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                                         "JAWS 2"                                  Final DraftScreenplay                                            by                                      Carl Gottlieb                                     Based on a Story                                            by                                      HowardSackler                               FADE IN:               UNDERWATER - DAY               Dramatically lit by sunlight filtering down from the surface.               A dim shape, massive, threatening,swims towards us from the                distance. Then it divides -- what was one is two, and the                shape becomes reality; two divers in Scuba gear swimming                side by side. They are wearing minimalrubber, considering                the cool New England waters: "Farmer John" wetsuits with cut-               off legs, assorted sport-diving paraphernalia, including an                expensive camera with a flashattachment.               One motions "Down there," the other signals "OK, I see it,"                and they dive deeper, into darker waters, where the shafts                of sunlight pour into the depths, broken up by seaweedand                floating vegetation into cathedral-like columns of                illumination.               SEA BOTTOM - DAY               The wreck of the working fisherman's boat "ORCA," formerly                underthe command of the late Captain Quint, deceased these                four years.               Buried in the sand near it, still connected by rusting strands                of cable, the mangled remains of a shark cage,glimmering                with stainless steel highlights. A fitful flash of yellow                from under a mossy beard -- a battered barrel, similarly                tangled.               The divers, Bert and Ernie, appear. They'refascinated by                the find, and Bert, with the camera, snaps a few flash shots.                The rapid sequence of flashes signals the presence of a motor                drive camera.               ANOTHER POINT OFVIEW               Distant flashes, obscured by vegetation in the foreground.               SEA BOTTOM, THE ORCA               Ernie is exploring the abandoned cabin; doors open and shut,                moved byinvisible currents stirred by his passage.               An occasional "Flash!" lights up the bottom as Bert continues                snapping away souvenir shots of this local landmark.               BERT'S POINT OF VIEW -CAMERA VIEWFINDER (PROCESS)               Ernie floats up out of a hatch, sees the camera, and strikes                a pose, clowning for the photographer's benefit. A big hand,                f.g., motions him up intoclear water for a formal portrait.               He obliges. Now he floats in front of us, gently paddling                his flippers to maintain vertical stability. One flash.               Another. Then a large, dim movement in theb.g.               Something's out there, moving towards us.               Flash. It's bigger, bearing down like a train in a tunnel.               Flash! It's on us. Flash! Teeth? Blood? Flash!Blackness,                Death.               OCEAN BOTTOM, INSERT               The camera floats gently down and settles in the sand. A                dark red mist eddies by. A last weakflash.                                                         MATCH DISSOLVE TO:               EXT. OCEAN - SUNDOWN               Flash! An expensive cabin cruiser, the "Diver Working" flag                flutteringlimply in the breeze, is riding alone at anchor.               Flash! A distant lighthouse beacon winks at us. The boat                rocks in the ceaseless swell.               On the stern, "Elizabeth T. - Newport, R.I." A long wayfrom                home...                                                               DISSOLVE TO:               EXT. AMITY BEACH - DAY               A blue-and-white police jeep is bouncing over the sand.A                figure in civilian clothes driving alone on some urgent                mission. It's Martin Brody, Chief of Police on Amity.               The jeep slows to a stop, and he takes a flight of stairs                leading to aconcrete patio two at a time. A classical trumpet                solo is playing in the background. Brody charges through a                door, then abruptly slows and starts moving warily through a                hotel interior:The Holidome, a three-story extravaganza of                a motel, where some sort of formal ceremony is already in                progress. A banner announces: "Grand Opening Ball -- Amity                Scholarship FundBenefit." Brody crosses under a High School                band, arranged dance-band style on a balcony; the trumpet                player, Polo, is finishing his solo, the assembled crowd                applauds politely. Brody istaking his place with some                dignitaries on the dais, as the presiding authority, Amity                Mayor Larry Vaughn, begins speaking.                                     VAUGHN                         Thank you,Paul Lohman, for that                          eloquent solo. Now, for that point                          in the ceremonies where we formally                          dedicate this magnificent resort-                         hotel complex, aworthwhile addition                          to the recreational paradise we call                          Amity.               ANGLE ON THE DAIS               Seated on folding chairs, wearing their good suits,several                of Amity's Selectmen, Real Estate Developer Len Peterson,                and Ellen Brody, very chic. Brody slips into the vacant chair                next to her. The following is conducted in urgentwhispers,                sotto voce, while Vaughn drones on.                                     ELLEN                         Where the hell wereyou?                                     BRODY                         Late.                                     ELLEN                         I can see that. Don't you know this                          is a bigdeal?                         BRODY                 Couldn't help it.                  Hendricks over there...                    (he indicates his                     deputy)                 ...still has the keys                  to the jeep inhis                  pocket, and I couldn't                  find the spares.                         ELLEN                 Terrific. Act as if                  you've been hereall                  along.                         BRODY                 How'm I supposed to do                  that?                         ELLEN                 Look bored.                                                       VAUGHN                                                  (droning along)                                               Holiday Inn joins the Amity                                                Shoresdevelopment                                                condominium complex in a                                                welcome expression renewed                                                interest in AmityIsland                                                as the hub of the Northeast                                                Recreational Vacation                                                Wonderland. We'rehappy                                                once again to be in the                                                center of things, where                                                the action is... We've had                                                ourshare of hard times                                                and long winters and the                                                past few years have not                                                been easy. But today,the                                                sun is rising on a new                                                Amity, a new island filled                                                withpromise.                                                  (applause)                                               Len Peterson's Amity Shores                                                Development is an exciting                                                additionto our island.                                                The Holiday Inn we stand                                                in is likewise a new friend                                                who we welcome asfamily.                                                Amity means 'friendship'                                                and our community extends                                                its friendship to allwho                                                seek her shores in peace                                                and harmony.                                                  (applause)               Brody settles into polite attentiveness,acknowledging a                wave from Hendricks, a politely bland young town cop in his                idea of civilian finery. Hendricks is fussing with the banner                on an attractive young lady in a bathingsuit...               ANGLE ON VAUGHN                                     VAUGHN                         ...And now, Tina Wilcox, this year's                          Miss Amity, will cut the ribbonthat                          officially opens this luxurious new                          hotel...               Tina (the girl in the bathing suit) escapes Hendricks'                attentions, and teeters on high heels towards theribbon,                while Phil Fogarty, the local photographer, snaps away.                                     VAUGHN                         Tina was selected from more than 20                          of this island's lovelyyoung                         ladies in the Miss Amity competition                          held every spring, and she'll                          represent Amity Island in the Miss                          Massachusetts Competition inWorcester                          next month. When she cuts this ribbon,                          she will be opening our island to                          growth, to development, to planned                          expansion with fullemployment for                          our thriving community.               ANGLE ON THE BAND               Paul Lohman ("Polo" to his friends) is exchanging whispers                with Lucy, a flute playernearby.                                     LUCY                         I don't think she's such hot stuff.                                     POLO                         When are we going out? You andme?                                     LUCY                         Not tonight.                                     POLO                         You going with Patrick?               Lucy nods, Polo shrugs, and turns to Jane, a girlnearby.                                     POLO                         Listen, Jane -- you want to dance as                          soon as we get out of these monkey                          suits?               She nods happily, theywhisper together, while we:                                                                    CUT TO:               ANGLE ON DAIS               Martin and Ellen have been joined by their youngestson,                Sean.                                     SEAN                         Mom, Michael won't talk to me.                                     BRODY                              (to Ellen)                         Shouldn't he beat home?                                     ELLEN                         Mrs. Silvera couldn't come.                                     VAUGHN                         This money tree, you may have noticed,                          is


<title>Breakfast Club, The Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Breakfast Club, The script at the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords"content="Breakfast Club, The script, Breakfast Club, The movie script, Breakfast Club, The film script"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly"content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><metaname=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distribution content=Global><metaname=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">

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<title>THE BREAKFASTCLUB</title>
                      The Breakfast Club                    written and directed by                         John HughesBLANK SCREEN:     Against Black, TITLE CARD:           "...and these childrenthat you spit on,            as they try to change their worlds are           immune to your consultations.  They're         quite aware of what they're going through...                                        - David Bowie"     The BlankScreen and Title Card SHATTER to reveal...1. EXT. SHERMER HIGH SCHOOL - DAY     During Brian's monologue, we see various views of things     inside the school including Bender'slocker.                          BRIAN (VO)               Saturday...March 24, 1984.  Shermer               High School, Shermer, Illinois.               60062.  Dear Mr. Vernon...we accept               the fact that we had tosacrifice a               whole Saturday in detention for               whatever it was that we did wrong,               what we did was wrong.  But we think               you're crazy to make us write this               essay telling youwho we think we               are, what do you care?  You see us               as you want to see us...in the               simplest terms and the most               convenient definitions.  You see us               as a brain, anathelete, a basket               case, a princess and a criminal.               Correct?  That's the way we saw each               other at seven o'clock this morning.               We werebrainwashed...                                                  CUT TO:2. INT. CLAIRE'S CAR - DAY     We see CLAIRE and her FATHER sitting in their car in the     parking lot.     Claire is the prom queen and isclearly a snob.                            CLAIRE               I can't believe you can't get me               out of this...I mean it's so absurd               I have to be here on a Saturday!               It's not like I'm a defectiveor               anything...                       CLAIRE'S FATHER               I'll make it up to you...Honey,               ditching class to go shopping               doesn't make you a defective.  Have               a goodday.     Claire rolls her eyes and gets out of the car and walks     up the school front steps                                                  CUT TO:3. INT. BRIAN'S CAR - DAY     We are in BRIAN's car.  HisMOTHER is there and so is     his little SISTER.  He is sort of a nerd.                        BRIAN'S MOTHER               Is this the first time or the last               time we dothis?                            BRIAN                    (upset)               Last...                        BRIAN'S MOTHER               Well get in there and use the time               to youradvantage...                            BRIAN               Mom, we're not supposed to study; we               just have to sit there and do               nothing.                        BRIAN'S MOTHER               Wellmister you figure out a way to               study.                    BRIAN'S LITTLE SISTER                    (annoyingly)               Yeah!                        BRIAN'S MOTHER               Well go!     Brian gets outof the car and walks towards the school.                                                  CUT TO:4. INT. ANDREW'S CAR - DAY     We see ANDREW and his FATHER.  Andrew is clearly a jock;     hes wearing alettermans jacket with lots of patches on it.                       ANDREW'S FATHER               Hey, I screwed around...guys screw               around, there's nothing wrong with               that.  Except you gotcaught, Sport.                            ANDREW               Yeah, Mom already reemed me, alright?                       ANDREW'S FATHER                    (angry)               You wanna miss a match?  Youwanna               blow your ride?  Now no school's               gonna give a scholarship to a               discipline case.     Andrew gets out of the car and walks into the school.                                                  CUTTO:5. EXT. SHERMER PARKING LOT - DAY     We see JOHN BENDER walking towards us.  He is wearing     sunglasses.  A car is coming towards him but he doesn't     stop walking.     The car slams on itsbreaks directly in front of him.     Bender gets out of the frame.  Out of the car steps     ALLISON.  She is dressed all in black.  She steps     forward to look in the car's front window and the car     drivesaway.                                                 CUT TO:6. INT. LIBRARY - DAY     There are six tables in two rows of three.     Claire is sitting at the front table.  Brian comes in     and sits at the table behindher.     Andrew comes in and points at the chair next to Claire     at the front table.  She shrugs and he sits there.     In walks Bender, he touches everything on the checkout     desk and takes a few things in theprocess.     He walks over to where Brian is sitting and points to     the table on the opposite side of the Library.  Brian     reluctantly gets up and moves.     Bender sits at the table where Brian was and puts his     feetup.     Allison walks in.  She walks all the way around the     library and sits in the back corner table, just behind     Brian.     Andrew and Claire look at each other and snicker.     Brian looks at her in confusion and thenturns away.     Enter RICHARD VERNON, a teacher.  He holds a stack     of papers in his left hand.  He addresses the group with     such disrespect it makes you wonder how he ever gotthe     job.                            VERNON               Well...well.  Here we are!  I want               to congradulate you for being on               time...     Claire raises herhand.                            CLAIRE               Excuse me, sir?  I think there's               been a mistake.  I know it's               detention, but...um...I don't think               I belong in here...     Vernon doesn'tcare.  He just continues to talk.                            VERNON               It is now seven-oh-six.  You have               exactly eight hours and fifty-four               minutes to think about whyyou're               here.  To ponder the error of your               ways...     Bender spits into the air and catches the spit in his     mouth again.     Claire looks like she is going togag.                            VERNON               ...and you may not talk.  You will               not move from these seats.     He glances up at Bender and points athim.                            VERNON               ...and you...     Vernon pulls the chair out from under Bender's feet.                            VERNON               ...will not sleep.  Alright people,               we'regonna try something a little               different today.  We are going to               write an essay--of no less than a               thousand words--describing to me               who you think youare.                            BENDER               Is this a test?     Vernon passes out paper and pencils and takes no notice     of Bender.                            VERNON               And when I say essay...Imean essay.               I do not mean a single word repeated               a thousand times.  Is that clear Mr.               Bender?     Bender looksup.                            BENDER               Crystal...                            VERNON               Good.  Maybe you'll learn a little               something about yourself.  Maybe               you'll even--decidewhether or not               you care to return.     Brian raises his hand and then stands.                            BRIAN               You know, I can answer that right               now sir...That'd be "No", no forme.               'cause...                            VERNON               Sit down Johnson...                            BRIAN               Thank you sir...     He sits.                            VERNON               Myoffice...     Vernon points.                            VERNON               ...is right across that hall.  Any               monkey business is ill-advised...     He looks around atthem.                            VERNON               ...any questions?                            BENDER               Yeah...I got a question.     Vernon looks at himsuspiciously.                            BENDER               Does Barry Manilow know you raid his               wardrobe?                            VERNON               I'll give you the answer to that               question,Mr. Bender, next Saturday.               Don't mess with the bull young man,               you'll get the horns.     Vernon leaves.                            BENDER               That man...is a brownie hound...     Everyonetries to get comfortable and we hear a loud     snapping sound.  Brian turns and looks and it is     Allison, biting her nails.     Bender's eyes widen as he turns to look.  Everyone is     looking now.  Allison notices themlooking at her.                            BENDER               You keep eating your hand and you're               not gonna be hungry for lunch...     Allison spits part of her nail atBender.                            BENDER               I've seen you before, you know...     We see Vernon look out from his office.     We see Brian playing with hispen.                            BRIAN                    (quietly to himself)               Who do I think I am?  Who are you?               Who are you?     He attaches the pen to his bottom lip and puts the top     under hisupper lip.                            BRIAN               I am a walrus...     Bender looks at him in utter confusion.  Brian notices     this, laughs and takes the pen out of his mouth--     embarrassed.     Bender and Brianbegin to take their jackets off at the     same time.  They both notice this.  Brian stops removing     his jacket.     Bender takes his all the way off.  Brian rubs his hands     together and pretends to be cold.  He pulls hisjacket     back on.  He turns and looks at Bender who is still     staring at him.                            BRIAN               It's the shits, huh?     Bender glares at him and Brian utters anuncomfortable     laugh.     Bender turns away and crumples up his essay paper.  He     throws it at Claire.  It misses and goes over Claire's     head.     Andrew and Claire acknowlege it but continue toignore     Bender.     Bender starts loudly "singing" the musical part of a     song.  Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah...nah, nah, nah...                            CLAIRE                    (to herself)               I can'tbelieve this is really               happening to me...     Bender stops "singing" abruptly.                            BENDER               Oh, shit!  What're we s'posed to do               if we hafta take apiss?                            CLAIRE                    (disgusted)               Please...                            BENDER               If you gotta go...     We hear Bender unzip his


<title>Kingdom, The Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Kingdom, The script at the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords" content="Kingdom, The script,Kingdom, The movie script, Kingdom, The film script"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type"content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><metaname=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css"rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">

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                       THE KINGDOM                        Written by                 MATTHEW MICHAELCARNAHAN                                                        8/18/20061   OMITTED - SEE 68A                                             12   INT. WASHINGTON, DC ELEMENTARY SCHOOL -DAY                   2    We're in a kindergarten classroom of 25 SIX YEAR OLDS. All    sitting on the floor, legs crossed. Sitting in front of the    kids is Little KEVIN FLEURY, flanked by his mom LYLA FLEURY    and hisdad RONALD FLEURY, in a dark suit.    Little Kevin has a large cardboard square with pictures from    different stages of his life taped to it. He's telling the    class about the photos.    We're TIGHT ON the pictures.TIGHT ON the young faces. TIGHT    ON Fleury.                         KEVIN FLEURY              This is my Fredricksburg house and              my grandma Ruth playing with my              skateboard ramp. It's a TonyHawk              jump ramp.    A little girl, MICK raises her hand.                        KEVIN FLEURY (CONT'D)              Mick?    Silence from Mick                        MICK              I forgot what I was goingto say.    Kevin points to another picture.                        KEVIN FLEURY              This is me at my second birthday              party with my mom and my dad.              That's my cake.    Fleury looks downsweet at his son.                        KEVIN FLEURY (CONT'D)              This is me with my mom at the zoo              and this is my dad and me and my              grandpa Willie.    Kevin points to anotherphoto.                        KEVIN FLEURY (CONT'D)              And this is me and my dad and my              grandpa Willie at my dad's office.                                          KINGDOM8/18/06   2.The kids all lean forward and squirm as they try and getcloser to the pictures. MISS ROSS, the pretty twenty fiveyear old teacher watches from the side.                    MICK          Where'syour gun?                    LITTLE BOY          Yeah, where is your gun?Pretty much all the kids get in on this now. Everyone wantsto see Fleury's gun. Fleury makes eyes at Miss Ross. She'sgiving him a `nofucking way' hard eye.                    FLEURY          I'm assuming that there are no bad          guys in this room. Isn't that          right? I mean, are you guys good          guys or badguys?                       THE WHOLE CLASS          GOOD GUYS!                    FLEURY          Right. So why would I have brought          my gun to a room full of good guys?This silences theclass. Miss Ross keeps things moving,pointing to a photo.                    MISS ROSS          What's that picture?                    KEVIN FLEURY          This is me and my dad playing          Battleship atmy dad's apartment.Mick's hand goes back up.                       KEVIN FLEURY (CONT'D)          Mick?                    MICK          What is a battleship?                    KEVINFLEURY              (abruptly)          My parents are divorced.A beat. Lyla and Ron look down at Kevin, stalled...                                             KINGDOM 8/18/06    3.                        KEVINFLEURY (CONT'D)              But that's OK `cause the most              important thing is to know that              everybody loves each other.    This hits a bit hard on Lyla and Ron. Miss Ross jumpsin.                        MISS ROSS              So, who's that in that picture up              on top?                        KEVIN FLEURY              That's my fish, his name is Jaws              and he's a really meanfish.                                                    CONTINUED:3   OMITTED - SEE 68A                                                34   INT. WASHINGTON DC ELEMENTARY SCHOOL-CONTINUOUS                 4    Kevin is still going strong.                         KEVIN FLEURY              My mommy is a Think Tank worker and              she is really, really smart. She              went to twocolleges and has three              computers.                                                    CONTINUED:5   OMITTED - SEE 78A, 87                                            56   INT. WASHINGTON DC ELEMENTARYSCHOOL - DAY                       6    Kevin's pointing to a picture of Ronald holding him as a tiny    newborn.                        KEVIN FLEURY              This is the day that my daddy says              is thehappiest day of his life.                        MISS ROSS              Really. His happiest day! Can you              tell us about that day, Mr. Fleury?    Fleury smiles, looks out at theclass.                                          KINGDOM 8/18/06   4.                    RONALD FLEURY          I sure can. That was December 4th          and that was the day that we spent          thewhole day in the hospital          waiting for this guy right here to          come out of Kevin's mom's tummy.          And we waited and waited but he          wouldn't come and we kept waiting          and finally the doctorsaid          `OK...he's not gonna come out on          his own so we got to go get him.'          And well,Fleury stops, checks in with Miss Ross.                    RONALD FLEURY (CONT'D)          Can I tell thisstory?                       MISS ROSS          Go for it.                    RONALD Fleury          So they take her and put her on a          special bed and they give her some          medicine so she doesn't feelany          pain then they take out this tiny          little knife and make a tiny little          cut right here in her tummy.The kids are mesmerized...                    MISS ROSS          Then whathappened?                    RONALD Fleury          Then the doctor put her hands way          up into Kevin's mom's tummy. WAY          IN! And then you know what they          did?A little girl, LU LU: WIDEEYED                    LU LU          What did they do?                    RONALD FLEURY          They started to pull and pull and          pull... they had something in there          and it started coming andthey were          pulling and the doctor all of the          sudden said "STOP!"The class is frozen. Fleury has them.                                            KINGDOM 8/18/06   5.                        RONALDFLEURY (CONT'D)              They stopped pulling and the doctor              looked up at me and said `Hey, Mr.              Fleury - you ready to have your              world rocked?' And I just stared at              her andshe pulled this little head              up out of that belly. And it was              him. His head. And I looked down at              him and screamed "Kevin!!" And he              looked down at me andscreamed              "Daddy!!"    The kids are howling!                                                      CUT TO:7   EXT. AN UNKNOWN ROOFTOP - LATE DAY                             7    A Muslim family sits togetherat a table under a tented-    canopy: 32 year-old MAN nervously chewing on a toothpick, and    his 8 and 15 year-old SONS. The 8yo leans his weight into an    old MAN hunched and obscured by his grandson - this ishis    Grandfather. He gently rubs the Boy's head with an ancient    left hand. The Boy finger-paints in Arabic script, right to    left, getting paint on the table. Read the translation: There    is no God but Allah.    TheGrandfather's face is down, obscured by his shumagh: the    head-wrap worn by some Muslim men. Never a clear view of his    face. His 32 year old Son and eldest Grandson sit next to    them, the Son talking quietlyon a cell phone, chewing that    toothpick, eyes set on something in the distance: A Security    Gate three hundred yards away, the entrance to some sort of    compound. The Compound looks like a walled-offsubdivision,    most of which we can see from this high up.    The landscape is foreign. Scrub desert. Ten miles beyond, on    the horizon: the shimmer of a modern skyline. Surreal    monolithic shapes made more so bythe heat.    Muted yells-claps-screams waft in from that Compound now...    Catches the youngest Grandson's attention. Eyes lift up from    his painting: the yells-claps-screams are coming from a    softball gamemostly visible behind the Compound's reinforced    walls that extend a mile in each direction. Played on the    only stretch of green grass visible from thisvantage.8   OMITTED                                                        8                                              KINGDOM 8/18/06   6.9    EXT. COMPOUND MAIN ENTRANCE - LATEDAY                          9     Sounds from the softball game much louder now, just over the     walls. Security perimeters two checkpoints deep before you     get to the main gate. A maze of concrete Jersey-barriersto     slow all entering vehicles: give machine-gun emplacements     flanking the entrance plenty of time to shred those vehicles     if need be. Middle-Eastern Police platoons. 500 lbs. lift-     gates to dissuade anyvehicle that just tries to ram through.     SERGEANT HAYTHAM: a lean, 27 year-old Middle-Eastern     Policeman in-command of the Entrance. Sweats through his     uniform. A late-model Range Rover with blacked-outwindows     queues up. All the windows roll down: just a single, portly     White WOMAN behind the wheel, her INFANT CHILD in a car-seat     in front. Two other Uniformed Officers mirror-scan the bottom     of theRover.     A brief exchange, as Haytham checks his ID:                         DRIVER               How are you today, Sergeant?                         HAYTHAM               Sun is shining. Wind isblowing.               How bad can I be doing?                         DRIVER               I like that, "Sun is shining..."     A tight smile from Haytham.     The other Officers are checking the inside of the Rovernow.     They nod to Haytham, Haytham hands the ID back to her.     Windows rolls up. Lift-gate goes up. Range Rover pulls away,     navigating the zig-zag jersey barriers.10   INT. COMPOUND - NEXTMOMENT                                 10     Stay with the Range Rover as it moves deeper into the     complex. Think middle-class Phoenix suburb circa 1960: stucco     homes sandwiched between dormitory styleapartment blocks,     concrete and rock where grass should be.     The Range Rover passes a tank with a caged SOLDIER on top     sitting behind a fifty caliber GUN. A Police Land Cruiser     parked in the middle of theroad is the last of the security.     Official markings, emergency lights in the grill.                                              KINGDOM 8/18/06   7.11   EXT. UNKNOWN ROOFTOP - SAMEMOMENT                           11     The Son studies the compound through binoculars, while the     youngest Grandson squints to study the softball game:     Interest cut with jealousy. More muted cheers float.Behind     and above him, his Grandfather's voice, rough as sand, to his     32 year-old Son, in Arabic:                         GRANDFATHER (O.C.)               Hang up the phone. If they're not               ready now,no words will change it.12   EXT. COMPOUND SOFTBALL DIAMOND - NEXT MOMENT                 12     Another Middle-Eastern POLICEMAN takes in the motley     competition: half-smiling, half-smirking at a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Our Southern Highlanders, by Horace KephartThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Our Southern HighlandersAuthor: Horace KephartRelease Date: March 20, 2010 [EBook#31709]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERS ***Produced by David Garcia, Stephanie Eason, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net. (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Kentuckiana Digital Library.)OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERS[Illustration: Photo by U. S. Forest ServiceBig Tom Wilson, thebear hunter, who discovered the body of Prof. ElishaMitchell where he perished near the summit of the Peak that afterwardwas named in his honor]  OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERS  BY  HORACE KEPHART  AUTHOR OF"THE BOOK OF CAMPING AND WOODCRAFT," "CAMP  COOKERY," "SPORTING FIREARMS," ETC.  _Illustrated_  NEW YORK  OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY  MCMXVI  COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY  OUTING PUBLISHINGCOMPANY  All rights reserved  First Printing, November 1913  Second Printing, December 1913  Third Printing, January 1914  Fourth Printing, April 1914CONTENTSCHAPTER                                      PAGE   I."SOMETHING HIDDEN; GO AND FIND IT"       11  II. "THE BACK OF BEYOND"                     28 III. THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS                50  IV. A BEAR HUNT IN THE SMOKIES               75   V. MOONSHINELAND                          110  VI. WAYS THAT ARE DARK                      126 VII. A LEAF FROM THE PAST                    145VIII. "BLOCKADERS" AND "THE REVENUE"          167  IX. THE OUTLANDER AND THENATIVE            191   X. THE PEOPLE OF THE HILLS                 212  XI. THE LAND OF DO WITHOUT                  234 XII. HOME FOLKS AND NEIGHBOR PEOPLE          256XIII. THE MOUNTAIN DIALECT                    276XIV. THE LAW OF THE WILDERNESS               305  XV. THE BLOOD-FEUD                          327 XVI. WHO ARE THE MOUNTAINEERS?               354XVII. "WHEN THE SLEEPER WAKES"                378ILLUSTRATIONSBigTom Wilson, the bear hunter              _Frontispiece_                                                FACING PAGEMap of Appalachia                                         8A family of pioneers in the twentieth century            16"The very cliffsare sheathed with trees and shrubs"     24At the Post-Office                                       32The author in camp in the Big Smokies                    40"Bob"                                                    48"There are few juttingcrags"                            56The bears' home--laurel and rhododendron                 64The old copper mine                                      72"What soldiers these fellows would make underleadership of some backwoodsNapoleon"                   80"By and by up they came, carrying the bear onthe trimmed sapling"                                     88Skinning a frozen bear                                   96"... Powerful steep andlaurely...."                    104Mountain still-house hidden in the laurel               112Moonshine still, side view                              120Moonshine still in full operation                       128Corn mill and blacksmithforge                          136A tub-mill                                              152Cabin on the Little Fork of Sugar Fork of HazelCreek in which the author lived alone for three years   160A mountainhome                                         176Many of the homes have but one window                   192The schoolhouse                                         208"At thirty a mountain woman is apt to have aworn and fadedlook"                                    216The misty veil of falling water                         232An average mountain cabin                               240A bee-gum                                               248Let the women do thework                               264"Till the sky-line blends with the sky itself"          288Whitewater Falls                                        312The road follows the creek--there may be a dozenfords in amile                                         320"Dense forest and luxuriant undergrowth"                336[Illustration: APPALACHIAThe wavy black line shows the outer boundaries of Southern AppalachianRegion. The shadedportion shows the chief areas covered by highmountains, 3,000 to 6,700 feet above sea-level.]OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERSOUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERSCHAPTER I"SOMETHING HIDDEN; GO AND FIND IT"In oneof Poe's minor tales, written in 1845, there is a vague allusionto wild mountains in western Virginia "tenanted by fierce and uncouthraces of men." This, so far as I know, was the first reference inliterature to ourSouthern mountaineers, and it stood as their onlycharacterization until Miss Murfree ("Charles Egbert Craddock") beganher stories of the Cumberland hills.Time and retouching have done little to soften ourHighlander'sportrait. Among reading people generally, South as well as North, toname him is to conjure up a tall, slouching figure in homespun, whocarries a rifle as habitually as he does his hat, and who may tiltitsmuzzle toward a stranger before addressing him, the form of salutationbeing:"Stop thar! Whut's you-unses name? Whar's you-uns a-goin' ter?"Let us admit that there is just enough truth in this caricature to giveit apoint that will stick. Our typical mountaineer is lank, he isalways unkempt, he is fond of toting a gun on his shoulder, and hiscuriosity about a stranger's name and business is promptly, thoughpolitely, outspoken. Forthe rest, he is a man of mystery. The greatworld outside his mountains knows almost as little about him as he doesof it; and that is little indeed. News in order to reach him must be ofsuch widespread interest as fairlyto fall from heaven; correspondingly,scarce any incidents of mountain life will leak out unless they be ofsensational nature, such as the shooting of a revenue officer inCarolina, the massacre of a Virginia court, or theoutbreak of anotherfeud in "bloody Breathitt." And so, from the grim sameness of suchreports, the world infers that battle, murder, and sudden death arecommonplaces in Appalachia.To be sure, in Miss Murfree'snovels, as in those of John Fox, Jr., andof Alice MacGowan, we do meet characters more genial than feudists andillicit distillers; none the less, when we have closed the book, who isit that stands out clearest as type andpattern of the mountaineer? Isit not he of the long rifle and peremptory challenge? And whether thisbe because he gets most of the limelight, or because we have a furtiveliking for that sort of thing (on paper), orwhether the armed outlaw beindeed a genuine protagonist--in any case, the Appalachian people remainin public estimation to-day, as Poe judged them, an uncouth and fiercerace of men, inhabiting a wild mountainregion little known.The Southern highlands themselves are a mysterious realm. When Iprepared, eight years ago, for my first sojourn in the Great SmokyMountains, which form the master chain of the Appalachiansystem, Icould find in no library a guide to that region. The most diligentresearch failed to discover so much as a magazine article, writtenwithin this generation, that described the land and its people. Nay,there was noteven a novel or a story that showed intimate localknowledge. Had I been going to Teneriffe or Timbuctu, the librarieswould have furnished information a-plenty; but about this housetop ofeastern America they werestrangely silent; it was _terra incognita_.On the map I could see that the Southern Appalachians cover an area muchlarger than New England, and that they are nearer the center of ourpopulation than any othermountains that deserve the name. Why, then, solittle known? Quaintly there came to mind those lines familiar to myboyhood: "Get you up this way southward, and go up into the mountain;and see the land, what it is;and the people that dwelleth therein,whether they be strong or weak, few or many; and what the land is thatthey dwell in, whether it be good or bad; and what cities they be thatthey dwell in, whether in tents, or instrongholds; and what the landis, whether it be fat or lean, whether there be wood therein or not."In that dustiest room of a great library where "pub. docs." are stored,I unearthed a government report on forestry thatgave, at last, a clearidea of the lay of the land. And here was news. We are wont to think ofthe South as a low country with sultry climate; yet its mountain chainsstretch uninterruptedly southwestward from Virginia toAlabama, 650miles in an air line. They spread over parts of eight contiguous States,and cover an area somewhat larger than England and Scotland, or aboutthe same as that of the Alps. In short, the greatest mountainsystem ofeastern America is massed in our Southland. In its upper zone one sleepsunder blankets the year round.In all the region north of Virginia and east of the Black Hills ofDakota there is but one summit (MountWashington, in New Hampshire) thatreaches 6,000 feet above sea level, and there are only a dozen othersthat exceed 5,000 feet. By contrast, south of the Potomac there areforty-six peaks, and forty-one miles ofdividing ridges, that rise above6,000 feet, besides 288 mountains and some 300 miles of divide thatstand more than 5,000 feet above the sea. In North Carolina alone themountains cover 6,000 square miles, with an_average_ elevation of 2,700feet, and with twenty-one peaks that overtop Mount Washington.I repeated to myself: "Why, then, so little known?" The Alps and theRockies, the Pyrennees and the Harz are more familiarto the Americanpeople, in print and picture, if not by actual visit, than are theBlack, the Balsam, and the Great Smoky Mountains. It is true that summertourists flock to Asheville and Toxaway, Linville and Highlands,passingtheir time at modern hotels and motoring along a few macadamed roads,but what do they see of the billowy wilderness that conceals most of thenative homes? Glimpses from afar. What do they learn of therealmountaineer? Hearsay. For, mark you, nine-tenths of the Appalachianpopulation are a sequestered folk. The typical, the average mountainman prefers his native hills and his primitive ancient ways.We read moreand talk more about the Filipinos, see more of the Chineseand the Syrians, than of these three million next-door Americans who areof colonial ancestry and mostly of British stock. New York, we say, is acosmopolitancity; more Irish than in Dublin, more Germans than inMunich, more Italians than in Rome, more Jews than in nine Jerusalems;but how many New Yorkers ever saw a Southern mountaineer? I am sure thata party ofhillsmen fresh from the back settlements of the Unakas, ifdropped on the streets of any large city in the Union, and left to theirown guidance, would stir up more comment (and probably more trouble)than would asimilar body of whites from any other quarter of the earth;and yet this same odd people is more purely bred from old American stockthan any other element of our population that occupies, by itself, sogreat aterritory.The mountaineers of the South are marked apart from all other folks bydialect, by customs, by character, by self-conscious isolation. So trueis this that they call all outsiders "furriners." It matters notwhetheryour descent be from Puritan or Cavalier, whether you come fromBoston or Chicago, Savannah or New Orleans, in the mountains you are a"furriner." A traveler, puzzled and scandalized at this, asked a nativeofthe Cumberlands what he would call a "Dutchman or a Dago." The fellowstudied a bit and then replied: "Them's the outlandish."[Illustration: A Family of Pioneers in the Twentieth Century]Foreigner, outlander, it is allone; we are "different," we are "quar,"to the mountaineer. He knows he is an American; but his conception ofthe metes and bounds of America is vague to the vanishing point. As forcountries over-sea--well, when acelebrated Nebraskan returned from histrip around the globe, one of my backwoods neighbors proudly informedme: "I see they give Bryan a lot of receptions when he kem back from theother world."No one canunderstand the attitude of our highlanders toward the rest ofthe earth until he realizes their amazing isolation from all that liesbeyond the blue, hazy skyline of their mountains. Conceive a shipload ofemigrants castaway on some unknown island, far from the regular trackof vessels, and left there for five or six generations, unaided anduntroubled by the growth of civilization. Among the descendants of sucha company we wouldexpect to find customs and ideas unaltered from thetime of their forefathers. And that is just what we do find to-day amongour castaways in the sea of mountains. Time has lingered in Appalachia.The mountain folk stilllive in the eighteenth century. The progress ofmankind from that age to this is no heritage of theirs.Our backwoodsmen of the Blue Ridge and the Unakas, of their connectingchains, and of the outlying Cumberlands, arestill thinking essentiallythe same thoughts, still living in much the same fashion, as did theirancestors in the days of Daniel Boone. Nor is this their fault. They area people of keen intelligence and strong initiative whenthey can seeanything to win. But, as President Frost says, they have been"beleaguered by nature." They are belated--ghettoed in the midst of acivilization that is as aloof from them as if it existed only on anotherplanet.And so, in order to be fair and just with these, our backwardkinsmen, we must, for the time, decivilize ourselves to the extent of_going back_ and getting an eighteenth century point of view.But, first, how comes it thatthe mountain folk have been so longdetached from the life and movement of their times? Why are they soforeign to present-day Americanism that they innocently call all therest of us foreigners?The answer lies on themap. They are creatures of environment, enmeshedin a labyrinth that has deflected and repelled the march of our nationfor three hundred years.In 1728, when Colonel William Byrd, of Westover, was runningtheboundary line between Virginia and North Carolina, he finally wasrepulsed by parallel chains of savage, unpeopled mountains that rosetier beyond tier to the westward, everywhere densely forested, andmatted intojungle by laurel and other undergrowth. In his _Journal_,writing in the quaint, old-fashioned way, he said: "Our country has nowbeen inhabited more than 130 years by the English, and still we hardlyknow anything ofthe Appalachian Mountains, that are nowhere above 250miles from the sea. Whereas the French, who are later comers, haverang'd from Quebec Southward as far as the Mouth of Mississippi, in thebay of Mexico, and tothe West almost as far as California, which iseither way above 2,000 miles."A hundred and thirty years later, the same thing could have been said ofthese same mountains; for the "fierce and uncouth races of men" thatPoefaintly heard of remained practically undiscovered until they startledthe nation on the scene of our Civil War, by sending 180,000 of theirriflemen into the Union Army.If a corps of surveyors to-day should beengaged to run a line due westfrom eastern Virginia to the Blue Grass of Kentucky, they would have anarduous task. Let us suppose that they start from near Richmond andproceed along the line of 37Â° 50'. The BlueRidge is not especiallydifficult: only eight transverse ridges to climb up and down in fourteenmiles, and none of them more than 2,000 feet high from bottom to top.Then, thirteen miles across the lower end of TheValley, a curiousformation begins.As a foretaste, in the three and a half miles crossing Little House andBig House mountains, one ascends 2,200 feet, descends 1,400, climbsagain 1,600, and goes down 2,000 feet onthe far side. Beyond lie steepand narrow ridges athwart the way, paralleling each other like waves atsea. Ten distinct mountain chains are scaled and descended in the nextforty miles. There are few "leads" risinggradually to their crests.Each and every one of these ridges is a Chinese wall magnified toaltitudes of from a thousand to two thousand feet, and covered withthicket. The hollows between them are merely deeptroughs.In the next thirty miles we come upon novel topography. Instead of wavefollowing wave in orderly procession, we find here a choppy sea of smallmountains, with hollows running toward all points of thecompass.Instead of Chinese walls, we now have Chinese puzzles. The innateperversity of such configuration grows more and more exasperating as wetoil westward. In the two hundred miles from the Greenbrier totheKentucky River, the ridges are all but unscalable, and the streamssprangle in every direction like branches of mountain laurel.The only roads follow the beds of tortuous and rock-strewn watercourses, which may benearly dry when you start out in the morning, butwithin an hour may be raging torrents. There are no bridges. One mayford a dozen times in a mile. A spring "tide" will stop all travel, evenfrom neighbor to neighbor, fora day or two at a time. Buggies andcarriages are unheard of. In many districts the only means oftransportation is with saddlebags on horseback, or with a "tow sack"afoot. If the pedestrian tries a short-cut he will learnwhat thenatives mean when they say: "Goin' up, you can might' nigh stand upstraight and bite the ground; goin' down, a man wants hobnails in theseat of his pants."James Lane Allen was not writing fiction when hesaid of the far-famedWilderness Road into Kentucky: "Despite all that has been done tocivilize it since Boone traced its course in 1790, this honored historicthoroughfare remains to-day as it was in the beginning, withall itssloughs and sands, its mud and holes, and jutting ledges of rock andloose boulders, and twists and turns, and general total depravity....One such road was enough. They are said to have been notoriousforprofanity, those who came into Kentucky from this side. Naturally. Manywere infidels--there are roads that make a man lose faith. It is knownthat the more pious companies of them, as they traveled along, wouldnowand then give up in despair, sit down, raise a hymn, and have prayersbefore they could go further. Perhaps one of the provocations tohomicide among the mountain people should be reckoned this road. I haveseentwo of the mildest of men, after riding over it for a few hours,lose their temper and begin to fight--fight their horses, fight theflies, fight the cobwebs on their noses."Such difficulties of intercommunication are enough toexplain theisolation of the mountaineers. In the more remote regions thisloneliness reaches a degree almost unbelievable. Miss Ellen Semple, in afine monograph published in the _Geographical Journal_, of London,in1901, gave us some examples:     "These Kentucky mountaineers are not only cut off from the outside     world, but they are separated from each other. Each is confined to     his own locality, and finds his little worldwithin a radius of a     few miles from his cabin. There are many men in these mountains who     have never seen a town, or even the poor village that constitutes     their county-seat.... The women ... are almost asrooted as the     trees. We met one woman who, during the twelve years of her married     life, had lived only ten miles across the mountain from her own     home, but had never in this time been back home to visit herfather     and mother. Another back in Perry county told me she had never been     farther from home than Hazard, the county-seat, which is only six     miles distant. Another had never been to the post-office,four     miles away; and another had never seen the ford of the Rockcastle     River, only two miles from her home, and marked, moreover, by the     country store of the district."When I first went into the Smokies, Istopped one night in a single-roomlog cabin, and soon had the good people absorbed in my tales of travelbeyond the seas. Finally the housewife said to me, with patheticresignation: "Bushnell's the furdest ever I'vebeen." Bushnell, at thattime, was a hamlet of thirty people, only seven miles from where we sat.When I lived alone on "the Little Fork of Sugar Fork of Hazel Creek,"there were women in the neighborhood, young andold, who had never seena railroad, and men who had never boarded a train, although the Murphybranch ran within sixteen miles of our post-office. The first time thata party of these people went to the railroad, theywere uneasy andsuspicious. Nearing the way-station, a girl in advance came upon thefirst negro she ever saw in her life, and ran screaming back: "Mygoddamighty, Mam, thar's the boogerman--I done seed him!"Butbefore discussing the mountain people and their problems, let ustake an imaginary balloon voyage over their vast domain. South of thePotomac the Blue Ridge is a narrow rampart rising abruptly from theeast, one or


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Marius the Epicurean, Volume One, by Walter Horatio PaterThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Marius the Epicurean, Volume OneAuthor: Walter Horatio PaterPosting Date: June 13, 2009[EBook #4057]Release Date: May, 2003First Posted: October 25, 2001Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARIUS THE EPICUREAN, VOLUME ONE ***Produced by Alfred J.Drake.  HTML version by Al Haines.MARIUS THE EPICUREAN, VOLUME ONEWALTER HORATIO PATERLondon: 1910. (The Library Edition.)NOTES BY THE E-TEXT EDITOR:Notes: The 1910 Library Edition employsfootnotes, a style inconvenientin an electronic edition.  I have therefore placed an asteriskimmediately after each of Pater's footnotes and a + sign after my ownnotes, and have listed each chapter's notes at thatchapter's end.Pagination and Paragraphing: To avoid an unwieldy electronic copy, Ihave transferred original pagination to brackets.  A bracketed numeralsuch as [22] indicates that the material immediately followingthenumber marks the beginning of the relevant page.  I have preservedparagraph structure except for first-line indentation.Hyphenation: I have not preserved original hyphenation since an e-textdoes not requireline-end or page-end hyphenation.Greek typeface: For this full-text edition, I have transliteratedPater's Greek quotations.  If there is a need for the original Greek,it can be viewed at my site,http://www.ajdrake.com/etexts, aVictorianist archive that contains the complete works of Walter Paterand many other nineteenth-century texts, mostly in first editions.MARIUS THE EPICUREAN, VOLUME ONE WALTERPATER    Cheimerinos oneiros, hote mÃªkistai hai vyktes.+    +"A winter's dream, when nights are longest."    Lucian, The Dream, Vol. 3.CONTENTS    PART THE FIRST    1. "The Religion of Numa": 3-12    2.White-Nights: 13-26    3. Change of Air: 27-42    4. The Tree of Knowledge: 43-54    5. The Golden Book: 55-91    6. Euphuism: 92-110    7. A Pagan End: 111-120    PART THE SECOND    8. Animula Vagula:123-143    9. New Cyrenaicism: 144-157    10. On the Way: 158-171    11. "The Most Religious City in the World": 172-187    12. "The Divinity that Doth Hedge a King": 188-211    13. The "Mistress and Mother" ofPalaces: 212-229    14. Manly Amusement: 230-243MARIUS THE EPICUREAN, VOLUME ONEPART THE FIRSTCHAPTER I: "THE RELIGION OF NUMA"[3] As, in the triumph of Christianity, the old religion lingeredlatest inthe country, and died out at last as but paganism--thereligion of the villagers, before the advance of the Christian Church;so, in an earlier century, it was in places remote from town-life thatthe older and purer forms ofpaganism itself had survived the longest.While, in Rome, new religions had arisen with bewildering complexityaround the dying old one, the earlier and simpler patriarchal religion,"the religion of Numa," as people lovedto fancy, lingered on withlittle change amid the pastoral life, out of the habits and sentimentof which so much of it had grown. Glimpses of such a survival we maycatch below the merely artificial attitudes of Latinpastoral poetry;in Tibullus especially, who has preserved for us many poetic details ofold Roman religious usage.     At mihi contingat patrios celebrare Penates,     Reddereque antiquo menstrua thura Lari:[4] --heprays, with unaffected seriousness.  Something liturgical,with repetitions of a consecrated form of words, is traceable in one ofhis elegies, as part of the order of a birthday sacrifice.  The hearth,from a spark of which, asone form of old legend related, the childRomulus had been miraculously born, was still indeed an altar; and theworthiest sacrifice to the gods the perfect physical sanity of theyoung men and women, which thescrupulous ways of that religion of thehearth had tended to maintain.  A religion of usages and sentimentrather than of facts and belief, and attached to very definite thingsand places--the oak of immemorial age, therock on the heath fashionedby weather as if by some dim human art, the shadowy grove of ilex,passing into which one exclaimed involuntarily, in consecrated phrase,Deity is in this Place!  Numen Inest!--it was innatural harmony withthe temper of a quiet people amid the spectacle of rural life, likethat simpler faith between man and man, which Tibullus expresslyconnects with the period when, with an inexpensive worship, theoldwooden gods had been still pressed for room in their homely littleshrines.And about the time when the dying Antoninus Pius ordered his goldenimage of Fortune to be carried into the chamber of his successor(nowabout to test the truth of the old Platonic contention, that the worldwould at last find itself [5] happy, could it detach some reluctantphilosophic student from the more desirable life of celestialcontemplation, andcompel him to rule it), there was a boy living in anold country-house, half farm, half villa, who, for himself, recruitedthat body of antique traditions by a spontaneous force of religiousveneration such as had originallycalled them into being.  More than acentury and a half had past since Tibullus had written; but therestoration of religious usages, and their retention where they stillsurvived, was meantime come to be the fashionthrough the influence ofimperial example; and what had been in the main a matter of familypride with his father, was sustained by a native instinct of devotionin the young Marius.  A sense of conscious powers externaltoourselves, pleased or displeased by the right or wrong conduct of everycircumstance of daily life--that conscience, of which the old Romanreligion was a formal, habitual recognition, was become in him apowerfulcurrent of feeling and observance.  The old-fashioned, partlypuritanic awe, the power of which Wordsworth noted and valued so highlyin a northern peasantry, had its counterpart in the feeling of theRoman lad, as hepassed the spot, "touched of heaven," where thelightning had struck dead an aged labourer in the field: an uprightstone, still with mouldering garlands about it, marked the place.  Hebrought to that system of symbolic[6] usages, and they in turndeveloped in him further, a great seriousness--an impressibility to thesacredness of time, of life and its events, and the circumstances offamily fellowship; of such gifts to men as fire, water,the earth, fromlabour on which they live, really understood by him as gifts--a senseof religious responsibility in the reception of them.  It was areligion for the most part of fear, of multitudinous scruples, of ayear-longburden of forms; yet rarely (on clear summer mornings, forinstance) the thought of those heavenly powers afforded a welcomechannel for the almost stifling sense of health and delight in him, andrelieved it asgratitude to the gods.The day of the "little" or private Ambarvalia was come, to becelebrated by a single family for the welfare of all belonging to it,as the great college of the Arval Brothers officiated at Rome intheinterest of the whole state.  At the appointed time all work ceases;the instruments of labour lie untouched, hung with wreaths of flowers,while masters and servants together go in solemn procession along thedrypaths of vineyard and cornfield, conducting the victims whose bloodis presently to be shed for the purification from all natural orsupernatural taint of the lands they have "gone about." The old Latinwords of the liturgy,to be said as the procession moved on its way,though their precise meaning was long [7] since become unintelligible,were recited from an ancient illuminated roll, kept in the paintedchest in the hall, together with thefamily records.  Early on that daythe girls of the farm had been busy in the great portico, filling largebaskets with flowers plucked short from branches of apple and cherry,then in spacious bloom, to strew before thequaint images of thegods--Ceres and Bacchus and the yet more mysterious Dea Dia--as theypassed through the fields, carried in their little houses on theshoulders of white-clad youths, who were understood to proceedto thisoffice in perfect temperance, as pure in soul and body as the air theybreathed in the firm weather of that early summer-time.  The cleanlustral water and the full incense-box were carried after them.  Thealtarswere gay with garlands of wool and the more sumptuous sort ofblossom and green herbs to be thrown into the sacrificial fire,fresh-gathered this morning from a particular plot in the old garden,set apart for thepurpose.  Just then the young leaves were almost asfragrant as flowers, and the scent of the bean-fields mingledpleasantly with the cloud of incense.  But for the monotonousintonation of the liturgy by the priests, cladin their strange, stiff,antique vestments, and bearing ears of green corn upon their heads,secured by flowing bands of white, the procession moved in absolutestillness, all persons, even the children, abstaining from [8]speechafter the utterance of the pontifical formula, Favetelinguis!--Silence!  Propitious Silence!--lest any words save thoseproper to the occasion should hinder the religious efficacy of the rite.With the lad Marius, who,as the head of his house, took a leading partin the ceremonies of the day, there was a devout effort to completethis impressive outward silence by that inward tacitness of mind,esteemed so important by religiousRomans in the performance of thesesacred functions.  To him the sustained stillness without seemed reallybut to be waiting upon that interior, mental condition of preparationor expectancy, for which he was just thenintently striving.  Thepersons about him, certainly, had never been challenged by thoseprayers and ceremonies to any ponderings on the divine nature: theyconceived them rather to be the appointed means of settingsuchtroublesome movements at rest.  By them, "the religion of Numa," sostaid, ideal and comely, the object of so much jealous conservatism,though of direct service as lending sanction to a sort of highscrupulosity,especially in the chief points of domestic conduct, wasmainly prized as being, through its hereditary character, somethinglike a personal distinction--as contributing, among the otheraccessories of an ancient house, tothe production of that aristocraticatmosphere which separated them from newly-made people.  But [9] in theyoung Marius, the very absence from those venerable usages of alldefinite history and dogmaticinterpretation, had already awakened muchspeculative activity; and to-day, starting from the actual details ofthe divine service, some very lively surmises, though scarcely distinctenough to be thoughts, were movingbackwards and forwards in his mind,as the stirring wind had done all day among the trees, and were likethe passing of some mysterious influence over all the elements of hisnature and experience.  One thing onlydistracted him--a certain pityat the bottom of his heart, and almost on his lips, for the sacrificialvictims and their looks of terror, rising almost to disgust at thecentral act of the sacrifice itself, a piece of everydaybutcher'swork, such as we decorously hide out of sight; though some then presentcertainly displayed a frank curiosity in the spectacle thus permittedthem on a religious pretext.  The old sculptors of the greatprocessionon the frieze of the Parthenon at Athens, have delineated the placidheads of the victims led in it to sacrifice, with a perfect feeling foranimals in forcible contrast with any indifference as to theirsufferings.  Itwas this contrast that distracted Marius now in theblessing of his fields, and qualified his devout absorption upon thescrupulous fulfilment of all the details of the ceremonial, as theprocession approached the altars.[10]The names of that great populace of "little gods," dear to theRoman home, which the pontiffs had placed on the sacred list of theIndigitamenta, to be invoked, because they can help, on specialoccasions, were notforgotten in the long litany--Vatican who causesthe infant to utter his first cry, Fabulinus who prompts his firstword, Cuba who keeps him quiet in his cot, Domiduca especially, forwhom Marius had through life aparticular memory and devotion, thegoddess who watches over one's safe coming home.  The urns of the deadin the family chapel received their due service.  They also were nowbecome something divine, a goodlycompany of friendly and protectingspirits, encamped about the place of their former abode--above allothers, the father, dead ten years before, of whom, remembering but atall, grave figure above him in earlychildhood, Marius habituallythought as a genius a little cold and severe.     Candidus insuetum miratur limen Olympi,     Sub pedibusque videt nubes et sidera.--Perhaps!--but certainly needs his altar here below, andgarlands to-dayupon his urn.  But the dead genii were satisfied with little--a fewviolets, a cake dipped in wine, or a morsel of honeycomb.  Daily, fromthe time when his childish footsteps were still uncertain, hadMariustaken them their portion of the family meal, at the second course,amidst the silence [11] of the company.  They loved those who broughtthem their sustenance; but, deprived of these services, would beheardwandering through the house, crying sorrowfully in the stillness of thenight.And those simple gifts, like other objects as trivial--bread, oil,wine, milk--had regained for him, by their use in such religiousservice, thatpoetic and as it were moral significance, which surelybelongs to all the means of daily life, could we but break through theveil of our familiarity with things by no means vulgar in themselves. Ahymn followed, while thewhole assembly stood with veiled faces.  Thefire rose up readily from the altars, in clean, bright flame--afavourable omen, making it a duty to render the mirth of the eveningcomplete.  Old wine was poured out freelyfor the servants at supper inthe great kitchen, where they had worked in the imperfect light throughthe long evenings of winter.  The young Marius himself took but a verysober part in the noisy feasting.  A devout,regretful after-taste ofwhat had been really beautiful in the ritual he had accomplished tookhim early away, that he might the better recall in reverie all thecircumstances of the celebration of the day.  As he sank into asleep,pleasant with all the influences of long hours in the open air, heseemed still to be moving in procession through the fields, with a kindof pleasurable awe.  That feeling was still upon him as he [12] awokeamid thebeating of violent rain on the shutters, in the first storm ofthe season.  The thunder which startled him from sleep seemed to makethe solitude of his chamber almost painfully complete, as if thenearness of those angryclouds shut him up in a close place alone inthe world.  Then he thought of the sort of protection which that day'sceremonies assured.  To procure an agreement with the gods--Pacemdeorum exposcere: that was themeaning of what they had all day beenbusy upon.  In a faith, sincere but half-suspicious, he would fain havethose Powers at least not against him.  His own nearer household godswere all around his bed.  The spell ofhis religion as a part of thevery essence of home, its intimacy, its dignity and security, wasforcible at that moment; only, it seemed to involve certain heavydemands upon him.CHAPTER II: WHITE-NIGHTS[13] To aninstinctive seriousness, the material abode in which thechildhood of Marius was passed had largely added.  Nothing, you felt,as you first caught sight of that coy, retired place,--surely nothingcould happen there, withoutits full accompaniment of thought orreverie.  White-nights! so you might interpret its old Latin name.*"The red rose came first," says a quaint German mystic, speaking of"the mystery of so-called white things," as being"ever anafter-thought--the doubles, or seconds, of real things, and themselvesbut half-real, half-material--the white queen, the white witch, thewhite mass, which, as the black mass is a travesty of the true massturnedto evil by horrible old witches, is celebrated by youngcandidates for the priesthood with an unconsecrated host, by way ofrehearsal." So, white-nights, I suppose, after something like the sameanalogy, should be [14]nights not of quite blank forgetfulness, butpassed in continuous dreaming, only half veiled by sleep.  Certainlythe place was, in such case, true to its fanciful name in this, thatyou might very well conceive, in face of it,that dreaming even in thedaytime might come to much there.The young Marius represented an ancient family whose estate had comedown to him much curtailed through the extravagance of a certainMarcellus twogenerations before, a favourite in his day of thefashionable world at Rome, where he had at least spent his substancewith a correctness of taste Marius might seem to have inherited fromhim; as he was believed also toresemble him in a singularly pleasantsmile, consistent however, in the younger face, with some degree ofsombre expression when the mind within was but slightly moved.As the means of life decreased, the farm hadcrept nearer and nearer tothe dwelling-house, about which there was therefore a trace of workdaynegligence or homeliness, not without its picturesque charm for some,for the young master himself among them.  Themore observant passer-bywould note, curious as to the inmates, a certain amount of dainty careamid that neglect, as if it came in part, perhaps, from a reluctance todisturb old associations.  It was significant of thenationalcharacter, that a sort of elegant gentleman farming, as we say, hadbeen much affected by some of the most cultivated [15] Romans.  But itbecame something more than an elegant diversion, something of aseriousbusiness, with the household of Marius; and his actual interest in thecultivation of the earth and the care of flocks had brought him, atleast, intimately near to those elementary conditions of life, areverence forwhich, the great Roman poet, as he has shown by his ownhalf-mystic pre-occupation with them, held to be the ground ofprimitive Roman religion, as of primitive morals.  But then, farm-lifein Italy, including the cultureof the olive and the vine, has a graceof its own, and might well contribute to the production of an idealdignity of character, like that of nature itself in this gifted region.Vulgarity seemed impossible.  The place, thoughimpoverished, was stilldeservedly dear, full of venerable memories, and with a livingsweetness of its own for to-day.To hold by such ceremonial traditions had been a part of the strugglingfamily pride of the lad's father,to which the example of the head ofthe state, old Antoninus Pius--an example to be still further enforcedby his successor--had given a fresh though perhaps somewhat artificialpopularity.  It had been consistent withmany another homely andold-fashioned trait in him, not to undervalue the charm ofexclusiveness and immemorial authority, which membership in a localpriestly college, hereditary in his house, conferred upon him.  Toseta real value on [16] these things was but one element in that piousconcern for his home and all that belonged to it, which, as Mariusafterwards discovered, had been a strong motive with his father.  Theancienthymn--Fana Novella!--was still sung by his people, as the newmoon grew bright in the west, and even their wild custom of leapingthrough heaps of blazing straw on a certain night in summer was notdiscouraged.  Theprivilege of augury itself, according to tradition,had at one time belonged to his race; and if you can imagine how, oncein a way, an impressible boy might have an inkling, an inward mysticintimation, of the meaningand consequences of all that, what wasimplied in it becoming explicit for him, you conceive aright the mindof Marius, in whose house the auspices were still carefully consultedbefore every undertaking of moment.Thedevotion of the father then had handed on loyally--and that is allmany not unimportant persons ever find to do--a certain tradition oflife, which came to mean much for the young Marius.  The feeling withwhich hethought of his dead father was almost exclusively that of awe;though crossed at times by a not unpleasant sense of liberty, as hecould but confess to himself, pondering, in the actual absence of soweighty and continuala restraint, upon the arbitrary power which Romanreligion and Roman law gave to the parent over the son. [17] On thepart of his mother, on the other hand, entertaining the husband'smemory, there was a sustainedfreshness of regret, together with therecognition, as Marius fancied, of some costly self-sacrifice to becredited to the dead.  The life of the widow, languid and shadowyenough but for the poignancy of that regret, waslike one long serviceto the departed soul; its many annual observances centering about thefuneral urn--a tiny, delicately carved marble house, still white andfair, in the family-chapel, wreathed always with the richest


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                             HOT TUB TIME MACHINE                                 Written by                                 JoshHeald                                                                                Hot Tub Time Machine Theme          Lyrics by Josh Heald          Music by Def Leppard, Styx, Journey, Poison, orWhitesnake          Water cranked to a hundred and three          Got my tunes, my snacks, my booze, my skis          (Got the) freshest moves you ever seen          When I'm soakin in my Hot Tub TimeMachine          When you're going back to the 80s...          And you might be fuckin some ladies...          You bring your button fly jeans and some sweet hair gel          Want blow? All you gotta do is yell          (Yeahyou're) lookin real smooth, (and you're) lookin real mean          When you're soakin in your Hot Tub Time Machine          Yeah!          Hot Tub - Time Machine!          Hot Tub - Time Machine!          C'mon!           (Sweetguitar solo - 16 measures]           Relaxed as hell when you're goin through time          That's the 54 jets workin' on your spine           (Yeah) you gotta be loose and you gotta be lean          When you roll up in your HotTub Time Machine          Yeah your shirt's a little psychedelic...          And you're lookin kinda like Tom Selleck...          Yeah the chicks are wetter than the Everglades          But double bag your dude, don't wanna getAIDS          Just listen right up, consider me your dean          In the college of the Hot Tub Time Machine          Yeah!          Hot Tub - Time Machine!          Hot Tub - TimeMachine!          Yeah!                                                  FADE IN:          EXT. POOL DECK - DAY          BLUE SKIES. A BEAUTIFUL SUNNY DAY.          CAMERA PANS DOWN toreveal A HOT TUB FULL OF HOT CHICKS IN          BIKINIS. They splash about playfully. Then--          A FUCKING LION JUMPS IN THE HOT TUB!          As the girls SCREAM and scramble for safety, the BEASTROARS          and it becomes the:                         MGM LOGO                         DISSOLVE TO:          INT. BEDROOM - DAY          ADAM COLEMAN (late 30s, good-looking, sweet-naturedface) is          in a great mood as he packs a SUITCASE.          LILY (O.S.)          Ready for the wildest bachelor          party of all time?          LILY (early 30s, shirt and jeans, hot in a smart andclassy          sense) walks in the room, smiling.                         ADAM          You know it. I'm gonna bang all          sorts of chicks this weekend!                         LILY          That's not the answer Iwas looking          for.                         ADAM          Sorry, honey.          Adam gives his beautiful fiancee a playful kiss.          She shows him some PHOTOS.                         LILY          Look what Ifound...                                                                                2.                         ANGLE: PHOTO          A BUNCH OF TEENAGERS and20-SOMETHINGS PARTY IN A LARGE HOT          TUB at a SKI RESORT. It looks like the most fun ever.                         ADAM          Check out that young stud. Can you          believe he's about to getmarried?          Lily and Adam look through more PHOTOS of a YOUNG ADAM (17)          partying at a SKI RESORT with his FRIENDS:          -- In full 80s SKI GEAR on a mountain...          -- Eating PIZZA at "PapaEnzo's," stuffing their faces...          -- Drinking BEERS at the "Brew Haus," an awesome pub...          -- In the HOT TUB with SIX GIRLS...          Adam snatches the last photo from her.                         ADAM(CONT'D)          Ignore that one. Nothing happened.                         (BEAT)          I love you.          Lily laughs.                         LILY          Adam, you didn't know me yet.          As Adam goesback to packing, Lily leafs through some more of          the photos. She stops at one and her EXPRESSION CHANGES.                         LILY (CONT'D)          Who's this?          Lily shows Adam aPHOTO:          -- A SMOKING HOT SKI BUNNY (23, blonde, svelte, leg warmers).                         ADAM          I'm not sure.                         LILY          Really?          Lily shows Adam anotherPHOTO:          -- YOUNG ADAM with his arm around the SKI BUNNY, who looks          like she was ambushed for thephoto.                                                                                3.                         ADAM          Oh!Jennie.                         LILY          Who's Jennie?                         ADAM          She's nobody. Ski instructor.          (off her look)          You didn't know me yet.          Lily still looks at him a littlehard.                         ADAM (CONT'D)          Lily, I was 17. She had boobs and          a face. Of course I'm gonna take          her picture.          Lily still looks a littlebothered.                         LILY          Do you still think of her?                         ADAM          Of course not! I think of you.          As Adam goes to EMBRACEher:                         LILY          Hold on...          Lily goes into the CLOSET.                         ADAM          Sweetie?          She comes out a moment later with a CARDBOARD BOX, whichshe          empties onto the BED. About FIFTY PORNO MAGAZINES spill out,          ranging from TITS MONTHLY to BLACK ASS.                         ADAM (CONT'D)          How did you know where I hidmy...          treasure?          Lily carefully picks up a BROCHURE from the pile, holding it          by the corner, not wanting to touch it.                         LILY          Explain this.          From ADAM'S POV, we seethe brochure:          -- A ski brochure featuring Jennie on thecover.                                                                                4.                         ADAM          OK! You caught me! I          occasionally...reminisce... about          Jennie O'Keefe!                         LILY          That's gross.                         (THEN)          What's "occasionally?"                         ADAM          (without missing abeat)          About two hours ago when you were          on the phone with your mother.                         LILY          Jesus. Tell me how I'm supposed to          let you go to your bachelor party          and notbe a basket case?                         ADAM          What are you so worried about?                         LILY          I'm worried that you're still          thinking about thisgirl.                         ADAM          Baby, the girl in that picture was          nothing more than a crush. I could          never get her and there's no          possibility I'll ever be with her.          She was a totalstranger.          Lily gets a CURIOUS LOOK on her face.                         LILY          So... you're into strangers?                         ADAM          Well not the creepy "your mom was          in an accident,now come with me"          kind. But yeah, the hot lady in          the supermarket kind of stranger.          You have to admit - it's kinda hot.                         LILY          So you're saying if you and I          didn'tknow each other, it would be          pretty hot if we fooled around?                         ADAM          You kidding me? It would be          fuckingincredible.                                                                                5.          Lily smiles seductively, as Adam starts to getit.                         ADAM (CONT'D)          Wait a minute. Are you          suggesting... yes. YES!          Adam excitedly heads for the door.                         ADAM (CONT'D)          OK, I'll go down thehall. You get          into character.          (points at her)          This fucking rules.          Adam leaves the room and Lily REMOVES HER SHIRT, talking sexy          and slowly building thefantasy...                         LILY          Oh I'm all alone in this big house.          Cheerleading camp just ended and I          need to get out of these sweaty          clothes...          ADAM(O.S.)          Love where you're going with this,          baby! Keep it up!          She unbuttons her pants and SLIDES DOWN HER JEANS.                         LILY          Mmmm. My panties are sotight          against my firm naked body...          ADAM (O.S.)          You should probably take them off!                         LILY          Are you gonna let me do this?          ADAM(O.S.)          Sorry! Continue! You were just          about to take off your panties!          She slowly slides out of her panties, kicking them away. Now          she's TOTALLY NAKED. She continues to roleplay.                         LILY          It feels so good to be so naked. I          hope no one can see me...          Just then a BLACK MAN (late 30s, handsome, J Crew) saunters          through the bedroom door,holding a coffee and all riled up.                                                                                6.                         BLACK MAN          OK, so thisasshole in front of me          at the donut place is -- WHOA!          Lily covers up and SCREAMS.                         LILY          Get out of here!!          He SPILLS the coffee on his hands and their rug as heturns.                         BLACK MAN          Fuck! Ow! I'm sorry. I'll clean          it up. That's gonna stain, though.                         LILY          Just leave!          He heads for the door, justas:          Adam comes in, wearing a MAILMAN hat and NOTHING ELSE.                         ADAM          Special delivery for -- Jesus          Christ!          The black man doesn't know which way to look. He covershis          eyes and drips coffee, as he blindly steps toward the door.                         BLACK MAN                         (NOT LOOKING)          Just tell me when I'm in the clear.                         CUTTO:          EXT. ADAM'S HOUSE - DAY          Adam wheels his suitcase down the front path of this modest,          well-kept suburban home, as a recovered, dressed, embarrassed          and somewhatshell-shocked Lily follows with a small bag.          They both stop 10 yards short of a RANGE ROVER, where the          black man, NICK, waits in the car, waving.                         LILY          I can't wait for youto come back          and marry me. Wow, that's crazy.          Adam looks almost like it just hit him.