ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pillars of Society, by Henrik IbsenThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: Pillars of SocietyAuthor: Henrik IbsenTranslator: R. Farquharson SharpPosting Date: February 27, 2010 [EBook #2296]Release Date:August, 2000Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PILLARS OF SOCIETY ***Produced by Martin Adamson.  HTML version by AlHaines.Pillars of SocietyA play in four acts.byHenrik IbsenTranslated by R. Farquharson SharpDRAMATIS PERSONAE  Karsten Bernick, a shipbuilder.  Mrs.Bernick, his wife.  Olaf, their son, thirteen years old.  Martha Bernick, Karsten Bernick's sister.  Johan Tonnesen, Mrs. Bernick's younger brother.  Lona Hessel,Mrs. Bernick's elder half-sister.  Hilmar Tonnesen, Mrs. Bernick's cousin.  Dina Dorf, a young girl living with the Bernicks.  Rorlund, a schoolmaster.  Rummel, amerchant.  Vigeland and Sandstad, tradesman  Krap, Bernick's confidential clerk.  Aune, foreman of Bernick's shipbuilding yard.  Mrs. Rummel.  Hilda Rummel,her daughter.  Mrs. Holt.  Netta Holt, her daughter.  Mrs. Lynge.Townsfolk and visitors, foreign sailors, steamboat passengers, etc.,etc.(The action takes place atthe Bernicks' house in one of the smallercoast towns in Norway)ACT I.(SCENE.--A spacious garden-room in the BERNICKS' house. In theforeground on the left isa door leading to BERNICK'S business room;farther back in the same wall, a similar door. In the middle of theopposite wall is a large entrance-door, which leadsto the street. Thewall in the background is almost wholly composed of plate-glass; a doorin it opens upon a broad flight of steps which lead down to the garden;asun-awning is stretched over the steps. Below the steps a part of thegarden is visible, bordered by a fence with a small gate in it. On theother side of the fenceruns a street, the opposite side of which isoccupied by small wooden houses painted in bright colours. It issummer, and the sun is shining warmly. People areseen, every now andthen, passing along the street and stopping to talk to one another;others going in and out of a shop at the corner, etc.In the room agathering of ladies is seated round a table. MRS. BERNICKis presiding; on her left side are MRS. HOLT and her daughter NETTA,and next to them MRS. RUMMELand HILDA RUMMEL. On MRS. BERNICK'S rightare MRS. LYNGE, MARTHA BERNICK and DINA DORF. All the ladies are busyworking. On the table lie great piles oflinen garments and otherarticles of clothing, some half finished, and some merely cut out.Farther back, at a small table on which two pots of flowers and a glassofsugared water are standing, RORLUND is sitting, reading aloud from abook with gilt edges, but only loud enough for the spectators to catcha word now and then.Out in the garden OLAF BERNICK is running aboutand shooting at a target with a toy crossbow.After a moment AUNE comes in quietly through the door on theright.There is a slight interruption in the reading. MRS. BERNICK nods to himand points to the door on the left. AUNE goes quietly across, knockssoftly at the doorof BERNICK'S room, and after a moment's pause,knocks again. KRAP comes out of the room, with his hat in his hand andsome papers under his arm.)Krap: Oh, itwas you knocking?Aune: Mr. Bernick sent for me.Krap: He did--but he cannot see you. He has deputed me to tell you--Aune: Deputed you? All the same, I wouldmuch rather--Krap: --deputed me to tell you what he wanted to say to you. You mustgive up these Saturday lectures of yours to the men.Aune: Indeed? Isupposed I might use my own time--Krap: You must not use your own time in making the men useless inworking hours. Last Saturday you were talking to themof the harm thatwould be done to the workmen by our new machines and the new workingmethods at the yard. What makes you do that?Aune: I do it for thegood of the community.Krap: That's curious, because Mr. Bernick says it is disorganising thecommunity.Aune: My community is not Mr. Bernick's, Mr. Krap! AsPresident of theIndustrial Association, I must--Krap: You are, first and foremost, President of Mr. Bernick'sshipbuilding yard; and, before everything else, youhave to do yourduty to the community known as the firm of Bernick & Co.; that is whatevery one of us lives for. Well, now you know what Mr. Bernick had tosayto you.Aune: Mr. Bernick would not have put it that way, Mr. Krap! But I knowwell enough whom I have to thank for this. It is that damned Americanboat. Thosefellows expect to get work done here the way they areaccustomed to it over there, and that--Krap: Yes, yes, but I can't go into all these details. You knownowwhat Mr. Bernick means, and that is sufficient. Be so good as to goback to the yard; probably you are needed there. I shall be down myselfin a little while.--Excuse me, ladies! (Bows to the ladies and goesout through the garden and down the street. AUNE goes quietly out tothe right. RORLUND, who has continuedhis reading during the foregoingconversation, which has been carried on in low tones, has now come tothe end of the book, and shuts it with a bang.)Rorlund:There, my dear ladies, that is the end of it.Mrs. Rummel: What an instructive tale!Mrs. Holt: And such a good moral!Mrs. Bernick: A book like that really gives onesomething to thinkabout.Rorlund: Quite so; it presents a salutary contrast to what,unfortunately, meets our eyes every day in the newspapers andmagazines.Look at the gilded and painted exterior displayed by anylarge community, and think what it really conceals!--emptiness androttenness, if I may say so; nofoundation of morality beneath it. In aword, these large communities of ours now-a-days are whited sepulchres.Mrs. Holt: How true! How true!Mrs. Rummel: Andfor an example of it, we need look no farther than atthe crew of the American ship that is lying here just now.Rorlund: Oh, I would rather not speak of suchoffscourings of humanityas that. But even in higher circles--what is the case there? A spiritof doubt and unrest on all sides; minds never at peace, andinstabilitycharacterising all their behaviour. Look how completely family life isundermined over there! Look at their shameless love of casting doubt oneven themost serious truths!Dina (without looking up from her work): But are there not many bigthings done there too?Rorlund: Big things done--? I do notunderstand--.Mrs. Holt (in amazement): Good gracious, Dina--!Mrs. Rummel (in the same breath): Dina, how can you--?Rorlund: I think it would scarcely be agood thing for us if such "bigthings" became the rule here. No, indeed, we ought to be only toothankful that things are as they are in this country. It is trueenoughthat tares grow up amongst our wheat here too, alas; but we do our bestconscientiously to weed them out as well as we are able. The importantthing is tokeep society pure, ladies--to ward off all the hazardousexperiments that a restless age seeks to force upon us.Mrs. Holt: And there are more than enough of themin the wind,unhappily.Mrs. Rummel: Yes, you know last year we only by a hair's breadthescaped the project of having a railway here.Mrs. Bernick: Ah, myhusband prevented that.Rorlund: Providence, Mrs. Bernick. You may be certain that your husbandwas the instrument of a higher Power when he refused to haveanythingto do with the scheme.Mrs. Bernick: And yet they said such horrible things about him in thenewspapers! But we have quite forgotten to thank you, Mr.Rorlund. Itis really more than friendly of you to sacrifice so much of your timeto us.Rorlund: Not at all. This is holiday time, and--Mrs. Bernick: Yes, but it is asacrifice all the same, Mr. Rorlund.Rorlund (drawing his chair nearer): Don't speak of it, my dear lady.Are you not all of you making some sacrifice in a goodcause?--and thatwillingly and gladly? These poor fallen creatures for whose rescue weare working may be compared to soldiers wounded on the field ofbattle;you, ladies, are the kind-hearted sisters of mercy who prepare the lintfor these stricken ones, lay the bandages softly on their wounds, healthem and curethem.Mrs. Bernick: It must be a wonderful gift to be able to see everythingin such a beautiful light.Rorlund: A good deal of it is inborn in one--but it can be to agreatextent acquired, too. All that is needful is to see things in the lightof a serious mission in life. (To MARTHA:) What do you say, MissBernick? Have you not feltas if you were standing on firmer groundsince you gave yourself up to your school work?Martha: I really do not know what to say. There are times, when I aminthe schoolroom down there, that I wish I were far away out on thestormy seas.Rorlund: That is merely temptation, dear Miss Bernick. You ought toshut thedoors of your mind upon such disturbing guests as that. By the"stormy seas"--for of course you do not intend me to take your wordsliterally--you mean therestless tide of the great outer world, whereso many are shipwrecked. Do you really set such store on the life youhear rushing by outside? Only look out into thestreet. There they go,walking about in the heat of the sun, perspiring and tumbling aboutover their little affairs. No, we undoubtedly have the best of it, whoareable to sit here in the cool and turn our backs on the quarter fromwhich disturbance comes.Martha: Yes, I have no doubt you are perfectly right.Rorlund: And in ahouse like this, in a good and pure home, wherefamily life shows in its fairest colours--where peace and harmonyrule-- (To MRS. BERNICK:) What are youlistening to, Mrs. Bernick?Mrs. Bernick (who has turned towards the door of BERNICK'S room): Theyare talking very loud in there.Rorlund: Is there anythingparticular going on?Mrs. Bernick: I don't know. I can hear that there is somebody with myhusband.(HILMAR TONNESEN, smoking a cigar, appears in the doorwayon the right,but stops short at the sight of the company of ladies.)Hilmar: Oh, excuse me-- (Turns to go back.)Mrs. Bernick: No, Hilmar, come along in; you arenot disturbing us. Doyou want something?Hilmar: No, I only wanted to look in here--Good morning, ladies. (ToMRS. BERNICK:) Well, what is the result?Mrs.Bernick: Of what?Hilmar: Karsten has summoned a meeting, you know.Mrs. Bernick: Has he? What about?Hilmar:  Oh, it is this railway nonsense over again.Mrs.Rummel: Is it possible?Mrs. Bernick: Poor Karsten, is he to have more annoyance over that?Rorlund:  But how do you explain that, Mr. Tonnesen? You know thatlastyear Mr. Bernick made it perfectly clear that he would not have arailway here.Hilmar: Yes, that is what I thought, too; but I met Krap, hisconfidential clerk,and he told me that the railway project had beentaken up again, and that Mr. Bernick was in consultation with three ofour local capitalists.Mrs. Rummel: Ah, Iwas right in thinking I heard my husband's voice.Hilmar:  Of course Mr. Rummel is in it, and so are Sandstad and MichaelVigeland, "Saint Michael", as they callhim.Rorlund:  Ahem!Hilmar: I beg your pardon, Mr. Rorlund?Mrs. Bernick: Just when everything was so nice and peaceful.Hilmar: Well, as far as I am concerned,I have not the slightestobjection to their beginning their squabbling again. It will be alittle diversion, any way.Rorlund: I think we can dispense with that sort of


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                                         "JAWS 2"                                  Final DraftScreenplay                                            by                                      Carl Gottlieb                                     Based on aStory                                            by                                      Howard Sackler                               FADE IN:               UNDERWATER -DAY               Dramatically lit by sunlight filtering down from the surface.               A dim shape, massive, threatening, swims towards us fromthe                distance. Then it divides -- what was one is two, and the                shape becomes reality; two divers in Scuba gear swimming                side byside. They are wearing minimal rubber, considering                the cool New England waters: "Farmer John" wetsuits with cut-               off legs, assortedsport-diving paraphernalia, including an                expensive camera with a flash attachment.               One motions "Down there," the other signals "OK, I seeit,"                and they dive deeper, into darker waters, where the shafts                of sunlight pour into the depths, broken up by seaweed and                floatingvegetation into cathedral-like columns of                illumination.               SEA BOTTOM - DAY               The wreck of the working fisherman's boat"ORCA," formerly                under the command of the late Captain Quint, deceased these                four years.               Buried in the sand near it, stillconnected by rusting strands                of cable, the mangled remains of a shark cage, glimmering                with stainless steel highlights. A fitful flash of


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<title>THE BREAKFASTCLUB</title>
                      The Breakfast Club                    written and directed by                         John HughesBLANKSCREEN:     Against Black, TITLE CARD:           "...and these children that you spit on,            as they try to change their worlds are           immune to yourconsultations.  They're         quite aware of what they're going through...                                        - David Bowie"     The Blank Screen and Title Card SHATTERto 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.  DearMr. Vernon...we accept               the fact that we had to sacrifice a               whole Saturday in detention for               whatever it was that we didwrong,               what we did was wrong.  But we think               you're crazy to make us write this               essay telling you who 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 seeus               as a brain, an athelete, a basket               case, a princess and a criminal.               Correct?  That's the way we saw each               other at seveno'clock this morning.               We were brainwashed...                                                  CUT TO:2. INT. CLAIRE'S CAR - DAY     We see


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                       THEKINGDOM                        Written by                 MATTHEW MICHAELCARNAHAN                                                        8/18/20061   OMITTED - SEE68A                                             12   INT. WASHINGTON, DC ELEMENTARY SCHOOL - DAY                   2    We're in a kindergarten classroom of25 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 his dadRONALD 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    classabout the photos.    We're TIGHT ON the pictures. TIGHT ON the young faces. TIGHT    ON Fleury.                         KEVIN FLEURY              This is myFredricksburg house and              my grandma Ruth playing with my              skateboard ramp. It's a Tony Hawk              jump ramp.    A little girl, MICK raisesher hand.                        KEVIN FLEURY (CONT'D)              Mick?    Silence from Mick                        MICK              I forgot what I wasgoing to say.    Kevin points to another picture.                        KEVIN FLEURY              This is me at my second birthday              party with my momand my dad.              That's my cake.    Fleury looks down sweet at his son.                        KEVIN FLEURY (CONT'D)              This is me with my momat the zoo              and this is my dad and me and my              grandpa Willie.    Kevin points to another photo.                        KEVIN FLEURY


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 norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Our Southern HighlandersAuthor: Horace KephartRelease Date: March 20, 2010 [EBook #31709]Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT 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 SOUTHERNHIGHLANDERS[Illustration: Photo by U. S. Forest ServiceBig Tom Wilson, the bear hunter, who discovered the body of Prof. ElishaMitchell where he perished nearthe summit of the Peak that afterwardwas named in his honor]  OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERS  BY  HORACE KEPHART  AUTHOR OF "THE BOOK OF CAMPINGAND WOODCRAFT," "CAMP  COOKERY," "SPORTING FIREARMS," ETC.  _Illustrated_  NEW YORK  OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY  MCMXVI  COPYRIGHT, 1913,BY  OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY  All rights reserved  First Printing, November 1913  Second Printing, December 1913  Third Printing, January 1914  FourthPrinting, April 1914CONTENTSCHAPTER                                      PAGE   I. "SOMETHING HIDDEN; GO AND FIND IT"       11  II. "THE BACK OFBEYOND"                     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 "THEREVENUE"          167  IX. THE OUTLANDER AND THE NATIVE            191   X. THE PEOPLE OF THE HILLS                 212  XI. THE LAND OF DOWITHOUT                  234 XII. HOME FOLKS AND NEIGHBOR PEOPLE          256XIII. THE MOUNTAIN DIALECT                    276 XIV. THE LAW OF THEWILDERNESS               305  XV. THE BLOOD-FEUD                          327 XVI. WHO ARE THE MOUNTAINEERS?               354XVII. "WHEN THE SLEEPERWAKES"                378ILLUSTRATIONSBig Tom Wilson, the bear hunter              _Frontispiece_                                                FACING PAGEMap ofAppalachia                                         8A family of pioneers in the twentieth century            16"The very cliffs are sheathed with trees and shrubs"     24At thePost-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 thesefellows would make underleadership of some backwoods Napoleon"                   80"By and by up they came, carrying the bear onthe trimmedsapling"                                     88Skinning a frozen bear                                   96"... Powerful steep and laurely...."                    104Mountain still-househidden 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 forthree years   160A mountain home                                         176Many of the homes have but one window                   192Theschoolhouse                                         208"At thirty a mountain woman is apt to have aworn and faded look"                                    216The misty veil offalling 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 thecreek--there may be a dozenfords in a mile                                         320"Dense forest and luxuriant undergrowth"                336[Illustration: APPALACHIAThewavy black line shows the outer boundaries of Southern AppalachianRegion. The shaded portion shows the chief areas covered by highmountains, 3,000 to 6,700feet above sea-level.]OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERSOUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERSCHAPTER I"SOMETHING HIDDEN; GO AND FIND IT"In one of Poe's minortales, 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, wasthe first reference inliterature to our Southern mountaineers, and it stood as their onlycharacterization until Miss Murfree ("Charles Egbert Craddock") beganherstories of the Cumberland hills.Time and retouching have done little to soften our Highlander'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 tilt itsmuzzle toward a strangerbefore 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 truthin this caricature to giveit a point that will stick. Our typical mountaineer is lank, he isalways unkempt, he is fond of toting a gun on his shoulder, and hiscuriosityabout a stranger's name and business is promptly, thoughpolitely, outspoken. For the rest, he is a man of mystery. The greatworld outside his mountains knowsalmost 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 fairly to 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, themassacre of a Virginia court, or the outbreak 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's novels, as in those of John Fox, Jr., andof Alice MacGowan, we do meetcharacters more genial than feudists andillicit distillers; none the less, when we have closed the book, who isit that stands out clearest as type and pattern of themountaineer? 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 furtivelikingfor that sort of thing (on paper), or whether the armed outlaw beindeed a genuine protagonist--in any case, the Appalachian people remainin public estimationto-day, as Poe judged them, an uncouth and fiercerace of men, inhabiting a wild mountain region little known.The Southern highlands themselves are amysterious realm. When Iprepared, eight years ago, for my first sojourn in the Great SmokyMountains, which form the master chain of the Appalachian system,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, thatdescribed the land and its people. Nay,there was not even a novel or a story that showed intimate localknowledge. Had I been going to Teneriffe or Timbuctu, thelibrarieswould have furnished information a-plenty; but about this housetop ofeastern America they were strangely silent; it was _terra incognita_.On the map Icould 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 isthatthey dwell in, whether it be good or bad; and what cities they be thatthey dwell in, whether in tents, or in strongholds; and what the landis, whether it be fator 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 forestrythat gave, 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 mountainchainsstretch uninterruptedly southwestward from Virginia to Alabama, 650miles in an air line. They spread over parts of eight contiguous States,and cover anarea somewhat larger than England and Scotland, or aboutthe same as that of the Alps. In short, the greatest mountain system ofeastern America is massed inour 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 onesummit (Mount Washington, 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 of dividing ridges, that rise above6,000 feet, besides 288 mountains and some 300 miles ofdivide 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 theHarz are more familiar to the Americanpeople, in print and picture, if not by actual visit, than are theBlack, the Balsam, and the Great Smoky Mountains. It is truethat summertourists flock to Asheville and Toxaway, Linville and Highlands, passingtheir time at modern hotels and motoring along a few macadamed roads,butwhat do they see of the billowy wilderness that conceals most of thenative homes? Glimpses from afar. What do they learn of the realmountaineer? Hearsay. For,mark you, nine-tenths of the Appalachianpopulation are a sequestered folk. The typical, the average mountainman prefers his native hills and his primitiveancient ways.We read more and talk more about the Filipinos, see more of the Chineseand the Syrians, than of these three million next-door Americans who areofcolonial ancestry and mostly of British stock. New York, we say, is acosmopolitan city; more Irish than in Dublin, more Germans than inMunich, more Italians thanin Rome, more Jews than in nine Jerusalems;but how many New Yorkers ever saw a Southern mountaineer? I am sure thata party of hillsmen fresh from the backsettlements 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 moretrouble)than would a similar body of whites from any other quarter of the earth;and yet this same odd people is more purely bred from old American stockthanany other element of our population that occupies, by itself, sogreat a territory.The mountaineers of the South are marked apart from all other folks bydialect, bycustoms, by character, by self-conscious isolation. So trueis this that they call all outsiders "furriners." It matters not whetheryour descent be from Puritan 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 norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.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 byAlfred J. Drake.  HTML version by Al Haines.MARIUS THE EPICUREAN, VOLUME ONEWALTER HORATIO PATERLondon: 1910. (The Library Edition.)NOTES BY THEE-TEXT EDITOR:Notes: The 1910 Library Edition employs footnotes, a style inconvenientin an electronic edition.  I have therefore placed an asteriskimmediatelyafter each of Pater's footnotes and a + sign after my ownnotes, and have listed each chapter's notes at that chapter's end.Pagination and Paragraphing: To avoidan 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 preservedoriginal hyphenation since an e-textdoes not require line-end or page-end hyphenation.Greek typeface: For this full-text edition, I have transliteratedPater'sGreek 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 thecomplete 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 THEFIRST    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 theWay: 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 thetriumph of Christianity, the old religion lingeredlatest in the country, and died out at last as but paganism--thereligion of the villagers, before the advance of theChristian Church;so, in an earlier century, it was in places remote from town-life thatthe older and purer forms of paganism 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," aspeople loved to 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 asurvival we maycatch below the merely artificial attitudes of Latin pastoral poetry;in Tibullus especially, who has preserved for us many poetic details ofoldRoman religious usage.     At mihi contingat patrios celebrare Penates,     Reddereque antiquo menstrua thura Lari:[4] --he prays, with unaffectedseriousness.  Something liturgical,with repetitions of a consecrated form of words, is traceable in one ofhis elegies, as part of the order of a birthdaysacrifice.  The hearth,from a spark of which, as one form of old legend related, the childRomulus had been miraculously born, was still indeed an altar; andtheworthiest sacrifice to the gods the perfect physical sanity of theyoung men and women, which the scrupulous ways of that religion of thehearth had tended tomaintain.  A religion of usages and sentimentrather than of facts and belief, and attached to very definite thingsand places--the oak of immemorial age, the rockon the heath fashionedby weather as if by some dim human art, the shadowy grove of ilex,passing into which one exclaimed involuntarily, in consecratedphrase,Deity is in this Place!  Numen Inest!--it was in natural harmony withthe temper of a quiet people amid the spectacle of rural life, likethat simpler faithbetween man and man, which Tibullus expresslyconnects with the period when, with an inexpensive worship, the oldwooden gods had been still pressed for roomin 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 fromthe more desirable life of celestialcontemplation, and compel 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 originally called them into being.  More than acentury and ahalf 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 devotioninthe young Marius.  A sense of conscious powers external toourselves, pleased or displeased by the right or wrong conduct of everycircumstance of daily life--thatconscience, of which the old Romanreligion was a formal, habitual recognition, was become in him apowerful current of feeling and observance.  Theold-fashioned, partlypuritanic awe, the power of which Wordsworth noted and valued so highlyin a northern peasantry, had its counterpart in the feeling oftheRoman lad, as he passed the spot, "touched of heaven," where thelightning had struck dead an aged labourer in the field: an uprightstone, still withmouldering garlands about it, marked the place.  Hebrought to that system of symbolic [6] usages, and they in turndeveloped in him further, a greatseriousness--an impressibility to thesacredness of time, of life and its events, and the circumstances offamily fellowship; of such gifts to men as fire, water, theearth, 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 mostpart of fear, of multitudinous scruples, of ayear-long burden of forms; yet rarely (on clear summer mornings, forinstance) the thought of those heavenly powersafforded a welcomechannel for the almost stifling sense of health and delight in him, andrelieved it as gratitude to the gods.The day of the "little" or privateAmbarvalia 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 andservants together go in solemn procession along thedry paths of vineyard and cornfield, conducting the victims whose bloodis presently to be shed for thepurification 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 itsway,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 the family records.  Early on that daythe girls of the farm had been busy in the great portico, filling largebaskets with flowers plucked short frombranches of apple and cherry,then in spacious bloom, to strew before the quaint images of thegods--Ceres and Bacchus and the yet more mysterious Dea Dia--astheypassed through the fields, carried in their little houses on theshoulders of white-clad youths, who were understood to proceed to thisoffice in perfecttemperance, 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-boxwere carried after them.  Thealtars were gay with garlands of wool and the more sumptuous sort ofblossom and green herbs to be thrown into the sacrificialfire,fresh-gathered this morning from a particular plot in the old garden,set apart for the purpose.  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, clad in 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, allpersons, even the children, abstaining from [8] speechafter the utterance of the pontifical formula, Favetelinguis!--Silence!  Propitious Silence!--lest any wordssave 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 theceremonies 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 conditionof preparationor expectancy, for which he was just then intently striving.  Thepersons about him, certainly, had never been challenged by thoseprayers andceremonies to any ponderings on the divine nature: theyconceived them rather to be the appointed means of setting suchtroublesome movements at rest.  Bythem, "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 ofhighscrupulosity, especially in the chief points of domestic conduct, wasmainly prized as being, through its hereditary character, somethinglike a personaldistinction--as contributing, among the otheraccessories of an ancient house, to the production of that aristocraticatmosphere which separated them fromnewly-made people.  But [9] in theyoung Marius, the very absence from those venerable usages of alldefinite history and dogmatic interpretation, had alreadyawakened muchspeculative activity; and to-day, starting from the actual details ofthe divine service, some very lively surmises, though scarcely distinctenough tobe thoughts, were moving backwards and forwards in his mind,as the stirring wind had done all day among the trees, and were likethe passing of somemysterious influence over all the elements of hisnature and experience.  One thing only distracted him--a certain pityat the bottom of his heart, and almost on hislips, for the sacrificialvictims and their looks of terror, rising almost to disgust at thecentral act of the sacrifice itself, a piece of everyday butcher'swork, such aswe decorously hide out of sight; though some then presentcertainly displayed a frank curiosity in the spectacle thus permittedthem on a religious pretext.  The


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                             HOT TUB TIME MACHINE                                 Written by                                 JoshHeald                                                                                Hot Tub Time Machine Theme          Lyrics by JoshHeald          Music by Def Leppard, Styx, Journey, Poison, or Whitesnake          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 Time Machine          When you're going back to the 80s...          Andyou might be fuckin some ladies...          You bring your button fly jeans and some sweet hair gel          Want blow? All you gotta do is yell          (Yeah you'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!          HotTub - Time Machine!          C'mon!           (Sweet guitar solo - 16 measures]           Relaxed as hell when you're goin through time          That's the 54 jetsworkin' on your spine           (Yeah) you gotta be loose and you gotta be lean          When you roll up in your Hot Tub Time Machine          Yeah your shirt's a littlepsychedelic...          And you're lookin kinda like Tom Selleck...          Yeah the chicks are wetter than the Everglades          But double bag your dude, don'twanna get AIDS          Just listen right up, consider me your dean          In the college of the Hot Tub Time Machine          Yeah!          Hot Tub - Time


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<title>Life as a House -By Mark Andrus</title>
 LIFE AS A HOUSE WRITTEN BY MARK ANDRUS FADE IN:            A clock alarmSOUNDS over TITLES on BLACK.  We HEAR someone            clearing congested lungs, coughing up phlegm; a slight crash            STOPS both the cough and thealarm.            EXT. GEORGE'S BEACH SHACK - MORNING            The cottage is a tiny, peeling paint rat-trap set dead center            on a small oceanfront cul-de-sac, surrounded by four massive            post-modern mansions.            INT. GEORGE'S BEACH SHACK BEDROOM -MORNING            GEORGE NELSON, 42, squints and shivers as the spotty morning            light and ocean breeze enter through an openwindow.  Bold            waves crash against the cliffs outside the room.  A five-foot            wide stack of hand hewed beams are piled pyramidstyle,            making movement in the room next to impossible.  George            stands shirtless in underwear and coughs again.  He steps            over a pile oftools and stands at the window, facing the            sea.  A happy sounding tune by Guster, "WHAT YOU WISH FOR,"            begins with the lyrics: 'Woke uptoday, to everything gray            and all that I saw just keeps going on and on...'            EXT. WEBBER'S HOUSE - MORNING            The post-modernhouse is three-levels of concrete and glass.            INT. SAM WEBBER'S BEDROOM - MORNING            SAM is sixteen with spiky black hair, a nose ring,


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                                       HANCOCK                                      Written by                             Vincent Ngo & VinceGilligan                           FADE IN:          BLACK. It's everywhere. It swallows the screen. And so we stare          into a sea ofBLACK.          NARRATOR (V.0.)          I saw a severed head once. Except for the,          paleness, it looked healthy, well-fed.          The end cameabruptly you could tell          'cause the mouth froze in mid-sentence.          "Shh.  ," the curled lips attempted. Like          it started saying "shucks" or"Shirley"          or... "shit happens." Your eyes don't          forget things like that. Like you don't          forget the sound animals make when          they'rehumping. Primal.          Raw. They endure          in you forever because the senses have a          brain all their own and they recall long          after you'vesuccumbed to the la-la of          forgetfulness.          (a pregnant beat)          Sometimes when it's dark out,-so dark          it's black, I'll seeHIM.          (BEAT)          And it starts all over again.          From this blackness, a streak of LIGHTNING splits the night sky.          EXT. SKY -NIGHT           We are in the eye of a STORM, an angry mass of clo uds raging          o f a howling WIND. across the black sky..It brings RAIN and THUNDERan d the swirl          An ENTITY emerges from this moist darkness.          weather and advances into our scope of visibilityies through the          A FLASH, oflightning erupts and it illuminates the sky. We SEE          the approaching entity as it hovers before us.          It's a man.          It's a man, plus.          It's a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Z. Marcas, by Honore de BalzacThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Z. MarcasAuthor: Honore de BalzacTranslator: Clara Bell and OthersRelease Date: August, 1999  [Etext #1841]Posting Date: March 3,2010Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK Z. MARCAS ***Produced by John Bickers, and DagnyZ. MARCASBy Honore DeBalzacTranslated by Clara Bell and Others                             DEDICATION  To His Highness Count William of Wurtemberg, as a token of the  Author's respectfulgratitude.                                                      DE BALZAC.Z. MARCASI never saw anybody, not even among the most remarkable men of theday, whoseappearance was so striking as this man's; the study of hiscountenance at first gave me a feeling of great melancholy, and at lastproduced an almost painfulimpression.There was a certain harmony between the man and his name. The Z.preceding Marcas, which was seen on the addresses of his letters, andwhich henever omitted from his signature, as the last letter of thealphabet, suggested some mysterious fatality.MARCAS! say this two-syllabled name again and again; doyou not feel asif it had some sinister meaning? Does it not seem to you that its ownermust be doomed to martyrdom? Though foreign, savage, the name hasaright to be handed down to posterity; it is well constructed, easilypronounced, and has the brevity that beseems a famous name. Is it notpleasant as well asodd? But does it not sound unfinished?I will not take it upon myself to assert that names have no influence onthe destiny of men. There is a certain secret andinexplicable concordor a visible discord between the events of a man's life and his namewhich is truly surprising; often some remote but very real correlationisrevealed. Our globe is round; everything is linked to everythingelse. Some day perhaps we shall revert to the occult sciences.Do you not discern in that letter Zan adverse influence? Does it notprefigure the wayward and fantastic progress of a storm-tossed life?What wind blew on that letter, which, whatever language wefind it in,begins scarcely fifty words? Marcas' name was Zephirin; Saint Zephirinis highly venerated in Brittany, and Marcas was a Breton.Study the name oncemore: Z Marcas! The man's whole life lies in thisfantastic juxtaposition of seven letters; seven! the most significant ofall the cabalistic numbers. And he died atfive-and-thirty, so his lifeextended over seven lustres.Marcas! Does it not hint of some precious object that is broken with afall, with or without a crash?I hadfinished studying the law in Paris in 1836. I lived at that timein the Rue Corneille in a house where none but students came to lodge,one of those large houseswhere there is a winding staircase quite atthe back lighted below from the street, higher up by borrowedlights, and at the top by a skylight. There were fortyfurnishedrooms--furnished as students' rooms are! What does youth demand morethan was here supplied? A bed, a few chairs, a chest of drawers,alooking-glass, and a table. As soon as the sky is blue the student openshis window.But in this street there are no fair neighbors to flirt with. In frontis the Odeon,long since closed, presenting a wall that is beginning togo black, its tiny gallery windows and its vast expanse of slate roof.I was not rich enough to have a goodroom; I was not even rich enoughto have a room to myself. Juste and I shared a double-bedded room on thefifth floor.On our side of the landing there were buttwo rooms--ours and a smallerone, occupied by Z. Marcas, our neighbor. For six months Juste and Iremained in perfect ignorance of the fact. The old woman whomanaged thehouse had indeed told us that the room was inhabited, but she had addedthat we should not be disturbed, that the occupant was exceedinglyquiet.In fact, for those six months, we never met our fellow-lodger,and we never heard a sound in his room, in spite of the thinness of thepartition that divided us--oneof those walls of lath and plaster whichare common in Paris houses.Our room, a little over seven feet high, was hung with a vile cheappaper sprigged with blue.The floor was painted, and knew nothing ofthe polish given by the _frotteur's_ brush. By our beds there was onlya scrap of thin carpet. The chimney openedimmediately to the roof, andsmoked so abominably that we were obliged to provide a stove at our ownexpense. Our beds were mere painted wooden cribs likethose in schools;on the chimney shelf there were but two brass candlesticks, with orwithout tallow candles in them, and our two pipes with some tobacco inapouch or strewn abroad, also the little piles of cigar-ash left there byour visitors or ourselves.A pair of calico curtains hung from the brass window rods, and oneachside of the window was a small bookcase in cherry-wood, such as everyone knows who has stared into the shop windows of the Quartier Latin,and in whichwe kept the few books necessary for our studies.The ink in the inkstand was always in the state of lava congealed in thecrater of a volcano. May not any inkstandnowadays become a Vesuvius?The pens, all twisted, served to clean the stems of our pipes; and, inopposition to all the laws of credit, paper was even scarcerthan coin.How can young men be expected to stay at home in such furnishedlodgings? The students studied in the cafes, the theatre, the Luxembourggardens, in_grisettes'_ rooms, even in the law schools--anywhere ratherthan in their horrible rooms--horrible for purposes of study, delightfulas soon as they were used forgossiping and smoking in. Put a cloth onthe table, and the impromptu dinner sent in from the best eating-housein the neighborhood--places for four--two of themin petticoats--showa lithograph of this "Interior" to the veriest bigot, and she will bebound to smile.We thought only of amusing ourselves. The reason for ourdissipation layin the most serious facts of the politics of the time. Juste and I couldnot see any room for us in the two professions our parents wished us totakeup. There are a hundred doctors, a hundred lawyers, for one that iswanted. The crowd is choking these two paths which are supposed to leadto fortune, but whichare merely two arenas; men kill each other there,fighting, not indeed with swords or fire-arms, but with intrigue andcalumny, with tremendous toil, campaigns inthe sphere of the intellectas murderous as those in Italy were to the soldiers of the Republic. Inthese days, when everything is an intellectual competition, a manmustbe able to sit forty-eight hours on end in his chair before a table, asa General could remain for two days on horseback and in his saddle.The throng ofaspirants has necessitated a division of the Faculty ofMedicine into categories. There is the physician who writes and thephysician who practises, the politicalphysician, and the physicianmilitant--four different ways of being a physician, four classes alreadyfilled up. As to the fifth class, that of physicians who sellremedies,there is such a competition that they fight each other with disgustingadvertisements on the walls of Paris.In all the law courts there are almost as manylawyers as there arecases. The pleader is thrown back on journalism, on politics, onliterature. In fact, the State, besieged for the smallest appointmentsunder thelaw, has ended by requiring that the applicants shouldhave some little fortune. The pear-shaped head of the grocer's son isselected in preference to the squareskull of a man of talent who hasnot a sou. Work as he will, with all his energy, a young man, startingfrom zero, may at the end of ten years find himself below thepointhe set out from. In these days, talent must have the good luck whichsecures success to the most incapable; nay, more, if it scorns the basecompromiseswhich insure advancement to crawling mediocrity, it willnever get on.If we thoroughly knew our time, we also knew ourselves, and we preferredthe indolence ofdreamers to aimless stir, easy-going pleasure to theuseless toil which would have exhausted our courage and worn out theedge of our intelligence. We hadanalyzed social life while smoking,laughing, and loafing. But, though elaborated by such means as these,our reflections were none the less judicious andprofound.While we were fully conscious of the slavery to which youth iscondemned, we were amazed at the brutal indifference of the authoritiesto everythingconnected with intellect, thought, and poetry. How oftenhave Juste and I exchanged glances when reading the papers as we studiedpolitical events, or thedebates in the Chamber, and discussed theproceedings of a Court whose wilful ignorance could find no parallel butin the platitude of the courtiers, the mediocrityof the men formingthe hedge round the newly-restored throne, all alike devoid of talent orbreadth of view, of distinction or learning, of influence or dignity!Couldthere be a higher tribute to the Court of Charles X. than thepresent Court, if Court it may be called? What a hatred of the countrymay be seen in thenaturalization of vulgar foreigners, devoid oftalent, who are enthroned in the Chamber of Peers! What a perversion ofjustice! What an insult to the distinguishedyouth, the ambitions nativeto the soil of France! We looked upon these things as upon a spectacle,and groaned over them, without taking upon ourselves toact.Juste, whom no one ever sought, and who never sought any one, was, atfive-and-twenty, a great politician, a man with a wonderful aptitude forapprehendingthe correlation between remote history and the facts of thepresent and of the future. In 1831, he told me exactly what would anddid happen--the murders, theconspiracies, the ascendency of the Jews,the difficulty of doing anything in France, the scarcity of talent inthe higher circles, and the abundance of intellect in thelowest ranks,where the finest courage is smothered under cigar ashes.What was to become of him? His parents wished him to be a doctor. But ifhe were a doctor,must he not wait twenty years for a practice? Youknow what he did? No? Well, he is a doctor; but he left France, he is inAsia. At this moment he is perhapssinking under fatigue in a desert, ordying of the lashes of a barbarous horde--or perhaps he is some Indianprince's prime minister.Action is my vocation. Leavinga civil college at the age of twenty, theonly way for me to enter the army was by enlisting as a common soldier;so, weary of the dismal outlook that lay before alawyer, I acquired theknowledge needed for a sailor. I imitate Juste, and keep out of France,where men waste, in the struggle to make way, the energy neededfor thenoblest works. Follow my example, friends; I am going where a man steershis destiny as he pleases.These great resolutions were formed in the little roomin thelodging-house in the Rue Corneille, in spite of our haunting the BalMusard, flirting with girls of the town, and leading a careless andapparently reckless life.Our plans and arguments long floated in theair.Marcas, our neighbor, was in some degree the guide who led us to themargin of the precipice or the torrent, whomade us sound it, and showedus beforehand what our fate would be if we let ourselves fall into it.It was he who put us on our guard against the time-bargains a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of House Rats and Mice, by David E. LantzThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: House Rats and Mice       Farmers' Bulletin 896Author: David E. LantzRelease Date: March 10, 2011 [EBook #35542]Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOUSE RATS AND MICE ***Produced by Erica Pfister-Altschul, Larry B. Harrison andthe OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net  [Transcriber's Note:  The following suspected errors have been changed in this text:    Page 6: "highdays"changed to "highways"    Page 11: "abbatoirs" changed to "abattoirs"    Page 11: Added missing "." to "FIG. 5."]    Page 14: Added missing "." to "FIG.10."]HOUSE RATS AND MICEDAVID E. LANTZAssistant Biologist[Illustration]FARMERS' BULLETIN 896UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OFAGRICULTURE       *       *       *       *       *Contribution from the Bureau of Biological SurveyE. W. NELSON, Chief    Washington, D.C.                                      October, 1917    Show this bulletin to a neighbor. Additional copies may be obtained    free from the Division of Publications, UnitedStates Department of    Agriculture                            WASHINGTON: GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE: 1917The rat is the worst animal pest in the world.Fromits home among filth it visits dwellings and storerooms to polluteand destroy human food.It carries bubonic plague and many other diseases fatal to man andhasbeen responsible for more untimely deaths among human beings than allthe wars of history.In the United States rats and mice each year destroy crops andotherproperty valued at over $200,000,000.This destruction is equivalent to the gross earnings of an army of over200,000 men.On many a farm, if the graineaten and wasted by rats and mice could besold, the proceeds would more than pay all the farmer's taxes.The common brown rat breeds 6 to 10 times a year andproduces an averageof 10 young at a litter. Young females breed when only three or fourmonths old.At this rate a pair of rats, breeding uninterruptedly andwithoutdeaths, would at the end of three years (18 generations) be increased to359,709,482 individuals.For centuries the world has been fighting rats withoutorganization andat the same time has been feeding them and building for them fortressesfor concealment. If we are to fight them on equal terms we mustdenythem food and hiding places. We must organize and unite to ridcommunities of these pests. The time to begin is now.HOUSE RATS ANDMICE.CONTENTS.                                                   Page.    Destructive habits                                 3    Protection of food and otherstores                5      Rat-proof building                               5      Keeping food from rats and mice                  9    Destroying rats andmice                          11      Traps                                           11      Poisons                                         15      Domesticanimals                                18      Fumigation                                      18      Rat viruses                                     19      Naturalenemies                                 20    Organized efforts to destroy rats                 20      Community efforts                               21      State and nationalaid                          21    Important repressive measures                     23DESTRUCTIVE HABITS OF HOUSE RATS AND MICE.Losses from depredations of houserats amount to many millions ofdollars yearly--to more, in fact, than those from all other injuriousmammals combined. The common house mouse[1] and thebrown rat[2] (fig.1), too familiar to need description, are pests in nearly all parts ofthe country; while two other kinds of house rats, known as the blackrat[3] andthe roof rat,[4] are found within our borders.[Illustration: FIG. 1.--Brown rat.]Of these four introduced species--for none is native to America--thebrown rat is themost destructive, and, except the mouse, the mostnumerous and most widely distributed. Brought to America just beforethe Revolution, it has supplanted andnearly exterminated its lessrobust relative the black rat; and in spite of the constant warfare ofman has extended its range and steadily increased in numbers.Itsdominance is due to its great fecundity and its ability to adapt itselfto all sorts of surroundings. It breeds (in the middle part of theUnited States) six or moretimes a year and produces from 6 to 20 young(average 10) in a litter. Females breed when only 3 or 4 months old.Thus a pair, breeding uninterruptedly andwithout deaths, could in threeyears (18 generations) produce a posterity of 359,709,480 individuals.Mice and the black and roof rats produce smaller litters, butthe periodof gestation, about 21 days, and the number of litters are the same forall.Rats and mice are practically omnivorous, feeding upon all kinds ofanimal andvegetable matter. The brown rat makes its home in the openfield, the hedge row, and the river bank, as well as in stone walls,piers, and all kinds of buildings. Itdestroys grains when newlyplanted, while growing, and in the shock, stack, mow, crib, granary,mill, elevator, or ship's hold, and also in the bin and feed trough.Itinvades store and warehouse and destroys furs, laces, silks, carpets,leather goods, and groceries. It attacks fruits, vegetables, and meatsin the markets, anddestroys by pollution ten times as much as itactually eats. It destroys eggs and young poultry, and eats the eggs andyoung of song and game birds. It carriesdisease germs from house tohouse and bubonic plague from city to city. It causes disastrousconflagrations; floods houses by gnawing lead water pipes;ruinsartificial ponds and embankments by burrowing; and damages foundations,floors, doors, and furnishings of dwellings.Unlike the brown rat the black ratrarely migrates to the fields. It hasdisappeared from most parts of the Northern States, but is occasionallyfound in remote villages or farms. At our seaports itfrequently arriveson ships from abroad, but seldom becomes very numerous. The roof rat iscommon in many parts of the South, where it is a persistent pest incaneand rice fields. It maintains itself against the brown rat partlybecause of its habit of living in trees. The common house mouse by nomeans confines itsactivities to the inside of buildings, but is oftenfound in open fields, where its depredations in shock and stack are wellknown.Not only are mice and rats,especially the brown rat, a cause ofdestruction and damage to property, but they are also a constant menaceto the health of man. It has been proved that theyare the chief meansof perpetuating and transmitting bubonic plague and that they playimportant rÃ´les in conveying other diseases to human beings. Theyareparasites, without redeeming characteristics, and should everywhere berouted and destroyed.PROTECTION OF FOOD AND OTHER STORES FROM RATS ANDMICE.Past attempts to exterminate rats and mice have failed, not so muchbecause of lack of effective means as because of the neglect ofnecessary precautionsand the absence of concerted endeavors. We haverendered our work abortive by continuing to provide subsistence andhiding places for the animals. If theseadvantages are denied,persistent and general use of the usual methods of destruction willprove far more successful.RAT-PROOF BUILDING.First in importance, asa measure of rat repression, is the exclusion ofthe animals from places where they find food and safe retreats forrearing their young.The best way to keep ratsfrom buildings, whether in city or in country,is to use cement in construction. As the advantages of this material arecoming to be generally understood, its use israpidly extending to allkinds of buildings. The processes of mixing and laying this materialrequire little skill or special knowledge, and workmen ofordinaryintelligence can successfully follow the plain directions contained inhandbooks of cement construction.[5]Many modern public buildings are so constructedthat rats can find nolodgment in the walls or foundations, and yet in a few years, throughnegligence, such buildings often become infested with thepests.Sometimes drain pipes are left uncovered for hours at a time. Oftenouter doors, especially those opening on alleys, are left ajar. A commonmistake isfailure to screen basement windows which must be opened forventilation. However the intruders are admitted, when once inside theyintrench themselves behindfurniture or stores, and are difficult todislodge. The addition of inner doors to vestibules is an importantprecaution against rats. The lower edge of outer doors topublicbuildings, especially markets, should be reinforced with light metalplates to prevent the animals from gnawing through. Any opening leftaround water,steam, or gas pipes, where they go through walls, shouldbe closed carefully with concrete to the full depth of the wall.=Dwellings.=--In constructing dwellinghouses the additional cost ofmaking the foundations rat-proof is slight compared with the advantages.The cellar walls should have concrete footings, and thewalls themselvesshould be laid in cement mortar. The cellar floor should be of mediumrather than lean concrete. Even old cellars may be made rat-proofatcomparatively small expense. Rat holes may be permanently closed with amixture of cement, sand, and broken glass, or sharp bits of crockery orstone.On afoundation like the one described above, the walls of a woodendwelling also may be made rat-proof. The space between the sheathing andlath, to the height ofabout a foot, should be filled with concrete.Rats can not then gain access to the walls, and can enter the dwellingonly through doors or windows. Screening allbasement and cellar windowswith wire netting is a most necessary precaution.=Old buildings in cities.=--Aside from old dwellings, the chief refugesfor rats incities are sewers, wharves, stables, and outbuildings.Modern sewers are used by the animals merely as highways and not asabodes, but old-fashioned bricksewers often afford nesting crannies.[Illustration: FIG. 2.--Rat-proofing a frame dwelling by concrete sidewall (United States Public Health Service, New Orleans,La., 1914).]Wharves, stables, and outbuildings in cities should be so built as toexclude rats. Cement is the chief means to this end. Old tumble-downbuildings andwharves should not be tolerated in any city. (See fig. 2.)In both city and country, wooden floors of sidewalks, areas, and porchesare commonly laid upon timbersresting on the ground. Under such floorsrats have a safe retreat from nearly all enemies. The conditions can beremedied in towns by municipal action requiringthat these floors bereplaced by others made of cement. Areas or walks made of brick areoften undermined by rats and may become as objectionable as thoseofwood. Wooden floors of porches should always be well above the ground.=Farm buildings.=--Granaries, corncribs, and poultry houses may be maderat-proof bya liberal use of cement in the foundations and floors; orthe floors may be of wood resting upon concrete. Objection has beenurged against concrete floors for


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<title>Glengarry GlenRoss</title>
                     GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS                             by                         David MametSCENE ONEA boothat a Chinese restaurant, Williamson and Levene areseated at thebooth.                         LEVENE            John...John...John.  Okay.  John.            John.  Look:                   (pause)            The Glengarry Highland'sleads,            you're sending Roma out.  Fine.            He's a good man.  We know what he            is.  He's fine.  All I'm saying,            you look at the board,he's            throwing...wait, wait, wait, he's            throwing them away, he's throwing            the leads away.  All that I'm            saying, that you're wastingleads.            I don't want to tell you your job.            All that I'm saying, things get            set, I know they do, you get a            certain mindset... A guy getsa            reputation.  We know how this...all            I'm saying, put a closer on the job.            There's more than one man for the...            Put a...wait asecond, put a proven            man out...and you watch, now wait a            second--and you watch your dollar            volumes...You start closing them            forfifty 'stead of twenty-            five...you put a closer on the...                         WILLIAMSON            Shelly, you blew thelast...                         LEVENE            No.  John.  No.  Let's wait, let's            back up here, I did...will you            please?  Wait a