that system in a single afternoon. We would like to do something just like that to-night. We will take as many checks as you care to give. You can leave your donations in the big room outside. I knew once what it was to be blind. I shall never forget that experience. I have been as blind as anybody ever was for three or four hours, and the sufferings that I endured and the mishaps and the accidents that are burning in my memory make my sympathy rise when I feel for the blind and always shall feel. I once went to Heidelberg on an excursion. I took a clergyman along with me, the Rev. Joseph Twichell, of Hartford, who is still among the living despite that fact. I always travel with clergymen when I can. It is better for them, it is better for me. And any preacher who goes out with me in stormy weather and without a lightning rod is a good one. The Reverend Twichell is one of those people filled with patience and endurance, two good ingredients for a man travelling with me, so we got along very well together. In that old town they have not altered a house nor built one in 1500 years. We went to the inn and they placed Twichell and me in a most colossal bedroom, the largest I ever saw or heard of. It was as big as this room. I didn’t take much notice of the place. I didn’t really get my bearings. I noticed Twichell got a German bed about two feet wide, the kind in which you’ve got to lie on your edge, because there isn’t room to lie on your back, and he was way down south in that big room, and I was way up north at the other end of it, with a regular Sahara in between. We went to bed. Twichell went to sleep, but then he had his conscience loaded and it was easy for him to get to sleep. I couldn’t get to sleep. It was one of those torturing kinds of lovely summer nights when you hear various kinds of noises now and then. A mouse away off in the southwest. You throw things at the mouse. That encourages the mouse. But I couldn’t stand it, and about two o’clock I got up and thought I would give it up and go out in the square where there was one of those tinkling fountains, and sit on its brink and dream, full of romance. I got out of bed, and I ought to have lit a candle, but I didn’t think of it until it was too late. It was the darkest place that ever was. There has never been darkness any thicker than that. It just lay in cakes. I thought that before dressing I would accumulate my clothes. I pawed around in the dark and found everything packed together on the floor except one sock. I couldn’t get on the track of that sock. It might have occurred to me that maybe it was in the wash. But I didn’t think of that. I went excursioning on my hands and knees. Presently I thought, “I am never going to find it; I’ll go back to bed again.” That is what I tried to do during the next three hours. I had lost the bearings of that bed. I was going in the wrong direction all the time. By-and-by I came in collision with a chair and that encouraged me. It seemed to me, as far as I could recollect, there was only a chair here and there and yonder, five or six of them scattered over this territory, and I thought maybe after I found that chair I might find the next one. Well, I did. And I found another and another and another. I kept going around on my hands and knees, having those sudden collisions, and finally when I banged into another chair I almost lost my temper. And I raised up, garbed as I was, not for public exhibition, right in front of a mirror fifteen or sixteen feet high. I hadn’t noticed the mirror; didn’t know it was there. And when I saw myself in the mirror I was frightened out of my wits. I don’t allow any ghosts to bite me, and I took up a chair and smashed at it. A million pieces. Then I reflected. That’s the way I always do, and it’s unprofitable unless a man has had much experience that way and has clear judgment. And I had judgment, and I would have had to pay for that mirror if I hadn’t recollected to say it was Twichell who broke it. Then I got down, on my hands and knees and went on another exploring expedition. As far as I could remember there were six chairs in that Oklahoma, and one table, a great big heavy table, not a good table to hit with your head when rushing madly along. In the course of time I collided with thirty-five chairs and tables enough to stock that dining-room out there. It was a hospital for decayed furniture, and it was in a worse condition when I got through with it. I went on and on, and at last got to a place where I could feel my way up, and there was a shelf. I knew that wasn’t in the middle of the room. Up to that time I was afraid I had gotten out of the city. I was very careful and pawed along that shelf, and there was a pitcher of water about a foot high, and it was at the head of Twichell’s bed, but I didn’t know it. I felt that pitcher going and I grabbed at it, but it didn’t help any and came right down in Twichell’s face and nearly drowned him. But it woke him up. I was grateful to have company on any terms. He lit a match, and there I was, way down south when I ought to have been back up yonder. My bed was out of sight it was so far away. You needed a telescope to find it. Twichell comforted me and I scrubbed him off and we got sociable. But that night wasn’t wasted. I had my pedometer on my leg. Twichell and I were in a pedometer match. Twichell had longer legs than I. The only way I could keep up was to wear my pedometer to bed. I always walk in my sleep, and on this occasion I gained sixteen miles on him. After all, I never found that sock. I never have seen it from that day to this. But that adventure taught me what it is to be blind. That was one of the most serious occasions of my whole life, yet I never can speak of it without somebody thinking it isn’t serious. You try it and see how serious it is to be as the blind are and I was that night. [Mr. Clemens read several letters of regret. He then introduced Joseph H. Choate, saying:] It is now my privilege to present to you Mr. Choate. I don’t have to really introduce him. I don’t have to praise him, or to flatter him. I could say truly that in the forty-seven years I have been familiarly acquainted with him he has always been the handsomest man America has ever produced. And I hope and believe he will hold the belt forty-five years more. He has served his country ably, faithfully, and brilliantly. He stands at the summit, at the very top in the esteem and regard of his countrymen, and if I could say one word which would lift him any higher in his countrymen’s esteem and affection, I would say that word whether it was true or not. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Mark Twain (2004). Mark Twain's Speeches. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/3188/pg3188-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

IN AID OF THE BLIND

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions by Edwin Abbott Abbott is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . How the Sphere encouraged me in a Vision here How the Sphere encouraged me in a Vision Although I had less than a minute for reflection, I felt, by a kind of instinct, that I must conceal my experiences from my Wife. Not that I apprehended, at the moment, any danger from her divulging my secret, but I knew that to any Woman in Flatland the narrative of my adventures must needs be unintelligible. So I endeavoured to reassure her by some story, invented for the occasion, that I had accidentally fallen through the trap-door of the cellar, and had there lain stunned. The Southward attraction in our country is so slight that even to a Woman my tale necessarily appeared extraordinary and well-nigh incredible; but my Wife, whose good sense far exceeds that of the average of her Sex, and who perceived that I was unusually excited, did not argue with me on the subject, but insisted that I was ill and required repose. I was glad of an excuse for retiring to my chamber to think quietly over what had happened. When I was at last by myself, a drowsy sensation fell on me; but before my eyes closed I endeavoured to reproduce the Third Dimension, and especially the process by which a Cube is constructed through the motion of a Square. It was not so clear as I could have wished; but I remembered that it must be "Upward, and yet not Northward", and I determined steadfastly to retain these words as the clue which, if firmly grasped, could not fail to guide me to the solution. So mechanically repeating, like a charm, the words, "Upward, yet not Northward", I fell into a sound refreshing sleep. During my slumber I had a dream. I thought I was once more by the side of the Sphere, whose lustrous hue betokened that he had exchanged his wrath against me for perfect placability. We were moving together towards a bright but infinitesimally small Point, to which my Master directed my attention. As we approached, methought there issued from it a slight humming noise as from one of your Spaceland bluebottles, only less resonant by far, so slight indeed that even in the perfect stillness of the Vacuum through which we soared, the sound reached not our ears till we checked our flight at a distance from it of something under twenty human diagonals. "Look yonder," said my Guide, "in Flatland thou hast lived; of Lineland thou hast received a vision; thou hast soared with me to the heights of Spaceland; now, in order to complete the range of thy experience, I conduct thee downward to the lowest depth of existence, even to the realm of Pointland, the Abyss of No dimensions. "Behold yon miserable creature. That Point is a Being like ourselves, but confined to the non-dimensional Gulf. He is himself his own World, his own Universe; of any other than himself he can form no conception; he knows not Length, nor Breadth, nor Height, for he has had no experience of them; he has no cognizance even of the number Two; nor has he a thought of Plurality; for he is himself his One and All, being really Nothing. Yet mark his perfect self-contentment, and hence learn this lesson, that to be self-contented is to be vile and ignorant, and that to aspire is better than to be blindly and impotently happy. Now listen." He ceased; and there arose from the little buzzing creature a tiny, low, monotonous, but distinct tinkling, as from one of your Spaceland phonographs, from which I caught these words, "Infinite beatitude of existence! It is; and there is none else beside It." "What," said I, "does the puny creature mean by 'it'?" "He means himself," said the Sphere: "have you not noticed before now, that babies and babyish people who cannot distinguish themselves from the world, speak of themselves in the Third Person? But hush!" "It fills all Space," continued the little soliloquizing Creature, "and what It fills, It is. What It thinks, that It utters; and what It utters, that It hears; and It itself is Thinker, Utterer, Hearer, Thought, Word, Audition; it is the One, and yet the All in All. Ah, the happiness ah, the happiness of Being!" "Can you not startle the little thing out of its complacency?" said I. "Tell it what it really is, as you told me; reveal to it the narrow limitations of Pointland, and lead it up to something higher." "That is no easy task," said my Master; "try you." Hereon, raising my voice to the uttermost, I addressed the Point as follows: "Silence, silence, contemptible Creature. You call yourself the All in All, but you are the Nothing: your so-called Universe is a mere speck in a Line, and a Line is a mere shadow as compared with—" "Hush, hush, you have said enough," interrupted the Sphere, "now listen, and mark the effect of your harangue on the King of Pointland." The lustre of the Monarch, who beamed more brightly than ever upon hearing my words, shewed clearly that he retained his complacency; and I had hardly ceased when he took up his strain again. "Ah, the joy, ah, the joy of Thought! What can It not achieve by thinking! Its own Thought coming to Itself, suggestive of Its disparagement, thereby to enhance Its happiness! Sweet rebellion stirred up to result in triumph! Ah, the divine creative power of the All in One! Ah, the joy, the joy of Being!" "You see," said my Teacher, "how little your words have done. So far as the Monarch understands them at all, he accepts them as his own—for he cannot conceive of any other except himself—and plumes himself upon the variety of 'Its Thought' as an instance of creative Power. Let us leave this God of Pointland to the ignorant fruition of his omnipresence and omniscience: nothing that you or I can do can rescue him from his self-satisfaction." After this, as we floated gently back to Flatland, I could hear the mild voice of my Companion pointing the moral of my vision, and stimulating me to aspire, and to teach others to aspire. He had been angered at first—he confessed—by my ambition to soar to Dimensions above the Third; but, since then, he had received fresh insight, and he was not too proud to acknowledge his error to a Pupil. Then he proceeded to initiate me into mysteries yet higher than those I had witnessed, shewing me how to construct Extra-Solids by the motion of Solids, and Double Extra-Solids by the motion of Extra-Solids, and all "strictly according to Analogy", all by methods so simple, so easy, as to be patent even to the Female Sex. 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 (1995). Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/201/pg201-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

How the Sphere encouraged me in a Vision

I found that an order had already gone forth for the army to proceed immediately towards Constantino

THE PILGRIMS.

OSBORNE HAMLEY REVIEWS HIS POSITION.

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions by Edwin Abbott Abbott is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . How I came to Spaceland, and what I saw there here How I came to Spaceland, and what I saw there An unspeakable horror seized me. There was a darkness; then a dizzy, sickening sensation of sight that was not like seeing; I saw a Line that was no Line; Space that was not Space: I was myself, and not myself. When I could find voice, I shrieked aloud in agony, "Either this is madness or it is Hell." "It is neither," calmly replied the voice of the Sphere, "it is Knowledge; it is Three Dimensions: open your eye once again and try to look steadily." I looked, and, behold, a new world! There stood before me, visibly incorporate, all that I had before inferred, conjectured, dreamed, of perfect Circular beauty. What seemed the centre of the Stranger's form lay open to my view: yet I could see no heart, nor lungs, nor arteries, only a beautiful harmonious Something—for which I had no words; but you, my Readers in Spaceland, would call it the surface of the Sphere. Prostrating myself mentally before my Guide, I cried, "How is it, O divine ideal of consummate loveliness and wisdom that I see thy inside, and yet cannot discern thy heart, thy lungs, thy arteries, thy liver?" "What you think you see, you see not," he replied; "it is not given to you, nor to any other Being to behold my internal parts. I am of a different order of Beings from those in Flatland. Were I a Circle, you could discern my intestines, but I am a Being, composed as I told you before, of many Circles, the Many in the One, called in this country a Sphere. And, just as the outside of a Cube is a Square, so the outside of a Sphere presents the appearance of a Circle." Bewildered though I was by my Teacher's enigmatic utterance, I no longer chafed against it, but worshipped him in silent adoration. He continued, with more mildness in his voice. "Distress not yourself if you cannot at first understand the deeper mysteries of Spaceland. By degrees they will dawn upon you. Let us begin by casting back a glance at the region whence you came. Return with me a while to the plains of Flatland, and I will shew you that which you have often reasoned and thought about, but never seen with the sense of sight—a visible angle." "Impossible!" I cried; but, the Sphere leading the way, I followed as if in a dream, till once more his voice arrested me: "Look yonder, and behold your own Pentagonal house, and all its inmates." I looked below, and saw with my physical eye all that domestic individuality which I had hitherto merely inferred with the understanding. And how poor and shadowy was the inferred conjecture in comparison with the reality which I now beheld! My four Sons calmly asleep in the North-Western rooms, my two orphan Grandsons to the South; the Servants, the Butler, my Daughter, all in their several apartments. Only my affectionate Wife, alarmed by my continued absence, had quitted her room and was roving up and down in the Hall, anxiously awaiting my return. Also the Page, aroused by my cries, had left his room, and under pretext of ascertaining whether I had fallen somewhere in a faint, was prying into the cabinet in my study. All this I could now SEE, not merely infer; and as we came nearer and nearer, I could discern even the contents of my cabinet, and the two chests of gold, and the tablets of which the Sphere had made mention. Touched by my Wife's distress, I would have sprung downward to reassure her, but I found myself incapable of motion. "Trouble not yourself about your Wife," said my Guide: "she will not be long left in anxiety; meantime, let us take a survey of Flatland." Once more I felt myself rising through space. It was even as the Sphere had said. The further we receded from the object we beheld, the larger became the field of vision. My native city, with the interior of every house and every creature therein, lay open to my view in miniature. We mounted higher, and lo, the secrets of the earth, the depths of mines and inmost caverns of the hills, were bared before me. Awestruck at the sight of the mysteries of the earth, thus unveiled before my unworthy eye, I said to my Companion, "Behold, I am become as a God. For the wise men in our country say that to see all things, or as they express it, OMNIVIDENCE, is the attribute of God alone." There was something of scorn in the voice of my Teacher as he made answer: "Is it so indeed? Then the very pick-pockets and cut-throats of my country are to be worshipped by your wise men as being Gods: for there is not one of them that does not see as much as you see now. But trust me, your wise men are wrong." I. Then is omnividence the attribute of others besides Gods? SPHERE. I do not know. But, if a pick-pocket or a cut-throat of our country can see everything that is in your country, surely that is no reason why the pick-pocket or cut-throat should be accepted by you as a God. This omnividence, as you call it—it is not a common word in Spaceland—does it make you more just, more merciful, less selfish, more loving? Not in the least. Then how does it make you more divine? I. "More merciful, more loving!" But these are the qualities of women! And we know that a Circle is a higher Being than a Straight Line, in so far as knowledge and wisdom are more to be esteemed than mere affection. SPHERE. It is not for me to classify human faculties according to merit. Yet many of the best and wisest in Spaceland think more of the affections than of the understanding, more of your despised Straight Lines than of your belauded Circles. But enough of this. Look yonder. Do you know that building? I looked, and afar off I saw an immense Polygonal structure, in which I recognized the General Assembly Hall of the States of Flatland, surrounded by dense lines of Pentagonal buildings at right angles to each other, which I knew to be streets; and I perceived that I was approaching the great Metropolis. "Here we descend," said my Guide. It was now morning, the first hour of the first day of the two thousandth year of our era. Acting, as was their wont, in strict accordance with precedent, the highest Circles of the realm were meeting in solemn conclave, as they had met on the first hour of the first day of the year 1000, and also on the first hour of the first day of the year 0. The minutes of the previous meetings were now read by one whom I at once recognized as my brother, a perfectly Symmetrical Square, and the Chief Clerk of the High Council. It was found recorded on each occasion that: "Whereas the States had been troubled by divers ill-intentioned persons pretending to have received revelations from another World, and professing to produce demonstrations whereby they had instigated to frenzy both themselves and others, it had been for this cause unanimously resolved by the Grand Council that on the first day of each millenary, special injunctions be sent to the Prefects in the several districts of Flatland, to make strict search for such misguided persons, and without formality of mathematical examination, to destroy all such as were Isosceles of any degree, to scourge and imprison any regular Triangle, to cause any Square or Pentagon to be sent to the district Asylum, and to arrest any one of higher rank, sending him straightway to the Capital to be examined and judged by the Council." "You hear your fate," said the Sphere to me, while the Council was passing for the third time the formal resolution. "Death or imprisonment awaits the Apostle of the Gospel of Three Dimensions." "Not so," replied I, "the matter is now so clear to me, the nature of real space so palpable, that methinks I could make a child understand it. Permit me but to descend at this moment and enlighten them." "Not yet," said my Guide, "the time will come for that. Meantime I must perform my mission. Stay thou there in thy place." Saying these words, he leaped with great dexterity into the sea (if I may so call it) of Flatland, right in the midst of the ring of Counsellors. "I come," cried he, "to proclaim that there is a land of Three Dimensions." I could see many of the younger Counsellors start back in manifest horror, as the Sphere's circular section widened before them. But on a sign from the presiding Circle—who shewed not the slightest alarm or surprise—six Isosceles of a low type from six different quarters rushed upon the Sphere. "We have him," they cried; "No; yes; we have him still! he's going! he's gone!" "My Lords," said the President to the Junior Circles of the Council, "there is not the slightest need for surprise; the secret archives, to which I alone have access, tell me that a similar occurrence happened on the last two millennial commencements. You will, of course, say nothing of these trifles outside the Cabinet." Raising his voice, he now summoned the guards. "Arrest the policemen; gag them. You know your duty." After he had consigned to their fate the wretched policemen—ill-fated and unwilling witnesses of a State-secret which they were not to be permitted to reveal—he again addressed the Counsellors. "My Lords, the business of the Council being concluded, I have only to wish you a happy New Year." Before departing, he expressed, at some length, to the Clerk, my excellent but most unfortunate brother, his sincere regret that, in accordance with precedent and for the sake of secrecy, he must condemn him to perpetual imprisonment, but added his satisfaction that, unless some mention were made by him of that day's incident, his life would be spared. 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 (1995). Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/201/pg201-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

How I came to Spaceland, and what I saw there

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions by Edwin Abbott Abbott is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . How the Sphere, having in vain tried words, resorted to deeds here How the Sphere, having in vain tried words, resorted to deeds It was in vain. I brought my hardest right angle into violent collision with the Stranger, pressing on him with a force sufficient to have destroyed any ordinary Circle: but I could feel him slowly and unarrestably slipping from my contact; no edging to the right nor to the left, but moving somehow out of the world, and vanishing to nothing. Soon there was a blank. But still I heard the Intruder's voice. SPHERE. Why will you refuse to listen to reason? I had hoped to find in you—as being a man of sense and an accomplished mathematician—a fit apostle for the Gospel of the Three Dimensions, which I am allowed to preach once only in a thousand years: but now I know not how to convince you. Stay, I have it. Deeds, and not words, shall proclaim the truth. Listen, my friend. I have told you I can see from my position in Space the inside of all things that you consider closed. For example, I see in yonder cupboard near which you are standing, several of what you call boxes (but like everything else in Flatland, they have no tops nor bottoms) full of money; I see also two tablets of accounts. I am about to descend into that cupboard and to bring you one of those tablets. I saw you lock the cupboard half an hour ago, and I know you have the key in your possession. But I descend from Space; the doors, you see, remain unmoved. Now I am in the cupboard and am taking the tablet. Now I have it. Now I ascend with it. I rushed to the closet and dashed the door open. One of the tablets was gone. With a mocking laugh, the Stranger appeared in the other corner of the room, and at the same time the tablet appeared upon the floor. I took it up. There could be no doubt—it was the missing tablet. I groaned with horror, doubting whether I was not out of my senses; but the Stranger continued: "Surely you must now see that my explanation, and no other, suits the phenomena. What you call Solid things are really superficial; what you call Space is really nothing but a great Plane. I am in Space, and look down upon the insides of the things of which you only see the outsides. You could leave this Plane yourself, if you could but summon up the necessary volition. A slight upward or downward motion would enable you to see all that I can see. "The higher I mount, and the further I go from your Plane, the more I can see, though of course I see it on a smaller scale. For example, I am ascending; now I can see your neighbour the Hexagon and his family in their several apartments; now I see the inside of the Theatre, ten doors off, from which the audience is only just departing; and on the other side a Circle in his study, sitting at his books. Now I shall come back to you. And, as a crowning proof, what do you say to my giving you a touch, just the least touch, in your stomach? It will not seriously injure you, and the slight pain you may suffer cannot be compared with the mental benefit you will receive." Before I could utter a word of remonstrance, I felt a shooting pain in my inside, and a demoniacal laugh seemed to issue from within me. A moment afterwards the sharp agony had ceased, leaving nothing but a dull ache behind, and the Stranger began to reappear, saying, as he gradually increased in size, "There, I have not hurt you much, have I? If you are not convinced now, I don't know what will convince you. What say you?" My resolution was taken. It seemed intolerable that I should endure existence subject to the arbitrary visitations of a Magician who could thus play tricks with one's very stomach. If only I could in any way manage to pin him against the wall till help came! Once more I dashed my hardest angle against him, at the same time alarming the whole household by my cries for aid. I believe, at the moment of my onset, the Stranger had sunk below our Plane, and really found difficulty in rising. In any case he remained motionless, while I, hearing, as I thought, the sound of some help approaching, pressed against him with redoubled vigour, and continued to shout for assistance. A convulsive shudder ran through the Sphere. "This must not be," I thought I heard him say: "either he must listen to reason, or I must have recourse to the last resource of civilization." Then, addressing me in a louder tone, he hurriedly exclaimed, "Listen: no stranger must witness what you have witnessed. Send your Wife back at once, before she enters the apartment. The Gospel of Three Dimensions must not be thus frustrated. Not thus must the fruits of one thousand years of waiting be thrown away. I hear her coming. Back! back! Away from me, or you must go with me—whither you know not—into the Land of Three Dimensions!" "Fool! Madman! Irregular!" I exclaimed; "never will I release thee; thou shalt pay the penalty of thine impostures." "Ha! Is it come to this?" thundered the Stranger: "then meet your fate: out of your Plane you go. Once, twice, thrice! 'Tis done!" 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 (1995). Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/201/pg201-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

How the Sphere, having in vain tried words, resorted to deeds

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

Philochristus: Memoirs of a Disciple of the Lord by Edwin Abbott Abbott is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . How Xanthias the Alexandrine said that the philosophy of Jesus aimed at the taking in of the Gentiles into the Kingdom, and at the enfranchisement of slaves; and how he found fault with Jesus for that he called himself the Son of man. here How Xanthias the Alexandrine said that the philosophy of Jesus aimed at the taking in of the Gentiles into the Kingdom, and at the enfranchisement of slaves; and how he found fault with Jesus for that he called himself the Son of man. Between the Feast of Passover and the Feast of Weeks I was not much with Jesus; for when I perceived that Jesus was in no instant peril, I returned to Sepphoris for a while, partly by reason of my mother’s health, and partly to gather in the harvest. And during this time, when it was perceived that Jesus went not up to the Passover, neither made any levy of the people as had been expected, the Pharisees for a while ceased to lay snares for him: and the common people, though they murmured that he went not up to Jerusalem, nevertheless had him in honour. But the harvest being now over, when I went back to meet Jesus at Capernaum, I found there one of mine acquaintance, a merchant (whom I had known at Alexandria in my uncle’s house), a Greek learned in the knowledge of the Greeks. This man was not a proselyte; neither did he in any wise conform himself to the Law of Moses. But he spake of himself, at that time, as a seeker after truth; for he did not join himself to any of the schools of the Gentile philosophers, but chose forth from each whatsoever seemed to him useful or true. He had read our Scriptures, and was greatly given to the study of our psalms and prophecies; and when he had heard me speak of Jesus of Nazareth as being our Messiah, his heart was moved to hear Jesus preach the gospel. So it came to pass, about the first or second Sabbath after the Feast of Weeks, he accompanied me into the synagogue where Jesus was to speak to the people. But as I went, I perceived Abuyah the son of Elishah; and with him were certain of the Sadducees, and some also of the Herodians. And when I saw them, I knew that they had come for no good purpose. And so it proved. For when we were now assembled in the synagogue, Abuyah came forward and said to Jesus, “Behold, thou art a vessel very full of knowledge, and the people are come together at thy feet for to hear of thee the words of wisdom, according as it is said, ‘Powder thyself in the dust of the feet of the wise, and drink their words with thirstiness.’ Now therefore, I pray thee, suffer me to ask of thee touching a certain matter.” And Jesus said, “Ask.” And Abuyah said, “Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife?” Now when Abuyah spake these words, all the Herodians and Sadducees listened with greedy ears, as though they would devour the words that fell from Jesus, if perchance he should say something against Herod the Tetrarch. For Herod had put away his own wife and had married Herodias, the wife of his brother Herod Philip, which thing was not lawful for him to do. And it was for this cause that Abuyah had asked the question. For the Pharisees considered that in this way they would do one of two things; either they would incense Herod against Jesus (even as they had incensed him against John the son of Zachariah, whose death they had procured), or else they would cause Jesus to appear unto the people a time-server and a prophet of smooth things, a prophet not to be trusted. But Jesus knew their devices and said to Abuyah, “What did Moses command you?” And Abuyah said, “Moses suffered a man to write a bill of divorcement and to put his wife away.” But Jesus answered and said, “For the hardness of your hearts he wrote you this precept. But from the beginning of the creation God made them male and female. For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh. So then they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together let not man put asunder.” By these words we understood Jesus both to find fault with them that allowed of divorce for every slight cause (as did certain of the Pharisees); and also to disallow of divorce generally, except (as he afterwards said) for adultery; which alone is, of itself, a divorce. But it was quite after the manner of Jesus to found this doctrine not upon the Law, but upon the nature of things, as it was created in the beginning; teaching that woman was not made as an afterthought, nor as a mere pleasure to the man; but that mankind was made, from the first, male and female. And according to this doctrine did Jesus ever behave towards women, showing unto them not only gentleness and kindness, but also a singular reverence. After these words Jesus began to exhort the people: and he taught them that God requireth purity in the inner parts, namely, in the soul, saying, Not that which goeth into a man defileth a man, but that which cometh out of a man, evil and impure thoughts and deeds, these, he said, defile a man. Hereat many of the disciples were sore grieved that Jesus should thus openly, as it seemed, trample upon the Law of Moses; and from this time certain Essenes that had hitherto followed with us, now altogether left Jesus. And one of the younger Scribes, interrupting him, cried aloud, “He that despiseth the washing of hands shall be rooted out.” But Jesus went on to say, Nay, but every plant that the Father in Heaven had not planted, should be rooted out; and as for the teaching of the Pharisees, he likened it to the tares, the end whereof is to be burned. He also likened them and their pupils to blind men leading other blind men; who should all together fall into the pit. Then he drew, as it were, a model of the New Kingdom; wherein, he said, the only thing needful would be that a man should love God with all the heart, and his neighbours as himself. And when some one asked him who were a man’s neighbours, he replied, in parables, that whosoever was sick, or naked, or an-hungered, or in pain or sorrow, whosoever in fine was in need of aught, that man (yea, even though he were a Samaritan), was neighbour unto each citizen in the New Kingdom; and towards every neighbour the citizens were to do whatsoever they would desire that their neighbours should do unto them. When the people were come forth out of the synagogue, the Greek merchant walked by my side for a while in silence: but Abuyah, who walked behind us, was plainly heard blaming Jesus as one that brake the Law and taught others to break it. Hearing these words, the merchant nodded over his shoulder, and exclaimed, “Yonder pedant, who with his washings would purify the very sun, is altogether void of understanding; else would he perceive that the philosophy of thy Teacher mounteth up to something far higher than the pulling down of the laws of thy nation.” Then he questioned me touching Jesus, and of his former doctrine and manner of life since he had begun to teach; and I replied to all these things and asked of him in turn what he might mean by his words about the philosophy of Jesus. But he seemed rapt for the time in other thoughts, and, instead of answering me, he questioned me further concerning the birth and rearing and childhood of Jesus; and in particular, whether both his parents were of Israel, or whether his mother were not a Greek. But after that I had answered again to all his questioning, when I perceived that he was still musing on his own thoughts, and took no heed of my words, I waxed impatient, and repeated my question somewhat loudly. Then my friend made answer, howbeit not in the way of a direct reply to my question, but rather as still partly meditating with himself: “Thou describest a gracious, a very gracious nature, ignorant of evil throughout his youth, seeing ever in his mind’s eye the Isles of the Blessed, and desiring that same blessedness for all mankind. And lo, whatsoever he desireth that he seeth: for he deceiveth himself, feigning that all things are like unto that beautiful idea which he seeth in his mind.” But I said to the merchant, “Nay, friend Xanthias,” for that was the man’s name, “but when Jesus spake of the Pharisees, did he then seem to thee ignorant of evil?” “Thou didst not give me time,” replied the merchant, “to finish my speech: for I was about to say that, as it seemeth to me, thy teacher is even now awakening to the evil that is in the world; and, becoming at last undeceived, he seeth his fair phantasma vanishing away. Thus his gracious nature, yielding to the over great pressure of the evil that surroundeth him, is becoming marred and wounded. Alas for the pitiful change! For behold, his former life, as thou describest it, was like unto a deer sporting gladly in the woods, to whom the flowers of the fields are as friends, and the wind ever bringeth glad tidings. But to what shall I liken the latter end of his life? It is like unto the same deer wounded by the huntsman, who passeth by the same way, and through the same woods; but she is glad no longer, for the dart still cleaveth to her side, and the flowers delight her no longer, and the breezes are messengers of evil.” I was grieved at his words, and all the more because they agreed with certain fears in the depth of my own heart, whereof I had up to this time made no mention even to Nathanael, no, nor yet unto mine own self. But I was grieved also because the Greek knew not the true nature of Jesus. For he spake of him as of one gracious and lovable, but he knew not the might and the power of our Master, how he was like unto a rock immovable, unchangeable; even such another as the Gentiles fable Atlas to have been, who bore up the world by the strength of his shoulders. For I knew that, if heaven and earth had set themselves in league against Jesus, to make him do aught against the will of the Father, Jesus would have stood up alone against earth and heaven, and hell to boot. Moreover, I had noted how there still came forth from Jesus a new strength to bear each new burden, and a new knowledge to discern each new Revelation from the Father, yea, and a new delight to delight therein. For though it were true indeed, as the Greek had said, that Jesus had sometimes marvelled at evil (when it befel him) as though he had been ignorant thereof before, yet was it also true that he seemed to have become greater through the increase of the knowledge of evil. But Xanthias knew naught of this. For he was deceived by the gentleness of Jesus, not perceiving that this same gentleness of Jesus was stronger than the strength of kings. Therefore was I grieved at his words; but I constrained myself and asked him yet again what he might mean by saying that the philosophy of Jesus mounted to somewhat higher than the pulling down of the Law. Then said the Greek, “Are there then in this country no slaves?” “Thou knowest,” I replied, “that there are slaves: howbeit, not many, nor ill used, nor treated like beasts, as the Gentiles treat them.” Then said he to me, “And wouldst thou willingly be a slave in this country?” I said, “Nay.” “And if thou wert a slave, wouldst thou wish that thy master should retain thee as a slave, or should enfranchise thee?” I replied, “The latter.” Then said the Greek with a smile, “But if ye all became followers of Jesus of Nazareth, would ye not perforce confess that all men were your neighbours, yea, even Greeks and Romans; yea, even Samaritans; yea, even your own slaves?” Then was I silent: for I understood now that his meaning was, that the teaching of Jesus would in the end bring to pass the enfranchising of all slaves, and I knew not what to reply. But he, still smiling, said, “I perceive that thou understandest my meaning. For the teaching of thy Master aimeth at nothing less than the destroying of all manner of slavery. But without slavery the race of man neither hath existed, nor can exist, as thou knowest very well. For without slaves no work could be performed except the tilling of the land, which alone is fit for free men.” I said then to him that in Israel there was not the same disliking of handicrafts as among the Greeks and Romans. But he said, “Dost thou suppose that thy Master’s philosophy concerneth only thine own people?” “Yea, of a surety,” said I; “our own people, and none else; for he himself proclaimed the Kingdom to no strangers.” He replied, “That may be, for a time: but is not the Samaritan thy neighbour?” Then was I again silent. For there came into my mind that ancient prophecy which saith that in the seed of Abraham, that is to say in the Messiah, all the nations of the earth shall be blessed; and I remembered how oft Jesus had of late taught us that the Samaritans were neighbours to the citizens in the Kingdom. But I put the thought away from me; for the truth was at that time hid from our eyes: neither could I at that time perceive how we could be redeemed or delivered, if we were to treat the Romans as neighbours. But while I mused thereon, Xanthias continued his speech concerning Jesus, and he said that Jesus did wisely in that he seemed to encourage marriage, and to prohibit many wives, and to forbid divorce. “For,” said he, “herein I incline rather to Aristotle than to Plato, believing that the state is composed of families; and if the family be rotten, the state cannot be sound. But to hope to destroy slavery is to hope to pull down the pillar whereon the life of all states is based.” Now was my heart hot within me; and I was fain to speak, and to say that Jesus would indeed pull down slavery in Israel, and make our people to be a nation of priests and princes for the world, and would in the end destroy even the Evil Nature of man. But I abstained from speech; for I knew that my words would be foolishness in his ears, and that he could not understand the Redemption unless he understood Jesus himself. Therefore I made him some courteous answer and accompanied him toward the house where he lay. But he still continued his discourse of the philosophy of Jesus (as he called it), and he likened Jesus unto the Greek Teacher Socrates, in that neither Socrates nor Jesus would receive teaching upon mere authority, nor because this saying or that precept chanced to have been written in books: but Socrates trusted to a certain power of reason or dialectic, and Jesus to a certain power which he called a Spirit: the two being diverse in appearance, but in truth following one and the same method. Thus Xanthias continued his speech of Jesus; but as he bade me farewell near the threshold, it came to pass that Abuyah, who had been walking behind us, came near, still talking with his companions, and saying in a loud voice that Jesus was as the bramble, whereof Jotham maketh mention in the Scriptures. “Wherefore,” said he, “meet it is that we cut down this vile thorn-tree, lest there come forth fire from the bramble and consume the olive-tree, and the fig, and all the fruitful trees of the forest.” When Abuyah had passed by, the merchant said unto me, “Truly I have heard no philosopher whose lectures have so pleased me as the teaching of this thy Teacher; and, though I esteem little of wonders, whereof we have enough and to spare at Alexandria, yet if even the half of that which thou sayest touching the acts of thy Jesus be true, he will deserve worship even better than Æsculapius or Amphiaraus. But as thou knowest, my dear friend, I am one of them which doubt all things; and I incline to the belief that there are no gods, or if there be, that they deal not with human matters. And thereto I incline the more because I see all human things full of misery and oppression. And, unless my fears deceive me, this my belief will be confirmed by the fate of thine own Teacher. For I fear, I greatly fear, lest the friends of Abuyah the Scribe may prevail over the friends of Jesus the philosopher of the New Kingdom and deliverer of the slaves.” So saying he turned himself round to depart. But I was scarce gone ten paces when he called me back, and taking me by the hand very earnestly, “I pray thee,” said he, “tell me by what name doth thy Master call himself. A prophet? or a teacher? Or doth he say that he is your Messiah? or a lawgiver like unto Moses?” But I made answer that Jesus called himself by none of these names; but, for the most part, only “Son of man.” Hereat Xanthias marvelled and said, “But wherefore useth he this title? For thou, and I, and all men, are not we all sons of men? Doth thy Master therefore fear lest his disciples may perchance forget that he is a man and deem him to be a god? For such a title as this, albeit humble in appearance, seemeth in verity too proud for any save such as aspire to be gods. But perchance your prophets have so used this title that it hath some strange meaning, whereof I know naught.” Then I said that the word was indeed used by the prophets: for whensoever the Lord speaketh to Ezekiel as to a mortal creature, the Lord calleth him Son of man, as if to set the mortal infirmities of the prophet over against the divine nature of the Lord; but again the prophet Daniel saith that, in the day of Judgment, there shall appear one like unto the Son of man, sitting on the clouds of heaven, and coming in glory to judge the nations of the earth: wherefore the title seemed to signify the weak nature of man, whether infirm or whether exalted. Howbeit, added I, before Jesus, no prophet spake thus of himself as the Son of man. Hereat Xanthias marvelled the more, saying that this was indeed a strange title, and such as no philosopher had ever before taken upon himself. Then he mused a while, still holding me by the cloak, and would have questioned me farther; but I could tell him no more. So at the last he let me go, shaking his head, and saying that it was strange, it was passing strange, and that there was more in this than he could understand: and as he turned himself to depart, I heard him repeating again to himself that it was a proud title, a very proud title, and such as no wise and sober philosopher should take. And thus he departed, meditating as he went, and so rapt in his study that he forgot to bid me farewell. But when he was departed, so that I had leisure to think on his wonder and on the cause thereof; then I also began to perceive that there was more than I had as yet understood, in this title of the Son of man. 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 (2015). Philochristus: Memoirs of a Disciple of the Lord. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/48843/pg48843-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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