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The Rowankind books, Winterwood, Silverwolf and Rowankind (the latter due in December 2018) are narrated by Rossalinde (Ross) Tremayne, but every now and then one of the other characters likes to have his say. You can find Corwen’s piece here. This time it’s the turn of pirate captain Gentleman Jim…
James Mayo isn’t my real name and I never intended to become a pirate, but things happen.
My family had—still have I expect—a plantation in Virginia. With three older brothers, I was never in line to inherit much, so my father determined I should have a profession. He sent me to be educated at the College of William and Mary in Virginia, to study divinity can you believe? Unfortunately that was very shortly before my country had a serious argument over taxation with King George, and I absconded to join a militia.
If I have one very serious piece of advice it’s never to get roaring drunk with your comrades in a seaport while the fleet is recruiting. Portsmouth, Virginia was my downfall. When I came to my senses the ground was rolling beneath me and I perceived myself to be at sea. To make matters worse, it was a French ship of the line, a third-rater called the Jason in the fleet of Rear Admiral Destouches.
I had a few disagreements with my sudden transfer from the militia to the navy, but to my surprise, and to that of my captain, a fine sailor by the name of Jean de la Clocheterie, I took to the ocean. In recognition of my education I was elevated to the grand position of his cabin steward, where, I may say, I prospered. It’s surprising what you can learn once you’ve acquired a position of trust. I survived the battle of the Chesapeake in 1781, was on board the Jason at the Battle of Mona Passage a year later when she was captured by the British. I had no liking for the idea of being at the mercy of King George, who had a tendency to insist that Americans were subjects of the Crown and therefore eligible to become cannon fodder in the Royal Navy. Along with a few compatriots, I contrived to escape in the ship’s jolly-boat, and we made the shores of Hispaniola where there are many opportunities open to a young man of keen intelligence and fighting spirit.
I joined the crew of the Black Hawk, then captained by Edgar Ransome. It took me six years to work my way up to the top, but by the time I was twenty-seven I was captain, and Ransome was at the bottom of the sea.
I first saw Rossalinde Tremayne when her husband Will and I both chased down the same French merchantman. I wasn’t in the mood to fight two battles, and neither was he, so we agreed that I would take the cargo and he would take the ship for the bounty paid by the British. I was intrigued by Tremayne’s woman, fighting like a maniac, sword and pistol in hand. I didn’t know then that she was his wife. Though I’d barely spoken two words to the lady I couldn’t get her out of my head. Lust at first sight you might say.
A year later I received a missive from Tremayne asking for a parlez between privateers and pirates to sort out who would raid where. I might have refused outright. What concessions did we pirates need to give to those who considered themselves above us just because they had letters of marque from their monarch? Then I remembered the wench and wondered whether she was still with Tremayne.
I granted them parlez and invited those other pirate captains plying their trade in the Caribbean and across the Atlantic. Tremayne did likewise amongst his privateer acquaintances. We met three months later at the Golden Compass, in Ravenscraig, on the Island of Auvienne. My Island. My town. My tavern. My rules. Except Tremayne was a fierce negotiator and in the end I gave more concessions that I had planned. I blame the distraction. Tremayne had brought the wench with him, though she was a pale shadow of the woman I had seen before.
It turned out that only two months before, she’d given birth to a son, born early. He barely lived a few days and her grief was palpable. Tremayne did what he could, but I perceived she needed cheering up and so I went out of my way to be kind and attentive. I had my reasons, of course. Many a marriage has been soured by the death of a child, and I determined to be the one to pick up the pieces if their relationship shattered.
Alas, we became friends. I say alas, because in the end I wanted the best for her and that meant relinquishing her to Tremayne when we concluded our parlez. Her loyalty to him was unshakeable.
It took several months for the news of Tremayne’s death to reach me. To my credit my first instinct was shock. Men like Tremayne are not easily disposed of. But the sea had other ideas. He’d been killed by a falling spar at the height of a storm, and my lovely Ross was a widow. An available widow.
I hadn’t expected her to take over the captaincy of her ship, but news reached me that the Heart Of Oak was cruising the Caribbean for French shipping. I set my sails in that direction, but she was elusive. Then I heard she’d gone back to the Atlantic sea routes.
It was another couple of years until fate dropped her into my lap unexpectedly. A storm had damaged the Heart of Oak and she was forced to take shelter in a cove on my island. I hadn’t had any inclination, then, that she was mixed up in magic, but when I rode, with my men, to confront her and her crew, there was a box which made my stomach tingle. I’ve always been a little sensitive to magic and the box drew me almost as much as Ross did. I’d heard there was an Englishman prepared to pay well for such a thing. She gave up the box easily—maybe too easily—and accepted an invitation to dinner. I took the box and left Ross a mount to make the journey to Ravenscraig. I was half afraid that she wouldn’t come. To my surprise she did. I wined her and dined her, and wooed her as delicately as I could when all I wanted to do was to rip off her clothes and bed her until she was insensible. It seemed that she’s had enough of widowhood for she came to me willingly. I will not give away secrets of the bedchamber, but I thought that having come to me once she was mine.
I was wrong.
Ravenscraig came under attack that night from two British warships and in the panic and confusion, my lovely Ross slipped away, taking the magical box with her. I hadn’t known, until that night, that she was a witch. No wonder I was drawn to her.
Unfortunately I had already despatched a messenger to the Englishman who sought the box. His name was Walsingham and he made the journey to Ravenscraig and offered me a generous sum for laying a trap for the Heart of Oak. Ross wasn’t aboard, he said, so I was happy to do it. Unfortunately Walsingham was not only a liar, he was a magic user. We trapped Ross’ ship, and she was on it. I thought he was going to kill her, but when I objected he turned his magic against me. The next thing I knew I was in the water and swimming for my life as my ship’s powder magazine blew up behind me. I’ll gloss over the rest as it’s not a time I wish to remember. I was picked up by a pirate called Nicholas Thompson, Old Nick to his enemies; I doubt he has any friends.
By the time I escaped, I’d lost my ship, my crew, my island, and my self-respect. I slipped down the neck of a rum bottle, and might have stayed there, but Ross came into my life again. She had a new husband, Corwen, a wolf shapechanger, and they seemed very much in love. I can’t fault the man. He and Ross gave me back my island, my place at the head of the pirates, and my life.
The very last time I saw her I took both her hands in mine and kissed her cheeks. “If you get tired of dry land,” I said, “you know where to come.”
She smiled at me and said, “I do, but I won’t.”
I knew in my heart I would never see her again when she said, “Have a great life. Stay well and safe.”
I squeezed her hands once and then let her go. It was the most difficult thing I’d ever done, but her time on the ocean was over. She’d go back to England with her husband and continue to fight for the rights of magic users, because my dear Ross could never refuse a fight. She was – she still is – the bravest woman I ever knew, but didn’t count herself as anything special. That’s what made her so special to me. And I saw it in her husband’s eyes every time he looked at her.
She paused once on the gang plank to turn and wave, and then walked into her husband’s embrace. She’d found a good man. If I ever find a woman half as good as Rossalinde I might even be tempted to settle down, but until then I have my island, my ships, my tavern, and all it’s womanly delights.
But a man, even a pirate, can dream.
- Winterwood: Amazon.co.uk / Amazon.com
- Silverwolf: Amazon.co.uk / Amazon.com
- Rowankind: Amazon.co.uk/ Amazon.com – pre-order now for December
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Peter wrote, "For even hereunto were ye called: because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps: Who did no sin, neither was guile found in his mouth" (1 Peter 2:21, 22).
Christ serves as the great example. And those who desire to live a life that is pleasing to God, and who want to be able to enjoy heaven one day, must follow the example that God gave – Jesus Christ.
Jesus is the example of obedience, in doing the will of his Father. Even when it meant pain and suffering, he wanted to obey.
In his prayer he said, "O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt" (Matt. 26:39). Man must do the Father’s will (Matt. 7:21-23), to be pleasing to God.
The Bible teaches one is to have faith (Heb. 11:6), to repent of sins (Luke 13:3), to confess Jesus as the Son of God (Rom. 10:9, 10) and to be baptized for the remission of sins (Acts 2:38). All who do this then must live faithfully, following Christ all the days of their lives.
Jesus is the example in compassion for men. He went about doing things to help others. He took the time to care for the sick, comfort the bereaved and many other good things.
A leper was to be avoided, but Jesus healed his illness, showing that all need to be helped. At the tomb of Lazarus, the Lord stood and wept. He cared about the hurt of the family and friends, and for Lazarus himself.
Not only did he care for the physical needs of people, he was concerned about their spiritual needs. On one occasion, he was "... moved with compassion ..." because the multitude was as a flock without a shepherd (Matt. 9:36).
The Bible tells of his mission on earth: "For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost" (Luke 19:10).
Jesus is the example of how to love one’s fellow man. Prejudice did not have a place in the life of the Lord. This is clearly seen as he talked with a Samaritan woman (Jno. 4:6ff).
The Samaritans were thought of by most Jews as being lower than dogs, they were to be avoided. It has been said that some Jewish people would walk around the area of Samaria rather than go through the region, just to avoid meeting a Samaritan.
When Jesus spoke to this woman, she even asked him about this: "Then saith the woman of Samaria unto him, ‘How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria? For the Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans’" (John 4:9).
Not only did he talk with her, he taught her and her people. To Jesus it did not matter what nationality a person was, what mattered was they had a soul.
This is a lesson needed today – God loves all men no matter the color of their skin or what nationality they are.
It takes work for one to be pleasing to God. The idea of just believing in God then living like man wants is far from the truth of God’s word. True belief means following the great example of Jesus.
One must obey God by becoming a Christian the way those in the New Testament did and then living a life that follows Christ. This is how to follow God.
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About the game
Untoried is a card game for _ players.
This game was created as an assignment for my Game Design 1 class, and was iterated on over the course of a semester.
Unstoried is collaborative charades--pick cards from your hand to create a story, and watch your friends struggle to preform.
All stories are looked though by the Chosen and they choose one story to act out for the crowd.
This game went through a couple very different playtests, and accessibility became a main factor. Twice a participant had a condition that made playing the game a direct obstacle; they were unable to act something out in front of others. Besides this uncommon exception in play, the game was easy to grasp for most players.
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Recap: As Maddy cries pitifully from her crib, Steve tells Janet he wants to wean her off of expecting one of them to pick her up every time she makes a fuss. He then tells her how bummed he is about his idiot brother who went from being a straight A student in high school [which I find utterly laughable, considering how hard the writers have worked to convince viewers of how stupid and buffoonish Steve's halfwit, half-brothers are] to being a college dropout. Steve and Janet enter the kitchen, where Ryan is eating, and urge him to return to Amherst College. Steve suggests he write a letter to the dean to explain the situation...which is what, exactly? Sorry I partied so hard I couldn't attend any of my classes. Please reinstate me. Ryan refuses to talk about it and stalks out of the room.
Beverly Royale Hotel. Jack tells Dylan he's been in the witness protection program for the last seven years, and describes it as "being under the thumb of a U.S. Marshal". He then recounts the Season 3 episode where he fake died, and explains that after the car exploded and Dylan was screeching either "Jaaack!" or "Daaad!" (couldn't tell which), an FBI agent pulled him into a van, drove him to an undisclosed location...and then the process of giving him a new identity began. Jack tells Dylan that Kelly called him after they tracked him to Tolleson (nice job hiding him, FBI) and that he can only stay in L.A. for a few days. Dylan glares at him hatefully and barks, "Get out!" and Jack stops babbling and silently exits the room.
Now Wear This. Kelly is gabbling to Donna and Camille about the press kits she sent to various fashion publications in advance of the boutique soiree she's planning to help promote the merchandise. Camille tells Kelly she should sweeten the deal for the press with some extra perks and favors, but Donna and Kelly insist that the Donna Martin originals are more than enough to attract them. David enters the store to excitedly announce that he has an interview with a radio station in New York. Apparently, someone found his self-piteous nattering about his women problems from the After Dark DJ booth entertaining and thought he'd be a good addition to their team. He gives Camille a quick kiss, then rushes home to pack. Camille stares after him and glumly mutters, "If he gets the job, we're finished."
Matt has finally scored a client, and it's an unfunny comedian named Stuart who was fired by a club manager after performing only one night despite being hired for a six week stint. As Matt explains the legal process and tells him it looks like a simple case of breech of contract, Stuart is nervously blurting out a series of badly delivered one-liners. Matt tries not to cringe and says, "Talent is subjective" ... though in this case it appears to not be.
Beach house. Kelly arrives home and finds Dylan waiting for her on the patio. He snarks at her for going behind his back and calling Jack...and she concedes that she may have overstepped, but urges him to go to Jack and tell him everything he's ever wanted to say, even if it's just, "Goodbye forever, ya jerk."
After Dark. A pretty young woman sitting at the bar tries to get Noah's attention so she can order a drink...and he only gives her the time of day after Ryan chirps, "Yo, Noah! Over here!" The young woman thanks Ryan, introduces herself as Sheila, and invites him to join her and her friends at their table. After she sashays off, Noah asks Ryan how things are going at Amherst College, and Ryan grimly retorts, "It's not." He says he'd be totes into getting a bartending gig, and Noah invites him to hop over the bar and begin his new career. Matt, meanwhile, tries to entertain Donna and Kelly with one of Stuart's jokes...but when it goes over like a lead balloon, Matt throws in the towel and steers Kelly over to the dance floor. David joins Donna and asks her if Camille said anything to her about his New York interview, and Donna blabs that Camille said she's worried that it's too soon for their relationship to survive being long distance. A few seconds later, Camille comes over and smooches with David...and Donna stares over at them wistfully.
Dylan goes to Jack's motel room to tell him how pissed off he is at him for letting him believe he's been dead all these years. In the middle of his rant, Jack's wife Lisa calls to say hey, and he assures her that everything's A-OK on his "business trip". Jack tells Dylan that Lisa knows he's in witness protection (otherwise it'd be too hard to explain why a U.S. Marshal keeps hanging around) but that he hasn't told her anything about his previous life, e.g. the existence of his eldest son. Dylan self-piteously snarks about being low on his list of priorities and storms out of the room.
The Walsh house. Ryan announces to Janet and Steve that he just got a job at the After Dark and that he's going to start crashing at Noah's place. Steve's all, "Wha-a?" and scrunches his face in disapproval.
Beverly Royale Hotel. Kelly drops by to ask Dylan how things went with Jack, so Dylan pissily tells her that Jack hasn't acknowledged his existence to his new family, then admonishes her for forcing this father-son reunion on him. A few seconds later, Jack calls and tells him he urgently needs to talk to him tonight.
David calls Now Wear This from his hotel room in New York and tells Donna that his job interview got postponed to tomorrow. He then asks to speak with Camille so she can coo about how much she misses him...and while she's doing that, Donna stares sadly into space.
Court room. The prosecutor orders Stuart to deliver a joke so that the jury can determine how unfunny he is and call it a day with this dumb case. Stuart starts to tell a joke about peanuts but forgets the punchline, and a weary looking Matt requests a continuance.
Steve drops by the After Dark to admonish Ryan for his shitty life choices and that he doesn't want him to end up like Noah, who passed up attending Harvard to serve drinks to spoiled rich kids...and he says this with Noah standing a few feet away. Steve orders Ryan to get his stuff and return to Casa Walsh with him, but Ryan tells him to go pee up a rope and says he's happy at the After Dark.
Beach house. Kelly bitches to Donna about Camille's haughty 'tude, and Donna concedes that she can be very pushy. Kelly then remarks that she's noticed that she and David aren't hanging out as much as they used to, and Donna says they've cooled things off with their friendship 'cause Camille didn't like her hovering over David so much...and Kelly scrunches his face with disdain.
Dylan and Jack are ambling along the beach under the careful watch of Jack's U.S. Marshal minder. Jack urges him to join him and his family in witness protection...and when Dylan declines, Jack says he's going to abandon government protection so they can be together. A car suddenly drives by, and the U.S. Marshal tells Jack they're going to have to move along 'cause it could represent a threat. Jack asks Dylan to think about what he said, then climbs into the car and is driven off to safety.
Casa David. Noah is browsing through one of Ryan's chemistry textbooks...and when Ryan staggers into the kitchen a few minutes later, Noah tells him he's heard all about what a smart kid he's suddenly being passed off as. He cautions the lad about lost opportunities and tells him the sad tale of how he gave up an Ivy League education to slog it out behind the bar at the After Dark. He's kind of compressing the timeline on how his life as a bartender came to be, but whatever. He tells Ryan he doesn't want him to make a similar mistake, and Ryan stares contemplatively into space.
Beverly Royale Hotel. Jack drops by Dylan's room with coffee and apple fritters. Dylan chides him for not being more careful and worries that he could be recognized by whoever ordered the hit on him. Jack waves off his concern and says his enemies are either dead or in jail, and that he can afford to pay for a private security firm after he leaves the witness protection program.
After Dark. Matt is coaching Stuart on how to not totally suck as a comedian...and he's enlisted Kelly, Noah, and Ryan to serve as an audience. Stuart suddenly gets really nervous and chokes...and when Ryan delivers the punchline that Stuart appears to have forgotten, he miserably tells Matt he wants to drop the case 'cause he knows he has no future as a comedian. Good call.
The Walsh house. Steve is railing to Janet about Ryan again, and she reminds him that he too was on "the idiot track" while he was a student at CU...and has pretty much remained on that train ever since.
Beach house. David calls Donna to tell her that he got the DJ job in New York, and she says she's very happy for him...but then he suddenly gets all quiet and sad and says it just hit him that he's going to be moving across the country. He whimpers, "I'll miss you" and adds that he hasn't yet told Camille. Donna urges him to call her, and he assures her he will...after they chat some more.
Dylan stops by the beach house to tell Kelly that things are going much better with Jack, and thanks her for reuniting him with his dad. He tells her that Jack is planning to leave witness protection and hire a private security firm - and that for the first time in his life he doesn't feel the need to mope around in his usual morose, slovenly fashion. He stares at her creepily and leans in for a cheek kiss...but restrains himself from going further and mumbles, "Matt's a lucky guy." As he slouches off into the night, Kelly stares after him longingly.
Steve drops by Casa David to apologize to Noah for talking trash about his aimless life as a bartender...and Noah resists the urge to remind him that he writes fake tabloid trash for a living and is in no position to be judgey. When Ryan sleepily staggers into the room, Steve tells him it's A-OK with him if he makes his own decisions about whatever dead end job he wants to spend his life doing...and the two hug and exchange I love yous.
An FBI agent drops by Dylan's hotel room to ask him to please come with him. That can't be good.
Court room. Stuart is called to the stand, but Matt tells the judge he doesn't want to 'cause he's too intimidated. Matt then starts performing Stuart's standup routine...and even though it's just as lame and unfunny as if it were Stuart himself doing it, the judge, jury, and observers all bust a gut laughing. Amid the gales of laughter, Matt shocks everyone by revealing that he was merely delivering Stuart's material...and they gasp in surprise and are all, "Ooooh! Wha-a-a..?!" LOL.
Dylan is brought to the Federal Building to meet with Christine Pettit. She warns him that Jack is in imminent danger, and that she knows this 'cause she heard his name come up in surveillance chatter from two men he testified against. She sternly tells Dylan that it would be irresponsible for Jack to come out of witness protection, and that he needs to convince him to stay in the program for his own safety.
The Walsh house. Janet picks up a crying Maddy and defiantly tells Steve she's going to rock her to sleep from now on...and that if he doesn't like it he can suck on it. Ryan enters the nursery to announce that he's off to Europe. He's going to do some travelling, get some much needed perspective, then come back to L.A. and enrol himself in CU. I will assume that Rush is going to be financing this journey of self discovery. Janet congratulates him on his decision, and then Steve and Ryan head to the After Dark to party together one last time.
Motel. Jack is packing his suitcase when Dylan slouches into his room. He tells Jack that he just spoke to Christine, and she told him that two of the men he testified against now know he's in L.A. and are trying to find him so they can put a bullet in his brain. Jack looks defeated and says if he goes back into witness protection, the two of them will never see each other again...and Dylan's like, "Can do" and assures him he now has full closure and no longer feels any hatred toward him. He declines Jack's invitation to join him in witness protection, and the two share one last tearful hug.
Now Wear This. It's the night of the big publicity party, and the store is filled with a gaggle of fashion editors who have nothing better to do with their time than mill around racks of Donna Martin originals. Camille grumbles to Donna about David accepting the DJ job 'cause it means he'll be leaving town, and Donna points out that she's only known David a month - whereas his cast mates have known him his entire life and will have a much more difficult adjustment to make when he leaves. David, meanwhile, arrives at the mall and finds Dylan standing a few feet away from the store, creepily staring at Kelly. David chuckles knowingly and remarks, "You just can't shake some people" then stares at Donna and says he's decided not to take the job in New York after all. Dylan's like, "OK, whatever" and slouches off...and Camille spots David and makes a beeline over to him for a canoodle. As Donna watches the two rub up against each other, she tells Kelly that her latest breakup with David was stupid...and now knows this 'cause she's spent the last few years looking everywhere for a boyfriend and managed to find nothing better than the slim pickens she had in high school. She has suddenly come to the realization that David is all she's ever wanted, and moans, "I'm still in looooove with David.." while Kelly just stares at her vacantly.
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When humankind was young, we lived in a garden paradise…I believe that to be literally true; it is also experientially true for the fortunate among us. When we were children, we lived in a protected sanctuary, under the loving care of our parents. The world was new to our experience, and filled with wonder and mystery. The light had a special radiance…the flowers were treasures of color and scent…butterfly was a small miracle. And then they grew up.
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Chapter 253: Nobody Is A Better Schemer Than The Old MadameBai Xiangxiu asked her question out of curiosity. She couldn’t help but notice that the smile on the old madame’s face was a little sinister. In fact, it bore a lot of resemblance to Long Heng’s smile.The old madame asked, “Have you finished preparing the enslavement paper for Miss Lin?”“Eh… Yes I have.” Bai Xiangxiu couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy, knowing that a human being could be bought and sold in this world.The old madame reached her hand out, “Give it to me!”“Oh. Understood,” Bai Xiangxiu had Xiaoshi fetch the enslavement paper and handed it over to the old madame. This was a piece of paper that could decide a person’s fate. Bai Xiangxiu couldn’t help but wonder what the old madame would decide to do with it. “Mother, are you planning to sell this agreement to Minister Lin?”We could do this and make Minister Lin owe us a favor. We should set the price a bit high though. However, both Long Heng and the old madame both stared at her. Bai Xiangxiu could tell that mother and son were looking at her oddly.“You want to return this to Minister Lin? He probably wouldn’t dare to take it even if we hand it to him. Having a daughter like that is more like a curse.”“But… It’s his daughter after all.” Moreover, Minister Lin really treats this particular daughter well.“It would be better not to have a daughter like this.” The old madame looked at the enslavement paper and said, “Sun-mama, look for a brothel-keeper that you are acquainted with and ask her which brothel in the capital needs a new worker. Of course, we’re only talking about a second-class courtesan.”Courtesans in brothels were segregated by class. A first-class courtesan was multi-talented and did more than just sleep with the customers. Even the men that wanted to spend time with these courtesans would have to be knowledgeable and have a high status. A second-class courtesan was an entirely different story altogether. Their customers were there only for carnal pleasures. There would be all sorts of men visiting them, but men of high status would rarely visit. People only visited them to fulfill their desires and would never show them any pity and love. Who wouldn’t do whatever they pleased after spending their hard earned money? Because of that, life for these second-class courtesans were quite difficult indeed.Bai Xiangxiu naturally knew about these things as she’d lived in this world for quite some time already. She couldn’t help but tremble at how ruthless the old madame was. It’d be impossible for the female lead to escape from her fate after sending her to such a place. Doing this would be like a slap at the emperor’s face too. He’d definitely feel the slap even though he was all the way in the palace. No matter what happened, Miss Lin had still once been his woman. What would the men think when they were sleeping with this second-class courtesan? Would they think that they’re the emperor too?
Bai Xiangxiu’s grinned when she realized this fact, “Mother, you’re so evi-… I mean, this is a great idea!”The old madame was speechless. It’s one thing to be happy, but why show it on your face? What would others say when they see you like this? The old madame handed over the paper to Sun-mama. “Sell her for a high price. Five thousand taels at minimum. People there should know her value. They’ll never earn a loss with her around. Give the money to the princess consort after you’re done for her to fortify her body.”Bai Xiangxiu was a little overwhelmed by the sudden good treatment. “Old Madame, many thanks for your great favor.”Why does this sum of money feel a bit like a hot potato? But it makes me feel so happy at the same time! I’m feeling so conflicted!Long Heng looked as stern as usual, but the edge of his mouth was slightly raised. As expected, his mother was experienced and wise enough to find a suitable way to handle the matter when they were at loss for what to do.They didn’t talk about much else as the old madame had just returned home. Each family member went back to their own room to rest after they had a sumptuous meal. Bai Xiangxiu even took special care of Lin Qianzi by having the servants to clean her up and cure her illnesses. After all, Lin Qianzi wouldn’t be able to fetch a high price if she was all sickly and dirty. So this is why people say that evilness spreads like a disease.Xiao Lin was going to sleep with Bai Xiangxiu and Long Heng tonight. The old madame wanted them to spend some time together as they’d not seen each other for a long time. Bai Xiangxiu had truly missed her son a lot. She sat in front of the cradle and kept staring at him while smiling gently. She didn’t even make a single sound, seemingly extremely afraid of waking her son up.Long Heng took a bath and applied some medicine to his body. He didn’t take his injuries too seriously as they were just flesh wounds with no injuries to his bone. Moreover, scabs had already formed. He’d originally planned to spend a warm evening with Bai Xiangxiu. Because of that, he couldn’t help but frown a little when he saw Bai Xiangxiu cuddling their son’s cradle. Xiao Lin suddenly woke up, as if he’d sensed Long Heng’s presence. He looked at Bai Xiangxiu and suddenly grinned. After that, he shifted his little head around as if looking for something. Bai Xiangxiu had no idea what he was searching for and thought that he wanted milk. Long Lin immediately broke into tears when he failed to find what he was looking for. He refused to drink any milk when the wet nurse came in to feed him.
“What’s wrong? Why is he crying so much?” This never happened before. Xiao Lin didn’t cry very often.
The wet nurse laughed. “The young prince is probably misses his grandmother. He’s actually very dependent on his grandmother and likely cried when he didn’t see her after waking up.”So it’s because he misses his grandmother. I guess this is not unusual since the old madame has been the one taking care of his. Bai Xiangxiu was a little jealous, but didn’t pay it too much heed since it wouldn’t be a bad thing for them to be close to each other. So, she turned to Long Heng and asked, “What should we do?”
“We should get someone to take Xiao Lin to mother. It wouldn’t be a good thing if he continues to cry like this.” It’d be great to send him over. I can then continue hugging my little princess consort.Bai Xiangxiu never even once considered the motive behind Long Heng’s words as her mind was filled with nothing but worry. And so, she carefully wrapped Xiao Lin up snuggly and handed him over to a servant who would bring Xiao Lin to the old madame’s quarters. The old madame probably misses her grandchild very much at this very moment too!Long Heng hugged Bai Xiangxiu when everyone else had left the room. “You’ve truly given birth to mother’s precious grandson.” However, Long Heng was thinking something else inside. Your son really knows how to pick his target. Mother will probably be much more lenient towards you since you’re his mother.“Yeah. But it disappoints me a little that he doesn’t recognize me.”“Not a problem. We can just make one more child that will stick to you at all times.” Long Heng picked Bai Xiangxiu up and headed for the bed. She immediately put up a struggle and yelled at Long Heng while blushing furiously, “Stop fooling around! You’re still injured!”“You asked for it.”“When did I ever?”“Little lass. You will not escape from me tonight.” Right after that, the new princess consort let out a wail so loud that one could see silhouettes of startled birds in the night sky seek shelter in deeper darkness.Lin Qianzi was now in an extremely dark place as well. She was extremely frightened and couldn’t even move, though her acupoints had been released. It was no longer possible for her to return to the palace now that the emperor had learned of everything. She began to think about Su Yun, who she’d not seen in a few days. Lin Qianzi couldn’t help but wonder if Su Yun would come to save her. It was Su Yun who’d given her the idea of seducing the emperor to use him to achieve her revenge, after all. But she had now lost another child because of said revenge. She’d lost everything that she once had.She didn’t want to serve Long Heng, nor did she want to serve Bai Xiangxiu. Even though she clearly knew that it was not Bai Xiangxiu’s fault that her son died, she just couldn’t help but be consumed by hatred. After putting in some thought, she realized that it was probably just jealousy. She was jealous that Bai Xiangxiu was so dearly loved by Long Heng. She’d been with countless men, yet how many truly loved her?
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By Shelley Viggiano
My youngest daughter toddled over to her grandfather, clutching a pink soft-sided book. “Will you read this to me, Grampa?”
“Sure I will, little darlin’, hop up in my lap!”
I intently watched my father read with animation about fairy tale princesses and magical kingdoms to my youngest daughter. I had seen him do this many times, and it always struck me with the same sense of awe and wonder. Who is this man who is gentle and patient and loves my children so dearly? He was new to me, a stranger when he made his first appearance in the hospital delivery room.
When I was a child, my father was a busy, stressed small business owner. To cope with the difficulties, he developed an addiction to alcohol. He visited bars and he went hunting with his friends to escape reality and, I assumed, to escape from us. Most of the time he was unavailable to my older sister and me, and when he was available he wasn’t pleasant to be with — negative, scowling, with seemingly no joy for life or desire to be a family. In my teenage years he gave up drinking, but it was too late for a bond or close relationship to form between us. Our interactions felt awkward and uncomfortable. I would always feel that there was a distance between us impossible to be bridged. But, I grew to understand that he wasn’t just my father — but also a regular man, a husband, son, brother and CEO. He had problems like anyone else would. He made mistakes, but who doesn’t? I forgave him for being absent many years ago, with the understanding that there was no way he could make it up to me. We just couldn’t go back and live life again.
However, when my oldest daughter was born six years ago, I was astonished by his enthusiasm for her. He always wanted to hold her, and as he gazed down at her, his face would light up. His eyes would crinkle when he broke out into huge grins. He showered her with kisses and hugs, coos, and little encouragements. He spoke to everybody about his special granddaughter, and showed pictures with pride. This experience was so foreign, and it made me realize that there were things I didn’t know about my dad. He loved her passionately, and called nearly every day to check on her and see when he could visit again. As she grew, and then we added a little sister, his enthusiasm for them expanded. Over the years I have seen him patiently read stories, watch cartoons, color ponies and princesses and lovingly wipe messy hands and faces. When he is with my girls, he laughs boisterously, smiles broadly, cuddles, tickles, plays games and beams with pride.
My father and I cannot go back, but the affection and attention he gives to my daughters has made a full amends for his shortcomings as a dad. In truth, it is even sweeter — we both love them so much, we share that bond of pride and devotion. I am healed through the adoration of a grandfather for his granddaughters, who loves the little girl in my heart through his love for them.
Shelley Viggiano loves her dad, and lives in upstate New York with her husband and two children.
GRAND readers, we invite you to submit your own grandparent-related essays (300 words max.)
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Ancient Ram Inn
RESIDENCE – ANCIENT RAM INN
Location: Potters Pond, Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire GL12 7HF
Small Description: The Ancient Ram Inn is a Grade II listed building, originally built in 1145. It is built on the site of an ancient burial ground (5 thousand years ago) and it is also believed that devil worship and child sacrifices took place here.
Originally the Inn was built by St Mary’s Church and was used to house slaves and workers who were building the church. In 1930 the Inn was purchased by Maurice de Bathe and changed ownership several times until John Humphries bought the property in 1968. He lives there to this day.
Ghost Story: Being one of Englands most haunted places, it is said that there are up to 20 ghosts who haunt the Ram Inn. The ghosts include: Monks and priests, a cavalier, cats, dogs, demons, children and previous landlords. They have caused even the bravest of people to leave hurriedly in the middle of the night, some even jumping out of windows to get away (luckily only from the ground floor windows)! John Humphries (the owner) carries a bible with him as he moves about the house.
The Bishop’s Room is by far the most haunted. There is a very dark energy in this room; some say it’s the most haunted room in the world! There have been sighting of two monks, standing shimmering in the corner. A shepherd and his sheep dog have been seen at the door. There is a cavalier who sits at the dressing table and walks purposefully across the room.
Eight people who have slept in this room have had to be exorcised. The former Bishop of Gloucester, the Rt Rev John Yates attempted to exorcise this room and was unsuccessful saying it was ‘the most evil place I have ever had the misfortune to visit.’
In the attic above the Bishops Room, the Inn Keepers daughter was murdered in the 1500’s. People have heard a slow, heavy sound like someone being dragged across the floor. There have been many photographs taken in the attic showing strange mists and orbs.
The Witch’s Room is haunted by a local townswoman, who was burned at the stake with her black cat. There have been sightings of the ‘witch’ sitting by the bed while a small girl waves from the outside window.
There are two lustful demons: Incubus (male demon or evil spirit who visits women in their sleep) and Succubus (a female demon or who some might refer to as an Evil Spirit who attack men while they sleep) who reside at the property too. They are known to visit people as they sleep. On John Humphries first night at the property back in 1968, he was pulled out of bed. He has had many visits over the years from the Succubus. This would definitely make me sleep with one eye open!
Bonus Spook: After opening the chimney in the Bishop’s room that hadn’t been used in over 200 years, there were many artefacts found in small crevices and hidden behind stones in the wall. These artefacts were linked to devil worship and black magic. One of which was a small iron horseshoe set on a round piece of wood. This was about the size of a goats hoof. We all know what animal the devil is known to look like.
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William Frederick passed away on May 11, 2012. In 1946, Frederick began pursuing his BFA and MFA degrees in Art from The School of Art Institute of Chicago, where he subsequently taught for six years. He was a member of the Arts Club of Chicago and a member of Society of American Silversmiths. Among his many diverse projects as a silversmith are some 400 or more chalices that he created, never repeating a design. Consistent and distinctive in his designs is the use of the hammered surface; Frederick preferred the textured instead of the smooth, polished surface. His long career was sustained by word of mouth and the reception of many awards and articles in trade publications. Notable was the support afforded by his life partner of more than fifty years, the noted artist Ralph Arnold, who preceded him in death. Frederick’s creative importance is recognized by many clients, collectors, colleagues, and friends. His work is in several museums including the Art Institute of Chicago.
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I have been called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred impulse of maternal affection, it was the advantage of my daughter that led me on; and if that daughter were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I might have been rewarded for my exertions as I ought.
When we think of the works of Jane Austen, we usually think of The Six: Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park, Persuasion, Emma. There are, of course, some minor poems and some unfinished novel fragments like Sanditon and The Watsons, as well as some juvenilia, but we also have a full draft of a novel. It seems to have been written fairly early, but it was only published in Austen-Leigh's memoir of his aunt. Austen-Leigh also gave the title-less story a title, by which it has been known since: Lady Susan. It's relatively short, but it's in epistolary form, which allows for a lot of indirect implication about what's going on -- you can tell quite a bit of story in short space with skillful use of the epistolary form. It is also notable in being the only complete surviving draft of any novel of Austen's -- it seems to have been her practice to destroy prior drafts once published. It's unclear whether she ever intended to publish it, although she may have contemplated it after 1805 or so, when the surviving manuscript was copied from some prior draft. If she had published it, it's unclear whether it would have been published as is or reworked as a more conventional novel; her early novels often show some signs of at least partial conversion from epistolary format.
Lady Susan gives us something rather different from what people expect of Austen. The main character is beautiful, intelligent, wealthy, titled, widowed, and older than main characters in Austen usually are -- Lady Susan is at least 35, and probably closer to 40. And, most notably, of all, unlike Austen's other main characters, she is through and through a villain: self-centered, ruthless, manipulative, and inclined to do things just because she can. And she can. She can manipulate people like nobody's business, especially men, and she is completely unfettered by any attachment to common moral standards about the relations between the sexes. And we see most of the story from her point of view. I don't think there's really any barrier to calling her genuinely wicked; and if one does, I would say she is one of the most plausibly wicked characters in all of fiction. You have to get used to the indirectness of the epistolary format, but imagine a writer of Austen's caliber and biting wit showing what the world looks like from the perspective of a villain as intelligent as she is, and you have Lady Susan. The quotation at the top of the post is Lady Susan herself. And she is very quotable. From the same letter:
I have more than once repented that I did not marry him myself, and were he but one degree less contemptibly weak I certainly should, but I must own myself rather romantic in that respect, and that riches only, will not satisfy me.
From another letter:
To be sure, when we consider that I did take some pains to prevent my brother-in-law's marrying her, this want of cordiality is not very surprising--and yet it shows an illiberal and vindictive spirit to resent a project which influenced me six years ago, and which never succeeded at last.
And from another letter, also talking about her daughter:
You are very good in taking notice of Frederica, and I am grateful for it as a mark of your friendship; but as I cannot have a doubt of the warmth of that friendship, I am far from exacting so heavy a sacrifice. She is a stupid girl, and has nothing to recommend her.
And again, even better:
Some mothers would have insisted on their daughter's accepting so great an offer on the first overture, but I could not answer it to myself to force Frederica into a marriage from which her heart revolted; and instead of adopting so harsh a measure, merely propose to make it her own choice by rendering her life thoroughly uncomfortable till she does accept him.
I could quote her all day; she just doesn't stop. And what is remarkable is that it is all very plausible: you know people who act like this on a small scale; they just don't have Lady Susan's boldness, which arises from her complete incapacity to see anything she does as requiring genuine repentance, and her remarkable ability to get away with it.
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Momentarily he gleamed on his soapbox. He would show the way for the hungry. Promises of wounds that would be washed, held, and kissed back to perfection. He reflected so appropriately the world’s desperation.
Conceptually he moved mountains. The words always pointing in the right direction; just enough arc to cause a stir. He demanded a kingdom from which he deemed himself ruler. Illusion fit into his breast pocket – a bait and switch – sleight of hand. Wool over the eyes that no sheep would now ever admit was once his.
Physically he changed nothing but claimed everything. Passive-aggressive in a voice that force-fed entitlement to the masses. A sadness haunted from his lonely tower, held upright only by smoke and warped mirrors.
Genuinely she loved him. Through the pasty, plastic lips, lay a human smile that she had only seen on but a few occasions.
How long can you really love a man who is momentarily present, physically polished, and conceptually broken?
His real life was but a figment of his own imagination. What truly stood in those shoes was nothing more than you or I:
An imperfect heart in hopeful skin.
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All you need is a personal relationship with Jesus or is more needed? On one occasion, I was at a function at an Evangelical Church in the Milwaukee area. Afterwards there was a get together with a few of us in the Cafeteria of the Church. At some point, the person sitting next to me on my right realized that I was Catholic. He asked me the question "On my meeting with Jesus, what would I tell Jesus is the reason I should be saved?' I rephrased the question and asked him, "Are you asking me, what must I do to spend everlasting life with God in Heaven?" He said, "Yes." I said to him, "I will answer your question if you answer your own question first." And he said, "will you promise not to change your answer after I have answered?" I said, "I absolutely will not change my answer."
He said "all you have to do is have a personal relationship with Jesus." I said to him, "Judas had a personal relationship with Jesus, and Jesus said of Judas 'It would have been better for that one not to have been born'" (Mt 28:24). He was stunned; he didn't know how to respond to this. He, looked at the person across from me and said, "did you hear what he just said?"
In the end, I think he realized that his answer was at best, incomplete. Both Satan and Judas had personal relationships with Jesus. They, having their own agenda didn't want to obey, Jesus. There are people who claim that all we need is a personal relationship with Jesus; obedience to what He says is not necessary. Remember, we are not to imitate the disobedience of Judas and Satan; we are to imitate the other Apostles who did obey Jesus.
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ADESA has announced two new general managers for its auction locations in the Central Region.
Kevin Stumm will serve as the general manager of ADESA Des Moines while Jeff Brinkley will serve as GM of ADESA Salt Lake. Both appointees have decades of experience in the auction industry.
Stumm start in the auction business began in 2003 when he became the GM of Wisconsin Auto Auction. He then went on to become a founder of VinFocused, a consultative service provider for large to small automotive dealerships. Stumm also held director or manager roles at Lee Enterprises, CarSoup.com and Autotrader.com
Brinkley's start in the industry began in 1985 at the former Indianapolis Auto Auction, which became ADESA Indianapolis. Through his career, he has served as an assistant GM at various auctions such as ADESA Indianapolis; ADESA Orlando; ADESA Salt Lake; and Greater Nevada Auto Auction. He also previously served as general manager of the former ADESA Southern Indiana.
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29 September 1888
(BY A LOAFER).
Arbour-square, Stepney, is one of those places, common enough in this mighty London of ours, which could hardly look cheerful under any possible circumstances. There is that dreary air of bygone respectability about it which reminds one so forcibly of the average London landlady, who is never tired of impressing upon her lodgers that she has seen better days and has come down in the world; an assurance which, as a rule, it is much easier to believe than that she had ever occupied a shabbier rung on the social ladder. In the one case there is some room for one's imagination to work; in the other case there is not. Well, the locale of the Thames Police-court has just that appearance of shabby-gentility which is so oppressive to the casual observer. Nor is this aspect a misleading one, for there was a time when this Court held sole jurisdiction over the great waterway from which it derives its name. All river cases, from pilfering to piracy, were formerly brought here for trial, and in the old days pirates were hung within its jurisdiction. It has a long record of notorious criminals upon its register, and the details of many a thrilling horror have broken the hush of its crowded, awe-struck audiences in the days that are no more.
This is all ended, or nearly so, and the snug houses within its vicinity, which were at one time the homes of prosperous lawyers and notaries, are now occupied by a humbler but probably more honest class of tenants.
I found in the course of a friendly chat with one of the "bobbies" on duty that he and his comrades are living in lively and hopeful anticipation of the capture of the Whitechapel murderer. The hopefulness, I have no doubt, was assumed as a professional compliment to the acumen of "the force" and an intimation to an outsider like myself that the monster must eventually fall into their hands. Judging from the confident air of my informant, I should say that the gentlemen (or is it a lady?) we call Nemesis was a blunderer compared with the detective department of the Metropolitan Police.
"When 'e is caught, sir, 'e'll be brought to this hyere court, and then, my hye! Won't there just be a rush to see 'im! Why, sich is the curiosity of folks, that they'll be a-coming, I shouldn't wonder, from the West-end in their kerridges, just to 'ave a look at 'im."
This prospect of the high price of "tips" for accommodation in the Court accounted for the liveliness of my friend's anticipation, but I did not think it worth while to remark it to him. Some men are hypersensitive.
Very sad were the surroundings of one poor creature who was placed in the dock yesterday. There was every evidence, too pathetic for words to describe, that Hannah Burley was suffering from a mind distraught. She stood, with wandering gaze and babbling tongue, while she was charges with being a wandering lunatic not being under proper control. At half-past four o'clock that morning Henry Stacey, 317 K, was on duty in Bow-road, close to Bow Church, when he saw the prisoner surrounded by a large crowd of persons. She walked to a house connected with Dr. Barnardo's Home. As she acted very strangely the constable questioned her, and her replies being very vague and unsatisfactory he sent for a doctor, who said that she was of unsound mind. Mr. Lushington put the prisoner back for the doctor's attendance, and she left the dock with a smiling wonder upon her face and in her troubled eyes.
It looked bad from the first for Mr. John Thurley, a rough-looking customer, who was charged with disorderly conduct and with assaulting Police constables 227 and 187 H. On Thursday evening the prisoner was creating a disturbance in (illegible)-street, St. George's and on Police constable 227 asking him to go away, he kicked him on the leg. Police constable 187 H came to his assistance, whereupon the prisoner butted him with great force in the face, causing his nose to bleed. -his Worship sentenced the prisoner to 14 days hard labour for the assault on the first constable, and to two months' hard labour for the assault on the second. John seemed puzzled for the moment in trying apparently to calculate why one policeman's nose was worth four times as much as a leg of another. He will have plenty of time on his habds to work out that interesting sum.
John Austin was charged with stealing a hand bag, containing 4s. 6d., a gold wedding ring, a silver pencil case, and other articles from the person of Mary Hankins, living in Patterson-street, Stepney. At six o'clock on Tuesday evening last week the complainant was walking along Skidmore-street, carrying a bag in her hand, when the prisoner snatched the bag and made off with it. She followed, but lost sight of him. She gave a description of the thief to the police. A week later Arthur Springthorp, 93 H, apprehended him. The prisoner, on being told of the charge, said "All right, I'll go; but what is a man to do if he can't get money enough for his lodgings?" Mr. Lushington very wisely transferred the task of answering that question to a jury by committing the inquirer for trial.
The man John Fitzgerald, who was arrested at Wandsworth, and who has been detained at the Leman-street Police-station on his own confession of having murdered Annie Chapman, in Hanbury-street, on the 8th inst., has been liberated, exhaustive inquiries having proved his statements to be entirely unfounded. Since Fitzgerald's release, yesterday, nothing further has transpired in connection with the recent tragedies.
"One who knows" writes as follows to the Times:
Your correspondent "Gamma" proposes that a number of philanthropic gentlemen should float a company for the purpose of buying up and improving the houses at present dedicated to vice and crime, and suggests that such a company would have every prospect of paying a good dividend.
Permit one who is well acquainted with the East-end slums to point out that the first step needful is the prosecution of the landlords of these rookeries of crime for keeping disorderly houses.
When the houses shall have been closed in consequence of such prosecutions, that will be purchaseable at a fair price that would, after improvement and reletting under conditions compatible with decency, yield a fair return to the philanthropic investor. If bought as "going concerns," the price would be simply prohibitive, for vice pays a higher rent than virtue, and the purchase money would be proportionate to the rental; while the large figure that would be paid by the philanthropist would only encourage the formation of new rookeries of vice to take the place of those suppressed.
The fact remains that the police must act before the philanthropist can step in.
Let an experiment be made in Dorset-street, Flower and Dean-street, and Thrawl-street, places made notorious in connection with the recent Whitechapel murders. In these streets, literally within a stone's throw of Toynbee-hall and the Rev. S.A. Barnett's Vicarage, are whole rows of so-called "registered" lodging houses, each of which is practically a brothel and a focus of crime. The police authorities uniformly refuse to prosecute the owners of such places as keepers of disorderly houses, although the fullest evidence is in their possession to insure conviction, and they always throw the odious duty of prosecution on the neighbours who may feel aggrieved. These cannot prosecute in the cases of the Whitechapel rookeries without risking their lives; for such is the lawless nature of the denizens of these places that they would certainly, and probably with impunity, wreck their vengeance on any private individual who would dare disturb them.
If the Home Secretary would give instructions for the simultaneous prosecution of the keepers of these nests of crime, the houses would be closed within a few weeks, and the owners would then gladly part with their bad bargains at a fair price to the philanthropic investor.
The suppression of these haunts of crime and the dispersion of their lawless population should be the watch-word and cry. -the Carthago delenda est, of every social reformer. That such a seething mass of moral filth and corruption should exist in our midst is a disgrace to our much vaunted civilisation, and a danger to the State.
THE AMERICAN AND HIS KNIFE.
At Dalston Police-court, yesterday, James Johnson, 35, a well-set, pale-complexioned, and clean-shaven man, with a strong American accent, giving his address as 18, Berdhurst-road, St. John's-hill, Wandsworth, and describing himself as a waiter, was charged wit assaulting Elizabeth Hudson by throwing her on the pavement, and threatening to stab her at Richmond-road, Kingsland.
The prosecutrix said that about two o'clock that morning she was proceeding home, when the prisoner accosted her, put his arm round her, and threw her upon the pavement. He then produced a long knife, and attempted to stab her. She screamed "Murder!" and "Police!" and then the prisoner ran away. The knife was about eight or ten inches long.
Alice Anderson, describing herself as a feather curler of the same address as Hudson, said between one and two that morning she was in the Kingsland-road, near the Lamb public-house, when the prisoner accosted her, and asked her if he could walk home with ther. She said she did not mind and the prisoner accompanied her along the road. At a dark spot, however, he put his arm round her waist and tried to throw her down. Witnesss succeeded in knocking at a door at the same time screaming "Murder!" The prisoner then ran away. A quarter of an hour later witness heard screaming some distance off, and on hastening up the road, she saw Hudson, who told her that the man had thrown her down and attempted to stab her.
The prisoner said it was untrue that he had a knife. Both the women ran after him, and Hudson attempted to steal from his pockets. He pushed her off, and she fell down.
Constable Nue, 460 J, said that at a quarter to two that morning he was on duty in De Beauvoir-square, when he heard screams of "Murder" and shouts of "Police." Witness then saw the prisoner running and stopped him. He said that two women had accosted him, and asked him to go down the mews in Richmond-road, and when he declined they screamed. The prisoner was searched at the station, but no knife was found upon him.
The prisoner said that the women had spoken untruthfully. He repeated the statement that the women had run after him. They asked for eggs and money. He could produce his friends if it were necessary.
Mr. Bros said he had better do so. He should put the case back until the afternoon. The magistrate then directed Inspector Holland to make inquiries as to the prisoner's character as speedily as possible.
Subsequently the prisoner was again placed in the dock, and Mrs. Seaton, his landlady, deposed that she had known him as a reasonable man for a long time. He was employed at Spiers and Pond's. When prisoner was asked what he had to say, he said he could only repeat his former statement, with the addition that he came over to Kingsland to see a friend, and not finding him, he went playing billiards. -Mr. Bros: Why did you run away?
Prisoner: Because I was ashamed of being mixed up in such a matter. Police-constable 16 J R said he knew the prosecutrix in this case as a disorderly woman, and had cautioned her not long not long before this matter occurred for accosting men.- Mr. Bros discharged the prisoner, remarking that he had got into an awkward scrape by his own silliness.
The police state, as an extraordinary circumstance, that when they went on duty, about half-past ten last night, they saw the word "Look' written in chalk on the pavement, on both sides of a lamp-post. Under the lamp-post was also written, "I am Leather Apron." Under this was drawn two figures- one of a woman and the other of man holding a knife in his hand. Again under this were the words, "Five more, and I will give myself up." The matter was treated as a joke at the time, but the officers say it is very strange that such a singular case should come to light so soon after.
The following new order has been issued by the Comissioners to the Metropolitan Police:
"In all cases in which drunken persons are arrested in or near public-houses the officer making the apprehension is to note and report any facts which may tend to prove where and under what circumstances the accused obtained the liquor; and in any case in which there is sufficient evidence of the sale of intoxicating liquor to a drunken person the particulars are to be reported, with a view to proceedings being taken against the publican concerned."
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Soaring Of Galaxia - Chapter 88
Chapter 88: Gain on the First Day
Translator: Jillian Editor: Jimmy
Besides the serial number on the back and the chest, the rest of the test robe was the same for all martial arts students. Plus, after wearing the mask, most likely nobody would recognize themselves even if they were in front of a mirror.
With a long echo from the bugle horn, the exam finally opened its curtains.
Like a leopard cat, Qin Wushuang scuttled out of the grassland. A moment ago, while he was concealing himself while waiting for the start of the exam, he already saw a bright and shining jade plate on the branch not far from his location.
Whatever the number of this jade plate maybe, since he saw it, he would need to take it. Since the first step was always the hardest, if he acquired the first one, surely they would appear one after another.
With a takeoff and landing, Qin Wushuang landed on the branch. At once, he saw a jade plate in between the intersection of the branch. He turned it over and unfortunately, it's number eight.
Only worth two points...
He still decided to put it into his pocket.
The more points, the better his winning chance.
This time, since the Bai Yue Country had listed such rich rewards, there was no reason for Qin Wushuang not to go for it. It would be very tough to acquire an individual number one through the two thousand martial arts students in the entire Bai Yue Country. However, it was not impossible.
At least, regarding strength, if he claimed himself as a number two, then most likely no one would dare to claim themselves as number one.
Of course, luck was also essential to this exam.
Sometimes a person may be powerful, yet without any luck. If he could not find the jade plate with his serial number, then it would significantly affect the entire exam process.
Besides, performances at the scene and the ability to grasp the situations were equally important.
Qin Wushuang decided to gain the upper hand by showing his strength to find a couple of jade plates. After all, the more plates he had, the more he would be free from anxiety.
Although the testing site only had fifty miles of moving area, to fifty people, fifty miles of road was already an more than enough.
The difficulty was genuinely tough for one to find fifty jade plates within this boundary.
Fortunately, each and every one was a well-trained upper-level martial arts student. Regarding different prospects and skills, they were the top among others at the same age.
At the start of the exam, like a fish back in the water and a tiger in the forest, Qin Wushuang had fully brought out his specialties. Within one day, through exploration of the region, calculation over each detail and by using his understanding of the unique traits possessed by ordinary humans, he had dug out four jade plates from many ’’dead corners.’’
The reward was huge. Among these four plates, one of them was number twenty-six which had the same ending digit as Qin Wushuang's. It worth five points!
The other three were ordinary two point jade plates.
Plus the one he had acquired in the morning, Qin Wushuang had gained five jade plates on the first day without anyone noticing. In total, they were worth thirteen points.
Don't underestimate those two point jade plates. If used correctly, they would most likely be worth far more than two points.
However, Qin Wushuang was not in a rush to use them.
It was night, and he did not plan to move.
Although the exam time only lasted one month, each minute and sections were crucial. However, it was not the appropriate way to make the best use of one's time like this. After a day of moving around, even though he did not spend too much stamina, he did use up a lot of energy and attention. Preserving his strength was crucial.
Plus, the night possessed greater danger. Even though Qin Wushuang had powerful night vision;he would not be able to move as freely as he did during the day. Especially because finding jade plates were highly technical tasks. If his vision were limited, he would lose a great deal of efficiency.
Thus, Qin Wushuang jumped onto a lush tree and closed his eyes to rest.
As an elite warrior, even when he was resting, each inch of his skin and each of his nerves stayed alert.
Within five hundred meters, anyone who was passing would not escape from Qin Wushuang's ears.
Most likely, these martial arts students thought that moving through the night would give them more cover. Certainly, they would want to grab some rewards in the pitch dark.
Only, it remained a big problem whether how much gains they would get. Most likely, they could accidentally hit the wrong person, which would lead to meaningless conflicts. Next, it would be pointless killings.
By that time, not only would they not acquire any jade plates, they would also get injured.
After all, only a day had passed, and not everyone would have gotten a plate. At least, Qin Wushuang had acquired five. In the end, some people would still be empty-handed for sure.
Surely, in the second half of the night, those martial arts students started to get irritated after they had been busy for the first half. Under the situation where they had acquired nothing, the ambushes had begun.
There were those who were wrongly killed without any mercy.
No matter if you had the jade plates, let's put you down first.
As soon as the conflicts had started, this area became bustling with activity.
The martial arts students continued to gather because of the sound. Qin Wushuang felt helpless. It seemed others had also chosen the same place as he did.
His plan to rest in the second half of the night was not going to work, most likely.
Nevertheless, he did not plan to expose his identity before people had discovered him. Of course, he would not hide intentionally. This time, the exam material was extraordinary where Qin Wushuang was not able to conceal himself one-hundred-percent.
Once you hide, the person with the corresponding digit and the one with the same ending number could not find you.
This case, he would just expose himself occasionally and make them grasp his whereabouts. Perhaps he could hook in one or two big fishes.
If he could catch the martial arts student with the corresponding number, it would save him a lot of trouble. The prerequisite was, the other party must have already acquired jaded plates. Or else, it would be useless with only the person coming.
With the sound of the footsteps approaching, Qin Wushuang knew someone had arrived.
’’Dude, so relaxed.’’ A light voice sounded from the bottom of the tree.
Qin Wushuang already heard this person's footsteps. He did not get up and continued lying on the branches and said: ’’It's the middle of the night, do you really want to be the evil guest to ruin my dream?’’
’’Haha...’’ That person was stunned since he did not expect Qin Wushuang was acting with such calmness. After all, in this test site, every person was an enemy.
And they were enemies that could take your lives at any moment.
’’Well, I did not want to ruin your beautiful dream either. But, too bad, the ending digit of your number is the same as mine. I have no choice but to borrow your jade plate.’’
His words did pique Qin Wushuang's interest. He leisurely sat up and glanced downwards. Under the dim light of the night, he saw that person was very tall. And on his testing robe, number thirty-six was embroidered.
Indeed, it had the same ending digits.
Qin Wushuang gave a long sigh and said: ’’Could it be, you think I have already found my jade plates?’’
That person smiled and apparently, he agreed with him: ’’If that's not the case, then why are you so carefree?’’
Qin Wushuang did not bother to explain as a trace of a smile also emerged on the corner of his mouth: ’’I just don't know if you have found your number thirty-six?’’
Twitching his mouth, that guy moved his eyebrow: ’’Could it be, you are thinking on that one?’’
Qin Wushuang smiled: ’’The only goal for this exam is to acquire jade plates. You want mine, and I want yours. We are all scheming against each other. Isn't that the essence of this exam?’’
That guy looked at Qin Wushuang for a moment and nodded: ’’That makes sense.’’
’’Ok, stop talking more rubbish. I still haven't got the number six. And you should have already got number thirty-six!’’
Here, Qin Wushuang leaped down from the tree. He clapped his hand lightly and said: ’’How about it, let's make a bet! Would you be interested?’’
’’A bet?’’ That guy frowned slightly and asked with caution.
’’I know you already have number thirty-six. And you, want to get the number six from me. To you, my plate is worth five points. And your thirty-six, to me, is also worth five points. Correct?’’
’’That's right,’’ That guy said coldly.
’’If that's the case, luckily, even though I don't have number six, but I did have a twenty-six. To you, it's the same. Right?’’
Then, Qin Wushuang took out a jade plate from his chest while he talked. He waved before the other guy and indeed, it was twenty-six!
Instantly, a fanatical light emerged from that person's eyes when he saw the plate with the same ending digit.
Inwardly, Qin Wushuang was overjoyed. Although he had not caught the big fish, he did hook up a medium sized fish!
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Funny Wet t shirt Porn Videos
A story set in Golarion, the campaign world of Pathfinder
"What about you! Are you going to tell your wife about fucking a famous Hollywood actress? I doubt your wife even knows how to suck dick like me!"
God, she was such a bitch. He thought to himself while she rugged his shorts down and pushed his white underwear down. Katherine didn't waste a second to wrap her fingers around his cock. As he looked down, he saw the sparkle of diamonds to the pear shaped engagement ring on her left hand. It didn't matter at all to him that she was a married woman. She stroked his cock in her hand while dropping her lower lip and starring at him with her gritted teeth. She was hungry. The look on her face told him enough that her inner dirty side had been unlocked. She parted her lips and pushed the head of his rod into her mouth. Katherine looked in his eyes one last time as she moaned over the head. 'Mmmmmm'. Pulling her lips from his cock, she looked at him and spoke again.
"You like my big tits, James?"
"Fuck yes! They're amazing!"
She smirked while stroking his cock in her hand before answering him.
"Good, cause I like your big fucking cock!"
Her right hand moved over his ass from behind and gave it a slap, just as she brought his cock into her mouth. The smack on his ass was enough to get his attention, not that watching her suck him wasn't enough. Katherine used her hand and mouth at the same time. As she began to bob her head up and down on his meat, she used her left hand to stroke him at the same time. Together, she moved her lips and hand in perfect sync of giving him a dual hand and blow job. Her right hand moved over his leg while she continued to bob her head up and down. Slobbering on his dick while moaning into it. 'Mmmmmm'. Her moans sent vibrations through his body. James let out out a moan as he watched her.
Katherine's mouth sucked and slobbered over his rod. Sucking noises could be heard while streams of her saliva dripped down his thick rod. Her hand glided easily over his fat shaft thanks to the saliva running down it. The sucking and slobbering noises were driving him almost insane. James had to admit, his wife never sucked him off like this. Katherine proved how much she was craving a good cock. While sucking on it, she came up to the head and then turned her head a bit until the outline of his rod could be seen from her left cheek. Pushing her mouth, aside she sucked on it hard until it popped out of her mouth loudly. She then spit on his dick and continued stroking it while looking in his eyes.
"You like that, James?"
"Yes! Oh my god, this is so amazing!"
"I suck it better than your stupid ass wife, huh?"
"Ohhhhh, fuck yes you do!"
"Mmmmm, that's what I like to hear!"
She gave him a smug grin before she broke eye contact and took his dick back into her mouth. Over and over, Katherine quickly bobbed her head up and down. She pushed his rod all the way down her throat, proving to him that she had deep throat talents. Her fingers moved down to the base of his cock while she held herself down, pushing the head of his dick to the back of her throat. James couldn't stop himself from yelling out.
"OH MY GOD!!"
Her hands moved to play with his balls while she slowly moved her mouth off his cock. When she came up, her lips created a pop noise while strings of saliva dripped down his cock. Katherine moved her lips down to his balls and began to slobber all over them. She licked them and then pushed her tongue over his nuts and popped them into her mouth. At the same time, she moved her hand back over his cock to stroke it while she slobbered on his nuts. James' eyes rolled to the back of his head moaning as she sucked on his nuts.
"Ohhhhhhh, man! This is it right there!"
After moving her mouth from his nuts, Katherine let go of his cock.
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Review by Meredith Allard
“Of all my books, I like this the best. It will be easily believed that I am a fond parent to every child of my fancy, and that no one can ever love that family as dearly as I love them. But, like many fond parents, I have in my heart of hearts a favourite child. And his name is David Copperfield.”
Few would argue that David Copperfield is Dickens’s greatest work, but, as the quote above points out, it was his favorite work. It’s my favorite of his books too. This is not a scholarly review but a personal review of a book that was personal for Dickens, and for me as well.
I first read David Copperfield as an English graduate student. While it should be a shame that I first read Dickens in my twenties in graduate school, all I can say about that is I was educated in America. Enough said. We were assigned two Dickens novels that term: David Copperfield and Great Expectations. I enjoyed Great Expectations, but I loved David Copperfield. I understood David. I knew him. David had a difficult childhood, as I did, as did Dickens. David found escape and relief in the books he devoured, as I did, as did Dickens. David worked hard to find success in the world, as I did, as did…you get the picture. I saw myself in David’s struggles and yearnings and decided that the guy who wrote this book couldn’t be half bad. I became a Dickens fan for life.
David Copperfield has the larger-than-life characters and plot twists and turns we know and love from Dickens, but it’s a smaller book–not because of its size but because it’s more of a character study than a social commentary. In honor of Dickens’s 200th birthday this February, I’m currently rereading all of his books in the order they were written, and while I haven’t yet arrived at David Copperfield, I am looking forward to revisiting that book most of all.
Meredith Allard is the executive editor of The Copperfield Review.
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Who is your neighbor? With all the violence in our nation, and in light of the Dallas shooting, we should ask ourselves, “Who is our neighbor?” As our community continues to grow more diverse than ever before, and maybe we don’t know the person next door as well as we should, we should ask ourselves, “Who is my neighbor?”
On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”
He answered: “ ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”
“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”
But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he fell into the hands of robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, took him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’
“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”
The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.” Luke 10:25-37
The expert in the law wanted to justify himself, make himself look right. If he was going to love his neighbor as himself, he needed to know who it was so that he could prove that he was justified in his actions.
We come up with all kinds of excuses to justify ourselves in the eyes of God. Have you loved the Lord your God with all your being all the time? It doesn’t take long to come to the conclusion that we have not. So we try to justify ourselves with the excuse that we are doing our best, or that others are worse, or that nobody’s perfect. We haven’t loved God with all our being all the time.
We come up with excuses to justify ourselves in the way we love our neighbor: I don’t know my neighbor, they are so different from me, they don’t love me. We haven’t loved our neighbors as our self. So if we can’t justify ourselves, how can we have eternal life? Since we could not love God and neighbor as we should, God sent Jesus to live and love perfectly in our place. He loved God and His will and kept His commands perfectly, with his entire being, all the time. He loved his neighbor as himself perfectly. And the punishment we deserved for not loving God and neighbor as we should, Jesus also took that on himself at the cross.
Our justification, being right in the eyes of God, comes through faith in Jesus Christ, in his perfect life and innocent death. You can’t justify yourself. In the eyes of God, the only way to be justified is to be seen with the righteousness of Jesus that is ours through faith. God has justified you in Jesus.
The love and mercy God has shown us in Jesus, is the same love and mercy God wants us to show to others. The expert of the law learned the valuable lesson: our neighbor is anyone and everyone. It’s not just the people that we know, or the people we get along with, or the people that look and act just like us. Our neighbor is everyone we come into contact with on a daily basis, whether they are in need or not. “Go and do likewise” Jesus said. What a difference you will make in your community and that we can make in our nation and world, as we listen to the one who has justified us and tells us to go and show mercy to all people. Keep Christ First!
Pastor Chris Christenson
First Evangelical Lutheran Church
La Crescent, MN
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After a recent Study, which confirmed that Diabetes increases the risk of Cancer. This time another study suggests that the risk of cancer could be reduced. Apparently, maintaining Maintaining habit of having early Dinner Reduces the chance of developing Cancer.
What does the study say?
The study which was conducted Barcelona Institute for Global Health in Spain. Concluded that eating your final meal of the day early can reduce the chances of cancer. There is a deep relation between food and cancer and has been investigated very deep. Like if you eat fresh vegetables regularly, it would reduce the risk of cancer. However, regular eating of red meat increases the risk of cancer.
Many researchers have also been looking into the relationship between, obesity and Cancer. However, recently the study which took the investigation of the meal. Timing relation with two of the most common Cancer. Two most common Cancer being, prostate cancer, and breast cancer.
Apart from eating, these Cancer also showed the relationship between lifestyle. Which interfaces with the biological clock. Which means people with Night shift workers are more likely to have the disease than the others.
What should be the meal times?
The study in which scientist had access to data of. 621 men who have prostate cancer and 1,205 women who had breast cancer. Apart from this, they took in 872 males and 1,321 females. Who was free from cancer.
They used the lifestyle of everyone, which included the meal timing. Their sleeping habits, and also if they were morning person or evening person.
The study was published in the International Journal of Cancer. Which said the person who ate a meal before 9 pm. Alternatively, two hours before going to bed had 20 percent less risk of developing cancer. However, who ate after 10 pm and went to bed too soon after dinner. Were more likely to develop cancer. Also, thus, they advised everyone to keep a well time maintained lifestyle.
The researchers said,
“Our study concludes that adherence to regular eating patterns is associated with a lower risk of cancer. The findings highlight the importance of assessing circadian rhythms in studies on diet and cancer.”
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As revealed in Chapter 95,
Annie, Bertolt and Reiner are Marleyan soldiers sent to infiltrate the Paradis island to locate and recover the Founding Titan.
Why, then, would Annie accept Armin's request?
Remember, they need to complete their objective before returning to Marley. As someone in undercover, she needs to avoid raising suspicion.
In Chapter 31, Armin tells Annie that if she does not accept his request,
that would make her a 'bad person' to Armin. Now, that might seem like a lame way to convince someone to help you. But, Armin is a tactician. And Annie probably realizes how intelligent Armin is. If you read that chapter, you'll notice the look that she gives her after he said that, which implies she knows there is a possibility she is being suspected. It makes sense that she would go despite the possibility of a trap because of her objective of securing the Founding Titan, which requires that her cover remains intact. Refusing would raise suspicion and her cover will be blown so she took the chance. If you'll also notice, when she found out they were going underground, she was surprised, which means she was not expecting that they'd go this far to know if Armin's suspicion was right or wrong. Furthermore, she also said that 'she did not imagine that Armin would corner her like this.'
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One day I shall write a novel, completely fictional (cough, cough,) about a young woman who moves to the South after graduating from a university in New England. The work will follow her through her twenties as she makes friends and falls in love, and will highlight some of the most notable events from life down there in North Carolina, and will be narrated by an elderly and unnamed observer who spends most of his time sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch, watching the pickup trucks drive by, lifting dust off the gravel road, and he'll say:
"When she come down here in these parts ain't nothing 'bout the South she knowed. She ain't know 'bout no dumplins and she ain't know 'bout no sweet tea. Well, one day she was wandering over thar at that thar farming festival and my cousin Jimmy told me that he said to her, 'Hey girl, get up on this here horse' and she did. And she petted that big horse named Bob and she said, "Thanks. I love horses." Now Jimmy, he don't care none for Northerners, and that girl had been thinking that she'd done had about enough of the 'Southern culture,' that's what she said, but she did certainly love that horse Bob! Now Jimmy, he's one that gets to huntin' each fall and sometimes sips back on those bottles cousin Tommy's been brewin down thar since way back when we was just youngins, but he does like to bring them big horses out at the fairs and such. She just loved that horse. And that's when she got to thinkin' 'It's not so bad here,' she said in her own mind. She thought that if she up and done left it down here, she right might miss it someday."
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About T L Blake:
I was was born in Gloucestershire, England, but spent most of my formative years in Cornwall, looking out over the sea where very little changes over time.
I’ve had a wide and varied career in Chemistry, both in research and in education, but after starting my family (to whom I am devoted), I now use my spare time to write fantasy novels that share both the dark intrigue and hot passion that I myself like to read in books.
I was always driven by an avid interest in the occult, after all it’s hard to avoid the rich tales and fantastical myths of Cornwall, but my firm background in science balances the fantasy and I find myself prone to looking for answers to occult stories as if they were mysteries to be solved. With that thought I mind, I write novels that attempt to bring new insight into both myth and legend and perhaps make my readers think a little differently about the tales that they have been hearing since their own childhoods..
What inspires you to write?
Believe it or not, this story actually started many years ago as homework. Tasked with writing a story over the summer, I got out my pencil and ended up filling three notebooks. I will never forget the look on my teacher’s face when he told me that I must finish it!
Of course life, and boyfriends, then husbands and children got in the way, but I revisited the story when my firstborn was having his naps.
You could say that the writing was terrible, but the general idea was still relevant, if not in need of some major tweaking.
I began rewriting the tale in those small sections of the day when I had a little peace (believe me they were very small sections) but I didn’t really get into the story properly until my father became ill. Perhaps it was the idea of making him proud (not that he wasn’t already) or perhaps, and more likely, it was my way of coping, or avoiding what was happening to my best friend in the world. Whatever the reason, I started to write in earnest and as wrote, the story and the characters took on a life of their own.
My only regret is that my Dad never go to see the book published.
Tell us about your writing process.
When I was a child I was fortunate enough to not only meet Dick King Smith at the Cheltenham Literary Festival, but to ask him a question. I asked him, “How do you know what to write about?” (I was 9). His reply was simple. He said, “Write about what you know.” and that is where I begin any story.
I set CARVED IN STONE in Cornwall because I’ve lived there. I set it in a school, because I’ve worked in them. I also did all of my research before I even started in the story. There is absolutely no point in writing half of your book and then discovering that a major plot twist just doesn’t work. My biggest bugbear as a reader (and Television viewer) is when aspects of the plot, particularly technological ones, just aren’t true. For instance, Tasers do not render the victim unconscious in real life.
Once I have the major twists and plot lines all thoroughly checked out, I set out a general outline of where I’m going with the book. This I do as a timeline on a long piece of paper (I find wallpaper lining great for this). I am a very visual person and I put this timeline above my desk so that I can see exactly where each plot twist needs to be going even as I type. Small things, which come into my head as I write, I add to the timeline with post-it notes. By the time I have finished a book, my timeline is usually and wonderful array of colourful post-its.
With my characters, again I am a visual person and although I can draw, I’m no artist. Instead, I am a great fan of Google images! I type in the general features that I want my character to have and then download the image that best suits that picture I had in my head. If I’m writing something simple, with few characters, like the MONOCHROME DESTINY TRILOGY I leave the images on the laptop and have the main characters in each scene running through a sequence on the laptop scene on the right whilst I type on the left. If there are two many characters to make this workable, as with my new fantasy series, I print the images, list the main features and characteristics of each character, and add this to my timeline.
For Fiction Writers: Do you listen (or talk to) to your characters?
I don’t just listen to my characters, I love them! When CARVED IN STONE was but an outline, the plot was focussed entirely on Robyn and her struggle to find Kat. But when I started writing the book there was something missing. That’s when I brought in Andrew, and he simply took on a life of his own.
My characters are living and breathing inside my head. When they speak in the book it is with the nuances and accents that I have for them in my head. My stories play out like films in my mind and I simply write them down.
Some people are accused of living in a fantasy world-well I really do.
What advice would you give other writers?
It is said that everyone has a story inside them. I cannot say that this is true, a story I something very personal and if the imaginer of the tale wants to write it down then they should. But writing the story is the easiest part of getting a book into reader’s hands.
The best advice I can give any budding writer is to do your research. I didn’t. I thought writing a good story was all I needed and that is so far from the truth I cannot even put it into words.
Before you even consider publishing a book you need to decide exactly what you want to get out of it and if that answer is to get rich, drop the idea now. For every Steven King or E L James out there, there are thousands of perfectly good authors who will never make a living from what they do.
If you are more realistic then you need to look very closely into how you plan on publishing and marketing your book. There are lots of great websites and blogs out there and I suggest you read them all.
I fell into some major traps with my first novel, particularly because the story really doesn’t sit fully in any particular genre. You can avoid many mistakes by reading about other peoples experiences and planning well from the start.
How did you decide how to publish your books?
I didn’t really decide. I wrote a book, sent it to fifteen agents, got four rejections and heard nothing from the rest. I then looked at what British agents and publishers were currently bringing to the market and decided immediately that my book simply didn’t fit. I wrote a dark thriller with steamy romance and a sinister plot, not what is currently being pushed. Okay, so perhaps I should have looked at the American marketplace, but in my defence I avoided it because I am beyond terrified of flying and I couldn’t see me being able to meet an agent or anything else if I was published over the pond.
Desperate to see my book out there and get some feedback from people other than my friends, I uploaded the book to Kindle without really thinking about it first.
What do you think about the future of book publishing?
I myself will always prefer a paperback, but I have my own kindle and it does have it’s place in the market, even for me. I think that ebooks will outsell traditionally published books for many years to come, but I can’t see the paperback dying out, ever.
I do think that there is going to have to be a change in ebook publishing though. There is already some discontent within the writing community about the sheer number of free books now available. The view is that if you can literally read a book a day for nothing then why would anyone ever pay for a book? I can see their point. But for me, at the present time its all about building a reader base. I simply want people to read what I write and get enjoyment out of it. If they want to give me a good review afterwards then all the better.
What genres do you write?: Thriller, romance, fantasy, gothic, urban fantasy
What formats are your books in?: eBook
All information in this post is presented “as is” supplied by the author. We don’t edit, to allow you, the reader, to hear the author in their own voice.
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Heroes of History: George Washington
George Washington is revered as the “Father of his Country.” His image is everywhere, from currency to portraits and statues. But who exactly was he? Heroes of History: George Washington sets out to explain the man behind the myth.
. . . a clear and concise history of the man and his times.
Washington was born into a wealthy Virginian family in 1732. As a young man his thirst for adventure awoke when he undertook a survey of lands on what was then the wild frontier of western Virginia. The experience stood Washington in good stead when the French laid claim to the lands along the Ohio River, placing them on a collision course with Britain. Washington gained a place in the army that confronted and defeated the French in the French-Indian War, but his experiences with the autocratic British soured him against Britain. A political career followed the war, and Washington found himself at the forefront of the events leading to the Revolution. Placed in command of the Colonial armies, Washington faced great hardships with his men and constant strife with a Congress that could not or would not give him the backing he needed. Eventual victory over Britain led to peace and Washington’s two terms as the first president of the United States. He was the first and only president to be elected on a unanimous vote not once but twice. Although he faced contentious times during his terms of office, his country sincerely mourned his death in 1799.
Heroes of History: George Washington is a clear and concise history of the man and his times. Well illustrated and designed, Washington’s story is fully revealed to the young reader, but there is much for older readers to learn from it, too. A definite keeper for any school library.
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I have said already that but for the hazard of a journey to Tahiti I should doubtless never have written this book. It is thither that after many wanderings Charles Strickland came, and it is there that he painted the pictures on which his fame most securely rests. in Tahiti the circumstances were favourable to him; he found himself. It would seem that my visit to this remote island should immediately revive my interest in Strickland, but the work I was engaged in occupied my attention. After all, I had not seen him for fifteen years, and it was nine since he died. But I think it was, my arrival at Tahiti made me forget even more important matters.
I remember that on my first morning I awoke early, and when I came on to the terrace of the hotel no one was stirring.
There seemed no chance of breakfast for some time, so I sauntered down to the water-front. The Chinamen were already busy in their shops. The sky had still the pallor of dawn, and there was a ghostly silence across the ocean. I did not altogether believe my eyes. The days that had passed since I left Wellington seemed extraordinary and unusual.
And for three days afterwards the sea was stormy. Gray clouds chased one another across the sky.
The Pacific is more desolate than other seas; its spaces seem more vast, and the most ordinary journey upon it has somehow the feeling of an adventure. The air you breathe is an elixir which prepares you for the unexpected.
Murea, the sister isle, comes into view in rocky splendour, rising mysteriously from the sea.
It would not surprise you if, as you came near seeking for an opening in the reef, it vanished suddenly from your view, and nothing met your gaze but the blue loneliness of the Pacific.
Tahiti is a lofty green island, with deep silent valleys. There is mystery in their depths, down which murmur and splash cool streams and you feel hot in those shadowy places life has not changed for centuries.
But the feeling of sadness is shortened and serves only to add to the enjoyment of the moment. For Tahiti is smiling and friendly. Nothing can be more calming than entering the harbor at Papeete.
The little town along the bay is white and charming, and the flowers of the flamboyant trees, planted along the streets, blazed scarlet against the blue sky. The crowd at the quay as steamer draws alongside is gay and well-dressed.
It is a sea of brown faces. You have an impression of coloured movement against the flaming blue of the sky. Everything is done with a great deal of bustle, the unloading of the baggage, the examination of the customs; and everyone seems to smile at you. It is very hot. The colour dazzles you.
Exercise 2. Read the extract. Seven sentences have been removed from it. Choose from the sentences A-H the one which fits each gap (1-7). There is one extra sentence which you do not need to use.
A. I wandered around to the kitchen but it was locked, and on the bench outside it, a naïve boy was sleeping.
B. The beauty of the island becomes clearer as you approach, and its lovely peaks become more distinct, but it keeps its secret as you sail by.
C. Wellington is trim and neat and English; it reminds you of a seaport town on the South Coast.
D. It is noisy, cheerful, animated crowd.
E. Even here is something sad and terrible.
F. The boats in the quay are trim and neat.
G. Then the wind dropped, and the sea was calm and blue.
H. You may imagine it was guarded by Polynesian knights.
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One of David Foster Wallace’s stories, “The Devil Is a Busy Man,” concerns the nature of charity and whether true altruism is really possible, given our natural compulsion to seek validation in our good deed (which ostensibly robs the charitable act of its purity).
“It is so difficult to do something nice for someone,” Wallace writes, “and not want them, desperately, to know that the identity of the individual who did it for them was you, and to feel grateful and approving towards you, and to tell myriads of other people what you ‘did’ for them, so that you can be widely acknowledged as a ‘good’ person.”
Wallace’s conundrum, worked out over several characteristically fraught pages, came to my mind while reading John Cheever’s much lighter and cheerfully caustic holiday tale, “Christmas Is a Sad Season for the Poor,” which was originally published in the December 24, 1949 issue of The New Yorker.
Unlike Wallace’s tortured protagonist, however, Cheever’s dour elevator operator doesn’t spend much time examining the motives of charity — but he will exploit them, to humorous effect.
The story begins with Charlie Leary waking to his alarm in a fit of self-pity: he is “practically the only one” who has to get up at 6 a.m. and go to work on Christmas morning, escorting rich people up and down their ritzy apartment building, where he is informed that since the doorman is sick he’ll be asked to hail cabs, too.
Not that he isn’t making the best of his situation:
He, Charlie, was a prisoner, confined eight hours a day to a six-by-eight elevator cage, which was confined, in turn, to a sixteen-story shaft. In one building or another, he had made his living as an elevator operator for ten years. He estimated the average trip at about an eighth of a mile, and when he thought of the thousands of miles he had traveled, when he thought he might have driven the car through the mists above the Caribbean and set it down on some coral beach in Bermuda, he held the narrowness of his travels against his passengers, as if were not the nature of the elevator but the pressure of their lives that confined him, as if they had clipped his wings.
Out of some mixture of boredom and resentment, as tenants board his elevator and wish him a Merry Christmas, Charlie begins offering each the same pitiable spiel: “Christmas is a sad season when you’re poor. I don’t have any family. I live alone in a furnished room.”
This naked appeal generates some mild sympathy and well-wishes, and one tenant, Mrs. Gadshill, genuinely seems to understand his plight since she too is without family on Christmas. Charlie is unmoved: “Maybe she was lonely,” he thinks, “but she had a ten-room apartment and three servants and bucks and bucks and diamonds and diamonds . . .”
Charlie recalls a scene earlier in the week with a woman and a young girl walking down 59th Street. The girl was crying — at least he thinks she was crying — and he can just imagine the reason why: the mother probably works long hours, can’t afford the toys in the shop windows or the heat in their apartment or suitable clothes for the girl, can only pay for a little can of soup and will have to scrape around for something to put in the girl’s stocking . . . oh, the injustice! On this day of all days, when we are told it’s our duty to buy expensive gifts for our children and worship a big fat bearded mascot! What are the poor supposed to do?
Now sufficiently worked up, Charlie takes a different tack with his sob story, inventing out of whole cloth a disabled wife and four children (two of them dead!) who are at home decidedly not feeling Christmas cheer.
It works: soon enough Charlie receives more gifts than he knows what to do with. The DePauls offer him a cocktail and some extra goose from their Christmas table. Mrs. Fuller tearfully hands him an arm-full of silver-wrapped packages, including a wallet with her husband’s name on it. The Westons give him a turkey dinner and a dressing gown. The lady on 14, now living alone, lets Charlie take her husband’s neckties.
Charlie has so many presents and so much food that he has to make sure it’s all hidden safely out of sight, for “the quality of charity is exclusive” and the tenants (touching on the dilemma in DFW’s story) “would have been disappointed to find that they were not the only ones to try to lessen his loneliness.”
Drunk on all the liquor and his newfound faith in humanity (the elevator is no longer a prison but the vehicle for a birdman who can soar freely through the skies!), Charlie picks up lonely Mrs. Gadshill on 12 and turns his elevator into a roller coaster, going up and down the building at full speed and scaring the pale old woman to death. She notifies the superintendent, and Charlie is fired.
When he comes back down to earth, he finds himself ashamed of the lie he told his tenants to engender their sympathy: “He had abused the goodness of the people upstairs. He was unworthy.” His thoughts turn to his landlady and her three “skinny” children, whose Christmas joy had “passed them by” sitting in their basement; looking around at his unworthy bounty, Charlie takes some of the gifts and resolves triumphantly to bring a little Santa Claus into their lives.
Charlie seems to operate on a festering indignation at the injustices of the world and how he can correct them, but it’s worth noting how many of these injustices are as imaginary as his four children: he assumes the woman and her daughter on 59th Street are having a desolate Christmas, and he projects a similarly bleak tableaux for his landlady’s family (who in fact are not going hungry and have received plenty of toys to make them happy).
After Charlie leaves, the landlady tells her children that they are going to take those gifts and walk over to the Deckkers on Hudson Street, who “ain’t got nothing,” and suddenly, like the tenants in their mink coats and Charlie in the haze of his hangover, she is suddenly seized with that generous feeling:
A beatific light came into her face when she realized that she could give, that she could bring cheer, that she could put a healing finger on a case needier than hers . . . first love, then charity, then a sense of power drove her . . . it was dark then, and she knew that we are bound, one to another, in licentious benevolence for only a single day, and that day was nearly over. She was tired, but she couldn’t rest, she couldn’t rest.
Another classic ending from Cheever, packed with perfect turns of phrase (“beatific light,” “licentious benevolence”) and that final punchline, “we are bound . . . for only a single day, and that day was nearly over.” The landlady has to rush because the gifts won’t mean as much if they’re given a day later.
So what is this story supposed to be? A corrective to the rampant commercialism of the Christmas season? A riposte for us feeling good and charitable only on one assigned day of the year? A DFW-lite fable about the hidden selfishness of giving?
Maybe all of those things, to some extent, but Cheever’s story is told with such warmth and good cheer that it reads more like an inverted Christmas carol than as a blistering critique of human nature. It’s a story that should receive more recognition in the holiday canon, and it’s one of my favorite stories in the collection.
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FAIRFAX, FLORENCE BUNDY (24 Dec. 1907-6 Mar. 1970), a long-time AFRICAN AMERICAN employee of the city's Recreation Dept., who became assistant commissioner of recreation in 1966, was born in Cleveland to George and Florence (Wilson) Bundy. She graduated from the College for Women of Western Reserve University (see CASE WESTERN RESERVE UNIVERSITY). In 1928 she became physical-education director in the city's Div. of Recreation, and following college graduation in 1929, became physical-education director of the Central Recreation Ctr. In 1934 she was appointed playground supervisor in the Central District, becoming superintendent of the Bureau of Recreation Ctrs. in 1944. On 16 Aug. 1953, Fairfax suffered severe injuries in an automobile accident which took the life of her husband, Lawrence E. Fairfax. After 7 months she returned to work, and in May 1954 was appointed superintendent of the new Bureau of Special Activities, which was designed to help "the unattached youngster or independent street club or gang ... find better ways and better places to play" and to help solve the problem of juvenile delinquency by guiding problem youth to appropriate social agencies. She hoped the bureau would be able "to help children to form good social patterns of behavior through recreation." In recognition of her years of devotion to the recreational needs of Cleveland's inner-city youth, the Fairfax Recreation Ctr. was dedicated in her honor in 1959. In 1966, Mayor Ralph Locher appointed her assistant commissioner of recreation, a position she held until her death.
Fairfax was married twice. Her first marriage was to William Wright on 29 June 1929; the second was to Lawrence Fairfax. There were no children from either marriage. Fairfax died in Cleveland and was cremated at Highland Park Cemetery.
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U.S. Three Cent George Washington stamp, 1851
April 18 Friday I have made up the bed new in the
parlour chamber and got the room in pretty
good order have not got to clean it this spring
I have been choring about house most all
day about four Oclock went into
the other part of the house & took the stockings
with me to mend Not at all pleasant
Spring was the season for choring, choring, choring. Until she went to sit and mend stockings with Sarah Witherell, Evelina worked around the house all day. The bad weather of the past several days continued.
The Ameses kept a bed in their parlor. This seems strange to us, but it was customary at the time, or had been. The practice was waning, as bigger, Victorian houses became the style and the older Colonial and Federal floor plans were abandoned. Once upon a time, however, a downstairs parlor served multiple purposes. We know it as the spot in the house where more formal visitors were welcomed. In the 18th and into the 19th century, the parlor was also where the master and mistress of the house might sleep, while children went upstairs to colder quarters. As the family became more affluent and rooms got reconfigured, the bed in the parlor accommodated overnight guests. Several weeks back, in fact, inclement weather had forced William and Eliza Whitwell to stay over; they may have stayed in the very parlor that Evelina put “in pretty good order” today. Same with Evelina’s mother when she came to visit.
Many Ameses celebrated their birthdays in the month of April. Today was another family birthday, that of John Ames 2d, the youngest son of Old Oliver and Susannah, who was born on this date in 1817. He was never in robust health, never married and succumbed to lung disease at age 27. Before his death, however, he served as the very first postmaster of North Easton, then a new outpost between two larger post offices elsewhere in Easton proper. According to historian William Chaffin, young John Ames’s “office” consisted of “a large box with a cover […] set upon a post” with “mail (at least newspapers and heavy mail)” that was “put into and taken from this box by the drivers of the passing mail-coaches.” This newest post office was needed for the increasing amount of mail coming in and out of the shovel factory. With his health too poor to work in the factory itself, at least John had a role in managing the post.
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June 18, Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ (Corpus Christi)
Cycle A. Readings:
1) Deuteronomy 8:2-3, 14b-16a
Psalm 147:12-15, 19-20
2) 1 Corinthians 10:16-17
Gospel: John 6:51-58
By Jeff Hedglen
Catholic News Service
My grandfather had been away from the church for more than 50 years. I only saw him a handful of times in my life because we always lived on opposite sides of the country.
I have a few memories of him though. When I was 16, he came for a visit, and I shook his hand with a rather limp effort. He looked me in the eye and proceeded to teach me how to shake another man’s hand: with a firm but not too powerful grip. I have put that into practice ever since.
When he was nearing the end of his life, my father went to visit him. In an attempt to help his father come back to the Lord, my father wrote a prayer on a piece of paper and gave it to my grandfather, then my dad came back home.
A few weeks later my grandfather passed away. When my dad went to the funeral, he stopped by the nursing home where my grandfather spent his final days and the nurse gave my dad back the piece of paper that he had given to his dad. The nurse explained that every day my grandfather would read this paper and say, “Dave (my dad) really loved me.”
The nurse went on to explain that after a few weeks of reading this prayer my grandfather asked to see a priest. He gave his first confession in more than 50 years and received Communion. The next day he died. I have always imagined the Lord keeping my grandfather alive long enough for him to come back to him.
In this week’s Gospel, Jesus says, “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life.” For me, this verse has never been so true as in the life of my grandfather. Jesus offers us his body and blood as a ransom for our body and blood so that we can have eternal live. Though I did not get to know my grandfather very well on this earth, I look forward to having an eternity to catch up with him.
How has the body and blood of Jesus impacted your life? If you know someone who has been away from the church for a long time, what can you do to help him or her come back?
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A former fine arts student, Dany Sanz was asked by a few friends to do their makeup for a show. It was then that she found her purpose and passion! What she created for the show was exquisite; an art piece or expression that drew the attention of experts. Sanz founded the first makeup school in Europe in the 1970s where she taught the art. She founded the label in 1984, juggling between teaching in the day and creating new formulas at night.
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“THIEF OF WORRY”
You wouldn’t knowingly let a thief into your home, inviting him to steal whatever he wanted out of your house, would you? There is no reason why you would do that. And yet, most of us do that very thing every single day – the thief is called “WORRY.” Worry robs us of living in the present moment; it robs us of remembering the gifts that we have in our lives and the abilities we have been given to deal with adversities. Most of all, it robs us of trust and faith in ourselves and loved ones who are always present, always here to help. It is time NOW to stop allowing the thief of happiness to enter your life.
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In Le neveu de Rameau Diderot writes of a not unfamiliar type: the seeming simpleton who turns out to be as sharp as a tack and more clever than an “old monkey,” as he puts it. Diderot proposes that God put such people on Earth to chasten those who would judge by appearances—people, he writes, who should have learned from their mirrors that it is as easy for a brilliant person to seem simple-minded as it is for vacuousness to be obscured by a clever appearance.
A few days after my son was born, while biking to work I passed an idling police car. I sensed that the police were staked-out there watching for bicyclists who might go through the red lights up ahead. The police at that time had been instructed to give more tickets to bicyclists, and this was an ideal spot, as along the avenue up ahead there were a series of cross-streets that did not cross, they ended at this avenue. The bicycle rider proceeding along the far side of the road was less inclined than usual to obey the traffic lights.
Riding along, I understood this, but . . . Within a few seconds I was again thinking about my wonderful son and about all the things I had to get done before I got to see him again, and I forgot about the stakeout (and the lights). The next thing I knew I was being ordered to pull over, given a ticket.
I told the policeman about Jonah, and he explained that it was not his idea to give bicyclists tickets, he had been assigned to do this. He said he would tell the judge about my son, and probably I would get off.
I sent in my not-guilty plea and went to the hearing room on my appointed day. The hearing officer was a middle-aged woman with a very strict demeanor. Hearing a few sounds of conversation from my fellow accused waiting on benches in front of her, she ordered the noise-makers to move away from one another—as if she were a teacher dealing with young children. She refused to proceed with the court’s business until they did so.
One of the first of the accused who she called before her was a middle-aged bicycle delivery man from Bangladesh who could hardly understand English. In harsh English she kept insisting to him that if he could not understand what she was saying he could not stand trial, since there was no interpreter available who could translate from his native language. But of course he could not understand what she was saying. All he knew was that he was supposed to insist on his innocence, to say that he was not guilty. “Listen to me!” she shouted. “I don’t care that you think you’re innocent. You have to tell me whether you understand what I’m saying.”
I felt sorry for this poor immigrant and cursed my bad luck for getting such a silly ticket and for ending up with such a harsh judge. I cursed my decision to waste my time trying to avoid paying a fine for a violation that I had indeed committed.
“You’re not listening to me!” The woman was leaning over her bench to shout down at the bewildered accused. “You’re in America. We speak English here. Try at least to make an effort to understand what I am telling you. You have to tell me if you believe your English is good enough for you to understand the charges against you and to make your case.”
The man had no more words. Baffled, afraid, he looked expectantly up at the hearing officer.
Her patience apparently exceeded, she banged her gavel down hard. “Case dismissed!”
Next up was a young man who had no trouble speaking English, a graduate student, or perhaps he was a thoughtful employee of a non-profit organization. The policeman who had ticketed me—and, it turned out, all the other bicyclists who had been assigned to come to this courtroom that morning—was ordered to explain why he had given this young man a ticket for going through two red lights (the same two that I, the Bangladeshi and all the other accused had gone through). The policeman recited a police-jargon-littered litany about where he had been staked out; the situation with the lights and intersections at this location; what the bicyclist had done. “You forgot to describe the intersection at 40th Street,” the hearing officer barked. Down hard banged the gavel. “Case dismissed!”
With the third bicyclist, it seemed that the policeman left out yet another minor but essential detail, and the hearing officer, seeming increasingly annoyed with him, banged yet harder, “Case dismissed!”
I was next, and the policeman’s litany seemed more or less the same, although he added at the end that at the time I had informed him that my wife had just had a baby. “You forgot to describe the intersection at 40th Street,” the hearing officer barked. “Case dismissed!”
Clearly this was a charade. The policeman was deliberately leaving something out, and the hearing officer was using this to reach the desired verdict. What was fascinating was the sternness. I felt sorry for the policeman who was being publicly accused of incompetence. It struck me that this hardly made the job of a police officer easier—to have to play this game with the law. If it were me, I would be arguing with my chief that it was stupid to be spending time giving such tickets to bicyclists; but if I ever did give one, I would testify honestly and insist that I had been right and that the law should be applied. Which is to say that I would not last long as a policeman.
For her part, it was clear that the hearing officer was being strict in order to compensate for the fact that—either out of the goodness of her heart, or, more likely, under orders from above—she was letting a succession of guilty people off.
When I was in school I had few strict teachers, and from those few I failed to learn what would have been a most valuable lesson: as much as simple-mindedness, strictness can be a mask, in this case for weakness or gentleness. Beware the soft mustache and gentle eyes of Joseph Stalin.
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The main house was constructed in 1908.? The original owner's interest in the hardware business is evidenced by the variety of brass and cut glass fittings throughout the house.? The home contains many unusual features, including troughs for car repair. More recently, the home was owned by Dr. Frateeli and his family (30 years).? Jeff & Sally Crouse performed a partial restoration in the late eighties.? The home was briefly occupied by the Timothy White family, and then by the present owner since 1996.? The present owner has redone much of the interior and exterior, and continues to work on subtle improvements.
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Fenrir, the Eater of Worlds, is a major recurring character in Legend Quest and arguably serves as the secondary antagonist of the series, though initially appears as an unlikely ally to Leo and others.
In the distant past, Fenrir was regarded as the rival of Quetzalcoatl, though through mysterious circumstances, he has since been chained away to guard Yggdrasil. In the past, Fenrir has devoured entire worlds for unknown reasons. During "Fenrir", he encountered Leo San Juan and the rest of Team Legend in their quest to find Yggdrasil. He had decide to "aid" the team though it was made apparent that his motivations were not altruistic and were in nature, devious. Fenrir would prove to be one of the teams greatest enemies in spite of being an "ally".
Personality and traitsEdit
Fenrir is a ruthless and cunning individual, but he also knows how to compose himself and even appear affable. Fenrir is very manipulative, appearing to be an ally to Leo San Juan, but would not hesitate to kill him and his friends if they didn't serve him well. Although he's more composed and levelheaded, Fenrir is just as cruel as his rival, Quetzalcoatl, if not more so.
Fenrir is a massive wolf with blueish gray fur and a skull like head.
Powers and abilitiesEdit
Fenrir claimed he could devour anything: mortals, ghosts and entire worlds. "Worlds" in this context doesn't appear to simply mean planets however, but entire dimensions, as Fenrir claimed he could devour Quetzalcoatl's Dimension if he was freed. Fenrir has the unique ability to consume non-corporeal and intangible entities as well, s he claimed he could devour Teodora and Don Andrés. Fenrir is likely an extremely powerful entity within the universe, as he rivals Quetzalcoatl and thus may be on the same level as other "Creator Gods". This may be why Fenrir was chained up and was forced to guard Yggdrasil for eternity.
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Scene setting : Frank Malone’s apartment – Gantz Series.
co-written with Chor.
Razorbackwriter: The ride over in the taxi had Frank feeling a little heady. Was it the music or the scent of exotic spices? This cab driver’s wife must have been a good cook. Trying not to burst out laughing when the cabbie started to sing a long with one of the tracks playing on his radio, he instead placed his arm around Isa and whispered in her ear. “Only in New York.” You had to admit the whole thing was comical. The smell, the music, the cabbie’s lack of musical training. Least now Frank had an idea as to why the guy was driving cabs and not appearing in an off broad way musical. Finally, the ride was at an end as the cab pulled up in front of Frank’s apartment building. The guy did understand English after all. Paying the cab driver, Frank was handed a pamphlet for the cab driver’s wife’s restaurant. No wonder the cab smelt the way it did. He was carting spices in the boot.
“Ah…the Sitar Restaurant. Might have to try that. Thanks.” Frank got out of the cab on his side, only to race around and get Isa’s door. He offered his hand to help her out which he hoped she would take.
Any nervousness that Frank might have felt about bringing Isa up to his apartment was quickly quashed, since he couldn’t get over her smile and the way she handled the cab ride over like a pro. It was often cheaper to use the cabs than trying to find a parking space, which is why Frank favored them as much as he did.
Taking Isa up the three flights of stairs, they finally came to the front door of Frank’s apartment. He rummaged for his keys, before opening the door. The tell tale creak of the hinges showed that it could do well with a bit of oil. Frank dashed in and immediately started a vain effort to tidy a little. Picking up old pizza boxes and Chinese take out containers – hurrying to the bin. He was like a fiend in racing about. Clearly he wanted to impress Isa if he could. Soon, he came to a stop and then clapped his hands together. It was almost like he didn’t know what to offer her first. When she had been left at the door, she may well have seen his study that was where the [i]”wall of mystery”[/b] was. All the cases, Rory…pictures and reports all tacked up on a massive board that covered half the room.
No doubt she would have questions.
Chor: While Isa’s family was still adjusting to American life, her father began work in the city. The money he sent the girls from his job paid for the small three-year stint they spent in upstate New York. The place was lovely, quiet, and Isa’s mother often marveled that it was so alike Germany. Isa was too young to even remember, but she knew in her heart that – from the few visits she’d been granted to see her father in the city- that downstate is where she wanted to be. Upstate was nice, but the city was beautiful. It had colour, originality, and brought so much more brightness to Isa’s life. This cabbie was what brought Isa to this place, it was the reason she resigned herself to the city and sold her soul to the idea that she could make it better one body at a time.
“Indeed,” she agreed. Only in New York.
The restaurant’s pamphlet, printed on bright orange paper, make Isa’s stomach growl furiously. Grateful of the loud, overwhelming music, Isa waited as Frank rushed to the other side and allowed him to help her from the automobile. He was acting very strange, which made Isa’s brow raise at the behaviour. As they entered his apartment, nothing really caught her attention as being overly filthy or too out of order. It was the home of someone who didn’t have the time for the little things. Sweeping, dusting…eating, sleeping, you know? She shook her head as he moved around like a whirlwind. He didn’t have to, she was not judging him.
Something her eyes gazed upon removed her attention from all else. It was the study, where it was clear Frank was attempting to solve the very case that destroyed his life so wholly. She was unable to keep herself from it, as if it had reached its saddening tendrils out to her and pulled her in. When Frank would clap his hands at the end of his cleaning spree, she’d already be gone, poring over the files and pictures like it was her own place. She pulled herself away, then, thinking the situation a bit inappropriate. Shutting the door as she exited, Isa went to look for Frank.
Razorbackwriter: Frank had stuck the Indian restaurant’s pamphlet to his fridge while Isa had been drawn into his study. It was only natural for her to take a peek, since everything that was pinned to the wall was to do with the case that had consumed Frank’s life. Quietly, Frank came up behind Isa as she was shutting the door to his study. She would find herself facing him as she turned to look for him.
“Probably best to let that all be tonight.” He referred to the wall of investigations. For a moment there was an awkward pause, as though Frank really wasn’t sure what to do next. But his body had a funny way of showing just what he needed. A pained growl was audible and he rubbed his stomach with a rising blush to his face. “I can’t remember the last time I ate. Can you?” Frank had probably consumed a couple of gallons of coffee to keep himself alert, but as for food, he couldn’t even think of what he had last. Remembering the pamphlet on the fridge, he made a gesture towards the kitchen. “I’ve got nothing in the fridge except for some frozen dinners and that shit isn’t fit for consumption. Say, how about I order some Indian from the restaurant the cabby recommended.” Frank dashed back into the kitchen and took the pamphlet off the fridge door.
“Couple of curries…a few naan. I’ve got beer.” His face now hopeful that Isa would take Frank up on the idea. “Got a few movies we could watch while we eat.” Frank clearly had not dined with a lady in a long time. He was as easy going as they came.
Chor: Isolde felt embarrassment crawl about her skin as she turned right into Frank, nearly walking straight into him. She found herself nodding in agreement; they’d had about enough of that for the day. At the mere mention of food, Isa’s stomach replied for her, louder this time than in the cab, and she gave an almost guilty look.
“I can’t even count on my fingers the amount of days since the last time I really ate, ” she said shyly, feeling foolish about it. She could only imagine what he thought of her now as he truly realized the extent to which she was allowing herself to rot away. Isa always fed her cat, she always made sure everything was finished with bodies, always did her job to the fullest, but never found it of great import to nourish herself. Her bottom lip found itself between her right lateral incisors, biting gently.
“Anything sounds good, really,” Isolde told him, not wanting him to worry about any special kind of food. She’s never been picky. At the mention of beer, Isa was the slightest bit conflicted. She wasn’t a drinker, for reasons she didn’t like to think about, but she felt safe with Frank. One wouldn’t hurt?
“Movies? Sounds good.”
Truthfully, Isa has seen very few movies in her short life. As a child her family owned one movie which they watched repeatedly and in school she didn’t have time for the cinema. Now? Well, she has even less time.
Razorbackwriter: Then it was settled. A curry night with a movie or two. Both would probably fall asleep on the couch, but Frank really didn’t mind. This was the closest he had come to actually relaxing. What he didn’t realize was that he had turned off his phone, so Tommy’s message had gone to message bank. It would be some time before Frank bothered to check it. Taking the pamphlet down, he used his landline to call the number on the back, and leaned against the doorway to his kitchen as a lady with a strong Indian accent answered on the other end of the line.
“Could I order a number 4 mild, with extra cream and a number 16 medium. Oh and a couple of naan breads.” Frank gave the lady his address and was told the meal would be there within the hour. They must have been having a busy run. That was good enough for Frank, who didn’t mind waiting. He keenly wanted to change out of his suit into just jeans and a t’shirt so that he could truly relax. Hanging up the phone, Frank explained how long dinner would be. “We have an hour or so before the take out gets here. Why don’t you rummage through my movie collection, while I go get changed.” Offering a light smile, he strolled into his bedroom, leaving the door open slightly as he took off his shirt and tie, dumping them both in a hamper. On his back you could see a tattoo on his right shoulder of an eagle. It was well detailed and had been there for sometime. It must have had some meaning to him, and that in itself was another story. He was well built and you could see that he did work out, from the tone of his muscles. Frank then went into his closet and dug out some jeans and a black t’shirt, before getting changed, while Isa amused herself. By the time he was done, he came out looking like a completely different man. He even ran a comb through his hair. He was still a tad rough looking, but in a handsome way.
His DVD collection had everything from thrillers, detective stories, supernatural and of course a stack on the Marvel comic superheroes. There was three book cases filled, and a great choice for Isa to choose from. Wandering into the kitchen, Frank took two beers out of the fridge, then walked back into the lounge, offering one to Isa.
“Found something you like?”
Chor: This very situation was odd. Isa had never really stayed the night at a man’s house, save it be for overnight cram sessions with her laboratory partners in med school. Now, she’d just met this man and she was wholeheartedly ready to stay the night; no questions asked. It was definitely a change in character for Isolde, who mostly kept to herself lest she be interacted with. As Frank talked over the phone to the take-out place, Isa watched him secretly. His entire demeanor had changed from the first time she’d seen him. She could not imagine them having this same conversation and this same situation happening several hours earlier.
“Uh, sure,” Isa replied to his suggestion before he mosied off to change. Oh god, how was she going to find a movie? Isa’s television experiences consisted mostly of documentaries or interesting lectures and she didn’t want to bore him straight to death. He had a serious collection going, which made things infinitely more difficult. What if she chose the movie he didn’t like? Or one he just watched? With a sigh, she settled on two that sounded pretty interesting. As she turned, her eye caught the open door, just glimpsing the tattoo resting on his toned scapula. With that image in her head, she spun herself around, wide-eyed like a scared doe, and returned to reading the back covers of the films.
As Frank emerged, Isa peeked around once more, now glad to see him clothed. She looked at his casual wear and felt undoubtedly over-dressed for the occasion. She hadn’t planned for this…impromptu hang-out session when she’d scoured her closet for the day. Her hand reached for the two wedding rings on a chain around her neck, as it was a nervous tick, only to find them blocked by her button up. Oh well.
“Ehm, I’ve got World War Z or Shutter Island?” she said, holding the two up to either sides of her clavicle and looking forward to him. It was his choice now, because she figured the odds were better in pleasing him if she picked two. After his choice, she took the beer with a light thanks and opened it, the top digging happily into her finger as she twisted it off.
Razorbackwriter: “Shutter island it is then.” Frank made the choice fairly quickly, as he had watched World War Z too many times to even count. Taking the DVD box, he went about removing the disc from the case and then walked over to the entertainment system, where he inserted the disc into the machine. At this point, he looked back at Isa and asked. “You sure you’re okay being here? I don’t want you to think I am like…trying to make moves or..” There it was. Frank was about as out of practice of how to act around a lady as she was about staying over at a man’s apartment. It was the first time Frank had spoken about just the moment, rather than the case, or Rory’s death. He stood awkwardly for a moment – pausing to let her say something. In behind him on the wall, was a picture of Frank with his small son on his shoulders. Happier times obviously. There was no pictures of a woman in Frank’s life. He had removed those when she walked out on him after Rory had died and their marriage fell apart.
Frank toyed with his beer can, having not even opened it yet. His mind was now going over everything and now he wanted to do the right thing by Isa. “If you wanna change, or freshen up, feel free to use my bathroom.” Was he falling over himself? He meant well, but you could tell now he was nervous. Dinner was yet to arrive. Maybe they needed an ice breaker.
Chor: Isa was a little glad that Frank chose the psychological thriller. She really would have picked the medical inconsistencies and pseudo-science in the other film to shreds. She was that kind, yes…
Frank’s question really caught her by surprise. She nodded almost fervently.
“It’s fine, really. I think it’s better even,” she said, then thinking that too eager, added “…I mean if I go home I’ll just work.”
An awkward silence. A sip of beer. Yes; good. At the mention of changing, Isa wished she had something. She resorted to just pulling off her jacket, which was a huge deal considering she would probably die in that lab coat. After doing so, she noticed her skirt had come up a bit to reveal one of the many symbols that ran all the way up her side from the outside of both thighs to just under where her armpit began. The skirt was swiftly pulled down to cover her and she made herself comfortable on the couch.
“I’m quite alright thanks.” she said with a reassuring smile. He really needn’t fuss.
Razorbackwriter: Frank may not have said anything, but his eyes, oh they could talk as they followed her skirt up her thigh when she had taken off her coat. Were they symbols on her legs. He even moved his head slightly to the right as though that might help him see better, but no sooner had her skirt risen up, Isa had caught onto the fact and then quickly smoothed it down into place. As she wriggled to get comfortable on the couch, she said she was alright with hanging out at his place after all. There was a tension there between them. Like two high school kids on a date, not knowing what to say or how to move forward. But just when Frank was going to say something about the markings on Isa’s legs, there was a knock at the door. That had to be dinner. “Just a sec.” Frank said; making his way to the door and opening it to see a young fresh faced Indian boy carrying a large bag. “You Malone?” Yeah, he had the right place. Frank took out a wad of notes and pressed them into the boy’s hand as he took the take out dinner bag from him. “Keep the change.” There was at least a ten dollar tip, and the young boy grinned. “Thanks, man.” Frank gave a little shrug before closing the door. It was the least he could do, since his apartment wasn’t exactly in the best neighborhood.
Walking back into the room, Frank got an idea. He motioned with his hand for Isa to get up and come to the kitchen. “Get it while it’s hot.” he called, as he placed the bag down on the bench and started to take out the curry box containers. The smell was a lot like the cab that they had ridden over in, but better. In his own element, Frank went to take out plates and cutlery, handing a plate to Isa as she came in. “There is enough for four people at least. You won’t go hungry.” This was said with a smile, as he opted for the Lamb korma with some jasmine rice. The other container had Butter chicken in a mild coconut and tomato sauce. In a paper bag was some garlic naan, that was easy to tear off and use for dipping.
Once Frank had helped himself, he headed back to the lounge room, where he cleared off magazines and his ashtray on the coffee table. It was casual dining at its best and Frank reached for the remote to start the movie. Isa would be able to hear the pre movie trailers starting on Frank’s sound system, which was fairly loud for the size of his apartment.
Frank picked up his beer and offered a toast, when Isa sat down.
“To Rory…” he paused so that Isa could add the name of someone she loved that had passed away.
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Scene setting : Anarchy Division HQ.
co-written with Temp.
Razorbackwriter: After having left Bandit lying in her own excretions and languishing in a dream that was bound to turn into something a little nasty, Raul was on a mission. He had not come to Hell to be nice to anyone. In fact he wanted the type of revenge that was best served in the most diabolical fashion imaginable. The Warlock had marked the poor girl named Bandit while she was in her drunken stupor in a dirty alley, then taken her to the local brothel house where he tricked her into believing that he was Riley – mixing her dream with his own disguise of Riley in real. He’d tossed a bag of coins at her feet and treated her exactly how he had planned to. As the little whore he always called her. Now, she may well believe that Riley – her true love thought the same. How wonderful.
Never one to be without a plan, the lanky Warlock wandered the roads of hell before coming upon the building to which he knew he would find the one that could bring even more heartache and pain to Bandit.
Anarchy Division HQ. Oh yes, these people would do the most evil of jobs for the right amount of cash. And cash was something Raul had a lot of. He was wealthy beyond the wildest dreams of most. Heading up to the front entrance, he used his Staff to rap upon the door of the castle like structure. Raul awaited a guard or someone inside to answer.
Temp: One of the main guards that managed the main entrance of the building would eventually take a look at the newest visitor. After a brief moment of observation, the door would open to Raul. A single soldier was standing nearby, and waved for him to enter the building.
“You don’t look like the type to fool around, so simply put…the boss is in the room at the end of the hall, if you’ve got a job for the Division or are looking for work she’s the one you wanna see…I’ll notify her of your presence.”
The soldier would then press a series of buttons on an out of view panel, which was him signaling Eva of a possible client. Raul was now completely free to enter the building and speak to the boss of Anarchy Divison, who was now waiting in the room at the end of the hall.
Razorbackwriter: Listening intently to the words spoken by the first guard to approach him, Raul gave a simple nod and strode along past him as he made his way down to see the “Boss”. The fact that the boss was a woman, was somewhat surprising, but as Raul had come to discover over many a century that women were far more cunning and calculating than most men. The soft sound of Raul’s sandals slapping the floor as he walked would probably be heard as he approached the office.
Without bothering to even knock again, he simply entered the room and cast his gaze across at the fair haired woman at the desk. This would be Eva. The owner of the Anarchy Division. With one hand firmly clasping his staff, he stood regally and announced himself.
“I am Raul, High Priest of the Seven Kings. I have come far to seek your services.” His tone was very deep, almost like a rumble from deep within his chest. He wore a long skirt that sat just upon his hips, with a large strip of black cloth that was thrown over his left shoulder. His right arm featured a large tattoo of a Pharaoh and some other hieroglyphics. He was of Egyptian origin, and a strange one to find in the pits of Hell. Black eyes gazed down at Eva as he produced a bag of gold and tossed it upon her desk.
“There is more of this….if you accept my request.” Raul said this all with a dead panned expression. What was he after…and who?
Temp: Eva sighed upon getting the alert from the main entrance guard, knowing that her time to relax was now up. She took another long drag of her cigar as she heard footsteps approaching her office. Back to work she would go. The door opened and revealed a relatively tall, rather good looking man. He didn’t look like any of her normal clients, but that really didn’t matter. What mattered was the reason he was here, which he was quick to reveal to her…at least partially. The bag of gold that followed his introduction was of a clear interest to her. She pulled her legs off of the desk and moved herself closer to the desk, pulling the bag along the way. After examining it’s contents she tapped some ashes free from her cigar, and looked up at Raul with a curious look. “I’m listening, please…have a seat.” She motioned towards the chair that was in front of her desk, and then put out her cigar. Her hands would come to a rest under her chin as she leaned forward, showing that she was now ready to get down to business.
Razorbackwriter: Raul looked down upon the chair that Eva pointed to but instead of sitting, he said. “I prefer to stand.” Again his face showed no emotion. Raul would be a hard one to read. The Warlock noted that Eva checked the bag of gold that he had tossed on the table, and then went about smoking her cigar. For a woman, she acted more like a man – but that was none of Raul’s concern. He decided to go straight to the heart of the matter. The reason for his visit. He took out a small card, and then set it upon the table. It spun its way over to the woman behind the desk. On the very edge tip of the card till finally falling flat on the surface. The image on the card was….Bandit. The card also was animated so Eve could see clearly just what Bandit looked like. It was like playing various recordings of all the times that the Warlock had encountered Bandit over time.
Following the card, the Warlock spun his finger in the air counter clock wise as a dark collar came into being and then landed on the table with a thud beside the card of Bandit.
“I wish for your organisation to track down….or hunt this girl. When she is caught, you or your men are to place this collar around her neck.” The collar was made of a black leather with various precious gems fashioned into it. It also had hieroglyphic images on it. A curse…if you will.
“Once the collar is placed upon her and locked, I want her delivered back here. You are then to summon me….for collection.”
Temp: Eva didn’t show much of a reaction to the denial of a seat, clearly not caring whether or not he chose to sit or stand. He was here to give her organization a job, and he had money, that was all that mattered. As Raul stood in front of the desk, objects began to appear on the desk in front of her. A nice animated image of the target, as well as a device to use against said target. “Quite specific…I like that.” She examined the card and the images it depicted, taking in the girls appearance bit by bit. She didn’t look all that special, so this was likely personal. “Sumka i zakhvatit’ rabota, da…interesno .”(A bag and grab job, yes…interesting) The job was straight forward and there was a decent bit of information already available, but more importantly the money was good.“My best soldier is on babysitting duty, so I’ll take care of this…personally.” Although she was happy with relaxing, this job had a pretty big payout, and she was actually kind of eager to get out and do a job herself. “So…grab the girl, put the collar on her, bring her back, and give you a call? Consider it done.” She couldn’t help but smirk in anticipation of her latest mission. Eva extended an arm and held out her hand for him to shake, which was more or less an agreement. Whether or not he shook it didn’t matter, although disrespecting her was not a wise move…no matter who you were.
Razorbackwriter: One might wonder why a powerful Warlock like Raul would need the assistance in simply putting a collar on Bandit. After just having practically taken favors without consent, then leaving her a sopping mess at the brothel he had ample opportunity to place a collar on her. But….where was the fun in that? Revenge is best served cold. That was his new motto. Eva was impressed by Raul’s no nonsense approach and how he was direct in what he expected to be done for the price. Bandit wasn’t much to look at, this was true. Certainly not in the way she had been in the days when she toured the bizarre with Hajib.
Listening once again without speaking or showing emotion, Raul was intrigued that the owner of the Anarchy Division was going to do the job personally. She recanted the details of the kidnapping, collaring and returning of the girl to the letter, and Raul gave a curt nod in reply. Eva actually smirked when extending her arm out and offered her hand to shake. Raul took the woman’s hand and instead of shaking, he brought it to his lips, where he pressed his lips to it softly before lowering the hand and giving a shake.
If anything, Raul could be a gentleman……when it suited him.
Temp: Eva was slightly surprised by the courtly agreement, which consisted of a kiss upon her hand as well as a normal handshake. “My my…a gentlemen.” Now that was a lovely way to sign a contract, and treat a woman. She smiled as she shook his hand, and upon releasing it took hold of the card and placed it between her breasts. She then took the collar and gave it a bit of a closer inspection, curious as to what sort of properties it had hidden within it. “Anything else? Roughing her up okay? Or would you prefer I did this with a more stealthy touch?” She would have no problem with it either way. Beating her target into submission was a simpler method, but stealth was also an option available to her.
Razorbackwriter: Eva reacted well to the attentions of Raul. The way he approached her to kiss her hand before shaking showed he was not a total deviant. He showed the very barest hints of what was a smile upon the corners of his lips, before standing upright once more. Strange under certain lighting, his skin appeared to be darker, with the tattoos and markings almost radiant beneath a sheer glistening of fine beads of sweat. Raul’s eyes lowered slightly to the place where Eva stashed the picture of the target within her bosom. They lingered for but a second before he raised his gaze back to meet Eva’s eyes.
She asked if it was preferred if Bandit was rough housed on capturing to which the Warlock stated firmly.
“She is known to be a handful, Madame. I would strongly suggest that you be prepared for a fight. In fact….the rougher the better. The girl makes the most delicious sounds when being beaten into submission. I think she likes it.”
So, it would be not a matter of stealth in her capture. Brute force was the key to her capture.
“I trust you to meet with my requirements to the letter. Your establishment is well respected.”
Temp: So it would be a matter of beating her target into submission, which was actually what she preferred. From what she saw from on the card just moments ago, it would appear her target was much like Eva…human. However, she didn’t quite look like she had anywhere near the amount of experience in combat Eva had. She was never one to underestimate a target though, and she certainly wouldn’t start now. “I’ve been craving a brawl quite honestly, so hopefully she puts up a decent fight.” Eva wasn’t going to use any of the artifacts she had at her disposal, and instead would deal with this naturally. It was a sign of respect, from one human to another. “I’ll begin immediately, and notify you as soon as she is captured…hell, I’ll even gift wrap her for you.” Eva took a great deal of joy in her job, whether it be her commanding her soldiers or her dealing with something personally.
Razorbackwriter: Raul found Eva’s enthusiasm to dish out a beating to Bandit to be refreshing. In fact, he liked her style and eagerness. Most leaders shied away from getting their hands dirty, whereas Eva relished in it. It was far more than Raul had expected, and while he was not as showy in his emotions, he respectfully showed his pleasure in her words by another slight bow from his upper waist, and then taking a step back on rising, so that Eva might attend to the matter forthwith.
It was also pleasing to hear that Eva would gift wrap Bandit for him. Now there was an offer he could hardly refuse. How would he liked her wrapped? This would take a bit of thinking on his part. A low chuckle came from his lips as he had an idea that would be sure to have Hell talking for days.
“What about…I hold a banquet where you and your organisation do attend. Bringing the target of course. Presenting her on an open buffet table…covered in fruit.”
How Eva would respond to this sort of request…was going to be interesting.
Temp: Eva took the second bow as a sign of respect, and couldn’t help but smile upon hearing him chuckle. Raul truly was an interesting character, to say the least. His clear enjoyment over her gift wrap suggestion was a refreshing change of pace over the boring and stingy clients she normally dealt with. His new request was even more grand than a standard gift wrapping, and sounded more like something you’d see in weird movie. As cheesy as it sounded, she couldn’t help but find it amusing.“Fantasticheskaya!” (Fantastic) It was definitely one of, if not the most strange request she had ever been given. That meant that it was new and interesting, which gave her new found motivation. Eva stood up and stepped over to the front of the desk, taking the collar into her hands along the way. “I can’t say no to such a unique request…I imagine my boys would find it delightful.” Her boys was a reference to the members of the Division, her soldiers. She knew that something like that would be entertaining and enjoyable, and would likely help lighten their moods. Stress relief was an important factor of maintaining an army, and it was rather tricky to successfully pull off.
Razorbackwriter: If it was stress relief that Eva’s men needed from time to time, the boss of Anarchy Division was about to find out that the Warlock could offer her and her men so much more than just payment in cash and jewels. You see, he ran a very exclusive house within the walls of the Kingdom of Lust. Called the House of Red Velvet, it was a den of debauchery and sin. All your earthly and other dark pleasures and desires could be fulfilled from any of his slaves or concubines.
As Eva was about to pass the Warlock, he produced another card that happened to be a deep blood red colour. The card floated down and into Eva’s hand. Another one of the Warlock’s tricks. “My card. You will find the address of my House on the back. If this job goes well, we can have you all attend the banquet and your men are free to use…whatever takes their fancy. On the house, of course.”
It seemed that Raul was very generous to those that were able to serve his needs. What with being part of the Lust kingdom, there may even be the chance of new jobs at Raul’s referencing. This was sure to be a very strong business partnership.
“Forgive me, but…I still don’t know your name, Madame.”
The Warlock stood regally, again showing respect towards the owner of the organisation. He felt parting without addressing her properly to be insensitive.
Temp: Eva was always thinking of what might do her soldiers good, as the morale of the members of the Division was extremely important. It was a simple fact that the more mentally stable you were, the better you performed. Brothels usually did the trick, as well as catering special food and drinks. When the card was produced and she was given the rather generous offer, she smiled once again. The pay for the job was impressive, and on top of that her soldiers would be treated? She wasn’t going to complain, that much was certain. Eva had begun to step towards the exit of the room, clearly eager to get started on her job. She would come to a stop however, when Raul mentioned not being given her name. Her body turned back towards him as she placed the card with the one from earlier. She twirled the collar around one of her fingers, placing a hand on her hip while she gave him a confident look. “Eva Leskov…I have many nicknames, but only a select few of my soldiers use them.” She really didn’t care what people called her, whether it was something like Big Boss or even something like Fry Face. There was little need for her to be concerned over such trivial things, although…nobody that had called her Fry Face was ever heard from again.
Razorbackwriter: “An enchanting name for a beautiful woman.” Raul said politely. The way in which he spoke had a dark almost alluring way about it. The kind of voice that you just want to sit and listen to. “I thank you for your time.” This was the moment that Raul would take his leave, turning to get the door for Eva so that she might leave first. “After you, Eva.”
Watching her, he stood without moving till she had made her way through then he intended to follow her out and head for the exit. His work here was done, and now he intended to head back to the House of Red Velvet to make way for his….newest attraction. No doubt Eva would be swift in her endeavors, and he had no reason to doubt her talents.
His sandled feet made barely a sound as he walked out the door and off into the night.
Temp: Eva went ahead and took the compliment without complaint, finding no reason to object to what he had said. After the incident that left a great deal of her body scarred, she grew to hate people speaking about her appearance. Of course, it was only a phase and quickly passed. There was never a moment since then that she felt insecure about her looks, in fact she grew to like her scars. It made one stand out in a crowd, and could be used in intimidation. Regardless of all that, she smiled at Raul as she walked away from him. He had handled their discussion with good manners and respect, not to mention money and incentive. She had told him she would start immediately, and she had meant it. Eva gathered a few things that she figured she may need, and then made her way towards the exit. Before she left she informed one of her highest ranks what she would be doing, as well as the benefits it came with. He was then told to spread the word among the other members. Eva then left the building, now in search of her target.
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Night of the Crabs was first published in 1976 and was a bestseller for its author, Guy N. Smith. As with a lot of books from that time it is not very long when compared to modern works. Night of the Crabs is only 192 pages long, the print is quite big and there are often a couple of blank pages separating the chapters. Like I said, it’s not a long book. I read it all the way through in just a few hours.
The Central character is a marine biologist called Cliff Davenport. Cliff’s nephew, Ian has been on holiday with his fiancee, Julie. They both work with Cliff and when neither of them returns home he gets worried. Then he gets the news. Their car has been found near the beach, as have their clothes, and it is believed that they have been swept out to sea. Cliff is devastated by the news, but senses something is wrong. Ian and Julie were both strong swimmers and he knows that the current in the area where they were swimming is not very strong. When he can stand the waiting no longer, he goes to investigate their disappearance himself and it doesn’t take him very long before he finds what looks to him like huge crab tracks in the sand.
The idea of giant crabs as an adversary is quite a good one. I never gave much thought to crabs at all until reading the book, but to all intents and purposes, the outer shell of a crab is practically as good as armour plating and if, in real life, we were suddenly faced with a plague of giant crabs it would be scary to say the least.
It is a good idea, but I must admit that the story didn’t really grab me and I found the prose a little unbelievable at times. I am not totally sure why this was, but as I read Night of the Crabs it reminded me, a little, of a Secret Seven book or, perhaps, a Famous Five. The book just had that feel to it as far as I was concerned and in my mind I found it a bitl like an Enid Blyton, but with a little sex and horror thrown into the mix.
I also found a couple of the scenes in Night of the Crabs a little hard to believe. In the first one someone is lying on a public beach, behind some sand dunes, and watching the planes taking off and landing at a military base. The next thing the poor guy knows he has a gun in his back and is being marched into the base itself where he is promptly thrown into a concrete building, the door is locked, and he is left in the dark, to stew, for an indefinite length of time. Even in the seventies I doubt that something like this would ever have happened. I grew up not far from a military air base and there was never any shortage of people parked by the side of the road, watching the planes come and go. Most of them had binoculars and none of them, as far as I am aware, was ever threatened a gunpoint.
The second scene that comes to mind as being unbelievable was a little further on in the book, the main character and his lady-friend are in the sand dunes and have been doing the sort of thing that it is usual for lovers to do in the sand dunes on a moonlit night. Afterwards though, there is no basking in the warm afterglow as far as this romantic hero is concerned. Oh no. It’s straight back to business: he tells his love how glad he is that she’s accompanied him that night, and then, as he runs his zipper back up, he declares that he is afraid that they must still keep an eye open for those crabs. I think most women would have slapped his face for being so insensitive and, given the circumstances, and what the word ‘crabs’ brings to most peoples minds these days, I also had to have a bit of a giggle.
I didn’t find Night of the Crabs the most thrilling read and it will never make my top-ten list of favourite books. It was okay though and I did find it an entertaining read, if not quite what I had expected.
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Beth Holloway shot up in bed to the sounds of terrorized screaming coming from her 6-year-old son’s bedroom. Ripping the bed sheets away she ran down the corridor in a panic.
“Joey! Joey!” she shouted, as she burst into the room and turned on the lights. “What’s the matter?!” she asked, searching her son’s tear-streaked, frightened face.
“There… there was a spider.”
“It was huge, Mom. It was on my pillow and then it crawled onto my face… It… it was going to bite me.”
“Sweetie, you just had a bad dream. There are no huge spiders in this house.”
“It wasn’t a dream, Mom. I swear. It was on my face. Its… its body was the size of a baseball.”
“Joey, you had a nightmare,” she said soothingly as she wiped the sweat from his forehead. “It’s okay. And to prove it, we’ll search your room top-to-bottom. I guarantee we won’t find any huge spiders. Then you can come and sleep with me – just this once. Okay?”
“Okay. But I’m telling you it wasn’t a dream. I felt it on my face.”
5 years later – back garden of Joey Holloway’s aunt and uncle in England
Joey watched intently as his sadistic older cousin, Kevin, slowly pulled the legs off of the spider one-by-one.
“Now comes the fun part,” said Kevin, giving Joey a malicious wink and taking a magnifying glass from his pocket. He concentrated a beam of sunlight on the spider’s writhing, legless body until it burst under the heat with a sickening pop.
“I want to do the next one,” said Joey, earnestly.
“Okay!” laughed Kevin and the two boys spent the rest of the afternoon merrily torturing and roasting alive every spider they could find.
15 years later – Joey Holloway’s girlfriend’s apartment – 3:20 AM
“Jesus Christ! What is it, Joey?!” she shouted as she shook him awake.
“What?” he whispered as he opened his anguished eyes.
“You were screaming your head off,” she said, dabbing the sweat and tears from his face.
“Oh, fuck me,” he said sitting up in bed.
“What were you dreaming, baby?”
“I… I had this nightmare when I was just a boy about a giant spider that crawled onto my face from my pillow and tried to bite me… It was so real my Mom had to take me all through the house to show me it wasn’t there… I… I just had the exact same dream.”
“It’s okay, Joey. Here, come lie down with me. God, your heart is racing!”
“It’s… it’s just so real,” he sighed, as the panic subsided and he eased back into sleep in his girlfriend’s arms.
50 years later – cottage on Lake Massawippi, Quebec
He sat in his rocker at the end of the dock gazing out across the sparkling water and rolling hills. His wife had died less than a year ago and he glanced yearningly at the empty rocker beside him – wishing she was still there. This was the special place where they had been coming, over the past 40 years, to relax and talk and laugh. She had been the centre of his universe and the rockers at the end of the dock were where the stars collided in love and companionship.
As he turned his attention again to the water, he noticed a large spider perched at the very tip of the dock starting to knit a web. A tremendous, untrammeled fury rose inside his chest and, getting up laboriously from the rocker, he aggressively crushed the insect under his twisting heel and kicked its dead body into the chattering lake.
The same day after sundown inside the cottage
He set aside his dinner plate and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. After the foamy water drained out of the sink, he was alarmed to see an enormous spider slink out of the sink hole. He killed it instantly with a wad of toilet paper. But then another emerged and another after that. Terrified, he put the plug in the sink but when he turned around, he shouted in horror as the bathtub was full of spiders spreading out and up across the tiled porcelain walls. He fled the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and ran to the kitchen where hundreds of spiders had come up through the kitchen sink and were skittering across the counter tops. Running into the living room, the hardwood floors creaked and swelled under the pressure of something trying to get in from below. Flinging open the curtain to the bay window that overlooked the lake, he was confronted with the eight glassy black eyes. Before he had a chance to scream, the hairy brown leg shattered the window and pulled him out into the crisp night air.
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Kovai Sarala is an actress who acted in more than 750 films in her career spanning for over 25 years. She has acted in Tamil (even Telugu films) and had joined films as she was the sole bread earner in the family. Many feel that she filled the void left by Manorma and she is the only actress who had stepped in her( Manorama) shoes. In this film industry, Sarala could carry scenes on her own merits. There was a time; she would be seen in every successful movie (just as Manorama) during 1980-90s. Looking back at her career, she played a 55-year old character in Chinna Veedu( her second film) when she was just a teenager. Everyone had wondered how she played that role. She even played the unforgettable character of Palani as Kamal Haasan’s wife in
Balu Mahendra’s Sathi Leelavathi. Both Kamal and Balu Mahendra too had complimented her for this role and it is her best role till date.
Then she was seen as a lover of Sathyaraj in couple of films which were declared hit (Karagattakaran, Kaalam Maari Pochu, Periya Manushan). The greatest asset in her performance was that, she never told any vulgar lines in her comedy dialogues. At least she preferred not to do this kind of comedy at all in any of her film. Although she is a Malayalee by birth, she gained popularity in Tamil film industry only. Recently, she had acted in two successful movies such as ‘Kanchana-2’ and ‘
’, which was a box-office winner and people had watched her antics and appreciated her comedy. This versatile actress had learnt acting through theater participation in Coimbatore before she made her break in movies. For her family’s sake, she remained unwedded to anybody, but yet she faced many struggles with her relatives who cheated and even have emptied her bank accounts.
Currently, she is choosy with her films and five films are under stage of production. She will be remembered for her comedy performance in South Indian cinema. She is an evergreen actress who will continue to please every generation.
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The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.
~ Joseph Campbell
The second year I lived in New Mexico, I lived about twenty miles north of Santa Fe, in a little area called El Rancho. I know, it sounds like a no-star motel on the edge of the Mojave Desert, but it was a small settlement of folks who had probably lived there, or their families had, for a good many years. It is situated between two mountain ranges: the Sangre de Cristos to the east and the Jemez to the west. The views were outstanding and the sunsets to die for. Well, maybe not to die for, but they were awfully nice.
Perhaps it's the four fresh inches of snow outside my window, and more coming down (which I don't mind a bit; it's sort of nice and cozy), but I've found myself mentally wandering around in the area near the Jemez. It holds some wonderful hiking and exploring opportunities, which JB and I took full advantage of (JB and I were divorced by that time, but were working out our friendship). It was a playground of fine proportions.
Just up the road a few miles was an outlier of Bandelier National Monument called Tsankawi. It's one fine walk, culminating in some pretty spectacular views of those same two mountain ranges, plus the Pajarito Plateau. The real pay off is the Anasazi habitation site at the top of the climb, almost a thousand years old, complete with remaining evidence of their lives: pottery sherds, depressions where kivas had been, and some low rock walls. On the sunny side of the hill are several small caves and even a few petroglyphs.
Across the road from Tsankawi, caves that were once inhabited by other folks who had lived there line the face of a cliff made of volcanic tuff. They provided several other days worthy of exploration. These were not deep caves, just large rooms carved out of the soft rock, large enough to provide a living space, a place safe from the elements, where they could keep an eye out for uninvited visitors. Several of these were connected inside by narrow passageways. Black charred ceilings gave a sense of their very spartan lives.
We once set aside our fears of scorpions and other inhabitants, sat down inside one of them and had lunch. Looking out from inside gave me an acute sense of history and the Anasazi who had lived there.
This morning, looking out at the snow and thinking of these caves, the opening quote by Joseph Campbell came to mind. I posted it on my Face Book page, back when I had a Face Book page. I wanted to share it here, as well. It's a reminder to not be afraid to look inside, to explore the interior of my life, along with the exterior, and the ever-expanding possibilities that are there.
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Send an E-Card
Yuet Mui (Theresa) Ho passed away on December 15th at the age of 88 and returned to her Heavenly home after a brave struggle with Heart and Kidney failure.Her devotion to Jesus and belief in God powered her through her struggles, whether they be physical, mental or the harshness of wartime. Her faith was always strong and remained so until she was called Home. Yuet Mui was born to Lee Mong and Hsu Tai in the New Territories of Hong Kong on April 16th, 1930. One of many children. It was here, in the rural simplicity of farm life that she was first introduced to Jesus. She has since, remained a devoted Christian and Catholic. She married Kang H. Ho at the age of 17 and was Blessed with 4 Children. Helen, Maria, Jade and Joseph Ho. She was blessed with many grandchildren and great grandchildren, all of whom, filled her with Joy. She made her way to England, then Florida with her husband. They worked many years in the Restaurant trade, opened their own, and were always generous with their guests and staff. Yuet Mui was creative and bright. She possessed a mind full of wonder and curiosity that always seemed enlightened, never tiring of new things. A ferociously hard worker who was always busy with tasks both small or large. She loved her garden, and her orchards of fruit trees and they were always plentiful. She was a truly unique and loving soul, always loyal to her friends and loved to cook for them. But above all, she adored her children and was devoted to her Husband. Yuet Mui is survived by her husband, her four children and her sister, Mary. We will miss her dearly. She filled all those in her world with light, love and joy. A visitation will be held on January 2, 2019 from 2 -4 pm at Baldwin Brothers Funeral Home in Wildwood, Fl. A Funeral Mass will take place at St. Mark, the Evangelist, Roman Catholic Church in Summerfield on January 3rd at 10 am. Father Dominik will officiate with a reception to follow. Friends and family are welcome to attend. Prayers are always welcomed. In lieu of flowers, please donate to The National Kidney Foundation.
2:00 PM - 4:00 PM
3990 East State Road 44, Wildwood, Florida 34785
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A man in the crowd answered, “Teacher I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth and becomes rigid. I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not.” – Mark 9:17-18
We pick up where we left off in our last lesson, with Peter, James and John reveling in this extraordinary experience of having seen Jesus transfigured and glorified before their eyes. Jesus told them to keep it to themselves, and this was a good thing, because they were about to go into a situation that needed a different type of focus.
The rest of the disciples had been left at the bottom of the mountain while Jesus and the three spent time apart. While they were there, a man approached them looking for healing for his son. Try as they may, they were not able to fulfill the man’s wishes. You would think that they would have been praised for even trying – showing enough compassion on the man and his son to engage in what was a pretty difficult task, but this didn’t happen. The simple request unfulfilled turned into an all-out argument, the crowd against the disciples.
As disciples, we face the same challenges. Like the rest of Jesus’ followers, these challenges can come out of the blue, and be disguised as a loving request of a father for his son. In these situations, it is important that we understand not only what people are looking for, but what they see, for it dictates not only how we operate in the situation, but what we do before the situation ever comes up.
Peter, James and John were left with two things: their teacher, and a command: “Listen to him”. As they came down the mountain, Jesus told them not to tell anyone about their experience until he had risen from the dead. While on the one hand they “listened to what he said and didn’t tell anyone”, they got caught up in side views of what he was talking about
They kept the matter to themselves, discussing what “rising from the dead” meant. And they asked him, “Why do the teachers of the law say that Elijah must come first?” Jesus replied, “To be sure, Elijah does come first, and restores all things. Why then is it written that the Son of Man must suffer much and be rejected?” – Mark 9:10-12
Peter, James and John got stuck on something they couldn’t understand, but rather than listen to what their teacher had to say about it they tossed it around between themselves. They probably came up with every conceivable explanation of what this could mean – maybe he was talking about being accepted by people, or waking up from a long sleep. Maybe he was going to go through something as bad as death and come out of it. Whatever explanations they may have agreed or disagreed on, what was clear was that they didn’t have Jesus’ view of what he had said.
Rather than ask a clarifying question, his followers diverted the question to something they thought they knew something about, or at least they had enough information to ask intelligently. Jesus, however, showed that he had one focus – the path that his Father had for him. Even though Jesus answered the question, he opened the door for the disciples to re-engage in the uncomfortable statement he made prior. As disciples, we have to realize that Jesus’ plan and desire for us will not be thwarted by what we put in front of him, and he will often return us to the one lesson he wants us to learn. In addition, as disciples, we have to learn to be as Jesus was – solely focused on the path that God has for us, and not deterred by what others bring to us.
There is a “U” in “They”
Jesus and his followers went to rejoin the rest of the disciples, only to find a crowd around them, and the teachers of the law in argument with them. As Jesus tried to understand what was going on, the man at the center of the story stepped up to tell his side.
Teacher, I brought you my son who is possessed by a spirit… I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not – Mark 9:17a & 18b
While it is pretty subtle, what the man said is actually very telling for the life of the disciple:
I brought him to You, but they could not…
For the man, and probably for the crowd, there was not much difference between the teacher and the disciple. When the man saw the disciples, he saw Jesus. He expected from the disciples what he would have received from Jesus.
Elisha saw this and cried out, “My father! My father! The chariots and horsemen of Israel!” and Elisha saw him no more. Then he took hold of his garment and tore it in two. Elisha then picked up Elijah’s cloak that had fallen from him and went back and stood on the bank of the Jordan. He took the cloak that had fallen from Elijah and struck the water with it. “Where now is the Lord, the God of Elijah?” he asked. When he struck the water, it divided to the right and to the left, and he crossed over. The company of the prophets from Jericho, who were watching, said, “The spirit of Elijah is resting on Elisha.” And they went to meet him and bowed to the ground before him. – II Kings 2:12-15
Everyone knew that Elijah’s time was short. They could have taken the time to spend with Elijah, get his last bits of wisdom and prepare for the departure of their friend and mentor. What the prophets of Jericho did, however was watch Elijah’s disciple, Elisha. They had an expectation of what would happen, and as soon as Elijah was gone, made that expectation known – they saw Elijah in Elisha. The disciples of Jesus probably thought the man was coming to them, but truthfully, he was coming to the Jesus in them. The man had an expectation of success because he had seen Jesus, knew what he was capable of, and if these were his disciples, they would carry the same weight and power that Jesus did. One of the most telling quotes about discipleship comes from Mahatma Gandhi:
“I like your Christ; I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ”.
Gandhi expected to see the “U”, or the you, in them – to see Christ fully represented in those who were his followers. Similarly, the man who wanted to see his son healed expected to see the life, faith, and power of God represented in the disciples in the same way it was represented in Jesus. This is why there was no praise in the failure, no “good job, thanks for trying”, no appreciation for trying to show some compassion. The man could have gotten that from anyone – he was looking for God to be revealed. As disciples, we have to understand and keep focused on the fact that the world wants to see, not nice Christians who are no different than them. They want to see God represented
I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. – Romans 8:18-19
Creation, the world, our neighbors, our family, the person sitting next to you on the bus wants to see the “U in they” – the Christ in us. They want to see the nature of the children of God revealed in us. Anything less is a travesty, because it will never represent the God that we are supposed to be following. As disciples, we are Jesus to those around us, and are the closest thing they may ever get to Jesus – or, depending on how we represent him, the closest thing they will ever want to get to Jesus.
All Things are Possible… but we could not…
Jesus took care of the situation, but not before straightening out some of the thinking of the crowd and the man. When their expectation wasn’t met by the disciples, the man and the crowd blamed the disciples for the outcome. Jesus helped the man to see that he had a part to play in the result
“If you can?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for one who believes.” – Mark 9:23
The good thing is that the man was not only willing to believe, but willing to admit that he had a hard time believing and needed help. No doubt this is why he came to the disciples in the first place, having exhausted all other measures. Because we tend to make God our last resort, we are particularly sensitive to the result, knowing that we have no other recourse after that. Prayer is usually our final step, but what happens when even that is not enough?
Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” – Mark 9:25
The father believed… the disciples believed… and yet here was a boy still suffering from this spirit. Something was wrong – a formula was out of whack, a step missed… something needed to be fixed in this picture. Jesus’ statement not only caught hold of the man, it also caught hold of the disciples – mainly because they were already feeling the sting of failure and condemnation from the crowd.
“Everything is possible for one who believes”…
They did what they had been taught, they remembered how Jesus had done things before, they knew they had authority, but none of it was working. The disciples went from being “the go-to people” to being students of the teacher again. They had to be taught, not just how to cast out difficult demons, but how to live as disciples.
After Jesus had gone indoors, his disciples asked him privately, “Why couldn’t we drive it out?” He replied, “This kind can come out only by prayer.” – Mark 9:28-29
This begs the question: when did Jesus pray about this situation? We don’t read anywhere that he stopped to talk to his Father before taking action. We could assume that he was praying silently while the crowd was all up in arms and he was talking with the boy’s father, but that doesn’t seem to fit into the context of his statement. The word for prayer, προσευχῇ not only refers to the act of prayer, but also speaks of a place of prayer. Places where one could go and commune with God in prayer, not just throwing up a quick prayer in the time of need. Jesus’ time of prayer with the Father in private prepared him for dealing with the spirit in this situation. Similarly, as disciples, what people will see in us of the life of God will not be determined by how we jump to action in public, but rather how we prepare ourselves in private – how we come away to those places of prayer and dedication, communing with the Father where no one can see, receiving from Him what our focus and path are to be. Jesus had already modeled to the disciples what that life of prayer was to be. He was now bringing them back to it – “if you want to act like me, you have to do so in everything – in the private things as well as the public things.” As disciples, the only way that we can truly demonstrate the life of Jesus is to do it at all times, private and public, doing what He did, living how he lived.
– What challenges to your faith have you faced, especially ones that presented themselves as nice and inviting? How have you responded to those challenges, and what was the result?
– What uncomfortable lessons has God brought to you over and over? How have you tried to divert yourself and God away from the uncomfortable?
– What is God’s path for you? Why is it difficult to stay focused on that path?
– What of Jesus do people see in you? Do they always see it? Is it something that they can rely on where God is manifest, and not you?
– Do you realize you are being watched? Does that make you uncomfortable? Would you change something about yourself if you knew you were being watched? If so, why haven’t you?
– When do you pray about situations?
– Where is your place of communion with the Father?
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‘Ritu, There is a call for you at the reception.’ the warden told Ritu who was all covered in paint.
‘Yes, I am coming in a minute.’ said Ritu rubbing her hands on a cloth kept beside a huge canvas. Ritu was in the second year of painting. She has been in love with this art since her childhood. The love grew even stronger after she lost her parents in an accident. It was like a mechanism to cope up with the loss.
‘Hey Ritu here, may I know to whom am I talking to?’ she asked in a casual manner looking at spaces between her fingers which were still carrying paint.
‘Madam, I am from the insurance company your brother was working for. There is a very bad news….Avinash is no more.’ the man on the other side said, ‘You need to come to the city to receive the body’.
Ritu dropped the receiver and sat on the chair next to the phone. She remembered how she fought with her brother two years ago for opting arts. Her brother wanted her to take admission in a science college and believed it would give a more secure future for her. Tears rolled down her cheek as she repented not talking nicely to him for these two years. All they talked about was money. Even when Avinash tried to know about Ritu’s well being all she did was cut the line. Now that Avinash was gone, Ritu wanted to tell each and everything about her life,her college , her paintings to him.
Ritu went to her home the very next day and did all the rituals. Her brother’s colleagues helped her arrange things. Avinash was buried in the nearby graveyard where their parents were buried.
Ritu was left with some land property her parents owned and some money Avinash left behind. The land was in the outskirts with no good communication with the central part of the city and so it was difficult to sell the land. The money that she had was also not enough to continue her college. So she had no choice but to drop the year.
She decided to do freelance painting job to earn some money for living. She intended to save some cash to continue her college the coming year. She also needed a place to live since she didn’t get to stay at her Hostel and the quarter that her brother lived in was taken back by the company. Now finding a decent house in the crowed city seemed like the toughest task for Ritu. She neither had a stable job nor did she have good amount of money.
‘But the rent is too high, I do not have that much money. Please help me sir… please..’ she begged one owner.
‘I can not compensate with this house but I have another house in the next block which I can give in the price you want but…’
‘I will take it sir,’ Ritu jumped up with excitement.
‘But the house is …’ the owner stopped as of calculating whether he should tell her the truth or not.
‘What is it Sir? You can tell me without any hesitation. I will not change my mind whatever be the problem with the house’ Ritu assured him.
‘I do not know whether it’s true or not but I have got complains from the previous families living there that they have felt something spooky in the house. I bought the house some twenty years ago but the seller didn’t mention anything. Since then I have rented the house about three times and every time they have left saying it is haunted. That’s why I was reluctant to show you the property but if you need an accommodation at such small amount that is the only place that I can arrange.’
Ritu never believed in spirits and ghosts. She even didn’t believe in God so it was easy for her to make a decision. She took the house and was quite happy with the space. It was bigger than any other property she visited. It seemed quite old. She believed that since the house was so huge and old, people might have made stories to ruin the business of the old owner.
Ritu now wanted to focus on freelancing to get good money and make her savings. First two or three days went great she got some great deals in her freelance and house was not that bad except for the long and dark passages. The lighting in the house was also not great.
But then things started to get strange. Things were often getting misplaced, sometimes Ritu would be awake at midnight hearing some sound which she could not hear after waking up and sometimes wind would blow madly even when the windows were closed.
‘Hey…I heard you live in the haunted house. Don’t you feel anything yet?’ a lady asked Ritu while she was in the vegetable market.
‘No. The house is fine.’ she seemed annoyed.
‘But you should not live there. I have heard someone died in the house many many years ago and his spirit roams in the house.’ the lady whispered.
‘Oh! Good…I have company then. Its good to know I don’t live alone.’ she put on a fake smile and went ahead. The lady seemed puzzled seeing her reaction.
The moment Ritu opened the lock of the house and went in, a mouse went over her feet.
‘What! Mouse?’ she jumped on the table kept in the centre of the room.
‘So this is the ghost? A mouse…’ she sighed and laughed to herself.
Every night she used to set her canvases in the middle room which was like a dining hall and paint. After she finished the pieces she left them to dry, ate her dinner, put some bread in the corners of the kitchen for the mouse and went to sleep in a smaller room adjacent to the hall. Though the strange sounds which would make her awake every midnight didn’t stop but she did stop searching for sounds and believed it was the mouse. But she did notice that the intensity of sound increased day by day.
One morning she found the mouse dead in the hall where she left her paintings. The room was filled with the obnoxious smell of the dead rat but she still managed to get close to the rat and found that it had blood all over it’s body.
‘May be some other rat killed it. The neighbour has a cat which could also kill it.’ she talked to herself. She was still in sleep and as usual felt tired due to the interrupted sleep.
She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. As she spitted the gargled water she saw a man standing behind her in the mirror. She at once turned back but could she no one. Each and every part of her body was shaken. She froze for a second. When she got hold of herself she searched the whole house for the man but could not find anyone.
‘Madam did you see anyone coming out of my house?’ she asked the lady next door who was busy watering her plants.
‘No my child,’ she answered in a very sweet manner. ‘Did you see someone in your house?’ she asked.
‘Yeah…Actually I am sleep deprived for many days, I think I might be imagining things. I am…’ Ritu was interrupted by the lady.
‘You must be careful. The spirit does not like anyone living in his house.’
‘There is no ghost or spirits. I am sorry for bothering you.’ Ritu was disturbed. She knew she saw someone but could not agree upon the ghost story. Though she felt something in the house but she was stubborn enough to ignore all the strangeness in the place. That house was the only option for her and whatever was the cause she was ready to fight it.
That night as usual she was awakened by the strange sound. This time it was louder and didn’t stop when she woke up. She traced the sound. She started to walk towards the hall were she put all her paintings. The sound could be heard louder. As she entered the hall the sound stopped. There was silence. She looked around. All her paintings were torn and distorted. All her paints were scattered here and there. She looked at her paintings with tears collecting in her eyes. She walked forward and saw something written on the empty canvas. ‘Go away’ it said in red ink. Wind started to blow madly in the space.
‘It’s my house!’, screamed Ritu. She now lost all control over her anger. Tears rolled from her eyes. ‘I do not care who you are…Or what you are but I won’t leave this house. How dare you ruin my paintings? What do you think of yourself? You are going to kill me now? Go ahead. I am not afraid because I have already lost many things in my life. You ruined the paintings…I was supposed to ship them tomorrow. Now …What…Will…I…’ Ritu started to become unconscious.
The next morning she woke up on the floor of the hall. The door bell rang constantly and probably woke her up. She got up from the floor, dusted herself and looked around. The paintings and the canvases stood as if nothing happened. Ritu was confused. She went through the passage to open the door convincing herself that all that happened the other night was nothing but a bad dream. She opened the door. The packers came to take the paintings.
After they had gone Ritu went close to empty canvas and brushed her fingers over it. She picked up the brush and took a generous amount of the red colour and started writing.
‘Are you here?’, she wrote with each letter showing the fine tremors her hand was having. She waited patiently . She kept rewinding the moments she went through the other night in her head. ‘Was all that my wild imagination?’ she whispered to herself. ‘Am I losing it?’
While thousands of thoughts ran through her mind she looked at the canvas. ‘Sorry’, was written below her question.
‘Who are you?’ asked Ritu aloud looking around the hall.
‘Anil. I used to live in this house with my family’ answered a husky but firm voice.
‘ So you can communicate with people?’ Ritu was anxious.
‘Yeah…If I want to. I never did in these years but you seem different.’
‘I don’t have much knowledge or experience regarding spirits and…’
‘Please stop calling me a ghost or spirit. It has been a long time I am talking to someone and it feels so great.’
‘Then why did you scare away the people who came here earlier?’
‘Agh!! They were a bunch of annoying persons and did make a lot of sound. You seem to be interested in painting. You are a great artist and sorry for ruining them.’
‘But you did correct them and so it’s okay.’ Ritu answered with a smile. She was excited for the fact that she was talking to a spirit. ‘So we are sharing the house then?’ Ritu asked with nervousness reflecting in the shrill of her voice.
‘Yeah sure. I won’t disturb you.’
‘Can I see you? I mean is it possible to…’ Ritu was now running out of breath.
‘If you are comfortable then yes but promise me you will not tell anyone about me. I want to live peacefully in my home.’
‘I would never disclose anything. I promise…’ Ritu stopped talking. She was startled when a tall man with a sharp face appeared in front of her. It was Anil smiling at Ritu.
‘You are so young. How did you…’
Anil looked at Ritu and then turned to the window. ‘I was sleeping in my room. Its the same room where you sleep and suddenly I don’t know how a massive fire broke into the room. I struggled hard to get through but failed. The next thing I know I am stuck here for about twenty years now.’
‘But why are you stuck? Was there any incomplete work or dream that you had? I have read in books that if someone has some incomplete work it might be difficult for him or her to leave.’
‘I know. I have been thinking about this for the last twenty years but I don’t know what is the thing which I have left incomplete. My parents passed away two years before me. I lived all by myself selling clothes. I had no other ambition or hobby. Its tiring now. I am living in nowhere.’ Anil sighed.
‘I bet it might be something like photography or learning guitar or owning a bike.’ Ritu suggested.
Ritu and Anil talked for hours that day. They shared their life experiences. Ritu would someday rent a guitar to teach Anil. They even tried photography. They spent time painting, reading and doing whatever came to their mind but nothing worked. It was about two months now they had become good friends. One day the door bell rang at the afternoon when Ritu was finishing one of her paintings. Ritu was not expecting anyone. The shipping guys usually came in the mornings. Ritu was irritated at the odd timing of the door bell ringing. She washed her hands and went to open the door cursing the person the other side of door.
‘Hey, I am Meera.’ a girl in her mid-thirties stood at the door carrying a small child.
‘Do I know you?’ Ritu asked looking at the baby first and then looking at the lady.
‘No. I was passing by and my son really needs to use the washroom. I am sorry to bother you but would you please let my…’
‘Yeah sure. Please come in.’ Ritu said.
‘What a lovely house! Who do you live with?’ the lady asked looking around as if searching for something.
‘l live alone. I moved here about two months ago. There’s the washroom’. Ritu showed her the washroom.
Ritu was startled by Anil again.
‘Who is she?’ he asked.
‘Don’t know. The boy needed to pee so I let them in.’ she looked at Anil and smiled.
‘Meera!!’, Anil cried.
‘You know her?’ Ritu was puzzled.
‘To whom are you talking to?’, Meera seemed even more puzzled.
‘She is my sister. She eloped with her boyfriend a year before our parents passed away.’ Anil told Ritu.
‘Do you know Anil?’, Ritu asked Meera who was still looking for something in the house. ‘Do you know him?’.
‘How do you know about him? Where is he now? How is he?’ Meera asked in one breath. She became more impatient each moment.
‘Ritu please ask her how is she…Is she happy? Is she still with that man? Please…’, Anil begged Ritu. ‘I promised mom and dad that I will find Meera and make sure she is happy. How did I forget my little sister!’
‘Meera …Are you happy with your life?’ Ritu asked Meera with tears in her eyes.
‘First tell me who are you? I came here to see my brother. Please tell me something…Please’, Meera broke down. Her baby was too little to understand why her mother was crying and he too began to weep.
‘Your brother is dead. He died in a fire but he is still here Meera. He is watching you.’ Ritu looked to Anil. ‘And now I know why he could not leave this world. All he wants to know is whether her little sister is doing good in her life.’
‘I am very happy. I have two kids with Harish and we are a happy family. I want to see you brother. I want to apologize about my deeds. I am sorry. Please talk to me…’ the desperate sister cried madly.
‘Your sister wants to see you Anil. She is happy and’, Ritu turned back but Anil was nowhere. Anil was gone forever.
Ritu took a deep breath and held Meera.
‘You set him free! You set him free Meera!’ Ritu cried joyously. Though she lost a great friend but still couldn’t be more happy for Anil.
The next day Ritu went to Avinash’s grave. She wanted to apologize to him for every harsh thing she said to him when he was alive. She wanted to make sure that Avinash was not struggling like Anil.
‘Ritu’, a soft female voice called from behind. As she turned back a young girl hugged Ritu tightly.
‘I cannot believe I finally found you!’ the girl sobbed and laughed at the same time.
‘I am sorry I didn’t recognize you…’ Ritu asked.
‘I am Swati. Avinash’s girlfriend…He was so excited about my meeting with you and now that we are finally seeing each other…he is lying beneath the soil’ she sighed. ‘I searched for you everywhere but failed. Why did you leave college? What have you been doing all these days?’
‘I didn’t have the money to pay this year’s expenses in college so I decided to drop this year…’
‘Avinash and I have been saving money for your college. He wanted you to follow your passion. He said you are the best artist he had seen in his life. You would not drop this year Ritu. I promised Avinash that I would take care of you and I will keep the promise.’
‘You loved him so much?’ Ritu asked Swati. Her voice was choking and her throat pained.
‘I still love him and you know what he loved someone more than me…And it was you!’
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The process by which the financial worth of property is determined. The amount at which an item is valued. A demand by the board of directors of a corporation for the payment of any money that is still owed on the purchase of capital stock. The determination of the amount of damages to be awarded to a plaintiff who has been successful in a lawsuit. The ascertainment of the pro rata share of taxes to be paid by members of a group of taxpayers who have directly benefited from a particular common goal or project according to the benefit conferred upon the individual or his or her property. This is known as a special assessment. The listing and valuation of property for purposes of fixing a tax upon it for which its owner will be liable. The procedure by which the INTERNAL REVENUE SERVICE, or other government department of taxation, declares that a taxpayer owes additional tax because, for example, the individual has understated personal gross income or has taken deductions to which he or she is not entitled. This process is also known as a deficiency assessment.
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You stupid English, with your Yorkshire puddings and your chips and fish! You thought you could defeat Le Frog?!
~ Le Frog
Le Frog is one of the three secondary antagonists (alongside Spike and Whitey) of DreamWorks' 13th full-length animated feature film Flushed Away. He is The Toad's cousin and mercenary-for-hire, the leader of The Henchfrogs, and an enemy of Roddy and Rita.
He was voiced by Jean Reno.
Le Frog's minions are mostly ninja frogs, along with a mime frog who holds a computer where Toad would see and speak through. They were easily distracted by a fly, leading them to be smacked with each others' tongues.
Le Frog was called by his cousin, the Toad to get the master cable back from Rita, in order to proceed his plan in taking over the sewers and annihilating all of Ratropolis. He pursues them down the rapid waters and fails in getting the master cable on his first attempt.
However, after Spike manages to kidnap Rita, Le Frog successfully grabs the cable off her and gives it to The Toad. After this, he sits in the café waiting for The Toad's plan to succeed before the latter desperately calls out to him after getting his tongue caught in the turning mechanism. As a result, Le Frog rushes towards Roddy in an attempt to engage him in combat. However, instead of that, Roddy grabs Le Frog and winds him causing his tongue to shoot out and attach itself to the ledge of the pipe.
Once Roddy freezes the oncoming attack to the rats Le Frog shrugs it off as being a small success before Roddy launches him towards The Toad to whom he furiously tells to stop pursuing and just accept his plan had failed before abandoning his cousin and giving him fatherly advice leaving him stuck in the mechanism.
At the end of the film, Le Frog tries to hitchhike back to Paris while his minions were seen dancing while he stood with an annoyed look.
Le Frog with the Toad and his other henchmen looking for the heroes
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Don’t make me close one more door, I don’ wanna hurt anymore.
Stay in my arms if you dare, Or must I imagine you there.
Don’t walk away from me...I have nothing, nothing, nothing
If I don’t have you, you, you, you, you…
He expected that he’d have to hunt her down as interactions between the two of them recently seemed to be only that of a relay race, with Harriet as the baton being handed off to the other person. Even though they still lived in the same house, they were ships passing in the night. With no meaningful communication, but simply a distant tooting of their horns as they passed each other by. A situation he felt that she was out to change. It was why he’d avoided her for so long. But no more. Life was short and he’d had a rude awakening. Uncomfortable, emotional spillage required. He was up to the task.
He was surprised to find her outside the examination room still. But Harriet-less. Before he could wonder and voice the question, he spotted some movement from the corner of his eye. Harriet in pink, in the arms of Catherine in black. Quite the cute combination. Swiveling his neck to get a better view wasn’t the best plan, he learned. A back to the head smack and a “Really, Jackson?!” and April was on the move.
Rubbing the sore spot, he smiled. Progress. He turned his gaze back towards his mother and his child only to find a third presence making up that triumvirate. His grandmother, mother and daughter all smiled in amusement, then let out huge belly laughs turning their view towards the retreating back of the fourth and most important woman in his life. Wordlessly prompting him to add her to their triad, they thus forming the quartet of women that Jackson Avery would love throughout his lifetime.
Chief Bailey, not to be left out, and someone he would always appreciate for the rescue – be it real or imagined – querulously harrumphed before allowing herself the slightest of smirks. She cut her eyes towards the hallway where April had just been and with the barest of nods gave her own permission.
“Go on, Avery. Get out.”
Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, FaziOWrite a Review
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FLEMING, MICHAEL ANTHONY, Franciscan, priest, and bishop; b. c. 1792 in Carrick on Suir, County Tipperary (Republic of Ireland); d. 14 July 1850 in St John’s.
As a youth, Michael Anthony Fleming was considered to possess “an agreeable person, engaging manners, an aptitude for learning, and a mild disposition,” traits not always ascribed to him in his more mature years. He was encouraged by his uncle Martin Fleming, a Franciscan priest, to enter religious life, and in 1808 was accepted by Thomas Scallan* as a Franciscan novice in the Wexford convent. Fleming received minor orders, subdiaconate, and diaconate in September 1814 and was ordained a priest on 15 Oct. 1815, apparently some months before the canonical age of 24.
Following his ordination, Fleming was assigned to the friary at Carrick on Suir, where his uncle was superior. He was associated with the removal of the dilapidated chapel there and its replacement by a fine new church, which was still unfinished when he left for Newfoundland. There were to be insinuations later that Fleming had misused funds collected for the building and that the ensuing scandal forced him to leave Ireland. The truth of such accusations is difficult to determine.
At the invitation of Scallan, now vicar apostolic of Newfoundland, Fleming went to the island in the autumn of 1823. It seems that he first had only temporary leave, to collect funds for the Carrick chapel. Through Scallan’s entreaties alone did the Franciscan authorities agree to his remaining longer. For six years he served as curate to Scallan in St John’s. An able and energetic assistant, he took considerable responsibility for parish affairs, especially as Scallan’s health worsened. By 1824 the bishop was calling him “a real treasure,” and later he declared that Fleming’s collaboration was “almost as that of an associate.”
Indeed, one of the most intriguing features of Fleming’s career was his relationship with Scallan, given the broad differences between them in temperament and outlook. Fleming subsequently described Scallan as “the most zealous prelate that ever sat, or perhaps ever will sit, in the episcopal chair of Newfoundland.” As early as 1824 the bishop had looked to Fleming as a possible successor. Yet Fleming was to note in 1835 their “repeated differences,” which in the main had revolved around a party of lay Catholics in St John’s termed “liberals” by Fleming. He mentioned three major conflicts. One, probably in 1829, had concerned whether he or a lay building committee should control funds collected for the enlargement of the church. The second had been over the refusal of the authorities of the Orphan Asylum Schools, where both teachers and students were Roman Catholics, to allow religious instruction by Fleming even after hours, “lest their Protestant neighbours should be displeased.” When Fleming on his own prepared over 500 of these children for communion, the bishop permitted only a private ceremony. Finally Fleming had challenged the practice of Roman Catholics, including Scallan, of attending Protestant church services which, he contended, countenanced “the worship of Heretics.”
Nevertheless, when Scallan petitioned the Holy See for a coadjutor in 1827 and submitted the required three names of candidates, Fleming was his clear preference: a man “gifted with all things necessary for a bishop who would be in charge of this mission.” The recommendation was accepted, and on 10 July 1829 Pope Pius VIII appointed Fleming titular bishop of Carpasia and coadjutor to Scallan. The new bishop was consecrated in St John’s on 28 October, Thomas Anthony Ewer* and Nicholas Devereux assisting Scallan in place of co-consecrating bishops. Scallan himself lived just seven months more, and Fleming automatically succeeded him as vicar apostolic on 28 May 1830.
One of his priorities, and a constant preoccupation throughout his episcopate, was the recruitment of clergy for his mission. Although he was later prone to claim that there had been only seven priests in Newfoundland upon his accession, in his report to Rome at that time he gave the number as nine (plus himself), distributed among five extensive parishes which had a total Catholic population variously estimated at 30,000–80,000. The clergy already on the island Fleming felt were both qualitatively and quantitatively unequal to its demands. He believed that the colony urgently required more priests, and that the financial resources were there to support them.
To secure additional clergy, Fleming several times journeyed to Ireland. He first went there before the end of 1830, obtaining four new priests, including Edward Troy*, Charles Dalton*, and Pelagius Nowlan, who had arrived by mid 1831, and two clerical students, Michael Berney and Edward Murphy, who were ordained in Newfoundland later that year. A second trip in 1833 garnered five more priests, among them James W. Duffy*. The infusion of a large group of younger clergy, coupled with the death or departure of four priests who had served under Scallan, suddenly changed the complexion of Newfoundland Roman Catholicism. Fleming’s clergy were different from their predecessors in several important respects. They were more numerous: during his régime he continued to bring over clergy – 21 in the 1830s alone, and no fewer than 36 in all. Most were secular priests and ordained specifically for Newfoundland, a change which brought stability to the mission. Unlike many earlier priests who had studied at colleges on the European continent, the majority had been educated in Ireland, largely in the diocesan colleges of the southeast. They were of a generation who could practise their religion openly, and they had seen the success of Daniel O’Connell’s movement for Catholic emancipation, a campaign in which the clergy had taken a significant part. They could be expected to take a more militant stance than their predecessors in asserting Roman Catholic rights and aspirations. It is notable that Fleming abandoned the practice of the earlier bishops, such as Patrick Lambert*, who had sent candidates for the priesthood to Lower Canadian seminaries. Even more significantly, fearing too close ties to the local community, he refused to accept native Newfoundlanders as candidates for the priesthood. This policy obviously gave the local church a strong Irish cast, and was changed only after Fleming’s death.
From his Irish visit of 1833, Fleming also brought back a community of Presentation nuns from Galway, the colony’s first religious sisters [see Miss Kirwan*, named Sister Mary Bernard]. The bishop was concerned about girls and boys being educated together, as he was about the lack of religious instruction in the Orphan Asylum Schools, and these sisters were to educate girls from poorer families. The sisters were enthusiastically received, and they opened the island’s first officially Roman Catholic school in St John’s in October 1833. The capacity enrolment of 450 encouraged the bishop, who within a year had organized the construction of a new schoolhouse for 1,200.
Fleming was a tireless traveller, both in his vicariate and abroad. In 1834, for example, he made an extensive visitation from Conception Bay to Fogo Island, covering 46 settlements and confirming more than 3,000 people. A great compensation for the considerable hardship of the journey was the warm reception received from local settlers, Protestant and Catholic alike. In 1835 he undertook a similar two-month voyage from St John’s to Bay d’Espoir. By this time he had arranged for the construction of a small schooner, the Madonna, for his travels. One of his principal reasons for this voyage was to visit the Micmacs at Conne River but through a misunderstanding the majority of the inhabitants had left the settlement. Upon his return to St John’s in September, Fleming found that a smallpox epidemic had broken out. When the disease appeared in the nearby community of Petty Harbour that November, the bishop, convinced of the ineffectiveness of the civil authorities, went there himself and spent the winter of 1835–36 ministering to the people, as well as building a new church and clearing a cemetery.
Despite his ecclesiastical accomplishments and his unquestionable pastoral solicitude, the first decade of Fleming’s episcopate was marred by political and sectarian factionalism. This led in turn to a rift between the Catholic Church and the civil authorities, the heightening of denominational fears and concerns, and deep divisions within Fleming’s own congregation. The roots of these tensions antedated Fleming’s episcopate. By 1830 two attempts to introduce marriage legislation prejudicial to Catholic interests, the absence of public funding for the Orphan Asylum Schools, the controversy about seating the Roman Catholic military commander on the Council, and above all the failure to apply Catholic emancipation to Newfoundland had already angered the Catholic population. Fleming himself wrote quietly to London regarding Catholic emancipation in 1831, as did Governor Thomas John Cochrane*, and although the justice of the Roman Catholic position was readily admitted, no immediate action was forthcoming. Approval was given, however, to Fleming’s request for a stipend as Catholic bishop, Colonial Secretary Sir Thomas Spring-Rice observing: “To buy a bishop for £75 is cheap enough.” Relief from civil disabilities came to Newfoundland Roman Catholics only on 27 Aug. 1832, together with representative government and widespread male suffrage.
In the ensuing election Fleming supported for the St John’s seats William Thomas, a respected merchant, and the “radical” candidates John Kent* and William Carson (as he later wrote, “an Englishman, an Irishman, and Scotchman, a Catholic, Protestant, and Presbyterian”). Significantly, he did not endorse Patrick Kough*, a government contractor and member of that group of Catholic laity with whom he had earlier had disagreements. Kent’s qualifications were questioned by Henry David Winton*, editor of the Public Ledger, a challenge Kent chose to regard as an aspersion upon his Irish Catholicism. Winton thereupon demanded Fleming’s dissociation from Kent. When the bishop answered by construing that the editor’s remarks reflected upon clerical participation in politics, Winton directly attacked Fleming in the Ledger as having forfeited all claim to consideration from Protestants and “respectable” Catholics alike. Newfoundland Catholics reacted in outrage, supporting their bishop in a series of public meetings. The inconclusive results of the election itself (won by Kent, Thomas, and Kough) were not nearly so important as the fact that the sectarian tone injected into it consolidated Irish Catholic disaffection into an anti-establishment party interest. Matters worsened in 1833 with a by-election to fill the vacancy created by Thomas’s appointment to the Council. Carson, a reformer detested by the local establishment, was now pitted against Timothy Hogan, another of the lay Catholic “liberals” supported by mercantile interests. Fleming gave Carson his full support, and when Hogan alleged improper clerical influence and withdrew, his business was boycotted and he was obliged to make a public apology.
In reprisal for the Public Ledger’s support of Hogan and its criticism of the clergy, a Catholic mob surrounded Winton’s house on Christmas night. The magistrates called out the garrison, and several persons were bayoneted. Fleming called for obedience to the law, but he protested what he thought was undue force to Governor Cochrane, and then publicly declared that the governor had not authorized use of the military. To Cochrane this was a deliberate misrepresentation of some conciliatory remarks, and he presented the affair to London as but another sign of Fleming’s determination to achieve Roman Catholic political ascendancy.
Cochrane was further outraged by a series of pseudonymous letters in the Newfoundland Patriot early in 1834 accusing him of bigotry, and instructed Attorney General James Simms* to proceed against their author for libel. He was astonished when Father Troy admitted responsibility, for he felt that the priest dared not have written such letters without Fleming’s approval. These proceedings were quashed only after Cochrane’s removal in November 1834, by his successor Henry Prescott* in an attempt to diminish tension.
Acting upon Cochrane’s dispatches, the British government had taken steps in 1834 to have Fleming censured by Rome for his political activism. In the Vatican the matter went to Cardinal Capaccini, under-secretary of state. He judged it inopportune to involve the pope, but he wrote a personal letter to Fleming in November, sending it through London for approval. He told Fleming that the accusations against him would certainly incur the pope’s disapproval, and asked him to prevent activities “which debase the sacerdotal character.” Fleming was outraged by the complaints, which he thought to have come from Chief Justice Henry John Boulton*’s wife, a new member of the anti-Fleming Catholic faction, whom the bishop considered lax in her religious practice. In two letters to Capaccini in June 1835 Fleming documented his efforts, including 1,200 conversions to Catholicism, and defended his actions. He spoke of the religious laxity prevalent in Scallan’s day, and said that he had “determined to tear up with a strong hand those vices which had been so long rankling & festering in the Bosom of the Community.” Fleming named as his main antagonists Kough, Hogan, Mrs Boulton, and Joseph Shea, whom he painted as Catholic “liberals,” a persuasion for which the pope had no liking. He said that politically he had supported those whose election would be “advantageous to the Country,” and that the press had given “burlesque versions” of anything said from the altar. Capaccini acknowledged Fleming’s defence by stating that he meant no reproof, but was simply conveying a warning; he was pleased that the charges were misrepresentations. He forwarded Fleming’s letters and his own reply to London.
Cochrane’s departure from Newfoundland had had little effect in dissipating sectarian tensions. Indeed, the actions of Boulton, the new chief justice, inflamed them. A legal rigorist, Boulton introduced new procedures and harsh sentences, seen by many as prejudicial to Catholics. By June 1835 protests against the chief justice were being presented in the House of Commons by Daniel O’Connell, undoubtedly with Fleming’s concurrence.
The deterioration was evident after an attack upon Winton on 19 May 1835 between Harbour Grace and Carbonear. Although the assailants are unknown, the crime was commonly attributed to the “religious fanaticism” created by the Public Ledger’s attacks on the Catholic clergy. (An equally plausible motive, however, was revenge for Winton’s denunciation, as “rabble,” of the sealers who had met in 1832 on the very site of the assault to unite against the merchants.) The columns of the local newspapers were filled with abusive attacks on both sides, and the Anglican archdeacon, Edward Wix*, went so far as to keep loaded pistols in his bedroom.
Meanwhile in March 1835 Governor Prescott had received a formal protest from Michael McLean Little, a Catholic shopkeeper. Because he had supported Hogan and was a Public Ledger subscriber, said Little, he had been denounced as an enemy of Catholicism, and his business had suffered. Little quoted Troy as saying that “untill McLean Little becomes a beggar he cannot become a good Catholic.” Without a public apology, he faced ostracism and ruin. Other Catholics in St John’s had had similar experiences. Prescott was advised that legal action against Fleming was useless, but so, in his opinion, was any attempt by Rome to curtail the bishop’s political activities. In May the governor told London that he saw the speedy removal of both Fleming and Boulton as the only remedy for Newfoundland’s troubles.
The new colonial secretary, Lord Glenelg, unwilling “to invoke the authority of the Pope in a Dependency of the British Crown,” and with the understanding that denunciations from the altar had ceased, now made representations about Fleming to Bishop James Yorke Bramston of London, who, it was thought, could have some influence. Bramston wrote to his colleague as requested, but Fleming’s reply, in January 1836, argued the impossibility of defending himself without seeing any charges, which Prescott had refused to show him.
Then, in February, Glenelg received word of resistance at St Mary’s to constables sent to arrest those accused along with Father Duffy (who had already been apprehended) of wilful destruction of property. There was no evidence that Fleming, or even Duffy, had countenanced defiance of the law. Still, the incident was influential in prompting Glenelg to seek contact with the Vatican. The substance of his complaints against Fleming, as reported to the Foreign Office, seemed to be that the bishop did not control his priests, and that the Catholic population of Newfoundland was “driven to the most atrocious extremes by . . . [his] conduct and language.” Rome, he concluded, should be asked to remove both Fleming and Troy, or at least to admonish the bishop.
The British agent in Rome warned the Vatican that “extraordinary measures” might be taken were something not done about Fleming. He was informed that Cardinal Fransoni, the prefect of the Sacred Congregation of Propaganda, would write to Fleming. This Fransoni did on 31 March 1836, in a letter again forwarded to Fleming through the British government. Fleming was obviously well regarded in Rome, and Fransoni simply informed him that the Propaganda had been made aware of the divisions provoked by clerical involvement in politics, and reminded him of Capaccini’s earlier letter. Avoiding political entanglement, advised the cardinal, could only contribute to the peace of Fleming’s mission and to greater attention to pastoral duties. Glenelg wrote to Prescott that he hoped Fransoni’s letter would have a “salutary effect” upon Fleming, and that if Fleming were to desist from his behaviour, the past would be forgotten. The colonial secretary warned, however, that if the bishop persisted, measures would have to be taken to restore tranquillity on the island.
It is paradoxical that during this period Fleming was seeking land for a cathedral in St John’s from the British government. Very soon after receiving Fransoni’s letter, he left for England to defend himself, and to press his request anew. The bishop had first sought this land in November 1834, when he petitioned the king for a parcel of six or seven acres of Ordnance land called “the Barrens,” no longer needed since the garrison was moving. He suggested that while Newfoundland Protestants had received many favours from government, which he did not begrudge, the claims of the Catholic majority, who had received none, were equally legitimate. In his correspondence about the land he repeatedly emphasized the wretched condition of the existing church, “little better than a stable badly built,” and proposed to construct instead a “handsome building of stone,” with a residence, and a school for 1,500–1,600 pupils. The land he wanted, he wrote to O’Connell, though “bleak,” was a superb site overlooking the town, and a church built on it would be a commanding symbol of the Roman Catholic presence in the colony. In his determination to obtain this property Fleming was to endure, in his words, “nearly five years of vexation and annoyance.”
Prescott was told to say that consideration of the request would have to be “postponed,” and to add that any further request should go through the governor. He made this reply in August 1835, and Fleming did not renew his application until June 1836, about the time of Cardinal Fransoni’s admonition and Prescott’s instructions from Glenelg to ignore past grievances, and on the eve of Fleming’s own departure for England. He noted recent Roman Catholic churches in the Newfoundland outports; just as these were assets to their communities, so would his new church be “a real and substantial improvement to St. John’s.” Obviously anxious to be conciliatory, Fleming asked for the governor’s support at the Colonial Office and gave an extended explanation of why the original appeal had gone directly to London. This approach was wise, for meanwhile Prescott had proposed that any land vacated by the military should revert to the Newfoundland government.
No doubt Fleming’s presence in England in 1836 prompted consideration of the matter by the Board of Ordnance that August. No conclusion was reached, however, and it was not until June 1837 that the bishop, now back in St John’s, received notification of the British government’s decision to grant him “so much of the land in question as may be necessary” for his intended buildings. Careful perusal of the documentation might have persuaded Fleming that there was real doubt as to just what was “in question”: no specific reference was made to the land for which he had applied.
The difficulties stemmed largely from the authorities in Newfoundland, who now advocated that this same site be used for a court-house and a jail. Their negative attitude may have intensified with events in the colony during his absence. Troy had been named administrator of the vicariate, with limited powers, until Fleming’s return. In July 1836 Fleming had asked Troy to ensure that the newspaper controversies ceased, and in September he instructed him that “should an election take place before my return, I hope you will not interfere in any public manner with it.” Still, in the turbulent general election of November, the Catholic clergy, especially Troy and Dalton, were very much in evidence. Indeed their support probably helped secure the overwhelming return of “radical” candidates. Possibly Troy had not received Fleming’s letter before the elections took place; when these were invalidated and new elections were held in June 1837, there was less overt clerical involvement, although the outcome was unchanged. Simultaneously, the judicial handling of Duffy’s and other cases was causing growing Catholic opposition to Boulton. Prescott himself remained intent on Fleming’s removal and had assembled a dossier of accusations against him.
Fleming became aware of difficulties about the land only when he met with Prescott in September 1837. At first Fleming thought that the governor agreed with him on the unsuitability of other sites, but he was recalled the next day and told that then and there he would have to select one of these properties and commit himself to building upon it. Fleming flatly declined and, irate, sailed again for London that winter. In March 1838 he wrote to Sir George Grey, under-secretary for the colonies, of all that had transpired, saying that he had acted as if the Catholics of Newfoundland should “be led to consider themselves as not under a political ban: that they should not regard themselves as Political Parias.” It was the principle, he asserted, which was at stake. If the government could not see fit to grant the land, he would be willing to purchase it at full value. A month later Grey sent a terse reply that the British government had directed Prescott, “if no insuperable objection should exist,” to put Fleming in immediate possession of the site. Within weeks, under Troy’s direction, nine acres were fenced in less than 15 minutes.
Remarkably, Fleming made little effort to diminish the opposition to himself in government circles; convinced that Newfoundland Roman Catholics were systematically excluded from official influence and appointments, he was not about to cease his protests. He was aware, too, that his opponents within the church had the governor’s ear and, as he later wrote, he felt that Prescott had “a deep and unquenchable hatred” of him. Probably little could have been done to change the governor’s conviction that replacement of the vicar apostolic by one “truly pious, enlightened, upright and benevolent” was “the greatest of our wants.” The Colonial Office too was intent upon pressing the Vatican authorities to keep the bishop in check. Although there were no new substantive charges against Fleming himself, during his absence in 1836–37 Troy had certainly harassed Roman Catholic opponents, in one or two cases even denying baptism and Catholic burial.
However lax he may have been in defending himself in London, Fleming took considerable pains to protect his standing in Rome. He spent some time there in 1837 and was well received. Indeed, he attributed something of the attention accorded him to the attacks of his enemies. Already in 1836 he had procured publication in Rome of his account of his mission, Stato della religione cattolica. The following year he prepared for the Holy See a more extensive report, his Relazione. In it he spoke of being persecuted and calumniated by a small group of rich and “indifferent” Catholics supported by “two or three” priests, mentioned that the government had accused him of improprieties but had refused to provide him with specific charges, and gave an impressive account of his travels and work in Newfoundland. He described his recent trials in obtaining the land for the cathedral and his future plans.
Still, some of the accusations being made against Troy involved ecclesiastical order, and Rome could not ignore them. In fact Pope Gregory XVI wrote personally to Fleming on 5 Jan. 1838, stating that on the basis of unquestionably true reports about Troy’s activities he deemed it necessary that the priest be removed from office. “Take care, therefore Venerable Brother, that . . . you restore the peace which has been disturbed, avoid scandal, and ensure that nobody is given opportunity for any justified complaints about a priest committed to your authority.” It appears that Fleming complied to the extent that shortly thereafter (probably upon his return from Europe in October 1838) he removed Troy from St John’s and transferred him to the remote parish of Merasheen Island. Fransoni wrote from the Vatican that Fleming had acted as he thought best and that the Holy See had not altered its good opinion of him.
There followed a period of relative calm in Fleming’s relationship with London. A major source of controversy had disappeared with Troy’s transfer. A Newfoundland delegation made up of Carson, Patrick Morris, and John Valentine Nugent* had, with Fleming’s help, secured Boulton’s dismissal. The land issue had been settled. The government made one further conciliatory move. Fleming had repeatedly asked, in vain, to be allowed to examine the charges against him, since he was put in the untenable position of preparing a defence without knowing of what he stood accused. Eventually, in August 1838, Sir George Grey wrote that the events referred to were remote in time and that Glenelg thought any further discussion “inexpedient.” Glenelg, aware that he had no authority to judge Roman Catholic clergy in the performance of their duties, realized moreover “the injury which a further agitation of this matter must cause to the public tranquillity of the Island.” Accordingly he proposed to drop the matter, and expressed the hope that Fleming would do likewise.
This interlude lasted until 1840, when Fleming and the St John’s clergy made a successful effort to procure the election of Laurence O’Brien*, a Roman Catholic, over James Douglas*, a staunch liberal but a Presbyterian. Prescott judged Fleming’s intervention to have come from “a pure love of dissension” and he again pressed the colonial secretary, now Lord John Russell, for a more moderate bishop. In turn, it was intimated to Rome by the Foreign Office that unless Fleming were removed all grants to Catholic clergy in the colonies would cease. Through the Austrian foreign minister, Prince von Metternich, Rome was attempting to arrange for a vicar apostolic for Corfu (Kérkira, Greece), then under British control. Metternich was told that this matter would be attended to if Rome would see to the Newfoundland bishop.
Fleming learned of this effort to depose him in August 1840, while he was in England in connection with the cathedral, and immediately he wrote to Rome about this “new persecution.” On his return in November, he sent a letter to Russell, complaining again about the old charges and accusing Prescott. To Rome he wrote of his efforts for the cathedral and designs against him by one of his priests, Father Timothy Browne*. The British government’s failure to admit a bishop to Corfu had great impact in Rome, and so, without committing itself definitely to removal, the Vatican informed Metternich that Fleming would be called to Rome. On 24 November Fransoni wrote to tell Fleming of the pope’s express wish that he come immediately, through London, if possible, where there might be an opportunity to settle the contention. Fleming claimed never to have received this letter. Still, he was aware of reports current in St John’s, probably of government origin, that he had been recalled by the Holy See. He kept up his defence in letters to Rome telling of progress on the cathedral and refuting Browne’s allegations.
In England, the state of Newfoundland was the cause of concern. Prompted by reports of denominational strife, in May 1841 the government permitted a select committee of the House of Commons to examine the whole situation. Although the committee received only incomplete evidence and made no report, much of the testimony that was entered concerned divisions within the Catholic Church. Further, the impartial evidence of Sir Richard Henry Bonnycastle suggested that whatever his faults Fleming might have been ill treated by local officialdom. Against this background, Russell decided a new governor was needed and chose Sir John Harvey*, an appointment which created a different climate in the colony. When Fransoni wrote on 12 July 1842 to ask why Fleming had not acted as instructed, pressure for the bishop’s removal had subsided. Rome no longer appeared to be insisting on Fleming’s appearance and although Browne’s representations took longer to counteract, by 1843 Fleming seems to have exonerated himself.
Serious though they were, these troubles were only distractions from Fleming’s great preoccupation and chief work, the building of a cathedral that would command attention and respect. Upon acquiring the land in 1838, he immediately obtained a design from John Philpott Jones of Clonmel (Republic of Ireland), and detailed plans from an architect named Schmidt in Hamburg (Federal Republic of Germany), and on his return home that autumn the bishop went personally to Kellys Island to supervise the cutting of the stone. In the spring he toured the nearby outharbours, enlisting the aid of shipowners, Catholic and Protestant alike, in getting the stone to St John’s. The fencing of the land, the cutting of timber for the scaffolding, and the hauling of stone onto the site involved multitudes of volunteers. Thus in May 1839 thousands of men, women, and children turned out for two days to excavate over 79,000 cubic feet of earth for the foundations, the women dragging away the clay in their aprons.
A serious set-back occurred in 1840, with the failure of the bank in London which held the funds of the Newfoundland vicariate. This loss of £4,700 did not deter Fleming, and he was generously supported by his flock: when the cornerstone of the cathedral was laid on 20 May 1841 over £2,300 was given or pledged. Yet his grandiose plans did not have universal support. Henry Simms, a member of the congregation, complained to Rome in 1843 that the project “is condemned by every thinking man – it is not suited to our condition.” Probably more widely held was the view expressed by the Newfoundland Vindicator: “The people see it with wonder – they watch its progress each week with interest – they look upon the very walls with a species of veneration.” Undeterred by reaction that he was attempting the impossible, Fleming threw himself into the work heart and soul, acting as the project’s chief overseer and encouraging his flock to even greater efforts. He visited Europe to secure building supplies four times in the years 1840–45. When he left Newfoundland on the last occasion he was fatigued and ill. Construction had effectively stopped in 1841, with expenses even then of more than £21,000. It was Fleming’s plan to amass sufficient materials on site to ensure completion of the exterior in one season. When he returned home in September 1845 the building was ready to be roofed and was finished within weeks. Nor was the cathedral the only focus of the bishop’s building efforts. He had built a convent adjacent to it for the Sisters of Mercy immediately after their arrival in 1842, and a large new residence for the Presentation nuns was completed in 1845.
On 9 June 1846, however, a fire swept through St John’s, destroying the Presentation school and residence, and with them most of Fleming’s own valuables and papers, which had been brought there for safe keeping. (Fleming was again in Europe on cathedral business.) The bishop estimated the losses at more than £6,000, which could hardly be replaced by a populace reduced to destitution. Fleming was irate that he received no assistance from a fire relief fund started in Britain and administered by the government. The only other ecclesiastical building destroyed in the fire was the old Anglican church which had been intended for early replacement. Nevertheless £14,000, or half the amount collected, was devoted to construction of a Church of England cathedral, and Fleming was left entirely to his own resources. Yet popular enthusiasm was undiminished and within weeks of the fire parishioners pledged support for the cathedral. Fleming returned to Europe in April 1847 to procure materials for its interior and for rebuilding the convent.
Though unfinished, the cathedral was opened for worship on 6 Jan. 1850. Ill and exhausted by his labours, the bishop celebrated mass; it was his only service in the new church. His death later that year was widely attributed to his exertions in its regard. As the Patriot & Terra Nova Herald put it, “The Cathedral . . . has been that building upon which he seems to have staked all.” It was as much a statement about Fleming’s belief in Newfoundland’s future as it was an affirmation of his Roman Catholicism.
His dedication to the cathedral was closely paralleled by his attention to the education of the young. Under his care the Presentation school flourished; by 1846 there were eight sisters, a new convent, and a school accommodating 2,000, to which girls came from almost every part of the island. Nevertheless the “laxity” of middle and upper class Catholics was always on Fleming’s mind, and so he resolved to establish a second institution where “respectable Catholic ladies could receive a good and religious education.” This time he turned to the Sisters of Mercy in Dublin, who established a community of three in 1842, including Sister Mary Francis [Marianne Creedon*]. They opened their school in St John’s in May 1843 and, although there was some initial difficulty in sustaining their community, the school was maintained for some 30 paying pupils with good results.
In 1836 the local legislature had passed the colony’s first Education Act, which provided funding for the existing religious schools and for the establishment of non-denominational elementary schools to be administered by public school boards. Fleming, perhaps reluctantly, accepted this legislation. Where Roman Catholics predominated, religious instruction could be ensured through a board by-law providing for the withdrawal of students for this purpose. Most areas with Protestant majorities, however, passed by-laws enshrining the King James version of the Bible as a school text, although it would be read without comment after hours to those whose parents desired it. This model was opposed by Roman Catholics and vetoed by Prescott. Conversely, Protestants in general could not accept exclusion of the Bible, and boards in Protestant areas refused to allocate funds for the new schools. The judgement of the Public Ledger that the new system “would utterly fail” was amply borne out.
In 1843 a new act established separate Roman Catholic and Protestant school boards. The foundations of denominational education in the colony were now laid, and a system of Roman Catholic elementary instruction was ensured throughout the island. Oddly enough, the bishop found himself in the position of opposing separate Protestant and Roman Catholic secondary schools in 1843–44. He felt that the Roman Catholic character of the latter was not ensured by the legislation, nor was the superintendence of the bishop recognized. In the face of this opposition a non-denominational institution was established in 1844, which lasted until 1850.
The longest-standing educational difficulty Fleming faced was resolved in 1847. Although the Orphan Asylum Schools still had only Roman Catholic pupils and received annually a portion of the Catholic educational grant, they had retained non-denominational status. Fleming had never challenged this arrangement, but he was delighted when the Benevolent Irish Society, the schools’ sponsors, approached him about their future direction. He had hoped, he said, to introduce religious brothers for the education of boys but did not wish to interfere with an established institution. With the society’s consent, four Irish Franciscan brothers arrived in St John’s in September, and henceforth the character of the schools was not in question. By the bishop’s death Catholic education had become a generally established principle in Newfoundland.
Both politically and ecclesiastically Fleming gave the Roman Catholic Church in the colony a clear Irish orientation. He was a consistent supporter of Daniel O’Connell, and on several occasions enlisted the Irish patriot’s help in dealing with the British government. He permitted the collection at the church doors of funds for O’Connell’s campaign to repeal the legislative union between Britain and Ireland, and was a generous personal subscriber. In church affairs also, Fleming’s outlook was transatlantic. Unlike his predecessors, he did not maintain contact with the church on the North American mainland, although he did have occasional correspondence with Bishop William Walsh* in Nova Scotia, also an Irishman, and had some influence on Rome’s decision in 1844 to divide the Nova Scotia diocese into two. It was Walsh who had alerted him in 1843 to a proposal to unite the dioceses of British North America under an archbishopric in Montreal. Fleming forestalled this proposal by protesting to Rome, but without giving the real reason for his opposition, the dependence of the Canadian bishops for so much of their revenues on “British Protestant bounty.” For similar reasons, Fleming in 1847 successfully opposed Walsh’s plan for the establishment, with government assistance, of a seminary in one of the anglophone colonies.
On 4 June 1847 the vicariate of Newfoundland was raised to the status of a diocese by Pope Pius IX. It was a mixed honour, because the diocese was annexed as a suffragan to the archdiocese of Quebec. Fleming objected to this provision on the grounds of the difficulty of access to the mainland. (At the same time he observed that the inclusion of Labrador in the Newfoundland see was “unwise,” since it was more easily served from Quebec.) Only under his successor, however, did Rome accept the Newfoundland position and make the diocese instead immediately subject to the Holy See.
On 18 Nov. 1847 Fleming, only 55, wrote that his “constitution [was] so broken” that he could no longer contemplate any further travel. Earlier that year he had applied to Rome for a coadjutor bishop, recommending John Thomas Mullock*, guardian of the Franciscan house in Dublin, who had been a friend and adviser for many years. Despite reservations, in that the nomination had not come from the new ecclesiastical province of Quebec, and that the episcopacy of Newfoundland should not simply be passed on within the Franciscan order, Rome approved the request and Mullock was appointed later that year. Mullock arrived in St John’s in May 1848, and proceeded to take much of the responsibility for diocesan affairs. In the spring of 1850 an ailing Fleming, in semi-retirement, moved from the episcopal residence to Belvedere, the Franciscan house. There he died a few months later. Thousands turned out to pay their last respects as his body was interred in the cathedral he had struggled so hard to build.
Whatever his shortcomings Fleming was a tireless and devoted pastor. The social status of the episcopate meant nothing to him; he was more at home “living weeks together at Kelly’s Island assisting the labourers quarrying building stone” than he was at dinner in Government House. The young and the poor always had his special attention, and he remembered them generously in his will. Fleming was also an able leader, far-seeing and decisive. He had a single-mindedness that refused to be compromised or to be deflected by less important matters. His writings abound in errors and inconsistencies in dates, numbers, and amounts; these were of no particular concern. What was important always was his overriding purpose of the moment. Considering its often heated nature, Fleming’s correspondence is relatively free of personal rancour. He dealt in causes, not personalities, and before his death had sought reconciliation even with his great adversary Winton. Sometimes characterized as ignorant, Fleming was in reality a good organizer and an adept communicator.
Fleming was occasionally spoken of as a bigot who exploited religious divisions for political power. This comment was neither just nor accurate. What he was, rather, was a combination of Roman Catholic theological rigorist and determined opponent of Protestant (Anglican) ascendancy. He refused payment of burial and marriage fees which supported the Church of England, but he freely petitioned the legislature that Methodists should enjoy equal privileges with Anglicans and Roman Catholics in solemnizing marriages. Even in their politics, Fleming and his clergy supported Protestant liberals and opposed Roman Catholics close to the establishment. It genuinely angered him that not one Roman Catholic was appointed to the Council from 1825 until 1840, and that Catholics had nowhere near their rightful share of public appointments. Fleming was prepared to accept a politically divided colony before he would endure a flagrant injustice.
The principal source of opposition to Fleming was a group of Roman Catholic laity and clerics, and those, such as Winton, closely aligned with them. This opposition was hard for Fleming to accept, for he saw as necessary to the interests of the church a unified Catholic front under the guidance of the bishop. The majority of his flock welcomed and supported clerical leadership. The main criticism of Fleming’s episcopate is usually the clergy’s treatment of those who did not. Injustices and excesses undeniably occurred, but the extent of Fleming’s personal responsibility remains unclear, and there are indications that he did not automatically support Troy’s conduct. Nor were the issues only those of party politics; Catholics who differed from Fleming on how to vote were likely also to be at odds with him on ecclesiastical matters.
Bishop Fleming was a pivotal figure in Newfoundland history, in his own way perhaps more responsible than any other individual for its transition to a colony with institutions akin to those of Europe and the rest of British North America. Indirectly too he probably did more than any other to challenge the mercantile domination of the colony and to assure its eventual replacement by a form of government responsible to the whole community. Admittedly his episcopate left Newfoundland a legacy of division; it certainly contributed also to the coming of age of a people.
Michael Anthony Fleming’s published works include Letters on the state of religion in Newfoundland, addressed to the Very Rev. Dr. A. O’Connell, P.P. . . . (Dublin, 1844); “Religion in Newfoundland” and “Newfoundland” [two letters to the Very Reverend John Spratt, Dublin, 24 Sept., 8 Oct. 1834], Catholic Magazine and Rev. (Birmingham, Eng.), 6 (1835): v–xii, lxxii–lxxxi; Stato della religione cattolica in Terra-Nuova . . . (Rome, 1836); and Relazione della missione cattolica in Terranuova nell’America settentrionale . . . (Rome, 1837).
Arch. of the Archdiocese of St John’s, Fleming papers; Howley papers, transcripts of docs. in the Archivio della Propaganda Fide (Rome). Archivio della Propaganda Fide, Acta, 1847; Scritture riferite nei Congressi, America settentrionale, 2 (1792–1830); 5 (1842–48). Basilica of St John the Baptist (Roman Catholic) (St John’s), St John’s parish, reg. of baptisms, 1823. PRO, CO 194/80, 194/82, 194/85, 194/87–93, 194/96–97, 194/99, 194/102; CO 195/18; CO 197/1. Gentlemen-bishops and faction fighters: the letters of bishops O Donel, Lambert, Scallan, and other Irish missionaries, ed. C. J. Byrne (St John’s, 1984). Newfoundlander, 29 Oct. 1829; 26 May, 2, 9 June, 28 July, 25 Aug., 27 Oct. 1831; 30 Aug., 13, 20, 27 Sept., 4 Oct. 1832; 14 Feb., 26 Sept. 1833; 25 Oct. 1838; 12 Jan. 1846; 24 June, 16, 23 Sept. 1847. Newfoundland Indicator (St John’s), 16 March, 20 April, 1 June, 20, 27 July, 17 Aug. 1844. Newfoundland Vindicator (St John’s), 27 March, 3 July 1841. Patriot & Terra Nova Herald, 26 July 1843; 29 July 1847; 20, 27 July 1850. Public Ledger, 24 Aug. 1827; 14 21, 25 Sept., 13 Nov. 1832; 9 Feb., 18, 25 May, 19 Aug., 9 Sept., 22, 29 Nov. 1836; 25 May 1841. Centenary volume, Benevolent Irish Society of St. John’s, Newfoundland, 1806–1906 (Cork, [Republic of Ire., 1906?]). Gunn, Political hist. of Nfld. M. F. Howley, Ecclesiastical history of Newfoundland (Boston, 1888; repr. Belleville, Ont., 1979). R. J. Lahey, “The building of a cathedral, 1838–1855,” The Basilica-Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, St. John’s, Newfoundland, 1855–1980, ed. J. F. Wallis et al. (St John’s, 1980). F. W. Rowe, The development of education in Newfoundland (Toronto, 1964). Hans Rollman, “Gentlemen-bishops and faction fighters . . .” [book review with corrections], Nfld. Quarterly, 81 (1985–86), no.4: 12–14.
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I'd like to comment on Martin's tale of contrasted autistic students in his maths class.
For sure, the autistic students he describes are very different from each other - there is a significant contrast between Student A who needs just a little adjustment in order to participate, and Student B who does not participate but knits and occasionally shouts.
But it is a leap of logic to automatically conclude from this that Student B is impaired.
Student B is certainly a lot more divergent than Student A: a lot more different from typical students. Classroom education is not working for Student B, and this will not be solved by a few adjustment.
But wider divergence is not the same as impairment. It may be that this student is not suited to the teaching format or maybe to the classroom environment. It may be that s/he would learn well in a very different set-up - perhaps one-to-one, perhaps an element of self-teaching, perhaps being allowed to drive their learning through their own interests and habits (there is surely scope for learning maths via knitting?).
Or it may be that this student is impaired.
My point is that we don't know for sure just from observing that Student B is more divergent than Student A.
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It is possible that a new decibel level record for a concert in the Meyerson Symphony Center was set on March 23. The Dallas Wind Symphony ventured into crescendo after crescendo with more and more instruments until the last selection, as an encore, until the unsurpassable record was reached.
The impetus for all of this was the visit of Joe Alessi, the Principal Trombonist with the New York Philharmonic. In Tromboneland, Alessi is a deity. He is also one of the few trombonists who regularly plays concerti with orchestras and wind bands. However, it is still a rare occurrence to be able to hear him. The Dallas Symphony’s audience would be well served if the DSO brought him sometime. So, almost every trombonist in town was there. More about that later.
Another aspect of wind symphony concerts is that they have their own composers, names that are unfamiliar with symphony goers. Why this is the case is a mystery, but the wall between the repertoires doesn’t seem to be permeable. This is certainly not because these are second-rate composers, either.
Two of the composers on the program were in attendance.
The “dean of wind band composers,” Ron Nelson, was represented by two works. Nelson was on the faculty of Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island since 1956. He was chairman of that music department from 1963 to 1973 and retired as Professor Emeritus in 1993. We heard two of his compositions.
The other composer in attendance was John Mackay, who writes in a great variety of genre with an accent on music for wind symphony and dance. He holds a Master of Music degree from Juilliard in 1997, where he studied with John Corigliano. Since then, he has moved around a lot: To Los Angeles in 2005, then to Austin in 2008 and then Cambridge, Mass in 2011 in order for his wife to attend graduate school. In 2004, the Dallas Symphony, under Andrew Litton, performed his “Redline Tango” in both Dallas and Vail.
Mackay’s Harvest Concerto for Trombone was the centerpiece of the program. It was dedicated to Alessi and the trombonist gave it a magnificent performance. Mackay said that he tried to evoke the legends of Dionysius, the god of wine and revelry. It is certainly true that the percussion section reveled. They perilously beat on everything in the battery, even using the hammer blow from Mahler’s Sixth Symphony, which would have been more surprising if we had not just heard it in it original setting. The din paused occasionally to let the trombone sing out. And sing out he did. Alessi has a remarkable tone, creamy but still brassy, and he was equally at home with Mackay’s jazzy riffs and his virtuoso passages.
Another surprising highlight of the concert was a bandistration of the second movement of Charles Ives’ Concord Sonata, bandistrated by Richard E. Thurston. If you didn’t know it, you would think that this was the original form of the composition. In some ways, it was even more effective. Ives’ collection of well-known tunes sounded marvelous. Being more spread out sonically, Ives’ prickly harmonies and melodic confluences, sounded much less dissonant than with the more limited and percussion piano. Although it may not work was well as this, it would be interesting to hear the other two movements of the sonata in a similar treatment.
Morton Gould was the quintessential American Musician. He was a composer of music for everything from symphony to Broadway. He was also an activist for American music, serving as the president of ASCAP from 1986 until 1994. His American Salute is probably one of the most easily recognized compositions in the repertoire—in either its band or orchestral version. It is a set of variations on the tune “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” and it is amazingly skillfully written. The DWS gave it a whizbang performance and audience members around the hall were tapping their toes.
Alessi returned to play Eric Cook’s Bolivar!, which was evocative of South American rhythms and harmonies. Cook is relatively unknown: a Google search only turned up this one composition. However, it was quite interesting and Alessi gave it a sympathetic performance.
Ron Nelson’s Sonoran Desert Holiday opened the concert. Nelson was student of Howard Hanson and his teacher’s influence, with a sprinkle of Copland, was evident. It is an effective evocation of natural scenery. His work Epiphanies, which closed the concert, was much different. Tone clusters and complex harmonies crowded out Hanson’s niceties. Some improvised, aleatoric sections created a wall of squirming sound. The brass and percussion had a lot to do and the astoundingly loud climax was the loudest sounds ever made in the Meyerson. Or so we thought.
With the encore, Musical Director Jerry Junkin, who is one of the best conductors in town, reached the Everest of sonic summits. With Alessi here, he programmed “76 Trombones” from The Music Man. This piece is loud and brassy by itself, but Junkin filled all of the aisles and every empty space in the Meyerson with hundreds of trombonists to play it. Every single one of them played at top volume, as did the DWS from the stage.
Was it effective? Sure. Was it fun? Absolutely. But my ears were ringing for about 10 minutes when it was over.
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Patricia Beatty was born on August 26, 1922, in Lapush, Washington. Raised near the Quillayute reservation, she learned a great deal from these people about their culture and beliefs. These early impressions gave her a lifelong interest in history.
When her husband, John Louis Beatty, took a job as a history professor at the University of California Riverside in 1953, she began writing her first book, The Indian Canoemaker, co-authored by John. She wrote her second book while her new baby daughter slept. Eventually, she authored more than 50 books, 10 of which John co-authored.
After John’s death in 1975, Patricia married Carl Uhr, a professor of economics at the University of California. They were married for 16 years.
An avid reader all her life, Patricia felt that, “What a young person reads becomes part of his or her mental luggage forever! This is the learning time, short but vital to the future adult. That mental luggage deserves to be filled with the best stuff only, not pap. It may have a long, long way to go.” Patricia died suddenly in 1991, at the age of 69.
John and Patricia were great admirers of California and its history, establishing the John and Patricia Beatty Award, which is given annually to honor the book that best promotes an awareness of California and its people.
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Andrew’s exposure to news analytics came during his 10 year career at Dow Jones. Here Andrew specialised in news-based products, managing the accounts of many large financial institutions and specialist Forex companies. More significantly, it was during this time that Andrew worked with a selection of companies who were developing innovative technologies that were set to transform the way news was delivered and used in the financial industry. Serving in a number of sales roles, Andrew witnessed how this next generation technology was gradually being adopted and valued by his clients around the world. At the same time, Andrew was working increasingly with the retail online trading sector and began identifying opportunities to bring this cutting edge technology to his clients in this area. It was these observations that were the foundation of what is now Acuity Trading.
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John S. McCain III
Arizona Aviation Hall of Fame
John S. McCain was born August 29, 1936 in the Panama Canal Zone. He graduated from the U.S. naval Academy in June 1958. After graduation from Navy pilot training McCain had several assignments in fighter bomber squadrons. In Vietnam he served aboard the carrier USS Forrestal and USS Oriskany. On 26 October 1967, while flying an A4Es off the Oriskany, McCain was shot down over Hanoi by a North Vietnamese missile. In the subsequent bailout, both arms and his right leg were broken. He then spent five and a half years as a POW, enduring an extreme amount of torture inflicted by the North Vietnamese guards who tried to break down his resolve. They failed! He returned to freedom in March 1973 and served at the Naval War College until July 1977. From July 1977 until retirement in 1981 as a Captain, McCain served in the office of Legislative Liaison for the Navy.
Following his retirement from the U.S. Navy in 1981 McCain moved to Arizona. He was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives from Arizona in 1982 and served two terms. He was elected to the U.S. Senate in 1986 and was reelected in 1992. He has served on the Senate Armed Services Committee, the Senate Committee on Government Affairs and the Senate Commerce, Science and Transportation Committee plus others. Through his committee assignments and endeavors McCain has provided steadfast support for general aviation and military pilots as well as the aviation industry.
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American cowboy print “Mountain Sleet” by Levon West. Original vintage photogravure of an etching of an American cowboy by Levon West. Published by ‘The Studio’ in 1930. Size: 9″ x 6.5″. Levon West (1900 – 1968), was an artist from the U.S. State of North Dakota. Born in Centerville, South Dakota, his father was a Congregational minister who immigrated from Armenia. The family changed their name to West when Levon and his brothers did not want to enlist in the service during WWI under their Armenian last name, Assadoorian. The name West was chosen as it was the maiden name of Levon’s mother. Levon West adopted the pen name of Ivan Dmitri to use for his color photography. His etchings and watercolors were always done under his original name, Levon West. While in New York studying at the Art Students’ League, he formed an aviation corporation with friends. They serviced planes at Roosevelt Field on Long Island. One day he noticed a different type of plane and did sketches of it. This plane belonged to Charles Lindberg. When West heard Lindberg flew the Spirit of St. Louis on a record breaking trans-Atlantic flight, he hurriedly did an etching from his sketches and took it to the New York Times. The paper asked how much he wanted for it and he said, “I don’t care how much I get for it, but put my name on it good and big at the bottom.” When the newspaper came out with his etching on the front page demand for his work followed. He was contacted by the Kennedy Galleries in New York the following day. This led to a series of successful etchings and national prominence. He was also a skilled watercolorist. When he began working with colour photography, Levon West adopted the pen name “Ivan Dmitri,” though he continued to use the name Levon West for his non-photographic works. The first color photographic cover on the Saturday Evening Post magazine (May 29, 1927) was by Dmitri, a photo of an Automobile racing driver seated in his race car.
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World of Trouble by Ben H. Winters
Following on from The Last Policeman and Countdown City, World of Trouble is the final installment in Ben H. Winters Edgar Award winning Last Policeman trilogy.
With just two weeks until a giant asteroid collidies with Earth, most likely wiping out mankind and Hank Palace finds himself as safe as he could possibly be. Sharing a country home with a handful of other law enforcers and their families, he was lucky to escape the town of Concorde alive. But even has he’s tucked up safely with friends, food, water and a roof over his head, he still knows he’s going to have to leave. He made a promise to his sister when their parents died that he would always be there for her and he let her down.
The last time he saw her she had saved his life, the time before that he had all but laughed in her face. Nico had tried to explain the last hope for mankind was a scientist who had figured out a way of changing the trajectory of the asteroid at the last minute. The group of people she had joined with were freeing him from where he was help and helping him achieve his goal. Hank obviously didn’t believe her for a second but there was one niggling doubt in the back of his head. When she had saved his life, she had picked him up in a helicopter and gotten him medical attention, if this group of students were just a rabble of nobodies then how did they get their hands on helicopter?
Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind he sets out to find her, with a little help from Houdini the dog and his unlikely sidekick, Cortez. Along the way they meet a handful of people, all preparing for the end of the world in their own way but as he slowly tracks Nico down there is no way that he could prepare himself for what he will find and no way he could predict where he will spend his final day.
After two emotional investigations with Hank you cannot help but tear into this novel, dying to know how it will all end but slowing in the final pages to make the most of it. Hank is the classic American cop and good guy, keeping to his word and sticking to the law. This finale is obviously a little bit more philosophical and heartfelt than the previous two novels as the main storyline is based around what is left of his family, Nico and the small amount of time he has left to find her. As always, he has to throw himself into some tricky situations to discover the truth, leaving him beaten by a horse, locked in a barn and tasered, although not shot this time. Full of twists, turns and surprises it is hard to give any plot details without spoilers but Hank is great hero and World of Trouble really delivers the gripping story that you would be expecting after the previous excellent books. There’s no easy way outs, happy endings or ‘it was all a dream,’ Winters full on faces his characters predicament with refreshing logic and realism.
The entire Last Policemen trilogy is excellent and World of Trouble is no exception. We can but hope Ben H. Winters has another character just as great coming in the future to replace the lovable Hank Palace.
Buy World of Trouble by Ben H. Winters
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About Moshe Feldenkrais
Moshe Feldenkrais was born in Russia in 1904, and moved to Palestine in his teens.
He studied in France, first becoming a graduate in Mechanical and Electrical Engineering, and later receiving a Doctorate in Physics from the Sorbonne University. With his colleague French Nobel Laureate Frederic Joliet Curie, he conducted some of the first experiments in atomic energy.
He was also an accomplished athlete. He played soccer, and was the first European ever to receive a black belt in Judo (1936). He wrote five books on its techniques and theory.
At 38, Feldenkrais suffered crippling knee injuries. Faced with the possibility of permanent disability, he set out to cure himself. He began an intense study of a wide variety of related disciplines, and after two years of research and experimentation, he succeeded in restoring his ability to walk again without pain. Even more surprising, he took up judo again and continued practising at a black belt level until age 68.
In the process of his recovery, Feldenkrais developed his method based on the simple yet complex idea that awareness improves action.
At 45, Feldenkrais returned to Israel where he continued to integrate and refine his ideas. He developed thousands of unique movement lessons which he tested on his friends and colleagues, relieving their aches and pains and even their debilitating neurological conditions, with remarkable success. He later worked with musicians, dancers and athletes; in fact, anyone wishing to expand his or her capabilities.
Today there are 5,000 Feldenkrais Practitioners worldwide operating in 17 countries.
Find out more about the Feldenkrais Method.
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Three Women Mourn the Apocalypse, a play by Hannah Rittner is now playing at Toronto’s Theatre Centre
Three Women Mourn the Apocalypse by Old Norman Productions opened in the ever-versatile Theatre Centre at 1115 Queen St. West. The set was a large brick room with sparse furniture. There were chalk lines on the wall, marking the days the two inhabitants have been there. In the background, I could hear the persistent sound of whirring, like a generator. At that moment, I wondered if the room was a bunker or a prison. Were they there for protection, or for punishment?
The play, directed by Marina McClure and written by Hannah Rittner, takes place in an apocalyptic future. The world’s population has been diminished, but the reason is never revealed. The only thing that’s revealed to the audience is that there are very few people that remain, and they have been specially selected by the governing organization Corporate App to make it to the very end.
One of those specially selected citizens is Samantha, played by Nicole Cardoni. She is accompanied by her lover Melina, played by Sarah Baskin, who is classified by Corporate App as an “unnecessary citizen”. Melina is allowed to be in the room, only because of Samantha. The Corporate App representative Ekora, played by Carol Brown, makes it clear that Melina is nothing without Samantha.
The lines between bunker and prison are blurred throughout the play. Samantha and Melina each lean to different sides. Samantha, is convinced either by Corporate App or her own desires, that she can perfectly follow the rules into ascension. She has faith in their process, even when flaws in the system present themselves. Melina knows she is a prisoner. She sees past the allure of Corporate App.
Carol Brown played Ekora with a determined sweetness. Brown played the character with such extreme earnestness and encouragement, that it was unnerving. She looked like she’s constantly on the verge of a breakdown. In small ways, she did reveal the cracks of the surface, bursting into laughter or tears. Nicole Cardoni played Samantha like a cult member, who was unaware of how deep in the hole they were. She was naive, thinking doubt was the only thing that would be her undoing. Her blindness was frustrating. I wanted to run up to the stage and shake her and wake her up.
Sarah Baskin showed incredible emotional rawness. As an audience member and as someone who wasn’t indoctrinated in this strange dystopia, I felt for her the most. Baskin made me understand her anger and defiance. She made me understand her fear and despair. She made me understand her constant and painful love for her Samantha. Everything about her performance was beautifully tragic.
Some parts of the play weren’t clear. Dream and reality fused too close to be entirely sure about everything going on. It was a little difficult to piece the imagined apart from the reality, but I don’t think that mattered too much. The dreams were real to the characters. In the end, the events of the play weren’t the focus. The feelings caused by the events were more important. Three Women Mourn the Apocalypse was about emotions, and how we can’t protect ourselves from them. We are at their mercy. Much like in the play, I was at the mercy of them, after the performance. The heaviness of grief hit me in the gut and sat with me as I waited for my streetcar home.
- Three Women Mourn the Apocalypse is playing at The Theatre Centre (1115 Queen St West)
- Shows are playing until September 20th. Friday to Saturday shows are at 8pm, with a Sunday matinee at 2pm.
- Regular tickets are $26. Students/seniors tickets are $23. Tickets can be purchased at the theatre, by phone at (416) 538-0988, or online.
Photo credit: Jay Oh
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Iduna was a little confused as the fog cleared. The prow of the ship was carving through the waves, just as predicted. Erik Einvarsson was snoring under the oars, just as predicted. Odin’s Two Ravens were emblazoned across the sail, just as predicted. Only that land there. That wasn’t predictable. In fact, it was very far from being predictable.
Iduna’s first worry was the sea. Instead of being whale-grey and surging, it was a shimmering pink. The contrast against the sky, which was as green as a high pasture in summer, was very beautiful. But the sky shouldn’t be green. Even when the Northern Lights flickered across the winter skies in Iceland the swirls of green across the heavens were fleeting and dancing. Here the green sky was just green. The sun was as blue as a swallow’s feather. Iduna wanted to call back to her father that they were ready to strike land. But frankly, she wasn’t and they weren’t.
Iduna didn’t think she could be more surprised but as she turned around there was a second sun. It was the same as the first one, blue. Behind Iduna there were gruntings and grumblings. All the oarsman (except Erik Einvarsson who snored still) could feel that the water below them was no longer the surging water of the open sea and they had stopped rowing, looked up, and stared at the strangely lurid sky. If there’s one thing that would upset a ship full of Vikings it would be landing somewhere with a green sky and two blue suns. Even England with its strange customs didn’t have anything as outlandish as a green sky and two cobalt blue suns.
As Iduna looked towards the orange grass and the ship started to veer towards it she noticed there was a figure on the beach. At least this person was recognisable as a human. He was very tall and very thin, with a shock of black hair flowing in the breeze. His sword and war axe hung at his side, and Iduna was pleased to see that he was not reaching for it. Inevitably the ship’s prow crunched into the orange pebbles and gave the quiet satisfied groan that ships did when they had ended a long journey. Iduna could see the stranger waiting on the shore far more closely now. He still did not reach for his sword or war axe which was heartening. He did not smile but his piercing black eyes fixed on Iduna’s and she felt, oddly, as if he knew she was meant to land on this strange shore. This was quite unexpected as even her father had not known she was on board the ship. She had hidden herself in a barrel back in Reykjavik, determined that she would go to sea, even if girls were meant to stay home and salt fish and weave cloth. Iduna had longed to see icebergs and whales and the canopy of the stars spread across the whole horizon, so into the barrel she had crept. When she was discovered (extremely sick) two days into the journey, her father had been furious and had threatened to throw her in to feed the fishes. But then he had relented, laughed his bubbling laugh, and assigned her piercing young eyes the job of standing in the prow and watching the horizon. And stand there she had, through gales and high seas, searching expectantly for a new shore. And now, it was unarguable — they were on a new shore. A very strange one.
‘I knew you were coming’, he said, ‘but it’s taken you a long time to arrive’. Iduna blinked. His words were in her language but there was a strange cadence to his accent. He reached his hand up to her to help her jump from the ship, and Iduna felt strangely compelled to accept it. Down she jumped, her feet crunching into the shingle. Behind her, her father shouted a warning noise, but Iduna could barely hear him above the whispering of the surf in the shingle and the blood rushing through her ears. A wicked smile flashed momentarily through the man on the beach’s eyes and then his voice rung out loud and clear.
‘Vikings of Reykjavik’, he spoke, ‘many miles have you journeyed across the seas to deliver Iduna to us. You, who are used to travelling the seas and navigating by the stars, have travelled far further. Instead of navigating by the stars, you navigated through the stars, and this planet is forbidden to you. People of your world may not step on to the shores of Asgard. So sleep, Vikings of Reykjavik. Sleep’. Instantly Iduna heard the snores of the men joining with those of Erik Einvarsson. She was all alone, on a beach, with this strange man. What should she do next?
‘What’s your name?’ she asked, ‘I’m Iduna, as you seem to know already.’
‘Loki’, he responded, ‘but that’s not important. We need to get moving. You’ve been a long time coming’.
As she looked up she saw two ravens circling the shore; they swooped over the sail of the ship, looking exactly like the ones which adorned the sail. Then they brought their huge wings in and shot towards the land, tracing a line for Loki and Iduna to follow.
Meredith (illustrator and visionary, aged 10) and Julia (writer, aged 45) both feel that the first off-world colony will have many children who will need stories about those who have travelled long distances in the past. Meredith designed the world and imagined how Vikings might get into space. Julia typed it up faithfully.
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Sir Donald Maclean
Chapter XVI — The Tragedy of the Waitara
The Tragedy of the Waitara
Mr. Maclean accompanied Governor Gore Browne from Auckland to New Plymouth in H.M.S. Iris in March 1859, and a meeting with the Maori owners of land between the town and the Waitara was held. Maclean, on behalf of the Governor made a speech to the assemblage, counselling them to refrain from the inter-tribal wars which were reducing their numbers and interfering with the peaceful cultivation of their lands. In future all offenders against peace within the European boundaries would be dealt with by pakeha law. As to the land, the Governor thought the Maoris would be wise to sell the areas they could not use themselves, but he would not buy any land without an undisputed title. He would not permit any Maori to interfere with the sale of land unless he owned part of it, and on the other hand, he would take no man's land without his consent.
It was at this meeting that Te Teira Manuka, a minor chief of Waitara, offered to sell his land, called Pekapeka, on the south side of the Waitara. He described the boundaries and asked if the Governor would buy the land. The Governor, through Mr. Maclean, replied that he would. Teira then laid a parawai, a fine white flax robe with decorative border, at the Governor's feet, and this His Excellency accepted. That was the beginning of the fatal dispute over the mana of the Waitara. Teira was an enemy of Wiremu Kingi te Rangitake, the paramount chief of Ngati-Awa, who was a non-seller, and who strenuously desired to keep the Waitara district intact as Maori territory. The investigation of the title to the block was left page 70 by the Governor to the Chief Commissioner, but as Maclean had to leave New Plymouth to attend to native business in other parts, he had to delegate the details of the enquiry to a subordinate. This official was Robert Parris, who now first became prominent in native affairs in Taranaki.
Unfortunately in those days there was no Land Court in which titles could be investigated thoroughly by competent judges. Parris made the enquiries in his own way. As he was anxious to see his fellow-settlers provided with more land, and as he was naturally an opponent of the politely obstinate Wiremu Kingi, the result was readily foreseen. He reported that Teira's title was good and that he was entitled to sell. Wiremu Kingi, at not only the meeting mentioned but on several later occasions, emphatically forbade the sale; the land was the patrimony of the whole tribe.
“I do not agree to our sleeping-place being sold,” he wrote to the Governor in April 1859, “this bed (Waitara) belongs to the whole of us.” He warned the Governor that if money was given secretly—that is without the whole of the people being consulted—the Government would get no land for it. “The land will never be given to you, never, never till I die!” This should surely have been sufficient to convince the Governor that the Waitara negotiations had better be dropped. But in November Parris paid Teira and others an instalment of £100, notwithstanding the paramount chief's opposition. Teira was a land-owner, it was true, but the native title was so intricate, and the hostile feeling between sellers and non-sellers so great, that Waitara was the very last place the Government should have attempted to buy at that moment. The area involved in the dispute was only six hundred acres. Certainly it was not worth the waging of the costly and disastrous war which presently began and which dragged on for a year, and led to further wars.
Had Maclean been on the spot all the time and himself investigated all the details of the title it is tolerably certain that he would have shown his. customary discretion and caution and have cut off the negotiations, notwithstanding his strong desire to see the white colony provided with the needful additional land for the expansion of the settlement page 71 and production. He was not in Taranaki when the Government precipitated fighting by attempting the survey of the Pekapeka block and by marching troops to the Waitara and occupying a part of the disputed block. The miserable war which followed—the first shots were fired on 17 March 1860–advanced the cause of settlement not a bit. It enlivened the pages of colonial history and gave plucky sailors and soldiers a V.C. or two; it gave the map of Taranaki many a battlefield and dotted the country from the Waitara southward with redoubts and stockades and Maori entrenchments. It set the province back ten years, in destruction of property and interruption of country work.
Exactly a year of that costly war over the six hundred acres of the Pekapeka block, then a flag of truce went up over the Maori entrenchments at Te Arei—the famous Pukarangiora pa on that glorious bend of the Waitara River where the Maori loved to look out over the beautiful country spread for miles upon miles, far away to the sea, and to the inland ranges, and chant his patriotic haka song that begins with the declaration:
“E kore Taranaki e makere atu!”
(“Taranaki shall not be cast away!”)
The Maoris, like the soldiers, had had enough of it; they were unconquered but they wanted a rest, and they were ready for peace—but peace on terms that would not deprive them of their lands.
The peace of 1861 was due in the first place to Wiremu Tamehana, the King-maker, who was requested by Bishop Selwyn, the ex-Chief Justice Sir William Martin, and later by the Governor, to intervene in the dispute. Tamehana, always an earnest advocate of peace, went to Waitara early in March, and as the result of his conference with his compatriot Hapurona Pukerimu, the leading war-chief of Ngati-Awa, hoisted the white flag as an indication of his desire to discuss terms of peace. The Government heads accordingly went to the scene of General Pratt's tedious campaign. The Governor was there, Mr. Weld (Native Minister), Mr. Whitaker (Attorney-General), Donald Maclean in his capacity of Native Secretary, and Tamati Waka Nene, the great chief of Ngapuhi, from the Bay of page 72 Islands. The Rev. J. A. Wilson, Church of England missionary, assisted Mr. Maclean in the negotiations which followed. Maclean and he went into the Maori entrenchments and for several days the discussion continued. The end of it was that hostilities ceased on the Waitara, on the understanding that the investigation of the title to the disputed land should be continued and the survey completed, all plunder taken from the settlers to be restored, Ngati-Awa to submit to the Queen's authority, no land to be confiscated but the sites of blockhouses and redoubts built by the troops to be reserved. Hapurona, and Patu-Kakariki were the leaders who signed the agreement. Wiremu Kingi, who was absent in the Waikato, refused to make peace while Waitara was occupied by the pakeha. The Waikato warriors in Taranaki agreed to return to their homes. Ngati-Ruanui, however, remained out of the agreement, pending a conference with Waikato.
Sir George Grey, writing to the Secretary of State for the Colonies on 24 April 1863, said in detailing the reasons for the renunciation of the attempted purchase:
“My settled conviction is that the natives of the Waitara are in the main right in their allegations regarding the Waitara purchase, and that it ought not to be gone on with. … It does not involve any new acquisition of territory for Her Majesty and the Empire.” The Queen, he pointed out, had no legal title to the land, and it seemed more than doubtful if any title could ever be given to her; and the block had never been paid for. Teira Manuka had only received a deposit of £100, and this the Government decided to relinquish.
In further despatches and minutes the Governor said that Wiremu Kingi's own home at Te Kuikui pa and the homes of 200 of his people were destroyed by the troops in 1860; the houses and the surrounding cultivations were burned. The Waitara Maoris therefore retaliated by burning an exactly corresponding number of settlers' houses.
“Ought Her Majesty,” Sir George Grey asked in a memorandum, “to make such a purchase in which she gained for an inconsiderable sum a property worth much more, and acquired against their will and consent, the homes page 73 of more than two hundred of her subjects, which they had occupied in peace and happiness for years, and who were not even accused of any crime against her Majesty or her laws, but some of whom had, on the contrary, risked their lives in rendering her service in former wars?” (This last remark referred to the fact that many of the Ngati-Awa who were driven out of the Waitara had actually served on the British side in the war at the Hutt and Porirua, Wellington, in 1846, when Rangihaeata and his warriors were in rebellion. Wiremu Kingi at that time fought for the Government.)
The Governor further showed that the forcible occupation of the Pekapeka block in 1860 had convinced the Maoris that a new system of obtaining lands had been established by the Government, and that they would all be despoiled like Waitara if they did not make general resistance. They became convinced that their destruction was decided upon, and thus there arose an almost universal belief that the struggle was one for house and home. Such was the Maori viewpoint, and certainly the Government action of 1860 gave every justification for the belief.
Grey and his Ministers, however, made a most grave blunder in delaying this announcement of renunciation so long. The troops on 4 April took possession of the Tat-araimaka block to the south of New Plymouth, which the Maoris claimed by right of conquest from the white settlers. The Ngati-Ruanui and Taranaki tribes had determined to retain possession of the land unless the Waitara was first given up. As the result of the movement of the troops, and the reoccupation of Tataraimaka, the war was renewed on 4 May, by an ambush at Wairau. The Governor's proclamation abandoning claim to the Waitara block was not promulgated until 11 May. The delay was to cost many lives and give a further set-back to the unfortunate province.
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If you want to read chapter 1, click here.
I saw faces all around me. Some laughed, some wept, but all had their eyes fixed on me. They called out my name, their voices distorted. I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t move. They would taunt me forever.
It took a while for the faces to become more distinct and when I looked closer I saw faces I recognised. Mom. Dad. They were calling me.
My body started moving then. I was so happy to see them that I could not stay in one place any longer. Their voices disappeared into the distance, but I chased them. I had no choice.
All was bright again then.
I saw white walls and bright lights. I heard the beeps of a machine. A terrible headache had taken hold of me and I tried my best not to throw up as I endured the pain.
“Thomas. She’s awake!” a voice yelled.
The faces of my mother and father appeared again. Mum had tears in her eyes and dad looked worried. Why were they worried? I was here, there was nothing to be worried about.
It only dawned on me then where I had to be. Hospital. But why?
I couldn’t think straight as the pain throbbing in my head had taken my thoughts hostage. I raised my hand and my mother took it in hers.
“We’re so happy you are alive,” she sobbed.
I blinked a few times and tried to form a coherent sentence, but nothing even remotely intelligent left my lips.
“You had an accident,” my dad said when he noticed my struggle.
I frowned as I tried to recollect my memories but none came. Except a face. There was a face I didn’t know. It looked so blurry.
“You were out on the street and a car hit you hard. They say you were dead for about a minute, but managed to come back alive without any help. The doctors say that’s a miracle,” he continued, his voice breaking as he spoke.
The information did not quite register. My thoughts were clogged with the image of that face. A boy. It was a boy. But who was it?
“Why did you go out without telling me? I could have helped you,” my mother cried.
I tried to speak again, but my ribs hurt and I was unable to do anything but whimper. My parents started talking to each other now, while I was struggling. The boy. Who was the boy?
“Boy,” I whispered.
My parents turned their heads to stare at me. “What did you say, darling?” Dad asked.
“There was boy,” I struggled to say, “where is boy?”
They exchanged glances, probably thinking I wouldn’t notice. It only made me more frustrated. “BOY,” I shouted, instantly regretting it as pain seared through me.
“There was no boy there,” Mum said, her eyes moving from me to my father, “it was a woman who hit you and she stayed with you until help came. There was no boy.”
“Black hair. Pale face,” I muttered.
My mother shook her head. “No such boy.”
Had I imagined him then? Had he just been part of my imagination when I was dead? It was hard for me to wrap my head around it. Maybe I was losing my mind.
“Where were you going anyway?” My father said, his voice stern all of a sudden.
I shrugged and pain shot through my body again. This was not how I felt when I saw the boy. He had taken the pain away. Such a lie.
“Party,” I managed to utter at last.
Dad shook his head and wanted to say something, but my mother rested her hand on his arm. “We should let her rest,” she said.
I was grateful for this as I was not in the mood or condition to argue. Dad nodded and walked out of my line of vision. Mum turned to me with a sad smile on her face.
“Just get better soon, okay? Promise not to scare us anymore.”
She did not wait for my response but left the room. I was alone again. The fact that I had been in an accident wasn’t really of any importance to me. The only thing I could think about was the boy. He seemed so real, but if I remembered him correctly, he was also too handsome to be real. For a brief moment I wondered if the accident had messed up my brains. I just couldn’t think too much about it, as the exhaustion cradled me into a deep sleep.
I think I was in hospital for about 2 weeks. Time was such an alien concept to me. Days became nights and nights became days until they all just blended together. It was all the same to me. Most of the time I just slept. My sleep was dreamless, which was a blessing in some ways.
When I was awake, I couldn’t stop thinking. Most of the time I thought about the boy I met, but there was also quite a lot of worrying involved. After the accident, my hair had lost all pigment and so my hair went from brown to white. Doctors couldn’t explain why, but there were many things they could not explain. At least once a day, a doctor would come in and grill me about my near-death-experience as they called it. They wanted to know what I saw and how I came back. Whenever I told them of the boy, they just told me it was a hallucination. I got so annoyed by this that at some point I just stopped replying.
One of the doctors, Doctor Shaw, even went as far as telling me exactly what I was supposed to have experienced. He kept pressing on about a light. When I told him that yes, there were bright lights, he pressed on and asked me if I had seen any relatives or family members who were there to guide me to the afterlife.
“I only saw the boy,” I said once again.
Doctor Shaw nodded and looked at me with pity. “Okay, but was this boy a relative of yours?”
“No, I had never seen him before, as I told you a million times by now,” I said through gritted teeth.
Dr. Shaw nodded again and got up from his chair. He kept nodding, urging me to punch him in the guts if I had the strength.
“Why does nobody here believe me?” I called after him as he was about to leave the room.
Dr. Shaw stopped in his tracks but did not answer. “I mean, I am the one who experienced it all. Have you been dead before, Dr. Shaw?” I shouted.
Dr. Shaw trembled for a moment before he sighed and looked over his shoulder. His expression was quite strange. A twisted grin played on his face. “Certainly,” he answered before he left the room.
I never saw him again.
The doctors weren’t the only ones pressing me about my adventure on the other side. My parents wanted to know every single detail. To my horror, they also invited all my friends to come over. Or at least the people who I thought were my friends.
They weren’t there to celebrate the happy occasion that was my birthday, but all fifteen of them showed up to watch me lying in my bed. Anna and Mikey visited every other day. It always ended up with Anna crying because she was so sorry about what happened. Mikey just sat in the corner in silence. They felt guilty, which was good. I wasn’t going to let them off the hook that easily.
The others just visited once, said they were sorry they hadn’t shown up to my party and that they would make it up once I was better. Great. Such a relief.
I was happy when it was my last night. I was going to go home in the morning and just move on with life. I knew that I was going to be a novelty at school for the first two days and then I would just become invisible again. I was looking forward to that.
The nurses had just checked up on me and left my room. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair. I could do all these things relatively painfree now, but the doctors had insisted on keeping me around. Probably to ask me one last time about my experiences.That was probably also the only reason I had a room all for myself.
I was about to go to sleep, when a soft knock on the door startled me. I looked over at the alarm clock which told me it was ten pm. Way past visiting hours. Perhaps it was a nurse who just wanted to check up on me one last time.
“Come in,” I said.
The door opened slowly and for a moment nobody entered. The light on my nightstand suddenly went out, as did the other lights in the hallway. I held my breath, trying hard not to make a sound. A tall figure entered the room. I backed against the wall, kicking the sheets away from my legs to make sure I could run if necessary.
The figure drew closer and I instantly recognised the sharp features of the face. It was the boy who saved me.
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Feuerbach wished to have this murder of the soul inserted in the criminal code of Bavaria as a punishable crime; but he was unsuccessful, and the whole doctrine has subsequently been condemned. Mittermaier, in a note to his edition of Feuerbach's "Text-Book of German Criminal Law," denies that there is any foundation for the distinction taken by him and Tittmann. He says, that, in the first place, it has not such an actual existence as is capable of proof; and, secondly, all crimes under it can easily be reached by some other law. The last objection does not, however, seem to be a very serious one. If, as Feuerbach says, the crime against the soul is more heinous than that against the body, it certainly deserves the first attention, even if the one is not merged in the other. The crime being greater, the punishment would be greater; and the demands of justice would no more be satisfied by the milder punishment than if a murderer were prosecuted as a nuisance. The fact, therefore, that the crime is reducible to some different head, is not an objection. We meet with the most serious difficulty when we consider the possibility of proof. Taking it for granted that the crime does exist in the abstract, the only question is, whether it is of such a nature that it would be expedient for government to take cognizance of it. The soul being in its nature so far beyond the reach of man, and the difficulty of ever proving the effect of human actions upon it, would seem to indicate that it were better to allow a few exceptional cases to pass unnoticed than to involve the criminal courts in endless and fruitless inquiry. Upon the ground of expediency only should the crime go unnoticed, and not because it can be reached in some other way. For proof that it does exist, we can point to nothing more convincing than the life of Caspar Hauser itself. No one can doubt that his soul was the victim of a crime, for which the perpetrator, untouched by human laws, stands accused before the throne of God.
* * * * *
Lying by the summer sea, I had a dream of Italy.
Chalky cliffs and miles of sand, Ragged reefs and salty caves, And the sparkling emerald waves Faded; and I seemed to stand, Myself a languid Florentine, In the heart of that fair land. And in a garden cool and green, Boccaccio's own enchanted place, I met Pampenea face to face,— A maid so lovely that to see Her smile is to know Italy.
Her hair was like a coronet Upon her Grecian forehead set, Where one gem glistened sunnily, Like Venice, when first seen at sea. I saw within her violet eyes The starlight of Italian skies, And on her brow and breast and hand The olive of her native land.
And knowing how, in other times, Her lips were ripe with Tuscan rhymes Of love and wine and dance, I spread My mantle by an almond-tree: "And here, beneath the rose," I said, "I'll hear thy Tuscan melody!"
I heard a tale that was not told In those ten dreamy days of old, When Heaven, for some divine offence, Smote Florence with the pestilence, And in that garden's odorous shade The dames of the Decameron, With each a happy lover, strayed, To laugh and sing, at sorest need, To lie in the lilies, in the sun, With glint of plume and golden brede.
And while she whispered in my ear, The pleasant Arno murmured near, The dewy, slim chameleons run Through twenty colors in the sun, The breezes broke the fountain's glass, And woke Aeolian melodies, And shook from out the scented trees The bleached lemon-blossoms on the grass.
The tale? I have forgot the tale!— A Lady all for love forlorn; A Rosebud, and a Nightingale That bruised his bosom on a thorn; A pot of rubies buried deep; A glen, a corpse, a child asleep; A Monk, that was no monk at all, I' the moonlight by a castle-wall;— Kaleidoscopic hints, to be Worked up in farce or tragedy.
Now while the sweet-eyed Tuscan wove The gilded thread of her romance, (Which I have lost by grievous chance,) The one dear woman that I love, Beside me in our seaside nook, Closed a white finger in her book, Half-vexed that she should read, and weep For Petrarch, to a man asleep. And scorning me, so tame and cold, She rose, and wandered down the shore, Her wine-dark drapery, fold in fold, Imprisoned by an ivory hand; And on a ridge of granite, half in sand, She stood, and looked at Appledore.
And waking, I beheld her there Sea-dreaming in the moted air, A Siren sweet and debonair, With wristlets woven of colored weeds, And oblong lucent amber beads Of sea-kelp shining in her hair. And as I mused on dreams, and how The something in us never sleeps, But laughs or sings or moans or weeps, She turned,—and on her breast and brow I saw the tint that seemed not won From kisses of New England sun; I saw on brow and breast and hand The olive of a sunnier land! She turned,—and lo! within her eyes The starlight of Italian skies!
Most dreams are dark, beyond the range Of reason; oft we cannot tell If they be born of heaven or hell; But to my soul it seems not strange, That, lying by the summer sea, With that dark woman watching me, I slept, and dreamed of Italy!
THE PROFESSOR'S STORY.
THE PERILOUS HOUR.
Up to this time Dick Venner had not decided on the particular mode and the precise period of relieving himself from the unwarrantable interference which threatened to defeat his plans. The luxury of feeling that he had his man in his power was its own reward. One who watches in the dark, outside, while his enemy, in utter unconsciousness, is illuminating his apartment and himself so that every movement of his head and every button on his coat can be seen and counted, especially if he holds a loaded rifle in his hand, experiences a peculiar kind of pleasure, which he naturally hates to bring to its climax by testing his skill as a marksman upon the object of his attention.
Besides, Dick had two sides in his nature, almost as distinct as we sometimes observe in those persons who are the subjects of the condition known as double consciousness. On his New England side he was cunning and calculating, always cautious, measuring his distance before he risked his stroke, as nicely as if he were throwing his lasso. But he was liable to intercurrent fits of jealousy and rage, such as the light-hued races are hardly capable of conceiving,—blinding paroxysms of passion, which for the time overmastered him, and which, if they found no ready outlet, transformed themselves into the more dangerous forces that worked through the instrumentality of his cool craftiness.
He had failed as yet in getting any positive evidence that there was any relation between Elsie and the schoolmaster other than such as might exist unsuspected and unblamed between a teacher and his pupil. A book, or a note, even, did not prove the existence of any sentiment. At one time he would be devoured by suspicions, at another he would try to laugh himself out of them. And in the mean while he followed Elsie's tastes as closely as he could, determined to make some impression upon her,—to become a habit, a convenience, a necessity,—whatever might aid him in the attainment of the one end which was now the aim of his life.
It was to humor one of her tastes already known to the reader, that he said to her one morning,—"Come, Elsie, take your castanets, and let us have a dance."
He had struck the right vein in the girl's fancy, for she was in the mood for this exercise, and very willingly led the way into one of the more empty apartments. What there was in this particular kind of dance which excited her it might not be easy to guess; but those who looked in with the old Doctor, on a former occasion, and saw her, will remember that she was strangely carried away by it, and became almost fearful in the vehemence of her passion. The sound of the castanets seemed to make her alive all over. Dick knew well enough what the exhibition would be, and was almost afraid of her at these moments; for it was like the dancing mania of Eastern devotees, more than the ordinary light amusement of joyous youth,—a convulsion of the body and the mind, rather than a series of voluntary modulated motions.
Elsie rattled out the triple measure of a saraband. Her eyes began to glitter more brilliantly, and her shape to undulate in freer curves. Presently she noticed that Dick's look was fixed upon her necklace. His face betrayed his curiosity; he was intent on solving the question, why she always wore something about her neck. The chain of mosaics she had on at that moment displaced itself at every step, and he was peering with malignant, searching eagerness to see if an unsunned ring of fairer hue than the rest of the surface, or any less easily explained peculiarity, were hidden by her ornaments.
She stopped suddenly, caught the chain of mosaics and settled it hastily in its place, flung down her castanets, drew herself back, and stood looking at him, with her head a little on one side, and her eyes narrowing in the way he had known so long and well.
"What is the matter, Cousin Elsie? What do you stop for?" he said.
Elsie did not answer, but kept her eyes on him, full of malicious light. The jealousy which lay covered up under his surface—thoughts took this opportunity to break out.
"You wouldn't act so, if you were dancing with Mr. Langdon,—would you, Elsie?" he asked.
It was with some effort that he looked steadily at her to see the effect of his question.
Elsie colored,—not much, but still perceptibly. Dick could not remember that he had ever seen her show this mark of emotion before, in all his experience of her fitful changes of mood. It had a singular depth of significance, therefore, for him; he knew how hardly her color came. Blushing means nothing, in some persons; in others, it betrays a profound inward agitation,—a perturbation of the feelings far more trying than the passions which with many easily moved persons break forth in tears. All who have observed much are aware that some men, who have seen a good deal of life in its less chastened aspects and are anything but modest, will blush often and easily, while there are delicate and sensitive women who can turn pale, or go into fits, if necessary, but are very rarely seen to betray their feelings in their cheeks, even when their expression shows that their inmost soul is blushing scarlet.
Presently she answered, abruptly and scornfully,—
"Mr. Langdon is a gentleman, and would not vex me as you do."
"A gentleman!" Dick answered, with the most insulting accent,—"a gentleman! Come, Elsie, you've got the Dudley blood in your veins, and it doesn't do for you to call this poor, sneaking schoolmaster a gentleman!"
He stopped short. Elsie's bosom was heaving, the faint flush on her cheek was becoming a vivid glow. Whether it were shame or wrath, he saw that he had reached some deep-lying centre of emotion. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. With another girl these signs of confusion might mean little or nothing; with her they were decisive and final. Elsie Venner loved Bernard Langdon.
The sudden conviction, absolute, overwhelming, which rushed upon him, had wellnigh led to an explosion of wrath, and perhaps some terrible scene which might have fulfilled some of Old Sophy's predictions. This, however, would never do. Dick's face whitened with his thoughts, but he kept still until he could speak calmly.
"I've nothing against the young fellow," he said; "only I don't think there's anything quite good enough to keep the company of people that have the Dudley blood in them. You a'n't as proud as I am. I can't quite make up my mind to call a schoolmaster a gentleman, though this one may be well enough. I've nothing against him, at any rate."
Elsie made no answer, but glided out of the room and slid away to her own apartment. She bolted the door and drew her curtains close. Then she threw herself on the floor, and fell into a dull, slow ache of passion, without tears, without words, almost without thoughts. So she remained, perhaps, for a half-hour, at the end of which time it seemed that her passion had become a sullen purpose. She arose, and, looking cautiously round, went to the hearth, which was ornamented with curious old Dutch tiles, with pictures of Scripture subjects. One of these represented the lifting of the brazen serpent. She took a hair-pin from one of her braids, and, insinuating its points under the edge of the tile, raised it from its place. A small leaden box lay under the tile, which she opened, and, taking from it a little white powder, which she folded in a scrap of paper, replaced the box and the tile over it.
Whether Dick had by any means got a knowledge of this proceeding, or whether he only suspected some unmentionable design on her part, there is no sufficient means of determining. At any rate, when they met, an hour or two after these occurrences, he could not help noticing how easily she seemed to have got over her excitement. She was very pleasant with him,—too pleasant, Dick thought. It was not Elsie's way to come out of a fit of anger so easily as that. She had contrived some way of letting off her spite; that was certain. Dick was pretty cunning, as Old Sophy had said, and, whether or not he had any means of knowing Elsie's private intentions, watched her closely, and was on his guard against accidents.
For the first time, he took certain precautions with reference to his diet, such as were quite alien to his common habits. On coming to the dinner-table, that day, he complained of headache, took but little food, and refused the cup of coffee which Elsie offered him, saying that it did not agree with him when he had these attacks.
Here was a new complication. Obviously enough, he could not live in this way, suspecting everything but plain bread and water, and hardly feeling safe in meddling with them. Not only had this school-keeping wretch come between him and the scheme by which he was to secure his future fortune, but his image had so infected his cousin's mind that she was ready to try on him some of those tricks which, as he had heard hinted in the village, she had once before put in practice upon a person who had become odious to her.
Something must be done, and at once, to meet the double necessities of this case. Every day, while the young girl was in these relations with the young man, was only making matters worse. They could exchange words and looks, they could arrange private interviews, they would be stooping together over the same book, her hair touching his cheek, her breath mingling with his, all the magnetic attractions drawing them together with strange, invisible effluences. As her passion for the schoolmaster increased, her dislike to him, her cousin, would grow with it, and all his dangers would be multiplied. It was a fearful point he had reached. He was tempted at one moment to give up all his plans and to disappear suddenly from the place, leaving with the schoolmaster, who had come between him and his object, an anonymous token of his personal sentiments which would be remembered a good while in the history of the town of Rockland. This was but a momentary thought; the great Dudley property could not be given up in that way.
Something must happen at once to break up all this order of things. He could think of but one Providential event adequate to the emergency,—an event foreshadowed by various recent circumstances, but hitherto floating in his mind only as a possibility. Its occurrence would at once change the course of Elsie's feelings, providing her with something to think of besides mischief, and remove the accursed obstacle which was thwarting all his own projects. Every possible motive, then,—his interest, his jealousy, his longing for revenge, and now his fears for his own safety,—urged him to regard the happening of a certain casualty as a matter of simple necessity. This was the self-destruction of Mr. Bernard Langdon.
Such an event, though it might be surprising to many people, would not be incredible, nor without many parallel cases. He was poor, a miserable fag, under the control of that mean wretch up there at the school, who looked as if he had sour buttermilk in his veins instead of blood. He was in love with a girl above his station, rich, and of old family, but strange in all her ways, and it was conceivable that he should become suddenly jealous of her. Or she might have frightened him with some display of her peculiarities which had filled him with a sudden repugnance in the place of love. Any of these things were credible, and would make a probable story enough,—so thought Dick over to himself with the New-England half of his mind.
Unfortunately, men will not always take themselves out of the way when, so far as their neighbors are concerned, it would be altogether the most appropriate and graceful and acceptable service they could render. There was at this particular moment no special reason for believing that the schoolmaster meditated any violence to his own person. On the contrary, there was good evidence that he was taking some care of himself. He was looking well and in good spirits, and in the habit of amusing himself and exercising, as if to keep up his standard of health, especially of taking certain evening-walks, before referred to, at an hour when most of the Rockland people had "retired," or, in vulgar language, "gone to bed."
Dick Venner settled it, however, in his own mind, that Mr. Bernard Langdon must lay violent hands upon himself. He even went so far as to determine the precise hour, and the method in which the "rash act," as it would undoubtedly be called in the next issue of "The Rockland Weekly Universe," should be committed. Time,—this evening. Method,—asphyxia, by suspension. It was, unquestionably, taking a great liberty with a man to decide that he should become felo de se without his own consent. Such, however, was the decision of Mr. Richard Venner with regard to Mr. Bernard Langdon.
If everything went right, then, there would be a coroner's inquest to-morrow upon what remained of that gentleman, found suspended to the branch of a tree somewhere within a mile of the Apollinean Institute. The "Weekly Universe" would have a startling paragraph announcing a "SAD EVENT!!!" which had "thrown the town into an intense state of excitement. Mr. Barnard Langden, a well known teacher at the Apollinean Institute, was found, etc., etc. The vital spark was extinct. The motive to the rash act can only be conjectured, but is supposed to be disappointed affection. The name of an accomplished young lady of the highest respectability and great beauty is mentioned in connection with this melancholy occurrence."
Dick Venner was at the tea-table that evening, as usual.—No, he would take green tea, if she pleased,—the same as her father drank. It would suit his headache better.—Nothing,—he was much obliged to her. He would help himself,—which he did in a little different way from common, naturally enough, on account of his headache. He noticed that Elsie seemed a little nervous while she was rinsing some of the teacups before their removal.
"There's something going on in that witch's head;" he said to himself. "I know her,—she'd be savage now, if she hadn't got some trick in hand. Let's see how she looks to-morrow!"
Dick announced that he should go to bed early that evening, on account of this confounded headache which had been troubling him so much. In fact, he went up early, and locked his door after him, with as much noise as he could make. He then changed some part of his dress, so that it should be dark throughout, slipped off his boots, drew the lasso out from the bottom of the contents of his trunk, and, carrying that and his boots in his hand, opened his door softly, locked it after him, and stole down the back-stairs, so as to get out of the house unnoticed. He went straight to the stable and saddled the mustang. He took a rope from the stable with him, mounted his horse, and set forth in the direction of the Institute.
Mr. Bernard, as we have seen, had not been very profoundly impressed by the old Doctor's cautions,—enough, however, to follow out some of his hints which were not troublesome to attend to. He laughed at the idea of carrying a loaded pistol about with him; but still it seemed only fair, as the old Doctor thought so much of the matter, to humor him about it. As for not going about when and where he liked, for fear he might have some lurking enemy, that was a thing not to be listened to nor thought of. There was nothing to be ashamed of or troubled about in any of his relations with the school-girls. Elsie, no doubt, showed a kind of attraction towards him, as did perhaps some others; but he had been perfectly discreet, and no father or brother or lover had any just cause of quarrel with him. To be sure, that dark young man at the Dudley mansion-house looked as if he were his enemy, when he had met him; but certainly there was nothing in their relations to each other, or in his own to Elsie, that would be like to stir such malice in his mind as would lead him to play any of his wild Southern tricks at his, Mr. Bernard's, expense. Yet he had a vague feeling that this young man was dangerous, and he had been given to understand that one of the risks he ran was from that quarter.
On this particular evening, he had a strange, unusual sense of some impending peril. His recent interview with the Doctor, certain remarks that had been dropped in his hearing, but above all an unaccountable impression upon his spirits, all combined to fill his mind with a foreboding conviction that he was very near some overshadowing danger. It was as the chill of the ice-mountain towards which the ship is steering under full sail. He felt a strong impulse to see Helen Darley and talk with her. She was in the common parlour, and, fortunately, alone.
"Helen," he said,—for they were almost like brother and sister now,—"I have been thinking what you would do, if I should have to leave the school at short notice, or be taken away suddenly by any accident."
"Do?" she said, her cheek growing paler than its natural delicate hue,—"why, I do not know how I could possibly consent to live here, if you left us. Since you came, my life has been almost easy; before, it was getting intolerable. You must not talk about going, my dear friend; you have spoiled me for my place. Who is there here that I can have any true society with, but you? You would not leave us for another school, would you?"
"No, no, my dear Helen," Mr. Bernard said; "if it depends on myself, I shall stay out my full time, and enjoy your company and friendship. But everything is uncertain in this world; I have been thinking that I might be wanted elsewhere, and called when I did not think of it;—it was a fancy, perhaps,—but I can't keep it out of my mind this evening. If any of my fancies should come true, Helen, there are two or three messages I want to leave with you. I have marked a book or two with a cross in pencil on the fly-leaf;—these are for you. There is a little hymn-book I should like to have you give to Elsie from me;—it may be a kind of comfort to the poor girl."
Helen's eyes glistened as she interrupted him,—
"What do you mean? You must not talk so, Mr. Langdon. Why, you never looked better in your life. Tell me now, you are not in earnest, are you, but only trying a little sentiment on me?"
Mr. Bernard smiled, but rather sadly.
"About half in earnest," he said. "I have had some fancies in my head,—superstitions, I suppose,—at any rate, it does no harm to tell you what I should like to have done, if anything should happen,—very likely nothing ever will. Send the rest of the books home, if you please, and write a letter to my mother. And, Helen, you will find one small volume in my desk enveloped and directed, you will see to whom;—give this with your own hands; it is a keepsake."
The tears gathered in her eyes; she could not speak at first. Presently,—
"Why, Bernard, my dear friend, my brother, it cannot be that you are in danger? Tell me what it is, and, if I can share it with you, or counsel you in any way, it will only be paying back the great debt I owe you. No, no,—it can't be true,—you are tired and worried, and your spirits have got depressed. I know what that is;—I was sure, one winter, that I should die before spring; but I lived to see the dandelions and buttercups go to seed. Come, tell me it was nothing but your imagination."
She felt a tear upon her cheek, but would not turn her face away from him; it was the tear of a sister.
"I am really in earnest, Helen," he said. "I don't know that there is the least reason in the world for these fancies. If they all go off and nothing comes of them, you may laugh at me, if you like. But if there should be any occasion, remember my requests. You don't believe in presentiments, do you?"
"Oh, don't ask me, I beg you," Helen answered. "I have had a good many frights for every one real misfortune I have suffered. Sometimes I have thought I was warned beforehand of coming trouble, just as many people are of changes in the weather, by some unaccountable feeling,—but not often, and I don't like to talk about such things. I wouldn't think about these fancies of yours. I don't believe you have exercised enough;—don't you think it's confinement in the school has made you nervous?"
"Perhaps it has; but it happens that I have thought more of exercise lately, and have taken walks late in the evening, besides playing my old gymnastic tricks every day."
They talked on many subjects, but through all he said Helen perceived a pervading tone of sadness, and an expression as of a dreamy foreboding of unknown evil. They parted at the usual hour, and went to their several rooms. The sadness of Mr. Bernard had sunk into the heart of Helen, and she mingled many tears with her prayers that evening, earnestly entreating that he might be comforted in his days of trial and protected in his hour of danger.
Mr. Bernard stayed in his room a short time before setting out for his evening walk. His eye fell upon the Bible his mother had given him when he left home, and he opened it in the New Testament at a venture. It happened that the first words he read were these,—"Lest, coming suddenly, he find you sleeping." In the state of mind in which he was at the moment, the text startled him. It was like a supernatural warning. He was not going to expose himself to any particular danger this evening; a walk in a quiet village was as free from risk as Helen Darley or his own mother could ask; yet he had an unaccountable feeling of apprehension, without any definite object. At this moment he remembered the old Doctor's counsel, which he had sometimes neglected, and, blushing at the feeling which led him to do it, he took the pistol his suspicious old friend had forced upon him, which he had put away loaded, and, thrusting it into his pocket, set out upon his walk.
The moon was shining at intervals, for the night was partially clouded. There seemed to be nobody stirring, though his attention was unusually awake, and he could hear the whirr of the bats overhead, and the pulsating croak of the frogs in the distant pools and marshes. Presently he detected the sound of hoofs at some distance, and, looking forward, saw a horseman coming in his direction. The moon was under a cloud at the moment, and he could only observe that the horse and his rider looked like a single dark object, and that they were moving along at an easy pace. Mr. Bernard was really ashamed of himself, when he found his hand on the butt of his pistol. When the horseman was within a hundred and fifty yards of him, the moon shone out suddenly and revealed each of them to the other. The rider paused for a moment, as if carefully surveying the pedestrian, then suddenly put his horse to the full gallop, and dashed towards him, rising at the same instant in his stirrups and swinging something round his head,—what, Mr. Bernard could not make out. It was a strange manoeuvre,—so strange and threatening in aspect that the young man forgot his nervousness in an instant, cocked his pistol, and waited to see what mischief all this meant. He did not wait long. As the rider came rushing towards him, he made a rapid motion and something leaped five-and-twenty feet through the air, in Mr. Bernard's direction. In an instant he felt a ring, as of a rope or thong, settle upon his shoulders. There was no time to think,—he would be lost in another second. He raised his pistol and fired,—not at the rider, but at the horse. His aim was true; the mustang gave one bound and fell lifeless, shot through the head. The lasso was fastened to his saddle, and his last bound threw Mr. Bernard violently to the earth, where he lay motionless, as if stunned.
In the mean time, Dick Venner, who had been dashed down with his horse, was trying to extricate himself,—one of his legs being held fast under the animal, the long spur on his boot having caught in the saddle-cloth. He found, however, that he could do nothing with his right arm, his shoulder having been in some way injured in his fall. But his Southern blood was up, and, as he saw Mr. Bernard move as if he were coming to his senses, he struggled violently to free himself.
"I'll have the dog, yet," he said,—"only let me get at him with the knife!"
He had just succeeded in extricating his imprisoned leg, and was ready to spring to his feet, when he was caught firmly by the throat, and, looking up, saw a clumsy barbed weapon, commonly known as a hay-fork, within an inch of his breast.
"Hold on there! What 'n thunder 'r' y' abaout, y' darned Portagee?" said a voice, with a decided nasal tone in it, but sharp and resolute.
Dick looked from the weapon to the person who held it, and saw a sturdy, plain man standing over him, with his teeth clinched, and his aspect that of one all ready for mischief.
"Lay still, naow!" said Abel Stebbins, the Doctor's man; "'f y' don't, I'll stick ye, 'z sure 'z y' 'r' alive! I been aaefter ye f'r a week, 'n' I got y' naow! I knowed I'd ketch ye at some darned trick or 'nother 'fore I'd done 'ith ye!"
Dick lay perfectly still, feeling that he was crippled and helpless, thinking all the time with the Yankee half of his mind what to do about it. He saw Mr. Bernard lift his head and look around him. He would get his senses again in a few minutes, very probably, and then he, Mr. Richard Venner, would be done for.
"Let me up! let me up!" he cried, in a low, hurried voice,—"I'll give you a hundred dollars in gold to let me go. The man a'n't hurt,—don't you see him stirring? He'll come to himself in two minutes. Let me up! I'll give you a hundred and fifty dollars in gold, now, here on the spot,—and the watch out of my pocket; take it yourself, with your own hands!"
"I'll see y' darned fust! Ketch me lett'n' go!" was Abel's emphatic answer. "Yeou lay still, 'n' wait t'll that man comes tew."
He kept the hay-fork ready for action at the slightest sign of resistance.
Mr. Bernard, in the mean time, had been getting, first his senses, and then some Jew of his scattered wits, a little together.
"What is it?"—he said. "Who 'a hurt? What's happened?"
"Come along here 'z quick 'z y' ken," Abel answered, "'n' haaelp me fix this fellah. Y' been hurt, y'rself, 'n' the' 's murder come pooty nigh happenin'."
Mr. Bernard heard the answer, but presently stared about and asked again, "Who's hurt? What's happened?"
"Y' 'r' hurt, y'rself, I tell ye," said Abel; "'n' the''s been a murder, pooty nigh."
Mr. Bernard felt something about his neck, and, putting his hands up, found the loop of the lasso, which he loosened, but did not think to slip over his head, in the confusion of his perceptions and thoughts. It was a wonder that it had not choked him, but he had fallen forward so as to slacken it.
By this time he was getting some notion of what he was about, and presently began looking round for his pistol, which had fallen. He found it lying near him, cocked it mechanically, and walked, somewhat unsteadily, towards the two men, who were keeping their position as still as if they were performing in a tableau.
"Quick, naow!" said Abel, who had heard the click of cocking the pistol, and saw that he held it in his hand, as he came towards him. "Gi' me that pistil, and yeon fetch that 'ere rope layin' there. I'll have this here fellah fixed 'n less 'n two minutes."
Mr. Bernard did as Abel said,—stupidly and mechanically, for he was but half right as yet. Abel pointed the pistol at Dick's head.
"Naow hold up y'r hands, yeou fellah," he said, "'n' keep 'em up, while this man puts the rope raound y'r wrists."
Dick felt himself helpless, and, rather than have his disabled arm roughly dealt with, held up his hands. Mr. Bernard did as Abel said; he was in a purely passive state, and obeyed orders like a child. Abel then secured the rope in a most thorough and satisfactory complication of twists and knots.
"Naow get up, will ye?" he said; and the unfortunate Dick rose to his feet.
"Who's hurt? What's happened?" asked poor Mr. Bernard again, his memory having been completely jarred out of him for the time.
"Come, look here naow, yeou, don' stan' aaeskin' questions over 'n' over;—'t beats all I ha'n't I tol' y' a dozen times?"
As Abel spoke, he turned and looked at Mr. Bernard.
"Hullo! What 'n thunder's that'ere raoun' y'r neck? Ketched ye 'ith a slippernoose, hey? Wal, if that a'n't the craowner! Hol' on a minute, Cap'n, 'n' I'll show ye what that 'ere halter's good for."
Abel slipped the noose over Mr. Bernard's head, and put it round the neck of the miserable Dick Venner, who made no sign of resistance,—whether on account of the pain he was in, or from mere helplessness, or because he was waiting for some unguarded moment to escape,—since resistance seemed of no use.
"I'm go'n' to kerry y' home," said Abel; "th' ol' Doctor, he's got a gre't cur'osity t' see ye. Jes' step along naow,—off that way, will ye?—'n I'll hol' on t' th' bridle, f' fear y' sh'd run away."
He took hold of the leather thong, but found that it was fastened at the other end to the saddle. This was too much for Abel.
"Wal, naow, yeou be a pooty chap to hev raound! A fellah's neck in a slippernoose at one eend of a halter, 'n' a boss on th' full spring at t'other eend!"
He looked at him from head to foot as a naturalist inspects a new specimen. His clothes had suffered in his fall, especially on the leg which had been caught under the horse.
"Hullo! look o' there, naow! What's that 'ere stickin' aout o' y'r boot?"
It was nothing but the handle of an ugly knife, which Abel instantly relieved him of.
The party now took up the line of march for old Doctor Kittredge's house, Abel carrying the pistol and knife, and Mr. Bernard walking in silence, still half-stunned, holding the hay-fork, which Abel had thrust into his hand. It was all a dream to him as yet. He remembered the horseman riding at him, and his firing the pistol; but whether he was alive, and these walls around him belonged to the village of Rockland, or whether he had passed the dark river, and was in a suburb of the New Jerusalem, he could not as yet have told.
They were in the street where the Doctor's house was situated.
"I guess I'll fire off one o' these here berrils," said Abel.
Presently there was a noise of opening windows, and the nocturnal headdresses of Rockland flowered out of them like so many developments of the Night-blooming Cereus. White cotton caps and red bandanna handkerchiefs were the prevailing forms of efflorescence. The main point was that the village was waked up. The old Doctor always waked easily, from long habit, and was the first among those who looked out to see what had happened.
"Why, Abel!" he called out, "what have you got there? and what's all this noise about?"
"We've ketched the Portagee!" Abel answered, as laconically as the hero of Lake Erie in his famous dispatch. "Go in there, you fellah!"
The prisoner was marched into the house, and the Doctor, who had bewitched his clothes upon him in a way that would have been miraculous in anybody but a physician, was down in presentable form as soon as if it had been a child in a fit that he was sent for.
"Richard Venner!" the Doctor exclaimed. "What is the meaning of all this? Mr. Langdon, has anything happened to you?"
Mr. Bernard put his hand to his head.
"My mind is confused," he said. "I've had a fall.—Oh, yes!—wait a minute and it will all come back to me."
"Sit down, sit down," the Doctor said. "Abel will tell me about it. Slight concussion of the brain. Can't remember very well for an hour or two,—will come right by to-morrow."
"Been stunded," Abel said. "He can't tell nothin'."
Abel then proceeded to give a Napoleonic bulletin of the recent combat of cavalry and infantry and its results,—none slain, one captured.
The Doctor looked at the prisoner through his spectacles.
"What's the matter with your shoulder, Venner?"
Dick answered sullenly, that he didn't know,—fell on it when his horse came down. The Doctor examined it as carefully as he could through his clothes.
"Out of joint. Untie his hands, Abel."
By this time a small alarm had spread among the neighbors, and there was a circle around Dick, who glared about on the assembled honest people like a hawk with a broken wing.
When the Doctor said, "Untie his hands," the circle widened perceptibly.
"Isn't it a leetle rash to give him the use of his hands? I see there's females and children standin' near."
This was the remark of our old friend, Deacon Soper, who retired from the front row, as he spoke, behind a respectable-looking, but somewhat hastily dressed person of the defenceless sex, the female help of a neighboring household, accompanied by a boy, whose unsmoothed shock of hair looked like a last-year's crow's-nest.
But Abel untied his hands, in spite of the Deacon's considerate remonstrance.
"Now," said the Doctor, "the first thing is to put the joint back."
"Stop," said Deacon Soper,—"stop a minute. Don't you think it will be safer—for the women-folks—jest to wait till mornin', afore you put that j'int into the socket?"
Colonel Sprowle, who had been called by a special messenger, spoke up at this moment.
"Let the women-folks and the deacons go home, if they're scared, and put the fellah's j'int in as quick as you like. I'll resk him, j'int in or out."
"I want one of you to go straight down to Dudley Venner's with a message," the Doctor said. "I will have the young man's shoulder in quick enough."
"Don't send that message!" said Dick, in a hoarse voice;—"do what you like with my arm, but don't send that message! Let me go,—I can walk, and I'll be off from this place. There's nobody hurt but I. Damn the shoulder!—let me go! You shall never hear of me again!"
Mr. Bernard came forward.
"My friends," he said, "I am not injured,—seriously, at least. Nobody need complain against this man, if I don't. The Doctor will treat him like a human being, at any rate; and then, if he will go, let him. There are too many witnesses against him here for him to want to stay."
The Doctor, in the mean time, without saying a word to all this, had got a towel round the shoulder and chest and another round the arm, and had the bone replaced in a very few moments.
"Abel, put Cassia into the new chaise," he said, quietly. "My friends and neighbors, leave this young man to me."
"Colonel Sprowle, you're a justice of the peace," said Deacon Soper, "and you know what the law says in cases like this. I a'n't so clear that it won't have to come afore the Grand Jury, whether we will or no."
"I guess we'll set that j'int to-morrow mornin'," said Colonel Sprowle,—which made a laugh at the Deacon's expense, and virtually settled the question.
"Now trust this young man in my care," said the old Doctor, "and go home and finish your naps. I knew him when he was a boy, and, I'll answer for it, he won't trouble you any more. The Dudley blood makes folks proud, I can tell you, whatever else they are."
The good people so respected and believed in the Doctor that they left the prisoner with him.
Presently, Cassia, the fast Morgan mare, came up to the front-door, with the wheels of the new, light chaise flashing behind her in the moonlight. The Doctor drove Dick forty miles at a stretch that night, out of the limits of the State.
"Do you want money?" he said, before he left him.
Dick told him the secret of his golden belt.
"Where shall I send your trunk after you from your uncle's?"
Dick gave him a direction to a seaport town to which he himself was going, to take passage for a port in South America.
"Good-bye, Richard," said the Doctor. "Try to learn something from to-night's lesson."
The Southern impulses in Dick's wild blood overcame him, and he kissed the old Doctor on both cheeks, crying as only the children of the sun can cry, after the first hours in the dewy morning of life. So Dick Venner disappears from this story. An hour after dawn, Cassia pointed her fine ears homeward, and struck into her square, honest trot, as if she had not been doing anything more than her duty during her four hours' stretch of the last night.
Abel was not in the habit of questioning the Doctor's decisions.
"It's all right," he said to Mr. Bernard. "The fellah's Squire Venner's relation, anyhaow. Don't you want to wait here, jest a little while, till I come back? The' 's a consid'able nice saddle 'n' bridle on a dead hoss that's layin' daown there in the road, 'n' I guess the' a'n't no use in lettin' on 'em spile,—so I'll jest step aout 'n' fetch 'em along. I kind o' calc'late 't won't pay to take the cretur's shoes 'n' hide off to-night,—'n' the' won't be much iron on that hoss's huffs an haour after daylight, I'll bate ye a quarter."
"I'll walk along with you," said Mr. Bernard;—"I feel as if I could get along well enough now."
So they set off together. There was a little crowd round the dead mustang already, principally consisting of neighbors who had adjourned from the Doctor's house to see the scene of the late adventure. In addition to these, however, the assembly was honored by the presence of Mr. Principal Silas Peckham, who had been called from his slumbers by a message that Master Langdon was shot through the head by a highway-robber, but had learned a true version of the story by this time. His voice was at that moment heard above the rest,—sharp, but thin, like bad cider-vinegar.
"I take charge of that property, I say. Master Langdon 's actin' under my orders, and I claim that hoss and all that's on him. Hiram! jest slip off that saddle and bridle, and carry 'em up to the Institoot, and bring down a pair of pinchers and a file,—and—stop—fetch a pair of shears, too; there's hoss-hair enough in that mane and tail to stuff a bolster with."
"You let that hoss alone!" spoke up Colonel Sprowle. "When a fellah goes out huntin' and shoots a squirrel, do you think he's go'n' to let another fellah pick him up and kerry him off? Not if he's got a double-berril gun, and t'other berril ha'n't been fired off yet! I should like to see the mahn that'll take off that seddle 'n' bridle, excep' the one th't hez a fair right to the whole concern!"
Hiram was from one of the lean streaks in New Hampshire, and, not being overfed in Mr. Silas Peckham's kitchen, was somewhat wanting in stamina, as well as in stomach, for so doubtful an enterprise as undertaking to carry out his employer's orders in the face of the Colonel's defiance.
Just then Mr. Bernard and Abel came up together.
"Here they be," said the Colonel. "Stan' beck, gentlemen!"
Mr. Bernard, who was pale and still a little confused, but gradually becoming more like himself, stood and looked in silence for a moment.
All his thoughts seemed to be clearing themselves in this interval. He took in the whole series of incidents: his own frightful risk; the strange, instinctive, nay, Providential impulse which had led him so suddenly to do the one only thing which could possibly have saved him; the sudden appearance of the Doctor's man, but for which he might yet have been lost; and the discomfiture and capture of his dangerous enemy.
It was all past now, and a feeling of pity rose in Mr. Bernard's heart.
"He loved that horse, no doubt," he said,—"and no wonder. A beautiful, wild-looking creature! Take off those things that are on him, Abel, and have them carried to Mr. Dudley Venner's. If he does not want them, you may keep them yourself, for all that I have to say. One thing more. I hope nobody will lift his hand against this noble creature to mutilate him in any way. After you have taken off the saddle and bridle, Abel, bury him just as he is. Under that old beech-tree will be a good place. You'll see to it,—won't you, Abel?"
Abel nodded assent, and Mr. Bernard returned to the Institute, threw himself in his clothes on the bed, and slept like one who is heavy with wine.
Following Mr. Bernard's wishes, Abel at once took off the high-peaked saddle and the richly ornamented bridle from the mustang. Then, with the aid of two of three others, he removed him to the place indicated. Spades and shovels were soon procured, and before the moon had set, the wild horse of the Pampas was at rest under the turf at the wayside, in the far village among the hills of New England.
* * * * *
I hung my verses in the wind; Time and tide their faults may find. All were winnowed through and through; Five lines lasted sound and true; Five were smelted in a pot Than the South more fierce and hot. These the Siroc could not melt, Fire their fiercer flaming felt, And their meaning was more white Than July's meridian light. Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor Time unmake what poets know. Have you eyes to find the five Which five thousand could survive?
RECOLLECTIONS OF KEATS.
BY AN OLD SCHOOL-FELLOW.
In the village of Enfield, in Middlesex, ten miles on the north road from London, was my father, John Clarke's school. The house had been built by a West India merchant, in the latter end of the seventeenth or beginning of the eighteenth century. It was of the better character of the domestic architecture of that period,—the whole front being of the purest red brick, wrought, by means of moulds, into rich designs of flowers and pomegranates, with heads of cherubim over two niches in the centre of the building. The elegance of the design and the perfect finish of the structure were such as to secure its protection, when a branch railway was brought from the Ware and Cambridge line to Enfield. The old school-house was converted into the station-house, and the railway company had the good taste to leave intact one of the few remaining specimens of the graceful English domestic architecture of long-gone days. Any of my readers who may happen to have a file of the London "Illustrated News," may find in No. 360, March 3, 1849, a not prodigiously enchanting wood-cut of the edifice.
Here it was that John Keats all but commenced and did complete his school-education. He was born on the 29th of October, 1795; and I think he was one of the little fellows who had not wholly emerged from the child's costume upon being placed under my father's care. It will be readily conceived difficult to recall from the "dark backward and abysm" of nearly sixty years the general acts of perhaps the youngest individual in a corporation of between seventy and eighty youngsters; and very little more of Keats's child-life can I remember than that he had a brisk, winning face, and was a favorite with all, particularly with my mother.
His maternal grandfather, Jennings, was proprietor of a large livery-stable, called "The Swan and Hoop," on the pavement in Moorfields, opposite the entrance into Finsbury Circus. He had two sons at my father's school. The elder was an officer in Duncan's ship in the fight off Camperdown. After the battle, the Dutch Admiral, De Winter, pointing to young Jennings, told Duncan that he had fired several shots at that young man, and always missed his mark;—no credit to his steadiness of aim; for Jennings, like his own admiral, was considerably above the ordinary dimensions of stature.
Keats's father was the principal servant at the Swan and Hoop Stables,—a man of so remarkably fine a common-sense and native respectability, that I perfectly remember the warm terms in which his demeanor used to be canvassed by my parents after he had been to visit his boys. He was short of stature and well-knit in person, (John resembling him both in make and feature,) with brown hair and dark hazel eyes. He was killed by a fall from his horse, in returning from a visit to the school. John's two brothers, George, older, and Thomas, younger than himself, were like the mother,—who was tall, of good figure, with large, oval face, sombre features, and grave in behavior. The last of the family was a sister,—Fanny, I think, much younger than all,—of whom I remember my mother once speaking with much fondness, for her pretty, simple manners, while she was walking in the garden with her brothers. She married Mr. Llanos, a Spanish refugee, the author of "Don Esteban," and "Sandoval, the Free-Mason." He was a man of liberal principles, attractive manners, and more than ordinary accomplishments.—This is the amount of my knowledge and recollection of the family.
In the early part of his school-life, John gave no extraordinary indications of intellectual character; but it was remembered of him afterwards, that there was ever present a determined and steady spirit in all his undertakings; and, although of a strong and impulsive will, I never knew it misdirected in his required pursuit of study. He was a most orderly scholar. The future ramifications of that noble genius were then closely shut in the seed, and greedily drinking in the moisture which made it afterwards burst forth so kindly into luxuriance and beauty.
My father was in the habit, at each half-year's vacation, of bestowing prizes upon those pupils who had performed the greatest quantity of voluntary extra work; and such was Keats's indefatigable energy for the last two or three successive half-years of his remaining at school, that, upon each occasion, he took the first prize by a considerable distance. He was at work before the first school-hour began, and that was at seven o'clock; almost all the intervening times of recreation were so devoted; and during the afternoon-holidays, when all were at play, I have seen him in the school,—almost the only one,—at his Latin or French translation; and so unconscious and regardless was he of the consequences of this close and persevering application, that he never would have taken the necessary exercise, had he not been sometimes driven out by one of us for the purpose.
I have said that he was a favorite with all. Not the less beloved was he for having a highly pugnacious spirit, which, when roused, was one of the most picturesque exhibitions—off the stage—I ever saw. One of the transports of that marvellous actor, Edmund Kean—whom, by the way, he idolized—was its nearest resemblance; and the two were not very dissimilar in face and figure. I remember, upon one occasion, when an usher, on account of some impertinent behavior, had boxed his brother Tom's ears, John rushed up, put himself in the received posture of offence, and, I believe, struck the usher,—who could have put him into his pocket. His passions at times were almost ungovernable; his brother George, being considerably the taller and stronger, used frequently to hold him down by main force, when he was in "one of his moods" and was endeavoring to beat him. It was all, however, a wisp-of-straw conflagration; for he had an intensely tender affection for his brothers, and proved it upon the most trying occasions. He was not merely the "favorite of all," like a pet prize-fighter, for his terrier courage; but his high-mindedness, his utter unconsciousness of a mean motive, his placability, his generosity, wrought so general a feeling in his behalf, that I never heard a word of disapproval from any one who had known him, superior or equal.
The latter part of the time—perhaps eighteen months—that he remained at school, he occupied the hours during meals in reading. Thus his whole time was engrossed. He had a tolerably retentive memory, and the quantity that he read was surprising. He must in those last months have exhausted the school—library, which consisted principally of abridgments of all the voyages and travels of any note; Mayor's Collection; also his Universal History; Robertson's Histories of Scotland, America, and Charles the Fifth; all Miss Edgeworth's productions; together with many other works, equally well calculated for youth, not necessary to be enumerated. The books, however, that were his constantly recurrent sources of attraction were Tooke's "Pantheon," Lempriere's "Classical Dictionary," which he appeared to learn, and Spence's "Polymetis." This was the store whence he acquired his perfect intimacy with the Greek mythology; here was he "suckled In that creed outworn"; for his amount of classical attainment extended no farther than the "Aeneid"; with which epic, indeed, he was so fascinated, that before leaving school he had voluntarily translated in writing a considerable portion. And yet I remember that at that early age,—mayhap under fourteen,—notwithstanding and through all its incidental attractiveness, he hazarded the opinion to me that there was feebleness in the structure of the work. He must have gone through all the better publications in the school-library, for he asked me to lend him some of my own books; and I think I now see him at supper, (we had all our meals in the school-room,) sitting back on the form, and holding the folio volume of Burnet's "History of his own Time" between himself and the table, eating his meal from beyond it. This work, and Leigh Hunt's "Examiner" newspaper,—which my father took in, and I used to lend to Keats,—I make no doubt laid the foundation of his love of civil and religious liberty. He once told me, smiling, that one of his guardians, being informed what books I had lent him to read, declared, that, if he had fifty children, he would not send one of them to my father's school.
When he left us,—I think at fourteen years of age,—he was apprenticed to Mr. Thomas Hammond, a medical man, residing in Church Street, Edmonton, and exactly two miles from Enfield. This arrangement appeared to give him satisfaction; and I fear that it was the most placid period of his painful life; for now, with the exception of the duty he had to perform in the surgery, and which was by no means an onerous one, his whole leisure hours were employed in indulging his passion for reading and translating. It was during his apprenticeship that he finished the latter portion of the "Aeneid."
The distance between our residences being so short, I encouraged his inclination to come over, when he could be spared; and in consequence, I saw him about five or six times a month, commonly on Wednesdays and Saturdays, those afternoons being my own most leisure times. He rarely came empty-handed; either he had a book to read, or brought one with him to be exchanged. When the weather permitted, we always sat in an arbor at the end of a spacious garden, and, in Boswellian phrase, "we had good talk."
I cannot at this time remember what was the spark that fired the train of his poetical tendencies,—I do not remember what was the first signalized poetry he read; but he must have given me unmistakable tokens of his bent of taste; otherwise, at that early stage of his career, I never could have read to him the "Epithalamion" of Spenser; and this I perfectly remember having done, and in that (to me) hallowed old arbor, the scene of many bland and graceful associations,—all the substances having passed away. He was at that time, I should suppose, fifteen or sixteen years old; and at that period of life he certainly appreciated the general beauty of the composition, and felt the more passionate passages; for his features and exclamations were ecstatic. How often have I in after-times heard him quote these lines:—
"Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks, And blesses her with his two happy hands, How the red roses flush up in her cheeks! And the pure snow, with goodly vermil stain, Like crimson dyed in grain, That even the angels, which continually About the sacred altar do remain, Forget their service, and about her fly, Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair, The more they on it stare; But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, Are governed with goodly modesty, That suffers not one look to glance awry, Which may let in a little thought unsound."
That night he took away with him the first volume of the "Faery Queen," and went through it, as I told his biographer, Mr. Monckton Milnes, "as a young horse would through a spring meadow,—ramping!" Like a true poet, too,—a poet "born, not manufactured,"—a poet in grain,—he especially singled out the epithets, for that felicity and power in which Spenser is so eminent. He hoisted himself up, and looked burly and dominant, as he said,—"What an image that is,—'Sea-shouldering whales'!"
It was a treat to see as well as hear him read a pathetic passage. Once, when reading the "Cymbeline" aloud', I saw his eyes fill with tears, and for some moments he was unable to proceed, when he came to the departure of Posthumus, and Imogen's saying she would have watched him
"till the diminution Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle; Nay, followed him till he had melted from The smallness of a gnat to air; and then Have turned mine eye and wept."
I cannot quite reconcile the time of our separating at this stage of his career,—which of us first went to London; but it was upon an occasion when I was walking thither, and, I think, to see Leigh Hunt, who had just fulfilled his penalty of confinement in Horsemonger-Lane Prison for the trivial libel upon the Prince Regent, that Keats, who was coming over to Enfield, met me, and, turning, accompanied me back part of the way to Edmonton. At the last field-gate, when taking leave, he gave me the sonnet entitled, "Written on the Day that Mr. Leigh Hunt left Prison." Unless I am utterly mistaken, this was the first proof I had received of his having committed himself in verse; and how clearly can I recall the conscious look with which he hesitatingly offered it! There are some momentary glances of beloved friends that fade only with life. I am not in a position to contradict the statement of his biographer, that "the lines in imitation of Spenser,
"'Now Morning from her orient charger came, And her first footsteps touched a verdant hill,' etc.,
"are the earliest known verses of his composition"; from the subject being the inspiration of his first love—and such a love!—in poetry, it is most probable; but certainly his first published poem was the sonnet commencing,
'O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell';
and that will be found in the "Examiner," some time, as I conjecture, in 1816,—for I have not the paper to refer to, and, indeed, at this distance, both of time and removal from the means of verification, I would not be dogmatical.
When we both had come to London,—he to enter as a student of St. Thomas's Hospital,—he was not long in discovering that my abode was with my brother-in-law, in Little Warner Street, Clerkenwell; and just at that time I was installed housekeeper, and was solitary. He, therefore, would come and revive his loved gossip, till, as the author of the "Urn Burial" says, "we were acting our antipodes,—the huntsmen were up in America, and they already were past their first sleep in Persia." At this time he lived in his first lodging upon coming to London, near to St. Thomas's Hospital. I find his address in a letter which must have preceded my appointing him to come and lighten my darkness in Clerkenwell. At the close of the letter, he says,—"Although the Borough is a beastly place in dirt, turnings, and windings, yet No. 8, Dean Street, is not difficult to find; and if you would run the gauntlet over London Bridge, take the first turning to the left, and then the first to the right, and, moreover, knock at my door, which is nearly opposite a meeting, you would do me a charity, which, as St. Paul saith, is the father of all the virtues. At all events, let me hear from you soon: I say, at all events, not excepting the gout in your fingers." I have little doubt that this letter (which has no other date than the day of the week, and no post-mark) preceded our first symposium; and a memorable night it was in my life's career.
A copy, and a beautiful one, of the folio edition of Chapman's Homer had been lent me. It was the property of Mr. Alsager, the gentleman who for years had contributed no small share of celebrity to the great reputation of the "Times" newspaper, by the masterly manner in which he conducted the money-market department of that journal. At the time when I was first introduced to Mr. Alsager, he was living opposite Horsemonger-Lane Prison; and upon Mr. Leigh Hunt's being sentenced for the libel, his first day's dinner was sent over by Mr. Alsager. He was a man of the most studiously correct demeanor, with a highly cultivated taste and judgment in the fine arts and music. He succeeded Hazlitt, (which was no insignificant honor,) and for some time contributed the critiques upon the theatres, but ended by being the reporter of the state of the money-market. He had long been accustomed to have the first trial at his own house of the best-reputed new foreign instrumental music, which he used to import from Germany.
Well, then, we were put in possession of the Homer of Chapman, and to work we went, turning to some of the "famousest" passages, as we had scrappily known them in Pope's version. There was, for instance, that perfect scene of the conversation on Troy wall of the old Senators with Helen, who is pointing out to them the several Greek captains, with that wonderfully vivid portrait of an orator, in Ulysses, in the Third Book, beginning at the 237th line,—
"But when the prudent Ithacus did to his counsels rise";
the helmet and shield of Diomed, in the opening of the Fifth Book; the prodigious description of Neptune's passage in his chariot to the Achive ships, in the opening of the Thirteenth Book,—
"The woods, and all the great hills near, trembled beneath the weight Of his immortal moving feet."
The last was the whole of the shipwreck of Ulysses in the Fifth Book of the "Odyssey." I think his expression of delight, during the reading of those dozen lines, was never surpassed:—
"Then forth he came, his both knees faltering, both His strong hands hanging down, and all with froth His cheeks and nostrils flowing, voice and breath Spent to all use, and down he sunk to death. The sea had soaked his heart through; all his veins His toils had racked t' a laboring woman's pains. Dead weary was he."
On an after-occasion I showed him the couplet of Pope's upon the same passage:—
"From mouth and nose the briny torrent ran, And lost in lassitude, lay all the man."
Chapman supplied us with many an after-feast; but it was in the teeming wonderment of this, his first introduction, that, when I came down to breakfast the next morning, I found upon my table a letter with no other inclosure than his famous sonnet, "On first looking into Chapman's Homer." We had parted, as I have already said, at day-spring; yet he contrived that I should receive the poem, from a distance of nearly two miles, before 10, A.M. In the published copy of this sonnet he made an alteration in the seventh line:—
"Yet did I never breathe its pure serene."
The original, which he sent me, had the phrase,
"Yet could I never tell what men could mean";
which he said was bald, and too simply wondering. No one could more earnestly chastise his thoughts than Keats. His favorite among Chapman's Hymns of Homer was the one to Pan, and which he himself rivalled in the "Endymion."
In one of our conversations about this period, I alluded to his position at St. Thomas's Hospital,—coasting and reconnoitring, as it were, that I might discover how he got on, and, with the total absorption that had evidently taken place of every other mood of his mind than that of imaginative composition, what was his bias for the future, and what his feeling with regard to the profession that had been chosen for him,—a circumstance I did not know at that time. He made no secret, however, that he could not sympathize with the science of anatomy, as a main pursuit in life; for one of the expressions that he used, in describing his unfitness for its mastery, was perfectly characteristic. He said, in illustration of his argument,—"The other day, for instance, during the lecture, there came a sunbeam into the room, and with it a whole troop of creatures floating in the ray; and I was off with them to Oberon and Fairy-land." And yet, with all this self-styled unfitness for the pursuit, I was afterwards informed, that at his subsequent examination he displayed an amount of acquirement which surprised his fellow-students, who had scarcely any other association with him than that of a cheerful, crochety rhymester.
It was about this period, that, going to call upon Mr. Leigh Hunt, who then occupied a pretty little cottage in the "Vale of Health," on Hampstead Heath, I took with me two or three of the poems I had received from Keats. I did expect that Hunt would speak encouragingly, and indeed approvingly, of the compositions,—written, too, by a youth under age; but my partial spirit was not prepared for the unhesitating and prompt admiration which broke forth before he had read twenty lines of the first poem. Mr. Horace Smith happened to be there, on the occasion, and was not less demonstrative in his praise of their merits. The piece which he read out, I remember, was the sonnet,—
"How many bards gild the lapses of time!"
marking with particular emphasis and approbation the last six lines:—
"So the unnumbered sounds that evening store,— The songs of birds, the whispering of the leaves, The voice of waters, the great bell that heaves With solemn sound, and thousand others more, That distance of recognizance bereaves,— Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar."
Smith repeated, with applause, the line in Italics, saying, "What a well-condensed expression!" After making numerous and eager inquiries about him, personally, and with reference to any peculiarities of mind and manner, the visit ended in my being requested to bring him over to the Vale of Health. That was a red-letter day in the young poet's life,—and one which will never fade with me, as long as memory lasts. The character and expression of Keats's features would unfailingly arrest even the casual passenger in the street; and now they were wrought to a tone of animation that I could not but watch with intense interest, knowing what was in store for him from the bland encouragement, and Spartan deference in attention, with fascinating conversational eloquence, that he was to receive and encounter. When we reached the Heath, I have present the rising and accelerated step, with the gradual subsidence of all talk, as we drew towards the cottage. The interview, which stretched into three "morning calls," was the prelude to many after-scenes and saunterings about Caen Wood and its neighborhood; for Keats was suddenly made a familiar of the household, and was always welcomed.
It was in the library at Hunt's cottage, where an extemporary bed had been made up for him on the sofa, that he composed the framework and many lines of the poem on "Sleep and Poetry,"—the last sixty or seventy being an inventory of the art-garniture of the room. The sonnet,
"Keen, fitful gusts are whispering here and there,"
he gave me the day after one of our visits, and very shortly after his installation at the cottage.
"Give me a golden pen, and let me lean,"
was another, upon being compelled to leave "at an early hour." But the occasion that recurs to me with the liveliest interest was the evening when, some observations having been made upon the character, habits, and pleasant associations of that reverenced denizen of the hearth, the cheerful little fireside grasshopper, Hunt proposed to Keats the challenge of writing, then, there, and to time, a sonnet "On the Grasshopper and the Cricket." No one was present but myself, and they accordingly set to. I, absent with a book at the end of the sofa, could not avoid furtive glances, every now and then, at the emulants. I cannot say how long the trial lasted; I was not proposed umpire, and had no stop-watch for the occasion: the time, however, was short, for such a performance; and Keats won, as to time. But the event of the after-scrutiny was one of many such occurrences which have riveted the memory of Leigh Hunt in my affectionate regard and admiration, for unaffected generosity and perfectly unpretentious encouragement: his sincere look of pleasure at the first line,—
"The poetry of earth is never dead";
"Such a prosperous opening!" he said; and when he came to the tenth and eleventh lines,—
"On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence";
"Ah! that's perfect! bravo, Keats!"—and then he went on in a dilation upon, the dumbness of all Nature during the season's suspension and torpidity. With all the kind and gratifying things that were said to him, Keats protested to me, as we were afterwards walking home, that he preferred Hunt's treatment of the subject to his own.
He had left the neighborhood of the Borough, and was now living with his brothers in apartments on the second floor of a house in the Poultry, over the passage leading to the Queen's Head Tavern, and opposite one of the City Companies' Halls,—the Ironmongers', if I mistake not. I have the associating reminiscence of many happy hours spent in this lodging. Here was determined upon, in great part written, and sent forth to the world, the first little, but vigorous, offspring of his brain:—
POEMS BY JOHN KEATS.
"What more felicity can fell to creature Than to enjoy delight with liberty?"
Fate of the Butterfly,—SPENSER
LONDON: PRINTED FOR C. AND J. OLLIER, 3, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 1817.
Here, on the evening that the last proof-sheet was brought from the printer, and, as his biographer has recorded, upon being informed, if he purposed having a Dedication to the book, that it must be sent forthwith, he went to a side-table, and, in the midst of mixed conversation (for there were several friends in the room,) he brought to Charles Ollier, the publisher, the Dedication-Sonnet to Leigh Hunt. If the original manuscript of that poem—a legitimate sonnet, with every restriction of rhyme and metre—could now be produced, and the time—recorded in which it was written, it would be pronounced an extraordinary performance; added to which, the non-alteration of a single word in the poem (a circumstance noted at the time) claims for it, I should suppose, a merit without a parallel.
"The poem which commences the volume," says Mr. Monckton Milnes, "was suggested to Keats by a delightful summer's day, as he stood beside the gate that loads from the battery on Hampstead Heath into a field by Caen Wood"; and the lovely passage beginning,
"Linger awhile upon some bending planks,"
and which contains the description of the "swarms of minnows that show their little heads," Keats told me was the recollection of our having frequently loitered over the rail of a foot-bridge that spanned a little brook in the last field upon entering Edmonton. He himself thought the picture was correct, and liked it; and I do not know who could improve it.
Another example of his promptly suggestive imagination, and uncommon facility in giving it utterance, occurred one day upon his returning home and finding me asleep upon the sofa, with my volume of Chaucer open at the "Flower and the Leaf." After expressing his admiration of the poem, which he had been reading, he gave me the fine testimony of that opinion, in pointing to the sonnet he had written at the close of it, which was an extempore effusion, and it has not the alteration of a single word. It lies before me now, signed, "J.K., Feb., 1817."
If my memory does not betray me, this charming out-door fancy-scene was Keats's first introduction to Chaucer. Certain I am that the "Troilus and Cresseide" was an after-acquaintance; and clearly do I remember his approbation of the favorite passages that I had marked. I desired him to retrace the poem, and with his pen confirm and denote those which were congenial with his own feeling and judgment. These two circumstances, connected with the literary career of this cherished object of his friend's esteem and love, have stamped a priceless value upon that friend's miniature 18mo copy of Chaucer.
The little first volume of Keats's Muse was launched amid the cheers and fond anticipations of all his circle. Every one of us expected that it would create a sensation in the literary world; and we calculated upon, at least, a succession of reprints. Alas! it might have emerged in Timbuctoo with stronger chance of fame and favor. It never passed to a second edition; the first was but a small one, and that was never sold off. The whole community, as if by compact, determined to know nothing about it. The word had been passed that its author was a Radical; and in those blessed days of "Bible-Crown-and-Constitution" supremacy, he might with better chance of success have been a robber,—there were many prosperous public ones,—if he had also been an Anti-Jacobin. Keats had made no demonstration of political opinion; but he had dedicated his book to Leigh Hunt, a Radical news-writer, and a dubbed partisan of the French ruler, because he did not call him the "Corsican monster," and other disgusting names. Verily, "the former times were not better than these." Men can now write the word "Liberty" without being chalked on the back and hounded out.
Poor Keats! he little anticipated, and as little deserved, the cowardly and scoundrel treatment that was in store for him upon the publication of his second composition, the "Endymion." It was in the interval of the two productions that he had moved from the Poultry, and had taken a lodging in Well Walk, Hampstead,—in the first or second house, on the right hand, going up to the Heath. I have an impression that he had been some weeks absent at the sea-side before settling in this domicile; for the "Endymion" had been begun, and he had made considerable advances in his plan. He came to me one Sunday, and I walked with him, spending the whole day in Well Walk. His constant and enviable friend Severn, I remember, was present on the occasion, by the circumstance of our exchanging looks upon Keats's reading to us portions of his new work that had pleased himself. One of these, I think, was the "Hymn to Pan"; and another, I am sure, was the "Bower of Adonis," because his own expression of face will never pass from me (if I were a Reynolds or a Gainsborough, I could now stamp it forever) as he read the description of the latter, with the descent and ascent of the ear of Venus. The "Hymn to Pan" occurs early in the First Book:—
"O thou, whose mighty palace-roof doth hang From jagged trunks," etc.
And the "Bower of Adonis," in the Second Book, commences,—
"After a thousand mazes overgone."
Keats was indebted for his introduction to Mr. Severn to his school-fellow Edward Holmes, who also had been one of the child-scholars at Enfield; for he came to us in the frock-dress. They were sworn companions at school, and remained friends through life. Mr. Holmes ought to have been an educated musician from his first childhood; for the passion was in him. I used to amuse myself with the piano-forte after supper, when all had gone to bed. Upon some sudden occasion, leaving the parlor, I heard a scuffle on the stairs, and discovered that my young gentleman had left his bed to hear the music. At other times, during the day, and in the intervals of school-hours, he would stand under the window, listening. He at length intrusted to me his heart's secret, that he should like to learn music. So I taught him his notes; and he soon knew and could do as much as his tutor. Upon leaving Enfield, he was apprenticed to the elder Seeley, a bookseller in Fleet Street; but, hating his occupation, left it, I believe, before he was of age. He had not lost sight of me; and I introduced him to Mr. Vincent Novello, who had made himself a friend to me, and who not merely, with rare profusion of bounty, gave Holmes instruction, but received him into his house, and made him one of his family. With them he resided some years. I was also the fortunate means of recommending him to the chief proprietor of the "Atlas" newspaper; and to that journal, during a long period, he contributed a series of essays and critiques upon the science and practice of music, which raised the journal into a reference and an authority in the art. He wrote for the proprietors of the "Atlas" that elegant little book of dilettante criticism, "A Ramble among the Musicians in Germany." He latterly contributed to the "Musical Times" a whole series of masterly essays and analyses upon the Masses of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. But the work upon which his reputation will rest was a "Life of Mozart," which was purchased by Chapman and Hall.
I have said that Holmes used to listen on the stairs. In after-years, when Keats was reading to me his "Eve of St. Agnes," (and what a happy day was that! I had come up to see him from Ramsgate, where I then lived,) at the passage where Porphyro in Madeleine's chamber is fearfully listening to the hubbub of the icing and the music in the hall below, and the verse says,—
"The boisterous midnight festive clarion, The kettle-drum and far-heard clarionet, Affray his ears, though but in dying tone: The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone,"—
"That line," said he, "came into my head when I remembered how I used to listen, in bed, to your music at school." Interesting would be a record of the germs and first causes of all the greatest poets' conceptions! The elder Brunei's first hint for his "shield," in constructing the tunnel under the Thames, was taken from watching the labor of a sea-insect, which, having a projecting hood, could bore into the ship's timber, unmolested by the waves.
I fancy it was about this time that Keats gave that signal example of his courage and stamina, in the recorded instance of his pugilistic contest with a butcher-boy. He told me—and in his characteristic manner—of their "passage of arms." The brute, he said, was tormenting a kitten, and he interfered, when a threat offered was enough for his mettle, and they set to. He thought he, should be beaten; for the fellow was the taller and stronger; but, like an authentic pugilist, my young poet found that he had planted a blow which "told" upon his antagonist. In every succeeding round, therefore, (for they fought nearly an hour,) he never failed of returning to the weak point; and the contest ended in the hulk being led or carried home. In all my knowledge of my fellow-beings, I never knew one who so thoroughly combined the sweetness with the power of gentleness and the irresistible sway of anger as Keats. His indignation would have made the boldest grave; and those who have seen him under the influence of tyranny, injustice, and meanness of soul will never forget the expression of his features,—"the form of his visage was changed."
He had a strong sense of humor; yet, so to speak, he was not, in the strict sense of the term, a humorist. His comic fancy lurked in the outermost and most unlooked-for images of association,—which, indeed, maybe said to be the components of humor; nevertheless, I think they did not extend beyond the quaint, in fulfilment and success. But his perception of humor, with the power of transmitting it by imitation, was both vivid and irresistibly amusing. He once described to me his having gone to see a bear-baiting,—the animal, the property of a Mr. Tom Oliver. The performance not having began, Keats was near to and watched a young aspirant, who had brought a younger under his wing to witness the solemnity, and whom he oppressively patronized, instructing him in the names and qualities of all the magnates present. Now and then, in his zeal to manifest and impart his knowledge, he would forget himself, and stray beyond the prescribed bounds, into the ring,—to the lashing resentment of its comptroller, Mr. William Soames; who, after some hints of a practical nature, to "keep back," began laying about him with indiscriminate and unmitigable vivacity,—the Peripatetic signifying to his pupil,—"My eyes! Bill Soames giv' me sich a licker!"—evidently grateful, and considering himself complimented, upon being included in the general dispensation. Keats's entertainment with this minor scene of low life has often recurred to me. But his subsequent description of the baiting, with his position, of his legs and arms bent and shortened, till he looked like Bruin on his hind-legs, dabbing his fore-paws hither and thither, as the dogs snapped at him, and now and then acting the gasp of one that had been suddenly caught and hugged, his own capacious mouth adding force to the personation, was a memorable display. I am never reminded of this amusing relation, but it is associated with that forcible picture in Shakspeare, (and what subject can we not associate with him?) in the "Henry VI":—
"as a bear encompassed round with dogs, Who having pinched a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof and bark at him."
Keats also attended a prize-fight between two of the most skilful and enduring "light-weights,"—Randal and Turner. It was, I believe, at that remarkable wager, when, the men being so equally matched and accomplished, they had been sparring for three-quarters of an hour before a blow had been struck. In describing the rapidity of Randal's blows while the other was falling, Keats tapped his fingers on the window-pane.
I make no apology for recording these events in his life; they are characteristics of the natural man,—and prove, moreover, that the indulgence in such exhibitions did not for one moment blunt the gentler emotions of his heart, or vulgarize his inborn love of all that was beautiful and true. His own line was the axiom of his moral existence, his political creed:—"A thing of beauty is a joy forever"; and I can fancy no coarser consociation able to win him from this faith. Had he been born in squalor, he would have emerged a gentleman. Keats was not an easily swayable man; in differing with those he loved, his firmness kept equal pace with the sweetness of his persuasion; but with the rough and the unlovable he kept no terms,—within the conventional precincts, I mean, of social order.
From Well Walk he moved to another quarter of the Heath,—Wentworth Place the name, if I recollect. Here he became a sharing inmate with Mr. Charles Armitage Brown, a gentleman who had been a Russia merchant, and had retired to a literary leisure upon an independence. I do not know how they became acquainted; but Keats never had a more zealous, a firmer, or more practical friend and adviser than Brown. His robust eagerness and zeal, with a headstrong determination of will, led him into an undue prejudice against the brother, George, respecting some money-transactions with John, which, however, the former redeemed to the perfect satisfaction of all the friends of the family. After the death of Keats, Armitage Brown went to reside in Florence, where he remained some few years; then he settled at Plymouth, and there brought out a work entitled, "Shakespeare's Autobiographical Poems. Being his Sonnets clearly developed; with his Character, drawn chiefly from his Works." It cannot be said that in this work the author has clearly educed his theory; but, in the face of his failure upon that main point, the book is interesting, for the heart-whole zeal and homage with which he has gone into his subject. Brown was no half-measure man; "whatsoever his hand found to do, he did it with his might." His last stage-scene in life was passed in New Zealand, whither he emigrated with his son, having purchased some land,—or, as his own letter stated, having been thoroughly defrauded in the transaction. Brown accompanied Keats in his tour in the Hebrides, a worthy event in the poet's career, seeing that it led to the production of that magnificent sonnet to "Ailsa Rock." As a passing observation, and to show how the minutest circumstance did not escape him, he told me, that, when he first came upon the view of Loch Lomond, the sun was setting; the lake was in shade, and of a deep blue; and at the farther end was "a slash across it, of deep orange." The description of the traceried window in the "Eve of St. Agnes" gives proof of the intensity of his feeling for color.
It was during his abode in Wentworth Place that the savage and vulgar attacks upon the "Endymion" appeared in the "Quarterly Review," and in "Blackwood's Magazine." There was, indeed, ruffian, low-lived work,—especially in the latter publication, which had reached a pitch of blackguardism, (it used to be called "Blackguard's Magazine,") with personal abuse,—ABUSE,—the only word,—that would damage the sale of any review at this day. The very reverse of its present management. There would not now be the inclination for such rascal bush-fighting; and even then, or indeed at any period of the Magazine's career, the stalwart and noble mind of John Wilson would never have made itself editorially responsible for such trash. As to him of the "Quarterly," a thimble would have been "a mansion, a court," for his whole soul. The style of the articles directed against the Radical writers, and those especially whom the party had nicknamed the "Cockney school" of poetry, may be conceived by its provoking the following observation from Hazlitt to me:—"To pay those fellows, Sir, in their own coin, the way would be, to begin with Walter Scott, and have at his clump-foot." "Verily, the former times were not better than these."
To say that these disgusting misrepresentations did not affect the consciousness and self-respect of Keats would be to underrate the sensitiveness of his nature. He felt the insult, but more the injustice of the treatment he had received; he told me so, as we lay awake one night, when I slept in his brother's bed. They had injured him in the most wanton manner; but if they, or my Lord Byron, ever for one moment supposed that he was crushed or even cowed in spirit by the treatment he had received, never were they more deluded. "Snuffed out by an article," indeed! He had infinitely more magnanimity, in its fullest sense, than that very spoiled, self-willed, and mean-souled man,—and I have authority for the last term. To say nothing of personal and private transactions, pages 204-207 in the first volume of Mr. Monckton Milnes's life of our poet will be full authority for my estimate of his Lordship. "Johnny Keats" had, indeed, "a little body with a mighty heart," and he showed it in the best way: not by fighting the ruffians,—though he could have done that,—but by the resolve that he would produce brain-work which not one of their party could approach; and he did.
In the year 1820 appeared the "Lamia," "Isabella," "Eve of St. Agnes," and "Hyperion," etc. But, alas! the insidious disease which carried him off had made its approach, and he was going to, or had already departed for, Italy, attended by his constant and self-sacrificing friend, Severn. Keats's mother died of consumption; and he nursed his younger brother in the same disease, to the last,—and, by so doing, in all probability, hastened his own summons. Upon the publication of the last volume of poems, Charles Lamb wrote one of his own finely appreciative and cordial critiques in the "Morning Chronicle." This was sent to me in the country, where I had for some time resided. I had not heard of the dangerous state of Keats's health,—only that he and Severn were going to Italy; it was, therefore, an unprepared shock which brought me the news that he had died in Rome.
Mr. Monckton Milnes has related the anecdote of Keats's introduction to Wordsworth, with the latter's appreciation of the "Hymn to Pan," which its author had been desired to repeat, and the Rydal Mount poet's snow-capped comment upon it,—"Uhm! a pretty piece of Paganism!" Mr. Milnes, with his genial and placable nature, has made an amiable defence for the apparent coldness of Wordsworth's appreciation,—"That it was probably intended for some slight rebuke to his youthful compeer, whom he saw absorbed in an order of ideas that to him appeared merely sensuous, and would have desired that the bright traits of Greek mythology should be sobered down by a graver faith." Keats, like Shakspeare, and every other true poet, put his whole soul into what he imagined, portrayed, or embodied; and hence he appeared the young Greek, "suckled in that creed outworn." The wonder is, that Mr. Wordsworth forgot to quote himself. From Keats's description of his Mentor's manner, as well as behavior, that evening, I cannot but believe it to have been one of the usual ebullitions of the egoism, not to say of the uneasiness, known to those who were accustomed to hear the great moral philosopher discourse upon his own productions and descant upon those of a contemporary. During this same visit, he was dilating upon some question in poetry, when, upon Keats's insinuating a confirmatory suggestion to his argument, Mrs. Wordsworth put her hand upon his arm, saying,—"Mr. Wordsworth is never interrupted." Again, during the same interview, some one had said that the next Waverley novel was to be "Rob Roy"; when Mr. Wordsworth took down his volume of Ballads, and read to the company "Rob Roy's Grave,"—then, returning it to the shelf, observed, "I do not know what more Mr. Scott can have to say upon the subject." When Leigh Hunt had his first interview with Wordsworth, the latter lectured to him—finely, indeed—upon his own writings; and repeated the entire sonnet,
"Great men have been among us,"—
which Hunt said he did "in a grand and earnest tone." Some one in a company quoting the passage from "Henry V.,"—
"So work the honey-bees,"
and each "picking out his pet plum" from that perfect piece of natural history, Wordsworth objected to the line,
"The singing masons building roofs of gold,"
because, he said, of the unpleasant repetition of the "ing" in it! Where were his ears and judgment on that occasion? But I have more than once heard it said that Wordsworth had not a genuine love of Shakspeare,—that, when he could, he always accompanied a "pro" with his "con," and, Atticus-like, would "just hint a fault and hesitate dislike." Truly, indeed, we are all of "a mingled yarn, good and ill together."
I can scarcely conceive of anything more unjust than the account which that ill-ordered being, Haydon, left behind him in his "Diary," respecting the idolized object of his former intimacy, John Keats. At his own eager request, after reading the manuscript specimens I had left with Leigh Hunt, I had introduced their author to him; and for some time subsequently I had frequent opportunities of seeing them together, and can testify to the laudations that Haydon trowelled on to the young poet. Before I left London, however, it had been said that things and opinions had changed,—and, in short, that Haydon had abjured all acquaintance with, and had even ignored, such a person as the author of the sonnet to him, and those "On the Elgin Marbles." I say nothing of the grounds of their separation; but, knowing the two men, and knowing, I believe, to the core, the humane principle of the poet, I have such faith in his steadfastness of friendship, that I am sure he would never have left behind him an unfavorable truth, while nothing could have induced him to utter a calumny of one who had received pledges of his former regard and esteem. Haydon's detraction was the more odious because its object could not contradict the charge, and because it supplied his old critical antagonists (if any remained) with an authority for their charge against him of Cockney ostentation and display. The most mean-spirited and trumpery twaddle in the paragraph was, that Keats was so far gone in sensual excitement as to put Cayenne pepper upon his tongue, when taking his claret! Poor fellow! he never purchased a bottle of claret, within my knowledge of him; and, from such observation as could not escape me, I am bound to assert that his domestic expenses never could have occasioned him a regret or a self-reproof.
When Shelley left England for Italy, Keats told me that he had received from him an invitation to become his guest,—and, in short, to make one of his household. It was upon the purest principle that Keats declined the noble proffer; for he entertained an exalted opinion of Shelley's genius, in itself an inducement; he also knew of his deeds of bounty; and lastly, from their frequent intercourse, he had full faith in the sincerity of his proposal; for a more crystalline heart than Shelley's never beat in human bosom. He was incapable of an untruth or of a deceit in any ill form. Keats told me, that, in declining the invitation, his sole motive was the consciousness, which would be ever prevalent with him, of his not being, in its utter extent, a free agent,—even within such a circle as Shelley's,—himself, nevertheless, the most unrestricted of beings. Mr. Trelawney, a familiar of the family, has confirmed the unwavering testimony to Shelley's bounty of nature, where he says, "Shelley was a being absolutely without selfishness." The poorest cottagers knew and benefited by the thoroughly practical and unselfish character of his Christianity, during his residence at Marlow, when he would visit them, and, having gone through a course of study in medicine, in order that he might assist them with his advice, would commonly administer the tonic which such systems usually require,—a good basin of broth, or pea-soup. And I believe I am infringing on no private domestic delicacy, when I repeat, that he has been known, upon a sudden and immediate emergency, to purloin ("convey the wise it call") a portion of the warmest of Mrs. Shelley's wardrobe, to protect some poor starving sister. One of the richer residents of Marlow told me that "they all considered him a madman." I wish he had bitten the whole squad.
"No settled senses of the world can match The 'wisdom' of that madness."
Shelley's figure was a little above the middle height, slender, and of delicate construction, which appeared the rather from a lounging or waving manner in his gait, as though his frame was compounded merely of muscle and tendon, and that the power of walking was an achievement with him, and not a natural habit. Yet I should suppose that he was not a valetudinarian, although that has been said of him, on account of his spare and vegetable diet: for I have the remembrance of his scampering and bounding over the gorse-bushes on Hampstead Heath, late one night,—now close upon us, and now shouting from the height, like a wild school-boy. He was both an active and an enduring walker,—feats which do not accompany an ailing and feeble constitution. His face was round, flat, pale, with small features; mouth beautifully shaped; hair, bright-brown and wavy; and such a pair of eyes as are rarely seen in the human or any other head,—intensely blue, with a gentle and lambent expression, yet wonderfully alert and engrossing: nothing appeared to escape his knowledge.
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The Science of Mind is Ernest Holmes Magnum Opus. The book was updated and revised over the years and this edition was originally published in 1926.
In 1918, Holmes wrote in the introduction, “This little book is an attempt to explain what each soul must discover for himself, that he stands in the midst of an eternal creative power which presses itself around his own thought, and casts back to him glorified all that he thinks.”
Later in the book he goes on to say, “The Science of Mind is based entirely upon the supposition that we are surrounded by a Universal Mind into which we think; this Mind, in Its original state, fills all space with Its Presence. Since it fills all space, it fills the space that man uses in the Universe. It is in man as well as outside of him. As he thinks into this Universal Mind he sets in motion a Law which is creative, and which contains within itself a limitless possibility.”
Holmes was influenced by the writings of Christian Larson, Phineas Quimby, Thomas Troward, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Mary Baker Eddy, and he formed part of what was known as the New Thought Movement. The catalyst of what became ‘New Thought’ seems to been Phineas Quimby, a New England, Hypnotist, Philosopher, and Healer, who inspired amongst others, Mary Baker Eddy, (a patient of Quimby’s) to form the Christian Science Movement.
New Thought posits that everything is mind (the mind of God) and that we all have equal access to God by accessing mind. This is done by prayer or more specifically, ‘Affirmative Prayer’ or ‘scientific prayer’.
Affirmative prayer focuses on a positive rather than a negative situation. For example, a person who is sick would focus on being in a state of good health as if he or she were already in good health. Another analogy might be if someone was trying to lose weight and was praying for help, they wouldn’t say, “ I want to lose weight” as that would imply they were over-weight; they might say “I have lost weight” or “I’m losing weight” in an attempt to ‘think ones-self thin.’ The notion is that ‘Mind is the Builder’ an idea also frequently posited by the Famous American psychic, Edgar Cayce — the idea that our minds and the universal mind, influence our bodies and therefore we have the ability to heal ourselves or cause our own disease. “We are what we think.”
William James called affirmative prayer a “mind-cure”; he described it as America’s “only decidedly original contribution to the systemic philosophy of life.”
On the brain, Holmes had this to say; “No, the brain of itself could not think; and yet, without a brain man could not think; which simply means that man needs a brain while here, but that the brain, of itself, does not think. The brain does not think and yet man thinks; so behind the brain there must be a thinker.”
He reasoned; “Instinctive Man within me is perfect and yet I appear to be imperfect. My apparent imperfection must be the result of an imperfect thinking; in reality I am, and always have been, perfect. I will now begin to think differently about myself and see what happens.”
Many of today’s self help theories such as the law of attraction, positive thinking, and books like the runaway bestseller, The Secret, owe much to the New Thought Movement of yesteryear and books such as The Science of Mind are required reading for anyone interested in spiritual literature and the nature of reality.
About the author
Ernest Shurtleff Holmes (January 21st 1887– April 7th 1960) was a spiritual teacher and writer. After his book, The Science of Mind was published in 1926, he formed a movement to teach ‘The Science of Mind’ and in 1927 the ‘International Religious Science movement’ was born with Holmes assuming to position of spiritual guide. The organization formed part of the a part of the greater New Thought movement of which Holmes was a leading light.
It’s mission statement stated, “The Science of Mind is the study of Life and the nature of the laws of thought; the conception that we live in a spiritual Universe; that God is in, through, around and for us.”
“The Science of Mind reveals that every man is a potential Christ. Every man has inherent God-power within him… we live in a mental or spiritual universe and that things can be resolved into thoughts… The objective universe is the Body of God. That body includes our physical being. In reality every idea of our physical being is a Divine idea.”
Holmes’ writings have inspired generations of metaphysical students and spiritual truth seekers and his influence can be seen in many of the self-help movements today.
The Evolution of Man’s Thought
If we traced man’s history back into the dim past we should come to a place where he did not consciously know himself. We should come to a place where Instinctive Man alone existed; for the self-conscious man had not yet evolved.
Nothing can be more apparent than that man, as he now appears, is the result of growth and unfoldment. But in order to unfold, he had to have something from which to unfold, and since he is intelligent, he must have unfolded from an intelligent cause.
Instinctive Man, then, means that Inner Something, or Life, which we do not see but which is, of course, there. We might say that Instinctive Life is God in man, or the idea of God, working through man. But if Instinctive Man is an idea of God, why is he not perfect? The answer is that he is perfect, but that as soon as individuality is evolved he must be left alone to discover himself. Even God could not make a mechanical Individuality. If man is created with the attributes of self-choice and free will, he must be let alone to make the great discovery for himself.
NATURE WAITS ON MAN’S SELF-RECOGNITION
We note, that from the day when Instinctive Life brought man to the point of self-choice, it let him alone, and from that day Instinctive Life has waited on man’s unfoldment. It is true that during all this time it has carried on the automatic functions of the body and has even silently told man what to do; but it has let him alone in all other ways. It may, and must, hold man as a perfect being, but it also must let him discover this fact for himself. During all of this time, however, Instinctive Life, or God, must be silently waiting for the great discovery to be made and must always be ready to respond to man’s advancement. We note this to be true along the line of man’s progress. For instance, consider the discovery of any of nature’s forces; we know that they must have always existed; but, so far as man is concerned, they exist to him only after he has discovered, and learned how to make use of them.
Electricity was a reality in the universe when Moses led the Children of Israel from the land of Egypt, but neither Moses nor any of his followers knew anything about it, and so they did not receive any benefits from its use. This is true of any and all of the natural laws; they always existed, and as soon as understood may be used. In this way, Instinctive Life waits upon man’s discovery of the natural laws and his discovery of himself and his relationship to the great Whole.
If this is so evidently true of all the forces in the natural world we must expect to find the same thing to be true of those inner and finer forces within man. The unfoldment of these inner and finer forces through man is what we call his evolution.
THE FIRST GREAT DISCOVERY
The first great discovery that man made was that he could think. This was the day when he rose from the ground and said, “I AM.” This marked the first great day of personal attainment; and from that day man became an individual and had to make all further progress himself; any compulsory evolution stopped when man became an individual, and from that day he had to work in conscious union with Nature and Her forces; but he did not have to work alone, for Instinctive Life has always been with him and will never depart from him. Instinctive Life desires that man shall express more, and yet more, of its own limitless possibilities.
Man is evolving from an Infinite basis; behind him is the great Unknown but not the great unknowable; for the unknown becomes known through man, and whatever more Instinctive Life is to do for him must be done through him. Nature must work through man in order to work for him. This is true all along the line of life and endeavor.
The first great discovery of man was that he could think, plan and execute. As the result of this discovery he has built up a great civilization and all that goes with it. He has harnessed electricity to his inventions, tied steam and compelled it to do his bidding. He has laid waste forests, built cities, made the desert to bloom, and has thrown the lines of his commerce around the globe; indeed, he has seemed to possess the earth.
THE INNER SENSE AWAKENS
But with all of man’s powers he has still felt a vague sense of something more, something greater, something further along; a sort of mystical inner sense of things, an instinctive urge, a blind groping after a greater light. Disregarding all of his apparent power, man has still been unhappy, sick, lonely and afraid. The cities which he built have crumbled into dust, the nations which he fostered have, one by one, fallen into ruin, and history alone remains to tell the tale of most of his endeavors.
In spite of man’s apparent power he has suffered greatly, and death has crowned his life and work with a pall of darkness and uncertainty.
THE GREAT QUESTION “WHY”
The great question “Why” has forever been upon his lips. Few indeed have been able to answer this question; and these few have been passed by, unheeded, in the struggle for existence.
Man has struggled along the weary road with a heavy heart and bleeding feet, only to be met by the grave. The lack of a sense of completion has beset his every pathway; and in his blind groping he has held up his hands in speechless anguish, and his broken cries have rent the air with supplications to an apparently unheeding Deity.
Why the suffering, the sorrow, the sin, the sickness and a lifetime of trouble, only to be met at last by the grim and sinister tomb?
Why, why, why? Man has sought the wise only to discover their foolishness; he has sought the learned only to find a lack of wisdom. Why, why, why? His cry has appeared to go forth into an empty nothingness. But hark! from somewhere a vague answer has come, some subtle inner sense of things; some unknown presence has given answer and a still small voice has said to him, “Man, know thyself.” The Instinctive Man has again spoken and told him to search more deeply into his own nature; to look deep within himself for the answer to life. The hour has struck in the evolution of man when he can understand this voice and do its bidding.
THE GREATEST DISCOVERY OF ALL TIME—MIND
Man’s response to this inner Instinctive Voice has caused him to start on the greatest adventure of his career, the discovery of Mind.
Man’s first discovery of his ability to think was set aside as being too evident to take any notice of; he could think, but what of it! Of course, it was a proof that he was, but that was all; he had always been able to think; this simply gave him the ability to know his needs and try to supply them. This he had always done.
The ability to think seemed to be an automatic thing; it came with him and would doubtless die when he died; the brain seemed to be the organ of thought; and, of course, when death stilled the brain it would no longer operate—this was self-evident.
THE BRAIN DOES NOT THINK
But the day came when some wise man said that it is not the brain that thinks at all; for if the brain, of itself, could think, then one could cut it out and it would keep right on thinking.
No, the brain of itself could not think; and yet, without a brain man could not think; which simply means that man needs a brain while here, but that the brain, of itself, does not think. The brain does not think and yet man thinks; so behind the brain there must be a thinker. But where is this thinker? We do not see him. Have we a right to say that there is a thinker when no one has ever seen him? Yes; for can we name a single force of nature that we can see? Have we ever seen electricity or any of the other forces of nature? No; and the only evidence we have of their existence is that we see what they do. We have light and motive power, so we have a right to suppose that there is a force which we call electricity. This is true all along the line, for we see effects and not causes.
WE DO NOT SEE THE THINKER
But to return to the thinker; we do not see him, but the proof of his reality is in the evidence of his works. We know that the legs do not walk; for, if severed from the body, they could not carry anyone very far. Cut off the hand and see if it could still hold anything in its grasp! Pluck out the eye and it cannot see; and so it is with all the organs of the body. There is a thinker and doer back of the organism who is using it for a conscious purpose.
THE BODY UNCONSCIOUS WITHOUT THE THINKER
This is a great discovery; for it means that the body without the thinker could neither be sick nor suffer; for without the thinker there could be no movement of the body. Why then are we sick? This inquiry will not be answered until every form of disease is swept from the face of the earth and numbered with the things that were once thought necessary. For man has discovered that the body, of itself, has no life nor power to act.
Let us follow the course of man’s thought since he first made this discovery about the body and began to apply his knowledge. He first realized that Instinctive Man built up the body through evolution; and, after having created and evolved a perfect body, left it in man’s keeping to do with as he willed. At first, man was ignorant of this, thinking that the body was self-operating; but as soon as he discovered that such was not the case he began to formulate certain new theories about himself. He discovered that while he could consciously think and decide, something happened to his thoughts after he had thought them. They went somewhere; for soon they would come back as remembrance. Man had now discovered that he could consciously think and that his thought would come back to him again. This led to the conclusion that memory is an active thing, an inner mental action. He said, “Memory is the storehouse of all my conscious thoughts and it is active. My body is not conscious of life, but my thought is conscious of my body; my body is operated upon by my thought; and it must also be operated upon by my memory, since memory is active. But, since memory is only the result of conscious thought, memory, of itself, is an unconscious operation of what was once a conscious thought.”
THE CONSCIOUS AND THE UNCONSCIOUS THOUGHT
Since man always has had the habit of naming things, he named his memory his “unconscious thought,” and his conscious thought he called his “objective mind.” He now came to the conclusion that he had two minds, one conscious and one unconscious, or sub-conscious. The conscious mind being the one that he used all of the time in his self-conscious state and the sub-conscious mind being the storehouse of all his conscious thoughts, as well as the seat of his memory. It follows, that as conscious thought acts, unconscious thought must also operate. This conclusion led to the discovery that the sub-conscious mind is the builder of the body; not that it really made the body in the first place, for Instinctive Man did that; but that the sub-conscious mind keeps the body going and is always acting on the thoughts of the conscious mind. After carefully watching this process, man discovered that he could consciously think and, by so doing, make such an impression on his unconscious thought that it would do what he directed. From these observations he deduced the law of suggestion to be one of action and reaction. Thus he found how habits are formed; that they are conscious ideas fallen into the inner thought and carried out to logical conclusions.
A NEW BASIS OF THOUGHT
Therefore, he began to reason: “Instinctive Man within me is perfect and yet I appear to be imperfect. My apparent imperfection must be the result of an imperfect thinking; in reality I am, and always have been, perfect. I will now begin to think differently about myself and see what happens.” And as he began to think from the new basis he found that the body responded and was healed. So he came to this conclusion: “God made me perfect but He also made me an individual, which means that I can do with myself as I will. I cannot really destroy my body but I can make it most uncomfortable. Since God made me and made me perfect, each one of the organs of my body represents a perfect idea.”
Realizing this to be true, he began to think from this basis, and the organs of the body responded. He found that thoughts of peace produced a peaceful condition while thoughts of fear produced a disturbed condition; that confidence made him strong while fear made him weak. In fact, he was able to trace each mental attitude to its physical correspondent. He discovered that, asleep or awake, the inner mind works all the time. He also found that by analyzing his thought he could discover what ailed him. This he called psycho-analysis.
THE LAW OF MIND
Then another idea came to him: the whole thing was in accordance with law. He had discovered a law of mind just as he, at another time, discovered a law of electricity. If it were law, then he could always use it and it would always respond. From this he gradually built up a definite technique for the practice of right thinking.
He found that if he always thought of himself as being perfect he would always feel better. But what should he do with his body when it appeared sick? How was he to think of himself when he was sick? Could he deny that he was sick when he was suffering? Yes; for his sickness was the result of thought, and by changing the thought he could change the effect. He learned to turn away from the body when it was sick and go back into mind and think of the body as being perfect; for his thought worked independently of the body. He turned from the image of sickness to the idea of health and said, “I am perfect, no matter what the appearance may be.”
UNCONSCIOUS MIND AT WORK
But some kinds of sickness had never entered his mind at all; that is, he had never consciously thought of them. How was he to reconcile this fact with his new theory? For a while this was a hard problem to solve; but by a still more careful study of his inner self, he discovered that what he called his subjective mind took all of his thoughts and did something with them. He found that there were certain combinations of thought which, brought to their logical conclusions, would produce certain kinds of diseases. He did not have to consciously think of a certain disease to have it; but if he thought certain kinds of thoughts they would produce their logical results. For instance, if he were excited all the time it would produce nervousness; if he became angry it would secrete poison in his system, and so on through the whole category of the human ailments; somewhere in mind they had their reason for being. Perhaps he could not always tell exactly where, but, by knowing that his body was perfect, he could still heal himself. He knew that as time went on and his knowledge grew he would find out more and more about himself and so be better able to heal himself. He was glad that he had started on the right track; he believed that he would know all in time and never be sick again.
ANOTHER GREAT DISCOVERY—THOUGHT REACHED OTHERS
Then a new discovery came, which was that he could think of others and heal them. It seemed to make no difference where they were; he could think of them and heal them. This was a most astounding fact, for it meant that there was a common mind somewhere through which his thought operated; for he could not reach another unless there were a medium between himself and the other person. This seemed strange; for what he had learned to think of as his individual subjective mind, was, after all, only the personal use that he was making of something which was around everyone. He began to think for others, and found that mind responded to his thinking for them and caused some action to take place in their bodies. He called this medium “Universal Mind,” or “the Law of God.” It seemed to be as omnipresent as the law of electricity or any of the other forces of nature.
THE DISCOVERY OF RACE-THOUGHT
In this way he discovered how it was possible that the whole race might have held certain kinds of thoughts and how they might have operated through anyone who was receptive to them. That is, if anyone should feel discouraged, other thoughts of discouragement might gain entrance also and make him feel worse. This he called race-suggestion. But how was he to protect himself from it? By knowing that it could not operate through him; that he was a perfect idea and could not be affected by suggestion; for, after all, it was nothing but thought. He learned to build a mental wall around himself which could not be entered unless he chose. This he called “Divine Protection.”
A UNIVERSAL MEDIUM WHICH ALL MUST COME TO BELIEVE IN
Man had now discovered that he could help and heal himself and others by thinking into some kind of a Universal Law of Mind. He found that, like all other forces of nature, it was a great Impersonal Law and could be consciously used whenever he wished to use It and that the use of It was through right thinking. He realized that the time must come when the race would be healed by knowing the Truth about itself. But because the Law was mental it could only work for those who believed in It, and since many did not believe, the thing to do was to heal himself and others who wished to be healed, waiting for the rest of the world to realize the fact.
Publisher: White Crow Books
Published February 2012
Size: 229 x 152 mm
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“Tim LaHaye, creator of the phenomenally successful Left Behind® books, continues his newest top-ten New York Times bestselling series: Babylon Rising. The heroic Michael Murphy—“cool, brainy, sexy, and valiant”*—hurtles into his second whirlwind adventure in pursuit of Biblical artifacts.
Tim LaHaye, creator of the phenomenally successful Left Behind® books, continues his newest top-ten New York Times bestselling series: Babylon Rising. The heroic Michael Murphy—“cool, brainy, sexy, and valiant”*—hurtles into his second whirlwind adventure in pursuit of Biblical artifacts.
In Babylon Rising Tim LaHaye began an adventure series that he calls even more exciting than his 50-million-plus-copy bestselling Left Behind series. Readers agreed, as the novel debuted as a top-ten New York Times bestseller.
Now, in the second Babylon Rising novel, Biblical scholar, archaeologist, professor, and hero for our times Michael Murphy is in pursuit of one of the most mysterious and sought-after of all Biblical artifacts, Noah’s Ark. As Murphy undertakes his death-defying quest to ascend Mount Ararat, he will discover dramatic revelations of Biblical prophecies and be drawn even closer to the most terrifying evil about to be unleashed on all mankind.
With The Secret on Ararat following close on the heels of Glorious Appearing, the fastest-selling Left Behind novel ever, Tim LaHaye will further prove to be one of the most fascinating and popular storytellers of our time.
About the Author
Dr. Tim LaHaye is a renowned prophecy scholar, minister, and author. His Left Behind® series is the bestselling Christian fiction series of all time. He and his wife, Beverly, live in southern California. They have four children and nine grandchildren. Bob Phillips, Ph.D., is the author of more than eighty books. He is a licensed counselor and Executive Director for the Pointman Leadership Institute.
Breathe. He desperately needed to breathe. But he knew instinctively that if he opened his mouth to try and suck in a breath, he would die.
Gritting his teeth fiercely, Murphy opened his eyes instead. And a pair of yellow, animal eyes stared back. Then a wildly gaping jaw came into focus through the greenish gloom, pointed teeth bared in a silent snarl. Murphy reached out, expecting the teeth to clamp down on his hand, but the dog face had disappeared, sucked back into the watery darkness.
It was no good. He had to get some air into his lungs before they burst. He turned his face upward, toward the feeble light, and after an agonizing few seconds during which he had the horrifying sense that he was sinking, not rising, his head broke the surface.
He sucked in a huge, spluttering breath, simultaneously grabbing on to the narrow stone ledge that projected from the side of the pit. Resting his head against the jagged rock, he could feel something warm mingling with the freezing water. Blood. As the pain suddenly hit him, a wild carousel of thoughts started racing round his brain.
Laura. He would never see her again. She wouldn’t even know he had died here, in this remote, godforsaken place. She would never know his last thoughts had been about her.
Then he remembered. Laura was dead. She’d died in his arms.
And now he was about to join her. With that thought, his body seemed to relax, accepting its fate, and he felt himself slipping back into the surging torrent.
No! He couldn’t give up. He couldn’t let the crazy old man win at last. He had to find a way out.
But first he had to find those puppies.
Clutching the ledge with both hands, Murphy took a series of quick, deep breaths, hyperventilating to force as much oxygen as possible into his lungs. He’d done enough cave diving to know he could stay under a full two minutes if he had to. But that was under ideal conditions. Right now he had to contend with the effects of shock, blood loss, and bone-shaking cold–all the while trying to find two little dogs somewhere in a swirling maelstrom. As he let himself slip back under the freezing water, he wondered–not for the first time–how he managed to get himself into these messes.
The answer was simple. One word: Methuselah.
Murphy had been making his way carefully through the cave, fanning his flashlight across the dank black walls, when he found himself standing not on loose shale but what felt like solid wooden planks. Ever alert to tricks and traps, Murphy instinctively reacted as if he’d just stepped onto a tray of burning coals–but before he could leap aside, the trapdoor sprang open. As he felt himself plunging into the void, a familiar cackling laugh shattered the silence, echoing crazily off the rock walls.
“Welcome to the game, Murphy! Get out of this one if you can!”
As Murphy cartwheeled through space, his brain was still trying to come up with a suitable response. But all that came out was a grunt as he slammed into the ground like a bag of cement and the air was punched out of his lungs, before the impact flung him sideways and his head connected with a boulder. For a moment all was black, buzzing darkness. Then he raised himself up on his hands and knees and his senses returned one by one: He could feel the damp grit between his fingers; he could taste it in his mouth; he could smell stagnant water; he could dimly make out the shadowy walls of the pit he’d fallen into.
And he could hear the fretful whining of what sounded like two cold, wet–and very scared–little dogs.
He turned toward the sound and there they were, shivering together on a narrow ledge. A pair of German shepherd puppies. Murphy shook his head: He always tried to prepare himself for anything where Methuselah was concerned, but what were a couple of puppies doing in the middle of an underground cave complex miles from anywhere? Could they have gotten lost and somehow wandered this far from the surface? He didn’t think so. Much more likely they were there because Methuselah had put them there.
They were part of the game.
Fighting his natural instinct to gather the bedraggled pups tightly in his arms and tell them everything was going to be okay, he approached the ledge cautiously. They looked so helpless. But that didn’t mean harmless. Nothing in Methuselah’s games was harmless, and if he had put them there for Murphy to find, then something about the dogs was out of whack. He just had to figure out what.
Just then the steady dripping sound that had been nagging away at the back of Murphy’s consciousness since he landed in the pit started to get louder. He turned in the direction of the noise and suddenly it became a roaring, as a huge wave of water surged through a narrow gap in the rocks. In a second a frothing tide was tugging at his ankles, pulling him off balance. Forgetting Methuselah’s mind games, he pushed himself back toward the ledge, scooped up the puppies, and stuffed them under his jacket. His eyes darted round the walls of the pit, looking for anything that would help him find a way out, as the rising water swirled around his chest. The puppies were just a diversion, he thought bitterly, fighting to keep his footing. He hadn’t spotted the real danger until it was too late. “Don’t worry, fellas, I’ll get you out of here,” he assured them with more confidence than he felt. Then the torrent lifted him off his feet and the panicking dogs squirmed out of his jacket. Fighting to keep his head above the surface, he grabbed for them, but his fingers closed on icy water and then he too was engulfed, spinning out of control like a bunch of wet clothes in a Laundromat washer.
He closed his eyes, and even as his lungs started hungrily demanding air, he tried to find a calm place in his mind where he could think. He checked through his options. The water would soon reach the level of the trapdoor, which was no doubt secured against escape. So, search for another way out under the water, or look for the puppies again before they drowned? If he tried to find a way out on his own, the puppies would be dead by the time he found it. If he tried to save the puppies first, he’d probably wind up too exhausted to find a way out. If there was a way out.
So much for his options.
The only shred of hope he could cling to was the fact that this was a game. And a game, however deadly, still had rules.
But there was no way he could figure them out while his lungs were screaming and his thought processes were beginning to go fuzzy due to lack of oxygen.
Get some air. Then go after those puppies. If he was still alive after that, maybe God would give him some inspiration.
When Murphy walked into the lab, he was greeted by the sight of a young woman bent over a workbench, her jet-black hair, tied back in a ponytail, making a stark contrast with her crisp white lab coat as she scrutinized a sheet of parchment. She didn’t look up as the door clicked shut behind him, and he stood for a moment, smiling at the expression of fierce concentration on her face.
“What are you grinning at, Professor?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the parchment.
“Nothing, Shari. Nothing at all. It’s just nice to see someone so absorbed in their work, is all.”
She gave a short “hmph,” still not looking up, and Murphy’s smile broadened. Shari Nelson was one of the top students in his biblical archaeology class at Preston University, and for almost two years she had been his part-time research assistant. In that time he’d come to appreciate her passion for the subject, her limitless capacity for hard work, and her sharp intelligence. But most of all, he valued her warm and generous spirit. She might be pretending to ignore him right now, but they’d been through enough tragedy and heartache together in the past year, with the deaths of his wife and her brother still painful every hour of every day, for him to know that she would drop everything–even a fascinating ancient parchment like the one she was studying–if he needed her.
“So what’s up, Shari? Did the results from the carbon-dating tests on our little pottery fragment come in?”
“Not yet,” Shari replied, returning the parchment to the clear plastic container on the bench. “But something has definitely arrived for you.” She gestured toward a large white envelope with the purple and orange lettering of Federal Express.
Shari watched eagerly as Murphy picked up the package. Clearly she’d had a hard time containing her curiosity while she waited for Murphy to arrive at the lab.
“Strange,” he mused. “No return address. Just Babylon. Doesn’t look like it went through the usual FedEx mailing process.” He heard Shari gasp. Babylon, she knew all too well, could only mean one thing: a whole heap of trouble.
Murphy carefully opened the envelope and shook the contents–a smaller envelope with the words Professor Murphy printed in heavy marker and a xeroxed page from a map–out onto the workbench. He glanced at the map, then opened the second envelope. Inside was an index card with three words typed on it.
Chemar. Zepheth. Kopher.
He handed it to Shari while he examined the map. A route had been marked in pink felt-tip from Raleigh, moving west, across the border into Tennessee. Where the snaking line stopped, there were an X and four barely legible words written in a spidery scrawl:
“Cave of the Waters. Mean anything to you, Shari?”
“It sounds like somewhere you definitely don’t want to go,” she replied firmly.
He winced. Exactly what Laura would have said. Same tone of voice, even.
“It’s coming back to me. I’ve heard of this place. It’s in the Great Smoky Mountains . . . past Asheville, somewhere between Waynesville and Bryson City.” If he remembered it right, the cave was discovered in the early 1900s but had never been fully explored, because the high water table in the area–not to mention at least three underground streams that ran through it–caused the chambers to flood periodically. It was supposed to contain a vast labyrinth of passageways, but no one knew how far they extended. Caving expeditions had been officially discouraged after three cavers were lost without a trace in the early seventies.
“Okay, so we’ve got directions to a cave. Now, what about the message on the card? What do you make of it, Shari?”
She repeated the words. “Chemar. Zepheth. Kopher. It’s Hebrew. No problem there. But beyond that it’s got me stumped. Does it have something to do with Babylon?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But right now it doesn’t mean any more to me than it does to you.”
“And there’s no signature anywhere, and no return address. So how can we find out who sent this?”
Murphy gave a half-smile. “Come on, Shari. A mysterious message in an ancient language? A set of directions to a remote spot? Babylon? He didn’t really need to sign it, did he?”
Shari sighed. “I guess not. I was just hoping . . . you know, that it might be something else. Something innocent. Not one of these crazy games where you–”
She could tell Murphy wasn’t listening anymore. He was studying the map intently, already halfway there. Her heart sank as she realized there was nothing she could do to stop him.
All she could do now was pray.
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When Joseph woke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him. (Matthew 1:24)
Every Christmas season, Joseph gets the short end of the stick. I understand it to some extent. Joseph never speaks in Scripture. He’s not the one carrying the second Person of the Trinity in his womb. Besides all that, he’s not a mother. Everyone knows that without mothers, our homes (and the world) would fall apart!
Yet when we encounter Joseph in Scripture, we don’t find a distant, lazy man who rejects responsibility. We find a silent man, yes, but one who is thoughtful, responsive, kind, and obedient. In our culture today where many fathers are either absent or aloof, here is a prime example of fatherhood.
Joseph was betrothed (i.e. legally pledged to be married) to Mary. When it was discovered that Mary was pregnant before marriage, he didn’t want to make a public spectacle and humiliate her. In those days, a child born outside of marriage was tremendously shameful. Yet being a “just man,” he wanted to quietly divorce Mary, not shame her. As he gave thought to this, the Lord appeared to him in a dream and told him not to fear and that he should name this baby, implying that Joseph would be the adoptive father of this child.
When Joseph woke up, he obeyed. Period. At great cost to his reputation, he took Mary and her baby in and, when the child was born, he named him Jesus, as he was told to do. In Joseph, we see a profound, yet simple example of how God calls all of his people to respond: listen, trust, and obey.
Of course, this little story is not mainly about Joseph. It’s mainly about a God who intervenes in human affairs, who interrupts our plans, who challenges our assumptions of what is good and just and what it means to follow him. Above all, this story is about a God who speaks. He spoke to Joseph in that moment, but ultimately he speaks through the baby whom Joseph would adopt. This baby would grow up into a man and call his people to abandon all to follow him. Abandon your plans, your reputation, your assumptions. Abandon yourself. God called Joseph to do that, and he calls you and me to do the same.
Scripture and Reflection Questions
Read Matthew 1:18-25
- Put yourself in Joseph’s shoes. How would you have responded?
- Imagine the alternative scenario in which Joseph did not obey. How would that change things?
- Read verses 24-25. It’s been said, “Character is who you are and your reputation is who people think you are.” What do these verses say about Joseph’s character? Why is character important to you?
- Is there a specific opportunity for you to listen, trust, and obey Jesus? What must you do?
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Luke Getsy works for the Green Bay Packers as a wide receiver coach. He played football in high school and was a starting quarterback all four years. He played college football at the University of Pittsburgh and University of Akron. Akron had its first bowl game with him as quarterback. They played in the Motor City Bowl in Detroit. He signed with the San Francisco 49ers as an undrafted free agent for the 2007 season. In addition to coaching with the Green Bay Packers, he has also coached at West Virginia Wesleyan College, the University of Pittsburgh and Western Michigan University. He received a Wonderlic test score of 20.
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by Yoshida Kasumi (由堕 霞)
The first impression I ever had of him was softness. Wings composed of fluffy black feathers swept through the air behind him, and something deep down beneath the chilly blue of his eyes seemed to beg to be touched. It was thoughtlessness that made me reach out, all those years ago, surrounded by weeping adults. When my fingers lingered over the velvet warmth and felt it flex, alive and real, I laughed. Inappropriate, in that place of mourning, I was taken away; far too young to understand then why no one else seemed to notice him, and why it was wrong to find a moment of joy amidst such sorrow. His eyes followed me as I was carried from the room, and just before he was lost to my sight, he smiled in a way I was certain I’d never seen anyone smile before.
It would be years before I would see him again; though the morning after the first time, I woke to find a single black feather on my pillow, following the curve of my cheek. I kept it safe through all those years, and never forgot him. So, when I finally saw him once more, it was almost as if no time had passed at all. Again, my fingers sought the downy surface of one wing, and it stretched under my touch. This time, I did not laugh aloud, but let my eyes meet his, pleasure shining clear for him to see. The longer my skin slid gently over the soft surface, the more it felt like everything else fell away but for the two of us.
He looked like a foreigner, pale and exotic except for the deep, sooty fan of his lashes and the cap of slightly overlong black hair that hung loose around his face. The wing I touched stretched around his arm toward me, and I wanted to step into the embracing warmth of its fold. Yet I was still young, and the adults came to herd me away, thinking me vaguely mad for staring off and reaching for something they could not see. I was nearly an adult then, but not quite old enough to escape their urging and I twisted to look back over my shoulder as they encouraged me off to some other place.
“My name is Shouhei,” he said, quiet voice resonating deep inside of me. I opened my mouth, wanting to tell him my name, but we were getting farther away. Just before we went through the doorway, he smiled and spoke again, and though I was too distant to have heard the soft words, I somehow still did. “I know, Yuuta.”
Fewer years passed between that meeting with him and my next, yet by then I knew enough to understand what his presence meant, and to be wary of it. So when I noticed the flare of wings over the shoulders of the others gathered in the hushed, solemn halls, I thought at first to try and flee. The thread that bound us together would not allow my retreat and instead compelled my feet unwillingly across the floor in his direction.
“Shouhei,” the name came reluctant from my mouth, and though my hands twitched with the ache to, I did not lift them to trace the softness of feathers or discover the smoothness of his cheek.
His eyes were sad, but not surprised by the coldness of my greeting. His smile was colored with a knowing regret, and he bowed his head in acknowledgment of this changed distance between us; even as his voice strengthened my desire to touch him.
“Could I take back my reason for being here, and have come only to see you, I would,” he said, soft blue gaze directed through his lashes at me. “I wanted to come, for that.”
“Do I have time to say goodbye?” I asked him, throat thick with the various pains that conflicted within me, reflecting off each other and growing until I was uncertain if I would be able to keep the tears from my eyes. Though I knew the only reason I could ever see him would bring sadness, deep down inside I did not want to give him up. Guilt clawed at the ache, underscoring each breath that filled the tight silence that hung in the space between us.
He nodded, eyes closed, and I turned away, thanks caught up with my voice in the knot that was heavy in the back of my throat. The door seemed too far away, a haven from the weight of his gaze that I would never reach. Once on the other side, I leaned, shaking, against the surface and allowed myself to come undone as I could not let myself in front of him.
It did not seem long before he was in the room with me, though I did not hear the sound of the door opening. I lifted my eyes from the hand I held gently between both of my own, feeling him there as if he were an extension of my own body. My fingers brushed softly over paper-thin skin as I looked at him across the figure that lay beneath the sheets.
“Now?” The word was the only one I could force across the dryness of my tongue, and when he nodded I lifted the fingers I held and kissed them gently before laying the hand back on stark whiteness of the fabric, where it looked wasted and worn. Reaching up, I smoothed the mussed hair back from her forehead, and then rose from my chair, voice only a faint whisper, “Goodbye, Mother.”
Then, leaning over the bed, I reached out and brushed a swift, tender touch across the curve of his cheekbone. Our eyes spoke a thousand things that we did not have the words to say in less than an instant, and when I turned to walk away from them, I felt a vague fear that somehow the next time I saw him would be the last.
I had thought it would be a long time before I would see Shouhei again, like each time before, so when it was less than six months later and I caught sight of him standing beneath the sakura, I was briefly struck motionless. He waited patiently, gently smiling lips looking as soft as the pink petals that swirled on the scrap of breeze winding between the trees. The fear that I had felt before gripped me hard now, and I shivered as I approached him, in spite of the warmth and the sun that dappled the shadows beneath the branches.
When I reached him, both hands stretched out; so different from that hand that had first touched him, fingers longer, trembling yet sure as one brushed across silky feathers and the other tangled in windblown strands of hair. My head tipped forward, my forehead coming to rest against his; his eyes the only thing that filled the narrowed field of my vision.
“You’ll leave me all alone,” I said thickly, the fingers laced amidst the softness of his hair tightening as though their grip would be enough to keep him here with me.
“No,” he said, and then repeated it again, the heat of his breath rushing across my lips and chin as though he were releasing far more than the single word. “No.”
He made no move to touch me, but let my hands roam where they would, my arms finally coming to rest around his shoulders, my head slipping to the side so that my face was hidden in the side of his neck, shielded by the curtain of his hair. I could feel the sting that rose to the backs of my eyes, the tightness in my throat that held me silent, and I hung on as though he were my shelter from everything I’d never wanted to acknowledge.
“Yuuta,” he murmured, and being only the second time I had ever heard my name from his lips, I trembled and clung tighter, pulling back to look at him as some of the tension broke from me in a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.
“You’ll take him from me,” I said, thinking of my father, who had become silent and hollow since the death of my mother. “You’ll take him, and there is no one else.”
“No,” he said again, hands coming up as though he’d wrap his arms around me, but hesitating, fingers curled into stubborn fists. “No, Yuuta, I am,” his voice hitched, and he drew a sharp breath, the expression in his eyes somehow hunted, “I am here for you.”
I recoiled with a sharp little cry, both of my hands wrapped tight around one of his wrists as though by holding on to him I could stay any truth that was in the words he had just said. I shook my head in speechless denial, and felt the muscles of his arm flex under my fingers as his fist clenched tighter.
“Listen,” he said, and something that seemed broken and desperate in his voice held me still, brought my focus back to his eyes and away from the pained thunder of my heart. “There is a way…”
“A way?” I seized on the thought eagerly, seeing the hesitation on his face and reaching out to cup each side of his jaw in one of my hands, thumbs stroking the soft skin of his cheeks as I continued quietly. “It isn’t death that I fear. I am afraid to lose you.”
Shouhei closed his eyes, and his hand slowly uncurled from its tight knot, his shoulders slumping. For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood everything and said the wrong thing. I could think of no way to ease him, but before it came to that, his eyes opened again and the smile he gave was blinding even through the deep sadness that still filled his eyes.
“There are things I must tell you,” he said, and I nodded, content to stand there and listen, my hands curving around the back of his neck as he turned us around, spreading his wings. “This may take some time, so with your permission; I will shield us from curious eyes.”
He barely waited for me to nod before speaking further, “It is the curse of the Shinigami to never touch a human. Even in the moments when they take their last breath, we are not permitted to reach out and offer them comfort from their pain and fear.
“They do not see us until that moment is passed, and they are freed from the constraint of their physical body, soul ready to move away from this world. Even then, it is our task only to guide, not to touch, though we are as physically solid to those souls as I am to you right now.
“It is a painful way to live.”
The grip of my hands tightened, and I was surprised that he offered resistance when I tried to draw him closer. I opened my mouth, though I do not know what I would have said, for he shook his head then, just once, and spoke in my stead.
“There is yet more I must say,” he continued, some distress darkening his serious blue gaze. “When you touched me, it was the first time I felt the hand of another, and it overwhelmed me. Though I had lived long years before then, it was the first time I felt as though I was alive. I returned later and found you asleep, and though I wished to, I did not touch you. Your innocence demanded that I leave without interrupting your life, and yet I could not stop myself from leaving a feather behind. I thought, once you were older, that you would be unable to see me, and I did not wish you to forget.
“That may have been what occurred, had I not committed such a rash action.”
Again, I opened my mouth, and again he quelled the objections that rose with an urgent need to spill across my tongue. His hand hovered just over my mouth, a spare inch from my skin, and I sighed against his palm and watched the way he shivered, the way his lips parted in longing.
“Enough,” he said, after swallowing hard and turning his head slightly to the side. “Yuuta, enough. I must finish the tale.”
It was not only seeing his emotional upset that made me desist, though that was a part of it. What made me hold back was the fact that I could feel his desire to reach out to me, and how hard it was for him to maintain his resistance. I could not make myself remove my hands from his skin, but I no longer fought to pull him nearer.
“The feather I left,” he spoke on, lowering his hand to his side again with a soft exhalation. “It created a sort of bond between us. Each time you touched it, I could feel it, and when it was near you, I could feel your emotions.
“I fear that, rather than making sure you remembered me, I tied you to me with bonds you were unable to escape.”
“No,” nothing he could have done would have stopped my interruption then, and my hands shifted to close hard on his shoulders. “That isn’t the truth. Even without the feather, I never would have forgotten you. I couldn’t have.
“You can’t think so little of me,” that last came from my mouth as a mixture of a demand and a plea, my fingertips digging into the firm flesh beneath them. “You can’t.”
“So little?” His focus was fully fixed on me again, and his eyes were wide with anguish. His hands came up, hovering on each side of my face, fingers visibly shaking. “Yuuta. I could not think more highly of you. I have watched you, more than you will ever know, and I can do nothing but love you.
“I want nothing more than I want to touch you, but you must know that once I do, you can never go back to the way you were before. I could not let you make that choice without explaining. If I have…”
It was my hand in the air over his mouth that stopped the sound this time, while I spent a moment trying to find a way to force words through the hot rush of elation that filled my chest. Finally, after a deep shaking breath, an intensely spoken whisper slipped free of my lips.
There was a hush then, a frozen moment where our eyes locked and the entire world seemed to cease its movement. A breeze shivered through the leaves above our heads, a rain of pink petals swirled around us, and then our impasse was broken. His hands pressed against my cheeks and his lips met mine and everything I had ever been or ever would be burned away in the fire that was his touch.
His mouth possessed mine with a tender potency that sent a tremor through my limbs, and I clasped my arms around his neck lest my knees choose that moment to give way. His breathing was ragged, or mine was, it was hard to tell whose chest rose and fell faster when our bodies seemed about to melt together from the heat that swept back and forth between us.
His wings stretched, shivering, and images cascaded through my thoughts; a tumbling rush of memory that was not just mine, nor only his, but a chaotic blend of them both. His tongue escaped the confines of his mouth, and my lips parted on a soft noise that invited him home.
In the same moment, our knees folded, and he carefully eased me down onto my back in the cool grass. Achingly slow, he released my mouth, one of his hands tracing a gentle path down the lines of my chest as he knelt over me, breath soft against my cheek.
“No one can see us,” he whispered, urgent and low, brushing kisses across my brow, my jaw, my cheek. “Yuuta.”
I stared up in a daze, watching the way sunlight and shadow traced the contours of his wings as they flexed against the backdrop of leaves and falling sakura petals. I could no more resist the compulsion to touch him than I could forget the sound of my name when it came from his throat. My hands stretched up, falling flat and open against the feathered expanse.
He lowered himself, a prolonged, attentive shift of muscle and bone that placed him half-splayed across my body, one of his legs nestled between mine. His wings lay heavy and warm against my palms; under their weight I felt safer than any time I could remember, and as his gaze lingered on my face, I smiled.
“Shouhei,” I said, and my smile fell away and I swallowed against a suddenly dry throat as his eyes went dark with longing and his mouth came down against mine once more.
It was fire and ice and nothing in between. It seemed as if I was torn apart, and then knit back together more perfectly than I had been made to begin with. His hands slid beneath my shirt, and when they hit bare skin I felt as though together, if we could be seen, we would burn more incandescent than the sun. I twisted beneath his touch, my hands falling away from soft feathers to clench around the smooth, bare skin of his upper arms.
His lips skimmed across the faint stubble that decorated my jaw, and I couldn’t stop the softly protesting noise that escaped my mouth as he moved away. Then the heat was back, searing into the side of my neck in a way that made me gasp. I was helpless under his ministrations, my eyes closing as his wings pulsed upward and then came back down, stirring a brief, chill flutter of air across my skin. Meticulous fingers plucked open the buttons down the front of my shirt, each section of skin revealed as the fabric parted greeted by a warm caress of breath and lips.
Each soft sound I made in response to his touch was echoed, and the vibrations against my skin drove more pleading cries from my throat. Together, Shouhei’s hands and voice swept over sensitive nerves in a tingling rush that seemed to have no beginning or end. It was a sort of languorous haste that gripped our bodies as the sun slowly sank in the sky and the shadows stretched long across our tangled limbs.
Shouhei pushed my shirt carefully off my shoulders, kissed the sharp rise of my collarbones, licked a thin line at the juncture where my neck met the edge of my jaw. I twisted, turned my head, caught the curve of his ear between my lips and traced it delicately with the tip of my tongue. His breath slid between his teeth on a hiss, and I released the now damp flesh as he shifted to pull at the ties that were hidden under his hair. The fabric covering his chest fell forward when he pushed himself up to his knees, twisting his arms awkwardly behind him.
I followed him up, body unwilling to be separated from his for even a moment. My cheek rested against his breastbone as my arms slid around his waist, fingers twining with his to pull free the last of the lacing that kept his upper body clothed. As he tossed the cloth to one side, I pressed open-mouthed kisses on the crest of each of his ribs, and my hands explored the ridges of his spine between his wings.
He shivered when my fingers brushed the boundary where skin sprouted soft feathers, a soundless gasp parting his lips as his head went back. I could see the frantic tempo of his pulse in the side of his neck, feel it against my lips where they made slow investigation of the uneven surface of a nipple.
The heat of him was contagious, and I could feel the flush that painted reckless streaks across my cheeks. Shouhei leaned back and cupped the glowing skin in his palms, urging my eyes closed with a heavy sweep of his thumbs. He kissed each of my cheeks, let my lashes tickle his lips and smiled against one corner of my mouth. I trembled under his touch, and swayed toward him as though here were magnetic in a way only I could feel.
His hands moved, tracing the shape of my body from my shoulders to my hips, coaxing me back down to lie on the ground once more. This time, instead of covering me, he stretched beside me, upper body twisted to accommodate the wings that were now folded close to his back. Purposeful fingers dip beneath my waistband, a slide of his thumb opening the button as the backs of his fingers flex against the skin of my pelvis.
I arch upward as he slides the fabric down, settling again to feel his hand against my lower back, turning my hips as his mouth falls to meet mine. Our lips slide together slowly, and when I feel the length of him, bare against my body, I voice a gasp that he swallows greedily as his tongue delves between my lips. Our hips push, friction easing into a slick glide over sweat-damp skin, and he makes a low, desperate sound that is almost lost somewhere in the flickering strokes of our tongues.
The arm he leans on moves, and he pinches and rolls one of my nipples between his fingers. The sound I make is sharp and high, and his teeth clench around my lower lip in a hard bite that almost stings. I cannot keep myself still, one arm hooks around his shoulder to pull and I push myself toward him as though I believe our bodies could merge if I only tried hard enough.
He catches my free hand in his, guides it down while he pulls our lips apart long enough for us each to gasp breaths that shake and then dissolve into rough, keening cries as our joined hands curl around the heavy, hot lengths of our erections. Leaning over me, Shouhei rests his forehead against mine, and all that fills my field of vision is the black-fringed blue of his eyes. The thick scent of our sweat mingles with the sweetness of the sakura and the fresh, sharp tang of the grass crushed under our bodies. His stare sears everything about the moment deep into my memory; the prickle of drying skin at the backs of my knees, the last faint light that washes us in a warm, bronze glow, and most of all, the safe, secure feeling I get when his wings flare out and a cry escapes the knotted confines of his throat. A loose feather falls, brushing across the curve of my cheek before it flutters to the ground and I follow him up into the rising tide of ecstasy, not noticing the sticky splash of our release against our stomachs, too lost in his eyes and the reverence reflected there to think of anything else.
When it was over, and we were curled together in soft, satiated warmth, we were both changed. Though physically we were no different, we were not human nor Shinigami, but some strange blend of both that would never truly belong in either world. However, there was never a time where we thought to regret our choice, as the only place either of us would ever want to be was with each other. Forever after, I was protected under the weight of Shouhei’s wings, and he was warmed by the embrace of my arms.
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Want another peak into the Alphas of Summer boxed set? Here’s JD Monroe’s book Dragon’s Desire.
Her attentiveness wasn’t entirely because they were attractive. She wanted to place their accents. While she was no linguistic expert, she could pick out a few of the more common ones, and this one wasn’t ringing any bells.
“You want another?” she said as she approached. The clean-shaven one had only drunk about half of his beer. He winced, then forced a smile. “Or something else?”
“What are those?” the one with the goatee asked, gesturing toward the customer with the Fireball shots.
“That? That’s Fireball,” she said.
“Fireball,” the clean-shaven one said slowly. “Is it good?”
“If you like to not feel your face,” she said. His hand drifted to his jaw. “You want to try it?”
“Sure,” the goateed one said. “How much?”
“This one’s on the house,” she said. She pulled out three shot glasses and lined them up, then poured a generous shot of the cinnamon whiskey into each. Before pushing them across the bar, she said, “I don’t drink with strangers. I’m Violet. And you are?”
“I’m Eric,” the one with the goatee said. “And this is my friend Paul.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Where are you from? I’ve been trying to place your accent.”
Paul’s eyes widened slightly. “Not from here.”
“Yeah, I got that,” she said playfully.
“Eastern Europe,” Eric said quickly. There was a weird expression on Paul’s face, almost like relief. His constant deference to Eric was strange, but it could have just been a language thing. If he didn’t speak great English, then he might be relying heavily on his friend to help out. Still, it was weird that he didn’t name a specific country. Maybe they thought she was too dumb to recognize it. Whatever. They were cute and maybe the Fireball would loosen them up to give good tips. She wasn’t going to pry.
She smiled. The soft pink color painted on her lips distracted him, drawing his eye to the full curve of her lower lip. “Been in any fights lately?”
He laughed. “Not in a few days.”
“Your face looks much better,” she said. “What are you drinking?”
He paused. “Not whatever you gave me the other night. I was very ill.”
“You were sick?”
“A headache,” he said. What was the word Ariv had used? “I was hungover.”
She grinned. “To be fair, you drank a lot of it. That much of anything will give you a hangover. Give me a minute.” She spun around, sending her glossy hair flying. As she reached for bottles on the backlit shelves, he had a fine view of her figure. There was a lovely curve to her shape. It awakened an almost compulsive desire to run his hand from her waist to her thigh, exploring that sweeping curve of hip as he buried his face in the smooth warmth of her neck. She turned back to him and caught him staring. “You still here?”
He shook himself. “I was thinking,” he said, hoping his cheeks weren’t red. He watched intently as she poured streams from two bottles into a glass of ice. Her teeth tugged at her lower lip as she dumped the contents of the glass into a silver container, shook it vigorously, then dumped it back into the glass. After adding a wedge of lemon to the edge and dropping a cherry into the glass, she pushed it across the bar to him. “What’s this?”
“This is a Tom Collins,” she said. “It’s a solid drink. You’ll like it. If not, we’ll keep trying.”
He accepted it. “What do I owe you?”
“It’s on the house,” she said.
She propped a hand on her hip. “If the bartender gives you free drinks, you don’t ask why. You smile and say thank you.” Her tone was teasing, not angry.
Emboldened by her coy smile, he leaned closer. Her eyes were mesmerizing, a shade of green with a hint of gold that made him think of leaves just about to turn. “Then I will simply say thank you. The bartender has my highest regards.”
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less, a change had taken place for the better, and as the years went on the retrogression of the plague became more and more distinct.
During the first two decades of the eighteenth century the plague was widely distributed in Eastern Europe. It was present especially in Constantinople and in the Danubian provinces. From the latter it extended to Russia (Ukraine), and from thence to Poland. The disastrous invasion of Russia by Charles XII. of Sweden, ending in his defeat at Poltawa in 1709, led to its further dissemination to Silesia, Eastern Prussia, the Baltic provinces and seaports, and even to Scandinavia. It was during this epidemic that Dantzic, in 1709, lost 33,000, and Stockholm 40,000 by the plague. During the years 1709 and 1710 the plague mortality in the Baltic provinces exceeded 300,000. Three years later, in 1713, the plague spread up the Danube and reached Vienna, Prague and even Bavaria.
During these two decades Western Europe was entirely free from the dread disease. In 1720 the disease suddenly developed in Marseilles and extended from thence to neighboring towns and the country districts of Provence. Terrible as was this visitation it is of interest, inasmuch as it was the last occurrence of the plague on French soil, and the last in Western Europe until the recent outbreak in Portugal.
The plague was said to have been imported into Marseilles by a merchant vessel, the 'Grand Saint Antoine', from Syria. On its way to Marseilles several deaths occurred on shipboard, but the cause was overlooked. On the 25th of May, 1720, two days after the arrival of the vessel, another death occurred among the crew. The disease was still not believed to be the plague, and although quarantine was instituted, new cases appeared among the crew and the dock laborers employed in unloading the vessel, and it was not until the disease reached the city that its true nature was recognized. The germs of the disease had then been scattered broadcast. Unsanitary a city as Marseilles is to-day, it must have been vastly more so in 1720. The result of the addition of plague germs to the want, misery and filthy condition was at once evident. During August the mortality averaged four and even five hundred per day. In September the daily mortality rose to 1,000. So great was the terror of the populace that it became impossible to secure bearers of the dead, to obtain nurses and attendants. The dead were left in heaps upon the streets, so that it became necessary to transfer to the city 700 galley slaves, who were required to remove the bodies. These same galley slaves were even pressed into service as nurses. The diseased were abandoned by friends and relatives, and under such conditions it need not be wondered at that they received little or no attention from others. Food and water were denied to the unfortunates, and when food was administered to the pesthouses it was thrown into the windows by machinery.
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1 Corinthians 1:26-31
26 Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. 27 But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. 28 God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, 29 so that no one may boast before him. 30 It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. 31 Therefore, as it is written: “Let the one who boasts boast in the Lord.”
- God is not impressed by ________________ wigs.
- God does not want those who ________________ about themselves.
- God wants to ________________ on His own foundation.
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England Dan and John Ford Coley were an American pop and soft rock duo. They reached the peak of their success when they scored six Top 40 hits in 1976 and 1979: “I’d Really Love To See You Tonight,” “Nights Are Forever Without You,” “It’s Sad To Belong,” “Gone Too Far,” “We’ll Never Have To Say Goodbye Again” and “Love Is The Answer.” They disbanded in 1980, and they went on to their separate careers. England Dan – now known as Dan Seals – turned into a successful country singer and musician. Coley branched out his talents not only in singing and collaborating with other groups but also in acting, writing songs for movies and TV, and co-producing other acts. He also resumed touring actively in the mid1990s. Seals died in 2009, aged 61; he was the younger brother of Jim Seals, one-half of another soft-rock act Seals and Crofts.
From high school classmates to hitmakers
England Dan and John Ford Coley were an American pop and soft rock duo consisting of Danny Wayland Seals (England Dan) and John Edward Colley (John Ford Coley) who were high school classmates in Dallas, Texas. Danny Seals was the younger brother of Jim Seals, one of another soft rock duo Seals and Crofts.
In the late 1960s, they embarked together on a musical foray as members of Southwest F. O. B., a Dallas pop group. They played a mix of rock and R&B and as a result, they became really popular in Dallas. They eventually were signed to soul-dominated Stax/Volt subsidiary Hip Records. One of their earliest hits was “The Smell of Incense.”
Then the two men, who had begun to write songs together, formed their own acoustic act. Originally as Colley and Wayland, they renamed themselves as England Dan and John Ford Coley.
England Dan and John Ford Coley signed to A&M Records in 1970. Under that label, the duo released three albums: England Dan & John Ford Coley (1971), Fables (1972) and I Hear The Music (1976) without much success. As a result, they were dropped by A&M. But it didn’t dampen the resolve of the duo who still soldiered on.
They were signed to Atlantic Record’s Big Tree subsidiary, and released their fourth LP Nights Are Forever in 1976. This time, the break that they were waiting for finally arrived.
Nights Are Forever was a hit, peaking at #17 on the Billboard 200, eventually going gold. The reason of the album’s success was the single “I’d Really Love To See You Tonight,” written by Parker McGee. It reached #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart, and topped the adult contemporary singles chart. The album’s second single “Nights Are Forever Without You,” also written by McGee, just made it to the Hot 100’s top 10 singles chart, and peaked at #6 on the adult contemporary singles chart.
By then England Dan and John Ford Coley were becoming popular, whether through singles played on the radio or on their tours. Although England Dan and John Ford Coley never had another hit as big as “I’d Really Love To See You Tonight,” they continued to sell a lot of records and score decent hits. Interestingly, all of their bigger hits were written by composers other than themselves.
Such notable hits include “It’s Sad To Belong” (#21 pop, #1 adult contemporary), “Gone Too Far” (#23 pop, #8 adult contemporary), “We’ll Never Have To Say Goodbye Again” (#9 pop, #1 adult contemporary), and their last Top Ten pop hit “Love Is The Answer.” These hits were written or cowritten by Randy Goodman, Jeffrey Comanor, Todd Rundgren, Willie Wilcox and Roger Powell, though “Gone Too Far” was written by Coley.
However, with the new genres such as disco and punk rock, the duo’s melodic pop rock was beginning to fall out of favor, and the duo split in 1980.
England Dan reverted to his real name Dan Seals, and re-invented himself as a successful country musician in the 1980s, scoring several Top 10 country smashes, and these include eleven chart-toppers, seven of them consecutive ones “Bop” (also a #42 pop item), “I Will Be There,” “Three Time Loser,” “You Still Love Me,” “Addicted,” “One Friend” and “Big Wheels In The Moonlight.” He died in 2009 of a type of lymphoma.
Coley made another career as an actor, appearing in several films and television productions. He has also served as a record producer and has done some active touring.
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§ [SECOND READING.]
§ Order for Second Reading read.
§ MR. BLACK (Banffshire)
said he begged to move the Second Reading of the Foreign Trawlers Regulation. Bill, the object of which was to protect certain portions of our foreshores from trawling. The Bill was not introduced for the purpose of protecting any individual industry, but to provide nurseries for fish, and so increase the food supply of the people of this country. Under the by-law passed some years ago, the Moray Firth was closed against British trawlers, but foreign trawlers still came in and this Bill was intended to put an end to their depredations. He begged to move.
§ Motion made, and Question proposed, "That the Bill be now read a second time."
§ SIR FREDERICK BANBURY (Camberwell, Peckham)
said that the object of this Bill was, curiously enough, exactly the same as that which had just been disposed of. It was protective. It was extraordinary that when a particular industry in which an hon. Member's constituency was interested was affected all his ideas of free trade and free competition vanished. This Bill affected the food of the people.
§ Notice taken that forty Members were not present; House counted, and forty Members not being present,
§ The House was adjourned at twenty minutes before Twelve of the clock till To-morrow.
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Dr. Clint Gurtman is a clinical & forensic psychologist, Senior Lecturer, and co-director of RCP.
He received his honours degree in psychology from the University of Sydney and his doctorate in clinical psychology from Monash University. He is highly accomplished in a range of areas of psychological practice. He is an experienced and effective therapist in working with a range of high prevalence issues, and is regularly engaged as a consultant to provide assessments and advice on complex psychological matters by clients such as courts, workplaces, and government bodies. He holds an academic appointment as a Senior Lecturer, is committed to training and mentoring future and junior psychologists, and has won various awards in this area.
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The Bible is one of the most controversial books ever written. There are all sorts of opinions about what the Bible is. Is it trustworthy? Should we follow what it says? Is it just a bunch of stories that did not really happen? Is it just a made up book? Is the Bible the word of God or is it just the words of people? Is Jesus really coming back for a second time? Is that just a made up story or will there be a second coming? We turn our attention to the apostle Peter who addresses these questions and more.
12 Therefore I intend always to remind you of these qualities, though you know them and are established in the truth that you have. 13 I think it right, as long as I am in this body, to stir you up by way of reminder, 14 since I know that the putting off of my body will be soon, as our Lord Jesus Christ made clear to me. 15 And I will make every effort so that after my departure you may be able at any time to recall these things. (ESV)
Peter says he is writing to remind his audience about these qualities of virtue, knowledge, self-control, steadfastness, godliness, brotherly affection, and love. We learned earlier that if we have these qualities and are increasing, we will never fall and we will have entrance into the kingdom of God abundantly provided. We will not be found ineffective or unfruitful. However, if we are not increasing in these qualities, Peter said that we are nearsighted to the point of being blind because we have forgotten the sacrifice of Jesus. So Peter is writing to remind us of these qualities so that we will are established in the truth that we have.
Peter has warned against complacency three times concerning these spiritual truths. We need to be regularly reminded about our spiritual intensity and the need to make every effort and increase in our faith. Peter’s admonition teaches us that we need reminders. We need shepherds to remind us of what we need to do. We need evangelists to teach us how to improve and grow. We need our fellow Christians who see our lives and remind us of how to act godly and righteously.
Peter says that he is reminding them in this way so that they will be able to continue to be reminded even after he is dead. Peter knew he was about to die. He says that our Lord Jesus Christ made it clear to him that this was the case. This could be referring to special revelation, that Jesus showed him in a vision or in words that his time of death had now arrived. We read about the Holy Spirit doing similar things in the book of Acts, revealing the future through prophets or through direct visions and messages. But Peter may also be referring to the words that Jesus spoke to Peter while Jesus was on the earth before his death. Recall what Jesus told Peter,
18 Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you used to dress yourself and walk wherever you wanted, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you where you do not want to go.” 19 (This he said to show by what kind of death he was to glorify God.) And after saying this he said to him, “Follow me.” (John 21:18-19; ESV)
I have the tendency to think that this is what Peter is talking about. Jesus told Peter that there would be a time where he would be taken where he does not want to go. When that happened, it would signify that his death was impending. Peter may be under arrest or imprisoned in Rome and so he knows that his time is short.
Peter writes this letter so that they would be able to consult and revisit his teachings. We see why God’s words are written down for us. The purpose is that we would go back to these words and learn more. The intent is that we would remind ourselves about what we need to do. The apostles were not going to live forever, yet they were receiving the very words of God through the Holy Spirit. They wrote those words of God down so that they would not be lost, but that we could recall these things at any time.
16 For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty. 17 For when he received honor and glory from God the Father, and the voice was borne to him by the Majestic Glory, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,” 18 we ourselves heard this very voice borne from heaven, for we were with him on the holy mountain. 19 And we have something more sure, the prophetic word, to which you will do well to pay attention as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts, 20 knowing this first of all, that no prophecy of Scripture comes from someone’s own interpretation. 21 For no prophecy was ever produced by the will of man, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit. (ESV)
Peter now wants to ensure that his audience remembers these things about the word of God that the apostles received.
Did not follow cleverly devised myths. First, Peter says these are not stories that they chased. They were not gullible. They did not hear a cleverly devised story and believe it. People are still making this charge today. How can we know that these things are not stories? How can we know that this is all just a cleverly devised myth from the hearts people because they need religion? Peter says that they were eyewitnesses. One of the most valuable pieces of evidence is to have an eyewitness. We see it on the news all the time. “Tell us what you saw.” Based upon what they saw, we have proof of the event. The event that he says should seal the deal for us is the transfiguration. Peter says that he was there and he saw when Jesus received glory and honor from God the Father. They heard the voice from heaven that Jesus is the beloved Son when they were on the mountain. The transfiguration is recorded for us in Matthew 17:1-8.
We saw who we was! We heard the voice! We saw the majesty, glory, and honor placed upon Jesus. This is your proof that you are not following cleverly devised myths. They were eyewitnesses.
Now carefully look at the text — what is the myth that these false teachers are trying to foil upon these Christians? It is found in verse 16, “For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ….” Now catch this, Peter is not talking about the first coming of Jesus but the second coming of Jesus. The word translated “coming” is parousia which is always used in the New Testament to describe the second coming of Jesus or the coming of Jesus in judgment. It is not used to describe the first coming of Jesus to the earth. The question is not about doubting the first coming of Jesus, but doubting the second coming of Jesus. Peter is saying that they are not following some cleverly made up story about Jesus coming for a second time. The proof that he is coming back, in the mind of Peter, is the transfiguration. The reality of the hope of the second coming of Jesus is the issue. They beheld the glory and honor of Jesus on the mountain and they heard the voice from heaven that Jesus is the beloved Son of God. Verse 17 says that Jesus received glory and honor on the mountain. This is evidence that he will return in glory and honor. The transfiguration is a view into the future coming of Jesus with power and glory.
The second coming of Jesus is not a cleverly made up story to try to get people to do what is right. It is a reality. Peter says we are eyewitnesses of his majesty and Jesus is going to return. The angels made the very same assertion in Acts 1:11,
“Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into heaven? This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” (Acts 1:11)
The prophetic word of God.Not only this, but we have the prophetic word of God, that is the Scriptures, which gives us confidence in the powerful coming of our Lord. We have the scriptures to which we must pay attention. Do not neglect to pay serious attention to the scriptures. The scriptures are like a lamp shining in a dark place until Jesus comes. The scriptures are your guide. The scriptures will fill your hearts with hope, faith, and confidence in the coming of Jesus. Oprah is not a light in this dark place. True spiritual wisdom is not found in her or her spiritual advisors. Self-help books and other religions are not the lamp that will give you light in this world. Nor are other writings like the Quran the light in the dark place. Peter said it is the writing of the apostles that were to act as a reminder for them. It is the words of the apostles which came from God through the Holy Spirit that are a lamp in the darkness of this world and a lamp for our lives.
But why can we trust the scriptures? How can we know that these are the very words of God that we need to follow? How do we know that this whole book is not made up stories and myths?
No prophecy of Scripture comes from someone’s own interpretation.The Catholic church distorts this verse to mean that you cannot understand the scriptures for yourself. Instead, the church must interpret the scriptures for you. But the context says nothing to that effect. There is nothing in this text about the church. Further, the interpretation of the Scriptures is not Peter’s message, nor is found in the context. Peter is not talking about how one understands the scriptures or interprets the scriptures. Peter is not talking about any person’s interpretation. Rather, he is talking about the one who is giving the prophecy. The prophet who speaks is not speaking his own interpretation of God’s words. Other translations reflect this meaning appropriately.
Above all, you must realize that no prophecy in Scripture ever came from the prophet’s own understanding… (NLT).
Above all, you must understand that no prophecy of Scripture came about by the prophet’s own interpretation of things. (TNIV)
Above all, you do well if you recognize this: No prophecy of scripture ever comes about by the prophet’s own imagination. (NET)
Peter is not remotely saying that you cannot understand the scriptures for yourself and you need the church to tell you what to believe. The church is not mentioned in this text and the context has nothing to do with how the readers interpret scriptures. Peter is saying that the writers of scripture did not write their own interpretation. They did not give their personal understanding of the scriptures. No scriptural prophecy ever came about by the prophet’s own interpretation of the prophetic phenomena that he received. No prophecy and no scripture is their own words, but God’s words.
For no prophecy was ever produced by the will of man.Further, Peter is saying that they did not make these words up. They did not conjure within their minds and hearts what words to say. No prophecy and no scripture came from human initiative. No prophecy and no scripture came about by an act of human will. It was not the apostles or prophet’s decision to determine what God’s words would be or when God’s words would be given. A great example of this is Balaam. Balak, the king of Moab, wants Balaam to pronounce prophetic curses on Israel. Instead of curses coming out of the mouth of Balaam, three times blessings come out. Barak is enraged with Balaam. Consider Balaam’s response,
And Balaam said to Balak, “Did I not tell your messengers whom you sent to me, ‘If Balak should give me his house full of silver and gold, I would not be able to go beyond the word of the LORD, to do either good or bad of my own will. What the LORD speaks, that will I speak’? (Numbers 24:12-13)
Balaam says that all he can do is speak the words of the Lord. These are not Balaam’s words, but the words of God. This is the point that Peter is making. It was not the prophet’s words, but the words of God. It was not the prophet’s understanding or interpretation, but the very words of God. This is the final point that Peter ends with on this subject.
But men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.The prophetic words and the scriptures are the work of the Holy Spirit, not people. People did not come up with the words that we have in our scriptures. People spoke from God. They were carried by the Holy Spirit, not their own will or desire. It is difficult to put into English, but the word “produced” (ESV) and the words “carried along” (ESV) are the same Greek word phero. Therefore, no prophecy was carried out by human will, but humans were carried along by the Holy Spirit. Humans did not produce the words. The Holy Spirit produced the words in the humans.
In summary, Peter says that they did not follow cleverly devised myths. The prophetic word does not come from the speaker’s own interpretation or understanding. Further, they did not make up or create from their own will these words. Rather, they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.
False teachers were saying that the second coming was just a myth, a made up story. Peter says they are eyewitnesses of Jesus’ majesty and glory which proves his coming in glory a second time. Further, we have the scriptures, which are not words interpreted by the writers nor made up by the writers. Rather, these words are the very words of God, as the Holy Spirit put the words into their mouths. They wrote those words down so that we have the very words of God preserved for us today.
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Have you ever heard this? ” You don’t owe him a thing.” Or, “I don’t owe you anything, you can just forget it!”
Maybe, like me, you have even said that once or twice. After reading these verses, I will think before I open my mouth to say it again.
That woman who drove right into the last parking place even though she could see you were turning in, on the day you were really in a hurry? Do you owe her a piece of your mind, or do you owe her a smile and a hello?
That guy at work that talks bad about you to everyone, asks you to help him on a task. You don’t owe him anything. Or, do you owe him some time and some grace?
Definitely a reason not to react to someone who bugs you, but to stop for a beat, and then respond with the love you owe her.
I did this page in my bible with a black micron pen.
Be kind and compassionate to one another…. (Ephesians 4:32),
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With its large size and admirable quality, this work – which is in good condition – immediately stands out as an important drawing among those of the artist's académie studies that are still in private hands.
The model is shown in a natural pose, resting against a support, her face in profile turned gracefully downwards. Her left arm has been left unfinished by the artist.
Like other académies by Prud'hon, this sheet raises interesting questions about the artist's relationship with this type of work: Prud'hon made life drawings throughout his long career, although by definition the academic study is a training exercise, part of an artist's apprenticeship. While accepted as the basis of a classical art education, most painters and sculptors abandoned such studies as they matured.
But this is not the case with Prud'hon – quite the contrary. His académies, portraying both men and women, represented a distinct part of his drawing activity, which he practised throughout his working life and developed to its highest form of expression. As in the case of the present drawing, these are often works in their own right, rather than training exercises or preparatory sketches.
The study can probably be dated to the beginning of the 1810s: at this time the artist had a studio at the Sorbonne, where he was able to benefit from the life modelling sessions organised by his pupil Trézel.
The model could be Marguerite, one of Prud'hon's favourite models at this time. Her delicate features and her hair can be recognised in other life studies by the artist dating from the same period.
Please call 1-800-555-5555 to order a print catalog for this sale.
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Bebe Cohen was ushered out of the screen door, held open by her mother, and climbed down two high steps to the backyard using her hands for balance.
“Go play,” her mother’s face was a wilted jack-o-lantern, drawn inward since early morning.
“But I don’t want to,” Bebe stood facing the door with her toes touching the bottom step. The air conditioner, a shivering box that protruded from the house like an elbow in a sling, rumbled to a stop. Bebe remembered she’d left Morrie’s plastic cowboys on top of the unit, arranged in a semi-circle. She wanted them to recite the lines from her favorite book, The Smiling Cowboy. Now they would act out the good parts without her.
“Tough,” her mother closed the screen door and the heavy back door. The click of the lock signaled a finality Bebe didn’t expect. She climbed back up the steps and banged her knuckles against the panel in the middle of the screen door, the only solid part she could reach.
The door didn’t open.
“Mommy! Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!”
She sat down on the top step and waited. Her black hair gathered heat from the midday sun. She felt the top of her head and sensed it was hotter than the rest of her body. Her fingers sprung away like she’d touched a match. She wanted to look up and see if the sun had turned blue around the edges like the flame under a pot on their gas stove, but Morrie told her she’d go blind if she looked at the sun.
Bebe pulled her shirt up over her shoulders to the top of her head and let it cascade down her back like an Eagle Scout headdress. Her pale chest was exposed, and she knew she wasn’t supposed to be in the sun without sunscreen, but she didn’t have any and wasn’t good at spreading it on anyway. Mommy said she didn’t do a good job.
Bebe surveyed her options. The green plastic pail, her brother’s, was cracked along the side under the handle, and there was no shovel for digging up Indian arrowheads. What can you do with a broken pail without a shovel?
The swing set was partially shaded by a maple tree, but on the empty side, not the side with a swing. The remaining seat, adjusted for Morrie’s long legs, hung at a slant, the frame propped on a clump of brown grass. The four uneven legs resembled a spider walking. Bebe hated spiders. Anyway, the swing set had been moved to the far side of the yard, too close to the street where she wasn’t allowed to go.
The sprinkler had been abandoned in the middle of the yard. Bebe had never tried to turn it on by herself. It needed to be attached to a hose so water could squirt inside and come out the top. There was no hose in sight.
Sweat trickled down her face.
She was thirsty.
The spigot where the hose was supposed to be attached was next to the door. When she turned it on, water rushed out much faster than she expected, creating a mud puddle in seconds. She put her hands underneath to collect some water to drink, but the pressure was too great and the water stung. It pushed her hands away.
Turning off the spigot was much harder than turning it on. She managed to get it down to a dribble by tugging on it with both hands. Twisting her sweaty face underneath, she collected the water drops with her tongue.
Her new white sandals stuck in the mud and when she lifted her feet they made a sucking noise, whooap, whooap. To unfasten the buckles she had to push and pull the straps until they loosened and she could wiggle her toes out. Bebe flung the shoes into the yard. Her feet dug into the mud and the gooey, chocolate-pudding glop squished between her toes and crept up her ankles. It felt cooler in the mud, so she sat down. From her new viewpoint, the mud looked like wet sand at the beach.
Wet sand was for building.
It was harder to build a fort out of mud than sand. She formed a wall but it drooped over in a slow slide as soon as she picked it up with her hands. Bebe tried adding grass to the mud but that only made it fall faster. Stones might have worked but there were no stones in the backyard. There was gravel in the driveway, but that was in the front yard, and she wasn’t allowed in the front yard alone. Wasn’t allowed this, and wasn’t allowed that, but here she was in the yard with nothing to do and no toys and not even anything to drink.
She crept around the side of the house, sneaky quiet, being careful to crawl under the side windows in case Mommy was in the bedroom having a headache. To keep herself steady, she used her right hand on the white vinyl siding. She left Bebe-sized handprints in a row like bird tracks in the woods. Around the corner, there was no way to hide from the big eye of the living room picture window. When she got that far, she made a dash for the gravel.
Her hands were clumsy from the rapidly drying mud. Scooping up some gravel, Bebe scraped a finger. She used her other hand to shovel gravel into her left pocket. Bending over caused hair to escape the shirt headdress. Sweat wet her hair, and when she pushed it back, her hands were muddy again. She swiped three fingers across each cheek to paint warrior stripes.
She’d never seen the neighborhood so deserted, as though the African heat, misplaced by eight thousand miles (Morrie told her) had driven all the neighbors to frosty movie theaters or Nettie’s Ice Cream Parlor or, like Morrie, to the YMCA swimming pool. Bebe wished she could swim.
A noise prickled her neck, a loud bark followed by an angry growl. Bebe spun around. A toy terrier on the far side of the lawn stretched out his front legs as if ready to spring. His belly was so bloated it made him look giant, like a fairytale wolf. No collar, no tags, teeth dripping saliva, hair sticking up. Morrie said to freeze if you saw a growling dog. If you run, he’ll run after you.
The dog stood his ground and continued to growl. A bee buzzed around her muddy bottom. How long until the dog got tired and ran away? Water and sweat ran down Bebe’s face, dripping in rivulets on her warrior paint, making a tic-tac-toe board on each cheek. The bee landed on her right thigh. She could almost hear the bee pull out his stinger. Forgetting she was supposed to stay frozen, she ran to the backyard and the dog, barking loud and mean, ran after her.
Bebe didn’t stop until she was at the screen door. “Mommy, help!”
There was no answer.
The dog came close enough for Bebe to smell his bad breath spitting into the air, as bad as one of Morrie’s gym shoes. He was a dirty dog with matted fur and a red gash on his hindquarter. He was a stray, and that was the worst kind of dog. Morrie said so.
Bebe stood her ground on the higher of the two high steps. The dog planted his front paws on the bottom step.
“You,” she pointed at his nose.
“Go away,” she frowned at him. Her eyebrows pushed down and her eyes became straight lines.
He stopped growling and sniffed the air around her. Backing down the step, he turned his snout toward the spigot. With his nose sniffing the whole way, he found a puddle made from the dripping water and the indentation from Bebe’s foot. His long pink tongue reached out and drank the water out of the hole. He stood there drinking for a long time, water flying out the sides of his mouth. When he was finished, he trotted away, as if there had never been anything between them.
Mimi Drop is a writer by trade. She has written blogs, educational materials, grants, articles, TV commercials, and print ads. For most of her career, she has been an advertising copywriter who rose to VP Creative Director for a division at Ted Bates, WorldWide. To keep her sanity in the commercial den, Mimi writes poetry and short stories. She has a degree in Literature, Science and the Arts from the University of Michigan. Mimi is currently in the process of finishing her a novel and is planning to send it out this year.
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This was the name of 3 biblical men.
Justus, a longtime disciple of Christ who was an eye-witness of His resurrection
He was also known by the name Joseph Barsabas.
He and Matthias are mentioned only in Acts 1:23.
“They must have been among the earliest disciples of Jesus, and must have been faithful to the end; they must have been well known and esteemed among the brethren. What became of them afterwards, and what work they did, are entirely unknown” (Lindsay's Acts of the Apostles).
Justus, a Jewish Christian (proselyte) at Corinth
It was in his house, next door to the synagogue, that Paul held meetings and preached after he left the synagogue (Acts 18:7).
Justus, a Jewish Christian, also called Jesus
He was Paul’s only fellow-laborer in Rome, where he wrote his Epistle to the Colossians (Col. 4:11).
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“Regular bedtimes make children less likely to be obese as adults,” is the slightly misleading Mail Online headline. This follows a study looking at the link between household routines in early childhood and obesity at age 11.
Researchers analysed data about children in the UK that had been collected as part of a previous large study (the UK Millennium Cohort Study).
Parents were asked questions about their child’s routines at three years of age, including whether they had a regular bedtime. The children then had their height and weight measured at age 11 to see if they were obese.
The study looked at whether there was a link between obesity at age 11 and certain routines earlier in life. They found young children with an inconsistent bedtime were almost twice as likely to be obese aged 11 as those with a regular bedtime.
But this doesn’t prove an irregular bedtime directly causes obesity by itself. It could be that children with irregular bedtimes are more likely to have a less healthy lifestyle overall. For example, they may have a poorer diet and exercise less – neither of which was measured in this study.
Also, the parents in the study weren’t asked how much sleep the child actually got, which is likely to be an important factor.
Overall, this study alone doesn’t prove that an irregular bedtime during childhood directly increases the risk of later obesity.
Where did the story come from?
The study was carried out by researchers from The Ohio State University College of Public Health, Temple University, Philadelphia, and University College London. Funding was provided by the National Institutes of Health and the UK Economic and Social Research Council.
The study has been accepted for publication by the International Journal of Obesity. However, it has not yet gone through the full review process, so some further changes could be made ahead of the final publication.
Despite the Mail Online saying regular bedtimes make children less likely to be obese “as adults” the study only went as far as 11 years of age.
Media reports also claimed the study found that watching lots of TV was linked to a higher risk of obesity, but the researchers actually found no link between the two after several other factors had been taken into account.
In general, the media stories might have benefitted from considering the other limitations to this research, notably the fact that other environmental and lifestyle factors could have influenced the results.
What kind of research was this?
This was a cohort study that used data collected as part of the ongoing UK Millennium Cohort Study to see whether household routines when a child is three, such as sleep times and meal times, are linked with child obesity at the age of 11.
As the researchers say, young children benefit from regular routines and a previous study has suggested that this is likely to help them regulate their behaviours as older children and adults. However, no previous studies have looked at whether household routines and self-regulation are linked with later obesity.
The main limitation with this study is that although it can find links, it is very difficult to pin down a single cause, such as sleep, to a general health outcome like obesity. It is most likely that obesity is influenced by a variety of environmental and lifestyle factors.
What did the research involve?
The study used data collected as part of the UK Millennium Cohort Study (MCS), which in 2000-2002 recruited 19,244 nationally-representative families with a baby aged nine months in the household. A first home assessment was carried out when the child was nine months, followed by repeat assessments at three, five, seven and 11 years of age.
When the child was aged three household routines were assessed. This included asking parents whether the child went to bed at regular times or ate meals at regular times. Those who replied “always” were said to have regular routines, while those who replied “sometimes” or “never” were regarded as inconsistent.
Child self-regulation was also assessed at age three using the Child Social Behaviour Questionnaire. Parents were asked to reply “not true”, “somewhat true”, “certainly true” or “can’t say” to questions around child emotions (such as whether they’re easily frustrated) and cognitive self-regulation (for example, whether they persist with difficult tasks).
At age 11 the child’s height and weight were measured to see if the child was obese. The researchers modelled the links between child sleep and self-regulation aged three and obesity aged 11. They took account of various potential confounders that could be having an influence, such as ethnicity, parent’s age at child’s birth, educational level, household size and income.
The final sample included 10,995 children who had full assessment data available.
What were the basic results?
At the age of three 41% of children always had a regular bedtime, 47% had regular mealtimes, and only around a quarter (23%) were restricted to viewing no more than one hour of TV a day. At age 11, 6.2% of children were obese. Obesity was more common in families with lower educational level and lower household income.
Having regular bed and meal times and limited TV viewing were all linked with better emotional regulation, but only regular meal times were associated with better cognitive regulation.
When adjusted for all confounders, children with inconsistent bedtime at three years of age were almost twice as likely to be obese aged 11 (odds ratio 1.87, 95% confidence interval 1.39 to 2.51). Poor emotional regulation was also linked with increased risk (OR 1.38, 95% CI 1.11 to 1.71).
TV viewing wasn’t linked with risk of obesity and, interestingly, children with inconsistent mealtimes were actually less likely to be obese.
How did the researchers interpret the results?
The researchers conclude: “Three-year-old children who had regular bedtimes, mealtimes, and limits on their television/video time had better emotional self-regulation. Lack of a regular bedtime and poorer emotional self-regulation at age 3 were independent predictors of obesity at age 11.”
This study aimed to look at whether child routines and behavioural regulation are linked with child obesity aged 11. The study made use of data collected at regular home assessments for a large, nationally representative UK sample.
The data suggests that inconsistent bedtimes are linked with increased likelihood of the child being obese at age 11. But before drawing firm conclusions about this, there are a couple of points to bear in mind.
- Though the researchers have tried to adjust for sociodemographic factors, there is a high possibility that this link is being influenced by confounding factors. The most likely confounding factors apparently missing from the analysis are diet and physical activity. It could be that inconsistent bedtimes are linked with less healthy lifestyle patterns in general, and together these all contribute to risk of obesity. It’s very difficult to accurately blame a single factor such as sleep.
- Sleep routines weren’t assessed in much depth. Parents were only given very brief options when asked if their child has regular bedtimes – ”always”, “usually”, “sometimes” or “never”. It’s not always possible to be accurate and these responses may mean different things to different people. It also gives no indication of the duration or quality of the child’s sleep.
- This study doesn’t include any analysis of how the child’s sleep patterns or behaviour have changed between three and 11 years of age. For example, the child may have been having problems with behaviour and difficulties going to bed around the age of three but this may have settled down in the years since.
- Obesity has only been assessed at 11 years of age. This doesn’t tell us whether the child is going to be obese in later adolescence or adulthood.
Overall this supports understanding that it can be helpful for young children to have regular routines. But this study provides no proof that if a child doesn’t have a regular bedtime, this will directly increase their risk of later obesity.
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+ − Contact Information
Email Address: firstname.lastname@example.org
201 West Capitol Avenue
Jefferson City, MO
+ − Biography
Karla May is a lifetime resident of the city of St. Louis first ward, where her mother, city register, Parrie May served as alderwoman. She is a graduate of St. Louis University, where she received her Bachelor of Science Degree in Business Administration, and Lindenwood University where she received her Master of Arts in Teaching. She has been employed for the past fourteen years at AT&T, and worked as a union steward with CWA (Communication Workers of America 6300). She also served on the legislative committee and lobbied the legislature for years on issues affecting the lives of working men and women. She is a union card carrying member of CBTU (Coalition of Black Trade Unionists) where she sits on the executive board, St. Louis City Labor Club, and CWA. Karla has been a board member for the St. Louis Philanthropic for the past sixteen years. This board awards grants to agencies focused on education and programs that benefit residents of the city of St. Louis.
Karla May started her career in politics at the age of eight years old stuffing envelopes, and passing out literature, when her mother former Alderwoman Parrie May was working a campaign for a local politician. By the age of seventeen years old she organized a group of people and began running street teams, and organizing for men and women who she believed were good candidates and had the best interest of the community at heart. She ran her first campaign as a candidate for committeewoman in the 1st Ward where she currently resides. Although she was unsuccessful in that race she continued to participate in her community and serve the people. Many years later the opportunity presented itself for her to take on a bigger leadership role in her community, so she filed for State Representative in February 2010, and ran a successful campaign. She now currently holds the position of the 84th District State Representative in the City of St. Louis.
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“No one will succeed by strength alone” (1 Samuel 2:9, NLT)
Hannah had been childless for many years. In a society which saw infertility as a curse from God, Hannah fell into despair. She cried out to God, continually asking him for a son. Eventually, her heart became aligned with God’s. She vowed to give God her son if he blessed her with one. God had been looking for a new prophet for the nation, a judge for his people Israel, but could find none. He needed to start afresh, and Hannah’s womb would carry the future voice of the Lord for the nation. Samuel would be a firm and unswerving messenger for the living God.
After Samuel’s birth, at some point early in his childhood, Hannah dedicated him to God. When she did so, she prayed. In her prayer, she praised God. Then she said, “No one will succeed by strength alone” (1 Samuel 2:9). She knew God had to be in the equation. She was not able to produce Samuel, and Samuel could not become a force for the Lord unless God helped them. They could not succeed by strength alone; they could not prevail with mere human might. They needed God.
God must be in the equation. Recently, I was enraptured in a book by immensely brilliant Christian scholars. Their logic was incredible, and their research was vast. As they made their arguments, I was in awe, and greatly edified. I could feel my mind expanding. My brain grew a little. I was greatly encouraged. Then, almost as quickly, I became disheartened. How in the world will I ever recommunicate this, let alone remember this, I thought. I do not have the ability. I’m a mere mortal, not a world-class scholar.
Then I remembered, I will not succeed by strength alone. I will not prevail through or because of my might, intelligence, intellect, memory, arguments, etc. God is in my equation. I am, by the blood of Christ, his child. Like Hannah, I must run to him and ask of him. I want to learn and read and grow, but I also need to rest in his ability for my life. He can take my simple faith and use it for his glory. I must trust him. I must remember his power.
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Jessa's Role On 'Girls' Proves That Love Triangles Don't Need A Villain
Jessa was many things on Girls, but she was never a villain. She could have been, though. If the HBO series was a typical TV rom-com Jessa likely would have been cast as the one keeping star-crossed lovers Adam and Hannah apart. Let’s be honest, that’s probably how Hannah framed this whole ordeal in her New York Times piece: Jessa, the awful friend who stole away the love of her life. But this wasn’t how creator Lena Dunham saw it. Girls always let Jessa be her own person, not Hannah’s foe, proving not every love triangle needs a villain.
Whether Jessa and Hannah want to believe it or not, they were never in competition over Adam. He was just the easy answer to the much more complex reasons why the two stopped being friends. In the six years we knew them, their friendship was almost always on the brink of dissolution because these two were more interested in themselves than anyone else. They were living completely separate lives way before Adam and Jessa started hanging out, which, as we should remember, happened because Hannah decided to move to Iowa. She assumed Adam would wait for her, but instead he found solace in Hannah’s other cast-off and fellow addict Jessa, whom Hannah also assumed would be anxiously awaiting her return. But Jessa wasn’t interested in being anyone’s sidekick so she just continued living her life, one that Hannah knew nothing about.
While Hannah was off becoming the voice of her generation, getting pregnant, and being offered a job at upstate New York liberal arts colleges, Jessa was figuring out who she was and who she wanted to be. She was getting sober and carving out a career path as a therapist. (Though, as we learn she thinks she needs therapy more than she should be giving it.) She was even building a relationship with Adam, that from the outside appears a little unhinged, but seems to work for them. What Jessa was really doing, though, was learning to become her own person, one who was much different than the one Hannah thought she knew.
Jessa was no longer that person who would miss her abortion to have sex with a stranger in a bar bathroom, even if she thought she was. She couldn't go back because she had found new ways to cope. She didn't need someone to break her out of rehab because she had the strength to complete a 12-step program. Hannah didn’t know that, though. When Jessa starts dating Adam, Hannah assumes she's still the person who will have revenge sex with an ex just to make the point that he still wants her. She wasn’t around to see these changes because she was also off figuring out her life and never really bothered to ask Jessa any questions about what she was up to. To be fair, Jessa never seemed that interested in telling her or asking Hannah the same questions. A clear sign that this friendship was an afterthought.
These two women were pretend friends who spent more time fighting than doing anything else. Re-watch the show and you realize the last time these two had a heart-to-heart was in Season 4, when Hannah returns from Iowa in Episode 5, the “Sit-In,” to find Adam with another woman named Mimi Rose. Jessa admits she introduced Adam and Mimi, letting Hannah know he’s happier now without her. The truth was, Jessa was, too.
Hannah would blame Jessa for stealing her ex-boyfriend, while Jessa would blame Hannah for not trying to hear her side of the story, but the show doesn’t look to blame anyone, allowing us to take in all the facts and decide for ourselves what happened. Jessa isn’t the bad guy for falling in love with Adam. She’s not the Emily to Hannah and Adam’s Ross and Rachel on Friends. Or, to go back a little further to 90210, Jessa isn’t the Kelly to Hannah and Adam’s Brenda and Dylan. Jessa’s not the “jezebel” to Hannah’s girl next door because a love triangle on this show isn't really about the guys, it's about the girls.
Hannah isn't jealous that Jessa is with Adam, the two women are jealous of each other and always have been. They always coveted what the other had: Hannah had a career path that she was passionate about, something Jessa’s is still searching for; Jessa was never afraid to try new things or meet new people, something Hannah always struggled with.
Instead of looking for someone to blame when Jessa and Hannah stopped talking, the HBO series forced fans to look at things a different way. To see the things that Jessa and Hannah wanted to ignore. Adam may have been the final straw, but it was time that really broke the camel’s back. What Girls made clear during the bathroom meeting in the penultimate episode of the final season is friends either move forward together or drift apart. The truth is, there’s nothing wrong with that. People often stop being friends not because anyone did anything wrong, but because they just didn’t care to fix what wasn't right in the first place. A friendship is a give and take, and both Hannah and Jessa were more interested in taking. Something Shoshanna, who is now totally engaged and totally the show's truth-teller, teaches them in no uncertain terms. They can’t hang out anymore because they always make it about themselves.
It’s the one time in the six years we’ve known Jessa and Hannah that they don't do that, putting their egos aside to apologize. Neither mentions Adam’s name, as if they also realized it was never about him, it’s “everything.” Hannah admits, she's not sure what to be sorry for anymore, but, “It’s ok, we were all just doing our best.” Jessa jokes that their best wasn’t good enough. “Worst best,” Hannah says, which is probably how most people would like to explain their less than stellar choices in their 20s.
It's also how you could describe Jessa, who made mistakes and had her bad moments, but was never made out to be evil. She was human, and like most of us, was trying to do what was best even if her best wasn't always enough. In the end, Hannah and Jessa agree to call it, even if they disagree on how they got here. What they both know is, neither one of them is truly to blame.
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1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Parkes, Sir Harry Smith
PARKES, SIR HARRY SMITH (1828-1885), English diplomatist, son of Harry Parkes, founder of the firm of Parkes, Otway & Co., iron masters, was born at BirchiUs Hall, near Walsall in Staffordshire, in 1828. When but four years old his mother died and in the following year his father was killed in a carriage accident. Being thus left an orphan, he found a home with his uncle, a retired naval officer, at Birmingham. He received his education at King Edward's Grammar School. In 1837 his uncle died, and in 1841 he sailed for Macao in China, to take up his residence at the house of his cousin, Mrs Gutzlaff. At this time what was known as the " Opium War " had broken out, and Parkes eagerly prepared himself to take part in the events which were passing around him by dihgently applying himself to the study of Chinese. In 1842 he received his first appointment in the consular service. Fortunately for him, he was privileged to accompany Sir Henry Pottinger in his expedition up the Yangtsze-kiang to Nanking, and after having taken part in the capture of Chinkiang and the surrender of Nanking, he witnessed the signing of the treaty on board the " Cornwallis " in August 1842. By this treaty the five ports of Canton, Amoy, Fuchow, Ningpo and Shanghai were opened to trade. After short residences at Canton and the newly opened Amoy, Parkes was appointed to the consulate at Fuchow. Here he served under Mr (afterwards Sir) Rutherford Alcock, who was one of the few Englishmen who knew how to manage the Chinese. In 1849 he returned to England on leave, and after visiting the Continent and doing some hard work for the foreign office he returned to China in 1851. After a short stay at Amoy as interpreter he was transferred in the same capacity to Canton. In May 1854 he was promoted to be consul at Amoy, and in 1855 was chosen as secretary to the mission to Bangkok, being largely instrumental in negotiating the first European treaty with Siam. In June 1856 he returned to Canton as acting consul, a position which brought him into renewed contact with Commissioner Yeh, whose insolence and obstinacy led to the second China War. Yeh had now met a man of even greater power and determination than himself, and when, in October 1856, as a climax to many outrages, Yeh seized the British lorcha “Arrow” and made prisoners of her crew, Parkes at once closed with his enemy. In response to a strongly worded despatch from Parkes, Sir , governor of Hong-Kong, placed matters in the hands of Admiral Sir M. Seymour, who took Canton at the close of the same month but had not a sufficient force to hold it. In December 1857 Canton was again bombarded by Admiral Seymour. Parkes, who was attached to the admiral’s staff, was the first man to enter the city, and himself tracked down and arrested Commissioner Yeh. As the city was to be held, an allied commission was appointed to govern it, consisting of two Englishmen, of whom one was Parkes, and a French naval officer. Parkes virtually governed this city of a million inhabitants for three years. Meanwhile the treacherous attack at Taku upon Sir Frederick Bruce led to a renewal of hostilities in the north, and Parkes was ordered up to serve as interpreter and adviser to Lord Elgin (July, 1860). In pursuance of these duties he went in advance of the army to the city of Tungchow, near Peking, to arrange a meeting between Lord Elgin and the Chinese commissioners who had been appointed to draw up the preliminaries of peace. While thus engaged he, Mr (afterwards Lord) Loch, Mr de Norman, Lord Elgin’s secretary of legation, Mr Bowlby, the Times correspondent, and others, were treacherously taken prisoners (Sept. 18, 1860). Parkes and Loch were carried off to the prison of the board of punishments at Peking, where they were separately herded with the lowest class of criminals. After ten days' confinement in this den of iniquity they were removed to a temple in the city, where they were comfortably housed and fed, and from which, after a further detention, they were granted their liberty. For this signal instance of treachery Lord Elgin burned down the Summer Palace of the emperor. Towards the end of 1860 Parkes returned to his post at Canton. On the restoration (Oct. 1861) of the city to the Chinese he returned to England on leave, when he was made K.C.B. for his services; he had received the companionship of the order in 1860. On his return to China he served for a short time as consul at Shanghai, and was then appointed minister in Japan (1865). For eighteen years he held this post, and throughout that time he strenuously used his influence in support of the Liberal party of Japan. So earnestly did he throw in his lot with these reformers that he became a marked man, and incurred the bitter hostihty of the reactionaries, who on three separate occasions attempted to assassinate him. In 1882 he was transferred to Peking. While in Peking his health failed, and he died of malarial fever on the 21st of March 1885. In 1856 Sir H. (then Mr) Parkes married Miss Fanny Plumer, who died in 1879.
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Alphonse Legros was born on May 8, 1837 in Dijon, France. His father was an accountant, and came from the neighboring village of Véronnes. While young, Legros visited the farms of his relatives, and the peasants and landscapes of that part of France are the subjects of many of his works. He was sent to the art school at Dijon with a view to qualifying for a trade, and was apprenticed to an interior decorator. In 1851, Legros left for Paris, but passing through Lyon he worked for six months as journeyman muralist for painter/art restorer Jean-Baptiste Beuchot, who was painting the chapel of Cardinal Bonald in the cathedral.
Legros sent two portraits to the Paris Salon of 1857: one was rejected, and formed part of the exhibition of protest organized by Francois Bonvin in his studio; the other, which was accepted, was a profile portrait of his father. Art critic Champfleury saw the work in the Salon, and sought out the artist to enlist him in the "Realists," a group anchored by Gustave Courbet. Legros picked up the art of etching by watching a colleague in Paris who worked as a commercial engraver, and taught himself both etching and medallion making. He considered the traditional journey to Italy an important part of artistic training, and in later years, gave part of his salary to augment the income available for a travelling internship. In his early career, he lived from the sales of his etchings and teaching. He began teaching etching at the South Kensington School of Art and in 1876 became a Slade Professor at University College, London, succeeding Edward Poynter. Alphonse Legros died in Watford, Hertfordshire, England on December 8, 1911.
Les Faiseurs de Fagots (Two proofs) Two etchings sold as a pair. 1877-1884. $850 for the setLes Faiseurs de Fagots (Two proofs)
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So often we are asked, “How is it that you have bats from around the world? From where do you get your bats?” Well, the majority are obtained from the general public; people who find orphans or a bat laying helpless in a parking lot. Orphans also come from our wild sanctuary, and still others are retired from zoos and research, and are seized from the illegal pet trade. And then there is the rare exception, the bat that arrives without our knowledge; the special package concealed in a mother’s tummy. It is about this exceptional life that we bring you the story of an infant straw colored fruit bat that arrived on May 18th, 2007.
Bianca, the mother, was brought to us in March of 07. She had suffered inhumane circumstances so we gave her a lot of space in order to gain her trust. It was rewarding to watch her slim frame grow larger with the plentiful food she received. But based on experience, the roundness that developed over the next few months was unmistakable. Bianca was with pup.
A few evenings later we heard the calls of a newly born bat pup and went into the fruit bat’s flight cage expecting to see that all was well. However, instead of clinging to Bianca’s stomach, the pup was dangling from her back. Bianca resisted any help when we gently tried to scoot the baby around to her front, making a hasty retreat and almost knocking her pup loose as she dragged it along the plastic screening of the cage. The pup desperately hung on for dear life but the mother made no attempt to help it. We kept a watchful eye on the pair for the next hour, noting sadly that the mother was not attempting to nurse or even nurture her pup. Two hours passed, and on our last inspection at midnight we found the precious baby girl lying cold on the floor of the flight cage.
The pup’s tiny form was quickly gathered and warmed as we took her into the hospital area, where it was discovered that her toes were severely damaged, most likely from being dragged along the screen mesh of the cage. She would never have a quality life if we did not save her toes. We had to quickly devise a means to protect them. We used finger cots to cover her injured feet, filling them with antibiotic ointment before slipping them over her tiny feet.
Days passed. The tiny girl clung to life, despite her cold introduction to life. She looked forward to her meals, greedily sucking down her goats-milk formula from a small latex puppy nurser. Weeks passed and her toes slowly healed. Eventually her little protective ‘boots’ were no longer needed. It was time to give this special girl a name. As luck would have it, an internet search of African names brought us *Busana – Girl of the Night Moon*. Because of her special circumstances we decided on a slight variation, “Bootsanna”.
For the first 10 weeks of her life Bootsanna carried a soft puppy nurser (her pacifier) in her mouth all the time and yelled whenever she dropped it. She continued to yell – almost brat-like – until someone placed it back into her mouth. At around 10 weeks of age she decided banana was better than a nurser, so solid food (which she also yelled for) was slowly introduced. Every day Bootsanna was also given flapping exercises, as much as she enjoyed.
She spent lots of time playing on her two baskets; one was used for feeding and playtime and another one was used for sleeping. Bootsanna loved to ‘bat at’ her numerous toys and silk flowers, spending a hour or more entertaining herself before sleep would finally overtake her. Eventually we were able to hang her basket inside the fruit bats flight cage so she could slowly get used to the other fruit bats
Bootsanna is now living full time with the fruit bats in their large flight enclosure, and enjoying her rightful place in just being a bat.
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Two years ago, Rachel Greenberg went out to run a few errands. While she was gone, her husband Glenn suffered a massive brain hemorrhage. He was immediately taken to Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center where physicians explained he had suffered the worst kind of brain bleed.
They operated, but after four days it was clear that the hemorrhage had caused too much damage, and he would not survive. Glenn was kept on a ventilator until family members from the East Coast could arrive. During this vigil, Rachel learned that when Glenn had renewed his driver's license a few months earlier, he had signed up to become an organ donor.
"In the midst of the most unimaginable grief and shock, I felt pride for Glenn's decision to be a donor in what would be the last chapter of his life," said Rachel. "Now he lives on in others."
Glenn's donation went on to help 89 individuals, ranging in age from 19 to 92 years old.
"Organ donation is a positive and powerful thing we can do to help families and loved ones transition from grief to opportunity to help others who are in need," said Dr. Paul Vespa, director of neurocritical care at Reagan UCLA Medical Center and a professor of neurosurgery and neurology at the David Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA.
To honor these special donors who became organ, eye and tissue donors at the time of their deaths at Reagan UCLA Medical Center or UCLA Medical Center, Santa Monica, UCLA Health and One Legacy, a nonprofit organization dedicated to saving lives through organ and tissue donation in greater Los Angeles, held a ceremony Tuesday to dedicate the Gift of Life Fountain, located at Reagan UCLA Medical Center's Garden of Peace. Loved ones of donors will be able to place special engraved medallions in the water; the donor's name will also be added to an online donor recognition webpage.
The concept of honoring organ, eye and tissue donors has been years in the making at UCLA. The project finally became a reality, thanks to a monetary gift made by the late Gary Foxen, a UCLA lung transplant recipient.
"Gary was so thankful for the gift that extended his life for more than 15 years; he was always looking for ways to recognize the donors of the world," said his widow, Lois Foxen. "He came up with the idea for the Donate Life Rose Parade Float, and now he continues to recognize donors through this memorial."
At the dedication ceremony led by the Rev. Karen Schnell, director of spiritual care at UCLA Health, a plaque was unveiled by Richard Azar, executive director of general services at UCLA. The plaque reads: "Lovingly placed by their family and friends, each medallion in this fountain commemorates an individual who gave the gift of life and health to others through organ, eye and tissue donation."
Representatives from UCLA, One Legacy and families then ceremoniously tossed medallions that represented organ, eye and tissue donors from 2008 to 2014 into the water.
"Throughout the coming days, weeks and months, we will see family members coming to the memorial fountain to place a medallion honoring their loved one in the water," said Schnell, who called the fountain a sacred site. "This is a sacred moment, and we as the UCLA Health community should be sensitive to what is happening and give these families space to honor their very personal moment."
For UCLA nurse Barbara Anderson, who has worked in the neuroscience field for years, the memorial represents humanity at its very best.
"I have seen families go through the agony of sudden, devastating death that has come to their loved ones. They come to the hospital with hope and leave with emptiness," said Anderson, the unit director of the Neuroscience/Trauma Intensive Care Unit at UCLA. "This memorial is for those who have given the gift, so they will not be forgotten, and so their families know we have not forgotten them."
University of California, Los Angeles Health Sciences
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Summary: We always win when we trade with God.
TRADING WITH GOD
One of the delights of my life is trading! It's not that I don't like what I have, it's that I want what YOU have, so I'll offer you a trade. Now, one thing you must realize, of course, is that I probably think that what you have is worth more than what I have ... or, I may have a completely different thought process. What YOU have may not be worth as much as what I have, but I may NEED what you have more than I need what I have! Are you confused, yet?
OKAY, here's an example. A few years ago, I had a man call me about a house that I owned, down in Rocky Mount, Virginia. He wanted to buy it. We met at a local eatery and bargained and haggled for a couple of hours, and the result was that he bought my house, at a much less price than he thought it was worth. I thought the house was worth more than what he was paying, also, but, still, I wanted the trade. I wanted to trade my house for his money. He later bragged to all his friends and buddies in the real estate world how he had skinned Manning out of $5,000! And, quite frankly, he was right, but oh! How Manning enjoyed that skinning! What he did NOT know was that just that day, I had signed a contract for FOUR houses here in Bluefield, and I needed HIS MONEY to make the down payment on them. I knew that with the four houses, I would make FAR more than I could have ever hoped to make with just the one. And, the result was that my assessment was accurate. I did get the four houses, repaired them, and sold them over time, and in actuality cleared about eight times what I lost on the original house that I sold.
I like to trade! And, I like to win, when I do trade! And I just LOVE trading with God. Know why? I ALWAYS WIN! I always get far more than I give. And it's really no secret ... YOU DO, TOO! This morning, let's look at some of the trades we make with God. You know what trading is ... you give something .... you get something in return, right? OK.... let's look at what God gives us ... and what we give Him!
Look at part of the prayer of Moses and Aaron, in Numbers 16:22 .... "God gives breath to all living things!" What does breath do? It provides life, of course. One of the ways we know someone has died is that they stop breathing. What a great gift God has given! What a marvelous opportunity we have, to enjoy life! And I do enjoy it! I truly do. I look forward, with eager anticipation, to coming to Church on Sundays to meet with you! I count you as dear friends, and I just thoroughly like the opportunities I have to worship with you! What a valuable gift from God!
OK .. now.... what what do we have to give to God, to make this trade an equal one? I don't know, either, my friends. One of the things we might could give is our whole and entire lives in Kingdom work and activity, but I don't think even that would be an equal trade. So, some of us do give part of our lives to God. We might give 2 or 3 hours on Sunday, another hour or so on Wednesday evenings, perhaps a couple of hours at various board meetings during the month. We may spend an hour a month visiting a shut in, or someone in the hospital, or taking care of the physical needs around the Church, like cleaning, or repairing or sprucing up a bit. We may spend time preparing sermons or Sunday School lessons, or other types of presentations. We may even have the daring audacity and unmitigated gall to read the Scriptures a bit from time to time, and pray a few minutes here and there. But don't you see? We win! We get the best part of the deal! We come out ahead!
I like Deuteronomy 8:18: There, the word says, REMEMBER THE LORD YOUR GOD, FOR IT IS HE WHO GIVES YOU THE ABILITY TO PRODUCE WEALTH! Aw, and you were thinking that you work so hard for your daily bread, weren't you. I'm frequently reminded of a scene from a movie from the mid 1960's .. you have probably seen it... SHENANDOAH, starring Jimmy Stewart. He is a crusty old farmer, who has a very religious wife, and he, in order to placate her, offers prayers at meal times. His prayer goes something like this: O God, the food is here because of our work. We plowed the soil, planted the seed, weeded the ground, and gathered it in. We cleaned it, cooked it, and set it on the table. We did it all, but for the wife's sake, we thank Your for it. Amen.
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Eduard von Knorr (1840-1920) was an important (full) admiral in the Kaiserliche Marine. He was involved in the German colonies’ expansion of the 1880’s and 1890’s. He commanded squadrons in Asia and Africa, and helped set up several German colonies. He achieved his final rank of Admiral in 1893, then retired from active service in 1899. He was awarded the 1870 Iron Cross 2nd Class for action against the French. He is wearing it on the postcard, along with the Twenty-Five-Year Oak Leaves and an Order of the Red Eagle. He is seated holding his sword. The postcard was produced during WW I. It was mailed as a Feldpostkarte in 1916.
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~Chapter 6: Let Me Into Darkness Again~
Final Fantasy and all its characters belong to Squaresoft.
All changes, even the most longed for
have their melancholy,
for what we leave behind us
is a part of ourselves.
We must die to one life
Before we can enter another.
Quistis walked slowly down the hallway towards the hospital cafeteria. It had been a while since she’d eaten anything, but she wasn’t hungry. It was more of an excuse to bide her time at the hospital a while longer. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving Rinoa in the condition she was in. The emptiness she saw in her eyes haunted her. She was at a loss on how to help the poor girl.
She looked up and saw Laguna round the corner of the hallway up ahead. He smiled as he approached and she returned the gesture as best she could. “She finally kicked you out of the room did she?” He said lightly. “It’s about time someone did, you really need to get some rest Quistis, you look exhausted.”
“Yes I know, so everyone keeps saying. I must look horrible,” she laughed before covering her mouth and succumbing to the yawn that she had been fighting since she had seen him coming. She wasn’t the one who needed help now, and she was determined to put up her strong front.
“Not in the least Headmaster Trepe. But even you can’t deny you’re tired my dear.”
“No…no I guess I can’t.”
“Would you like me to escort you back to the palace?”
“No it’s okay. Thank you anyway. I was just on my way to the cafeteria to get something to eat. Care to join me for breakfast?”
“Mmm hospital food, hold me back!” He grimaced and then smiled as she laughed softly. “Of course, I’d be delighted to, as long as you let me buy though. As that is also found in that darn gentlemen ethics handbook. And I am forced to abide.”
“Well I guess I have no argument then.”
“Nope, I’m afraid you don’t. And I hope you don’t mind the tabloid paparazzi, it has been a while since I’ve been seen out in public with a woman.”
She laughed again and looped her arm around his as she led them both down the hall. “Bring them on.”
A few minutes of silence passed as they sat at the small dining table. Quistis idly poked her spoon around in the bowl of oatmeal in front of her. Laguna finally spoke up.
“So…how is she?”
Quistis stopped and looked up at him. It was a mixture of sadness and of guilt. He stared back at her curiously.
“I told her Laguna…about her father and…about Squall.”
His eyes grew wide. “Oh Hyne…”
“She wanted the truth; I didn’t feel I had the right to keep it from her.”
“God this is so much to put on one person,” he rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I’m guessing she didn’t take the news well…who would?”
She shook her head in reply. “That’s what is so strange. There was almost no emotion coming from her. Her eyes, they were so empty. It was frightening.” Quistis’ own eyes began to glisten with newly formed tears. Laguna reached across the table and placed a hand on top of hers in a gesture of comfort.
“She is probably still in shock over all of this. It will take some time before she will be capable of dealing with it. I’m sure she has no idea how to begin. None of this is real to her yet.”
The blonde woman looked up at the older man. He was right. Perhaps this was nothing more than a dream to Rinoa. A hazy nightmare. But when she woke up to reality? What then? Quistis wasn’t sure if the sorceress would be able to recover from that. If she herself were in that situation…Hyne, she had no idea if it would even be possible.
“We are going to help her to get through this,” Laguna said seemingly reading her mind. “She will be rehabilitated physically as well as mentally while she is here. I’m going to see to it that everything that can be done to help her, will be, I promise you that.”
“I know…I know you will Laguna. I just feel so helpless sitting there next to her. I don’t know what to do, how to act, I’m afraid I’m going to say the wrong thing…hell I know I already have.”
“Listen to me, you being here means more to her than you could ever know. That’s all she needs right now, a friend. And I’m sure she’s aware that you’re not here to hurt her Quistis. Things just are the way they are, you can’t be held accountable for any of it. Just be there for her to help her through it.”
Quistis smiled. “I’ll do my best.” She slid the half-eaten bowl of oatmeal out of the way.
“I’m sure you will,” he smiled back. “Hey, you gonna eat that?” He asked pointing to the remaining piece of toast on the small plate.
“No,” she laughed. “Help yourself.”
Elise ran down the white hallway as fast as her feet would carry her. Her mind raced through the million things that could have happened to him. The only words she could understand after the immediate shock were ‘accident’ and ‘training center.’
She saw two disheveled cadets standing outside of the doorway, one of them nursing a bruised ankle. Both their uniforms were covered in blood. She stopped abruptly in front of them. “Oh God, what happened?” She demanded; her professional conduct long abandoned.
“He was attacked by a blue dragon,” One of them replied.
“Yeah we found him while we were busy…er…running from another one,” The other said shakily. “We carried him out of there as best we could; the dragon really got its claws into his back.”
She placed a hand on each of their shoulders as she started to walk past them into the room beyond. “Thank you,” she whispered gratefully. “Hyne thank you both.” They nodded in solemn reply, uncertain what words could be right for the situation.
In the infirmary, she nearly tripped over a garment that had been thrown aside hastily. She looked down to see Squall’s jacket…soaked and ripped to shreds. She cursed herself for leaving him alone. He had needed someone and she hadn’t been there. She shook her head as if to clear it and walked towards the bed where she saw the silhouettes of the doctors and nurses behind the opaque curtains. She would have to wait until later to deal with her guilt.
The nurses were having trouble trying to keep him still. They had him turned onto his side to keep him from injuring the deep gashes that ran diagonally between his shoulder blades. Elise could see the sheen of sweat that covered his exposed torso. His eyes were white-hot and feverish. She tried to hold her composure as she watched him writhe and convulse in agony on the blood stained sheet.
Blue dragons possessed a poison within their talons. It was an excruciatingly painful venom that served the sole purpose of immobilizing its prey. If not treated immediately it would result in paralysis and death. Even the youngest students at Garden were aware of this and no one was even allowed to enter the training center without the appropriate defensive magic and antidotes. It anguished her to see that the most experienced person in the garden, the one that everyone looked up to, had gone in without either. It was as if…he had done it on purpose.
“God Squall…why would you do this to yourself?”
Elise fought back the tears that were threatening to come. She couldn’t allow emotions to overpower her abilities. She would be no help to him then.
“What’s his status?” She asked as she approached the head nurse.
“We’ve nearly got the bleeding under control Doctor Vandermere. Some severe tissue damage, but no apparent organ damage. X-rays show no sign of fractures or damage to the spinal column. Patient has been going in and out of consciousness. Blood pressure is fluctuating below normal. Pulse rate is high. Breathing is shallow and irregular. Pupils are dilated. Patient is incoherent and unresponsive.”
“He’s going into shock,” she replied as she put on a pair of latex gloves and approached the gurney. “We need to administer a sedative to calm him down. Magic treatment will not help him until we can get him to relax. Someone get me an IV bag and some tubing, we need to replace the lost fluids.” The staff complied with her instructions without hesitation as she tried to get Squall to respond.
“Squall, can you hear me?” She bent lower to his face. His eyes fluttered, unable to focus. “Honey…it's me, Elise… listen I need you to come back now okay? Focus.” He closed his eyes as his body was racked with tremors. One of the nurses administered the sedative into his neck with an air gun. It was a mild dosage that was slow to react. He screamed and flailed his arm about wildly as he felt the pressure of the IV needle being placed into his skin. The needle ripped from his arm and fell to the floor. The nurse quickly applied pressure to the vein as a second ran to retrieve another needle, while Elise aided in the difficult task of keeping him still.
She leaned over him, holding down his arm while carefully avoiding putting her hand on top of his injuries. She caressed his damp skin gently. “We’ve got to get an IV tube into you Squall; I need you to relax okay? I know you hate needles, but everything’s going to be alright.” He muttered incoherently and shuddered in her arms. Her tears were no longer able to resist the pull of gravity.
“I’m here Squall…I’m here with you,” she whispered into his ear. “Come back to me.” She felt his eyelid flutter beneath her cheek and she lifted her head to look at him. He stared up at her with wide and glazed eyes.
“Ri…Rinoa?” He managed.
“N…,” she stopped herself. Her heart fell, and a moment of silence past before she regained her composure. If this could help him…that was all that mattered right now.
“Yes, Squall…I’m here.” She squeezed his hand gently. “I’m here.”
“I’m fine. Thanks to you.”
“I…made it this…time.”
“That’s right…you were right on time Squall.” She choked on her tears. This was killing her inside.
A small smile formed across his lips, as his eyelids grew heavy, the sedative was taking effect. “I’m so…glad.”
“Me too baby…me too.” She kissed the top of his forehead gently.
“The IV is in doctor,” the nurse said slowly, uncertain that she should say anything at all during the current situation. Elise felt him relax in her arms; his breathing became slow and steady. She gently guided the rest of his body down to the gurney, resting him on his stomach. She assessed his wounds and wiped the tears from her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket before turning to look at the remaining staff.
“Clean the wounds thoroughly and administer some of the antidote over there to remedy the poison. He’ll need some antibiotics as well. Get a magic specialist in here to close up as much of this as possible. Keep a close eye on his vitals; I’ll be back in a few minutes to help you stitch the rest up.”
She didn’t wait for a reply as she walked briskly out of the door, tossing the latex gloves in the receptacle as she passed. As the door slid open, she was greeted with the site of a hall full of students who had congregated in both concern and curiosity for the headmaster. She sighed; it was impossible for anything to stay confidential in this place.
“The headmaster is going to be fine. I need everyone to clear the hallway and return to their classes immediately. This is a medical facility not an auditorium,” she yelled over the crowd as loudly as she could. There was mumbling among the gathering. “Now people! Move it!” They slowly broke and began to depart. She pushed through the students as she tried to make it up the hallway against the downward current.
Once inside her office she shut the door behind her and collapsed against it, falling to the floor. And she cried bitterly. Not so much for herself as for him. Yes, she couldn’t deny that second place hurt like hell. Especially when second place was to someone who was all but dead to this world. It was Squall, Rinoa,
And yet, she had known it from the beginning. She knew where his heart was, and it wasn’t with her. The memory would fade for him with time she thought, but it would never vanish completely. It was never more apparent than what just happened in the infirmary. But she settled. She settled in hopes that she could give him as much comfort as she could and offer him peace against his inner demons that seemed to consume him a little more each day.
He was an absolute wreck the first time she saw him. But lately, things had seemed better. A lot better. He had deceived her however, and she had deceived herself. It hurt her even more to think that he felt he had no one to turn to, and he turned his anguish and guilt onto himself. And things like this happened. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She loved him with a love that was never fully returned. She wanted him to live, and to have happiness. Elise knew she would give anything for him. She’d go to the ends of the earth. Yet the one thing he wanted was the one thing she couldn’t give him.
She couldn’t bring back Rinoa Heartilly
The soft hum of machinery was the only sound that greeted his ears as he pushed open the door. Laguna tried to adjust his eyes as he scanned the dimly lit room. He swallowed nervously and put one foot through the door. He hoped he wouldn’t wake her if she were asleep. Quistis had asked him to check on her before he left and he obliged. After all, he had wanted to speak with her. Now that he was actually here however, he suddenly became flooded with a sense of uneasiness. The words that he had told Quistis earlier did not work to clear him of any guilt. The responsibility he felt for her past and current situation was overtaking his will. What could he possibly say to her? “Gee, sorry about the whole ‘sealing’ thing, I wasn’t keeping track of my mad scientist as well as I should have been.”
He shook his head. It was wrong, it was so wrong. This could have been prevented. He could have prevented it.
“Forgive me Julia,” He said to himself. He rallied up his courage and moved into the room. He owed her at least a visit…and so much more. He looked to see her sleeping peacefully in the dark corner of the room. The heartache and sorrow that she was being forced to bear were not evident in the serene expression of her face. And then the inevitable question entered his mind. That if things turned out for the worst, if her life would become nothing but an unending struggle with emotional pain…did they do the right thing by unsealing her? Would the absent years leave such a severance in her heart that it would destroy her in the end? Not to mention the other lives that were involved in this.
Laguna ran a hand through his graying hair. He hated thinking. Once he got started, it consumed him. But there were never any right answers, only choices that would lead down one path or another. He wouldn’t feel guilty for giving a person a chance to live. He felt it awful to think otherwise. And though it went against all his prior standings, he swore to himself and to her mother he would do everything in his power to help a sorceress.
Thoughts of Julia Heartilly took him on a trip through time. It brought a smile to his lips as his mind wandered back to those many years ago. He remembered actually getting to meet her for the first time, and how absolutely terrified he had been. He was entranced with everything about her. He had never felt that way in his entire life up until that point, and he would only have that feeling hit him blindsided one more time completely by chance in Winhill. He wondered if Rinoa had enamoured Squall much in the same way when he first set eyes on her. He decided that yeah, it had to run in the family.
“You knew my mother.”
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. He turned around to see Rinoa looking at him. Somehow, he had managed to walk the entirety of the room and absentmindedly stare out the window in his contemplation. He took a minute to collect himself, anxiously scratching the back of his head.
“Oh Hyne, had she been reading my mind all this time?”
Laguna cleared his throat. “Um…yeah that I did Miss Heartilly. How…how’d you know that?”
She offered him a small smile. “Quistis told me.”
“Oh…oh! Right, of course!” He laughed. “Yes, she asked me to stop by and see how you were doing. Hope you don’t mind, I didn’t mean to just barge in here. I saw you were sleeping, didn’t want to wake you. Got lost in my thoughts there for a bit.”
She laughed at his addled reply. “No, it’s quite alright. I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for me.” Rinoa felt for the small control on her bed and fingered the buttons until she found the one that turned on the light above her head.
“Come closer so I can see you,” she said. He faltered a bit and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite, I honestly couldn’t now if I did,” she grinned. He stepped into the light and sat down in the chair beside the bed. He certainly didn’t fit the profile of a president. Instead of the stuffy black suit, this man wore a wrinkled cotton shirt un-tucked from a loose pair of khaki pants. Locks of hair hung loosely around his face while the rest was pulled back unkempt behind him. Instead of the air of ‘strictly business’ surrounding him there was nothing but kindness and warmth coming from his eyes. His eyes. Something about his eyes…struck Rinoa as being very familiar. Somehow, she couldn’t place it. But she liked him already.
“You know you don’t look very much like a president,” she said.
“Oh thank you! That is the nicest possible compliment anyone can ever give me.”
She smiled at him again, but offered no reply. She was still trying to figure out where she had seen those eyes before. This left Laguna in the awkward situation of starting a new conversation.
“So yeah I’m Laguna Loire and um…welcome to Esthar.”
“Esthar huh? I used to hear stories about it. But I thought it didn’t exist anymore.”
“Yeah well, we were out of the ‘public eye’ so to speak for about 17 years. Until the whole ordeal with Ultimecia,” he said careful to tread softly on that subject. “It’s a spectacular city though, I’d be glad to show you around once you’re feeling better.”
“I’d like that,” she replied.
“Yes, we’ve become quite the social bug now, lots of tourists flocking in. They even administered a Garden here. It began operation just last year. We will have our first SeeD graduation in another three months. There’s enough hassle to keep a crazy man sane around this place.” He said as he smiled. And then he remembered he stupidly mentioned SeeD to a sorceress as if it were a topic as common as the weather. “Geez, Laguna can’t you open that big mouth of yours without something wrong and hurtful coming out?” He shook his head.
She continued as if it didn’t seem to bother her. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” he said still thinking he should sit down in the floor and shove his foot into his mouth.
“So, how did you know my mother? Did you meet her at one of her concerts?”
“Oh no, this was before her singing career, back when she used to play the piano at a hotel in Deling. I was in the Galbadian army then. My friends and I would stop there and have drinks if we were in the area. Well…that is…I would force them to go there with me. As I was infatuated with your mother. No, don’t get me wrong, not one of those psycho infatuations, mind you. I could just sit for hours watching her play that piano of hers. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and she played the most melodious music that I had ever heard. Anyway, one night I got the courage to finally talk to her, and I discovered there was much more to her than just looks and abilities. We talked for hours. I only got to speak with her that one time however, before war dragged me half way across the world. I never forgot her or that night we talked. She was a wonderful woman, your mother.”
Rinoa smiled in kind understanding. “Yes, she certainly was.”
Laguna smiled in return. “You seem to be like her in so many ways.”
“Now that is the nicest compliment I’ve ever received,” she said with a saddened look in her eyes. “I wish it were true.”
“Oh it is, trust me Miss Heartilly, it is.”
He laughed. “Okay…Rinoa.”
Just then, the cell phone on his hip erupted in a loud sequence of rings. He sighed. “It’s just like clockwork. I hate this damn phone. Please excuse me a moment.”
He pressed the receive button on the small phone. “Yes Kimberley.”
“Sorry to bother you sir, Elise Vandermere is on the line for you.”
“Elise? Did she say what this was regarding?” He asked…as if he didn’t know.
“No sir, she just said that it’s urgent business regarding Mr. Leonhart.”
He sighed. He had been expecting this call. “Okay, just a moment.” He turned and looked at Rinoa. “Sorry, I’m going to have to take this. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Sure, no problem at all.”
He nodded and stepped outside into the hallway, making sure that the door shut behind him. He picked up the cell phone again and cleared his throat. “Okay Kim, put her through.” This was going to be difficult.
“Elise, before you say anything…I want you to know that I didn’t mean what I said to Squall yesterday. It came out entirely wrong and he hung up before he gave me a chance to explain. See it's like this…I—”
“That’s going to have to wait Laguna,” she interrupted. “There was an incident in the training center this morning. Squall…he was wounded.”
Laguna’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh God…is…is he all right?”
“Yes, he’ll be okay. He’s resting in the infirmary now.”
“I haven’t got all the details yet. All I know is that he went into the training center without any armor or spells and he was attacked by a blue dragon.”
“What? What the hell was he thinking?”
He heard a sigh on the other end. “I’m not sure that he was. He’s…he’s not been feeling very well lately. I think he may be overworking himself too much.” She lied to him. Elise knew the last thing that Squall would want her to do would be to share his problems with Laguna. He’d never forgive her for that.
“Do you want me to come up there?”
“No, I don’t think it’s a very good time right now. I just wanted you to know from a main source. Before you hear it from someone else. And to know that he’s going to all right.”
“Thank you Elise. It means a lot to me that you would call. I can’t apologize enough to him for the other day, but I don’t know if that will do any good. But know that I’m thrilled with your engagement. He’s lucky to have you.”
“I just want to make him happy Laguna.”
“I know that you will.”
“Well that’s all I wanted to tell you, I’ll let you get back to work. I know you’ve been really busy being a president and helping with the Esthar Garden at the same time. Don’t work yourself too hard now.”
“I’ll do my best,” he offered a small chuckle.
“Oh! There is one more thing. You haven’t by chance seen or heard from Quistis have you? She’s disappeared off to somewhere. Not one soul in Balamb knows where the hell she is.”
“No, I haven’t seen her. But if I happen to cross paths with her, I’ll be sure to let her know she has people trying to track her down.”
“Thanks again Laguna. Take care.”
“I will, give Squall my best wishes for me.”
“Will do. Goodbye.”
Laguna put his head in his hands. It was shaping up to be another one of those days.
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Tansy Trehearn was born and bred in the beautiful and little Cornish port
of the village St. Ruthyn, where Martin Wyde was opening a small hotel,
The Seagull’s Cry.
Tansy was falling in love with her employer Martin. She had never been so
bewildered, she had met the one man she could ever love, and found that
she had to fight her own sister in order to get him. And that was when she
learned that the cry of the seagull was no more sad and tortured than the
cry of her own heart. Because while Martin and Tansy’s love softly flowered,
several people were plotting to ruin their newfound happiness.
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|Lamentations 2 |
1 How has the LORD covered the daughter of Zion with a cloud in his anger; he has cast down from heaven to the earth the beauty of Israel, and has not remembered his footstool in the day of his anger!
2 The LORD has swallowed up all the habitations of Jacob without pity. He has thrown down in his wrath the strongholds of the daughter of Judah; he has brought them down to the ground. He has polluted the kingdom and its princes.
3 He has cut off in his fierce anger all the horn of Israel. He has drawn back his right hand that restrained the enemy, and he burned against Jacob like a flaming fire, which devours round about.
4 He has bent his bow like an enemy. He stood with his right hand as an adversary, and slew all that were pleasant to the eye in the tabernacle of the daughter of Zion. He poured out his fury like fire.
5 The LORD was as an enemy. He has swallowed up Israel, he has swallowed up all her palaces. He has destroyed his strongholds, and has increased in the daughter of Judah mourning and lamentation.
6 And he has violently taken away his tabernacle, as if it were of a garden. He has destroyed his places of the assembly. The LORD has caused the solemn feasts and sabbaths to be forgotten in Zion, and he has despised in the indignation of his anger the king and the priest.
7 The LORD has cast off his altar, he has abhorred his sanctuary, he has given up into the hand of the enemy the walls of her palaces; they have made a noise in the house of the LORD, as in the day of a solemn feast.
8 The LORD has purposed to destroy the wall of the daughter of Zion. He has stretched out a line, and he has not withdrawn his hand from destruction. Therefore he made the rampart and the wall to lament; they languished together.
9 Her gates are sunk into the ground; he has destroyed and broken her bars. Her king and her princes are among the Gentiles. The law is no more,and her prophets also find no vision from the LORD.
10 The elders of the daughter of Zion sit upon the ground and keep silence. They have cast up dust upon their heads; they have girded themselves with sackcloth. The virgins of Jerusalem hang down their heads to the ground.
11 My eyes fail with tears, my bowels are troubled, my liver is poured upon the earth, for the destruction of the daughter of my people because the children and the sucklings swoon in the streets of the city.
12 They say to their mothers, "Where is corn and wine?" When they swooned as the wounded in the streets of the city, when their soul was poured out into their mothers' bosom.
13 What thing shall I take to witness for you? What thing shall I liken to you, O daughter of Jerusalem? What shall I equal to you, that I may comfort you, O virgin daughter of Zion? Because your breach is great like the sea, who can heal you?
14 Your prophets have seen vain and foolish things for you; and they have not discovered your iniquity, to turn away your captivity; but have seen for you false burdens and causes of banishment.
15 All that pass by clap their hands at you to mock you; in disgust they wag their head at the daughter of Jerusalem, saying, "Ha! Is this the city that men call The perfection of beauty, The joy of the whole earth?" [Clapping hands at someone was an expression of malicious glee, derision and mockery.]
16 All your enemies have opened their mouth against you. They hiss and gnash their teeth. They say, "We have swallowed her up. Certainly this is the day that we looked for, which we have found, and we have seen it.
17 The LORD has done what he had devised; he has fulfilled his word that he had commanded in the days of old. He has thrown down and has not pitied; and he has caused your enemy to rejoice over you. He has set up the horn of your adversaries.
18 Their heart cried to the LORD, "O wall of the daughter of Zion, let tears run down like a river day and night: give yourself no rest; let not the apple of your eye cease."
19 Arise, cry out in the night. In the beginning of the watches pour out your heart like water before the face of the LORD. Lift up your hands toward him for the life of your young children who faint for hunger in the top of every street.
20 Behold, O LORD, and consider to whom you have done this. Shall the women eat the fruit of their own bodies, their children of a long time? Shall the priest and the prophet be slain in the sanctuary of the Lord?
21 The young and the old lie on the ground in the streets. My virgins and my young men have fallen by the sword; you have slain them in the day of your anger; you have killed, and not pitied.
22 You have called as in a solemn day my terrors all around me, so that in the day of the LORD's anger none escaped nor remained. Those whom I had swaddled and brought up have been consumed by my enemy.
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In order for you to see something, your brain has to interpret it by receiving the signal from the light. That's why the light travels into your eye through many parts. Once it passes the cornea, it then goes to your lens. After that, it goes to your pupil, then into your nerve system. Of course, your nerve system is connected to your brain. So that's when your brain is able to receive the signal and then interpret. It's not as simple as it sounds, but it happens very quickly. You don't really feel the light going through all this process.
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Howard Brookner was three days shy of 35 when he died of AIDS in 1989.
Who was Howard Brookner? He was an American film director and famous for his college thesis documentary on William S. Burroughs - the American novelist who was also a member of the beat generation. Brookner also wrote and directed the feature-length film Bloodhounds of Broadway - a period comedic ensemble that starred several big names including Matt Dillon, Jennifer Grey, Anita Morris, Julie Hagerty, Randy Quaid, and Madonna.
But Brookner was more than just a film director - he was also an uncle, an uncle to Aaron Brookner. And Aaron has made a film about his uncle in a moving documentary simply titled 'Uncle Howard.'
Aaron, 35 years old, was inspired by his uncle to make movies. In the documentary we see home video footage of Howard hanging out with Aaron when he was a kid, with Howard parading Aaron around on his shoulders. These scenes are touching and sentimental because it sets the tone of the short relationship Aaron had with his uncle, an uncle who passed away when Aaron was only 8-years-old, an uncle who made such an impression on him that decades later Aaron would want to make a documentary about him. Aaron’s early memories of Uncle Howard included being on the set of Bloodhounds of Broadway, a film that turned out to be Howards only major studio film, and unfortunately, he passed away before its release.
Aaron wanted to seek out Howard’s original film footage for his Burroughs documentary, and found it in a place called The Bunker in lower Manhattan, the former home of Burroughs. There are scenes of Aaron watching the old tapes which are then inter-spliced with the actual film footage, which gives us, and Aaron, a glimpse of the early work of his uncle, an uncle with high doses of passion and talent. The old footage also includes glimpses of Allen Ginsberg and Andy Warhol, while both new and old footage shows Jim Jarmusch, with Howard in the 1980's, and then with Aaron in the present day.
The writer Brad Gooch gives us a raw insight into his ten-year relationship with Howard, while discussing the loss of Howard and many friends during the height of the AIDS pandemic, scenes that are emotional, touching and sentimental. But what most pulls at the heartstrings is Aaron’s conversations with Howard’s mother, Elaine, who walks down memory lane with Aaron about the life of Howard and how he was taken from them at such a young age. Uncle Howard is a film with a personal touch, and Aaron has successfully delivered a fitting tribute to an uncle who died way too young.
I wish I had an Uncle Howard.
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The fascinators were the final straw.
Alexa Alessio’s fingers curled into fists just thinking of the miniature hats as she marched out her back door and practically leaped over the waist-high fence to her neighbor’s rear yard. Her strides ate up the well-trimmed lawn and she let herself into the kitchen, her temper as hot as dragon fire.
The door shut with a near-silent snick behind her and she forced herself to a halt, even though every impulse demanded she return to the family bridal shop and do damage to her spoiled, sneaky, thieving cousin. But Alexa was the calm cousin, the super-serene Alessio, and she was here to get control before she did something completely out of character.
Feel to the marrow. Love like there’s no tomorrow. Those lines, painted on the wall of the bridal salon, were the family motto. Alexa had always considered the words dangerous ones to live by and did her best to keep her moods and emotions on an even keel. Common sense and past disappointments predicted that white-hot passion could only lead to getting burned.
But today she’d been sorely tried, which was why venting to her best friend seemed a good plan. So here she was, in Brody’s kitchen, and she was going to let off steam in hopes that this boiling rage would finally cool.
The man was standing with his back to her, examining the contents of his refrigerator. She opened her mouth to speak—okay, spew—but then it closed and she blinked, for the first time in an hour seeing beyond red.
Brody wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Of course, as her running partner, she often saw him half-naked. But this time, with him in a pair of royal blue nylon shorts and nothing else but his Nikes, he…
She knew he had a great body. At six-two and whatever poundage was required to have broad shoulders, a strong back, lean waist, and well-developed arms and legs, he was virility wrapped in golden flesh. This was nothing new to her.
Except… This little flutter in her belly was new. The weird tingle at her hairline was new. She’d never looked at Brody and realized her tongue was tied and her blood was running too fast and her skin was prickling beneath her clothes.
That response was reserved for—never mind.
It had to be temper.
It was time to tamp it down.
Half-turning, she stalked to one of the windows and stopped by the round, two-top table positioned there. “If I lose it, will you post bail?”
She must have startled him. “Sorry, I thought you heard me come in,” she said, staring out the window at the sky. Wasn’t blue supposed to be a calming color? “It’s Drea.”
“She’s gone so far as to pinch the design for my fascinators.” Her ire flashed hot again and her fingernails dug into her palms.
Brody wouldn’t know a fascinator if it bit him on his fine ass. “They’re little hats,” she explained. “I was sixteen years old when I planned my wedding and I sketched exactly what I wanted for the bridal party. Now she’s taken my old drawing and insists Nona make them up for her and the bridesmaids.”
“Yeah, well, the family’s in the wedding gown business, right? Of course I was designing clothes for the event before I’d even been allowed on a date.” Outside, a mockingbird swooped, the white of its underwings reminding her of the feathers her grandmother would use on the bride’s hat. Her back teeth ground together.
“Didn’t anyone point out…?”
“That those were my idea? Of course not. Drea can do no wrong, you know that.” A year before, her cousin had spent three months in the hospital, battling an infection that had nearly taken her life. “Even though she’s completely well now, not a single person in the family will stand up to her.”
Alexa rubbed her forehead. Of course she was glad her cousin was healthy again. But Drea had been self-centered before her illness and her near-death experience hadn’t made her any more angelic.
“Lex. Is this really about—”
“No.” She shook her head, not wanting to go there. “Maybe if I wasn’t in the bridal party, I could ignore all this. But Drea just had to have all the Alessio girl cousins as her bridesmaids. Mama and Nona couldn’t fathom why I’d think of refusing.”
“And I didn’t want to refuse. I can’t not do it. I have some pride, you know.”
Alexa closed her eyes. “How am I going to do it?” It was a whine, and she hated whiners, but if any situation ever called for it… “What if I…I lose it and start screaming in the church?”
“Over a hat?”
He knew it was more than a hat. “Did I tell you the color of my bridesmaid dress is citrine?” It was more than the color, too.
“Don’t know citrine.”
She opened her eyes. “A greeny-yellow,” she said, gazing out at the side yard in search of an example. “I’ll look like an under-ripe lemon.” Her voice lowered. “To go with my sour mood.”
“Lex…” There might have been an undertone of sympathy in his voice.
“Don’t pity me,” she warned. “I won’t be crying at the altar. I’ll be steaming mad.”
“Should someone talk to—”
“No one can talk to anybody about this. I don’t want a single person besides you and me to know I’m upset in the slightest.” Wouldn’t that be humiliating?
“Whatever you say.”
All along, her plan had been to attend the event unescorted. That way, she could escape from the reception ASAP. But now she was having second thoughts. She still didn’t want a date date, but a buddy, a pal, a confidant who could be relied upon to yank her back from the brink of disaster…or from doing damage to the woman wearing a white fascinator…
“You’ve got to go with me,” she said in a rush. “To all the stupid pre-events and on the big day itself. Just to make sure I don’t do harm to myself or…or others.”
“Maybe Nico needs a solid punch in the face,” her best friend muttered.
Alexa’s stomach pitched. Nico. “It’s not about him.” That she’d gone away one weekend, engaged to the Italian Stallion that was the man of her family’s dreams only to come home to find her fiancé had hooked up with her cousin and that they were already talking of marriage…
It wasn’t about losing him at all, at least not anymore. It was about losing face.
She swung around, even more certain what she needed. “You have to come with me,” she declared. “Promise you will, Bro—” The rest of her best friend’s name stuck in her throat. She stared at the man in the kitchen with her, at his tall frame, his bare chest, his familiar features.
He was turned toward her now, with his nearly-black hair tumbling messily over his forehead. His brows were straight slashes framing his vividly blue eyes and their spiky, thick lashes. His nose was straight, his jaw square, and the tiny hint of a dimple in his chin didn’t provide even a dash of boyishness to his astounding good looks. He was all hard-edged, darkly intense male.
Her gaze dropped to the carved-out curves of his pecs and abdominals. A fist-sized sun was tattooed on the skin over his ribcage. The orb of it was yellow, with red flames snaking and swirling from its perimeter, reminding her of Medusa’s hair.
Just like described in the legend, staring at that tattoo turned Alexa into stone, even as a new burn crawled over her flesh.
Because this wasn’t Brody she’d been talking to. She was face-to-face with his twin brother, Bing.
Who wasn’t her friend. He was something else altogether, so much something else that she tried to avoid him when she could and always avoided looking directly at him.
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signal[ sig-nl ]SEE DEFINITION OF signal
EXAMPLES FROM THE WEB FOR SIGNAL
As she spoke, Geta lifted the curtain, and Philothea instantly obeyed the signal.
Each instinctively touched the other's arm, as a signal for silence.
For months I had received daily and hourly the most signal benefits from his hands.
The appearance of Mr. Gladstone was the signal for great applause.
Cissy sent her a look, a signal, and rose; she stood by the doorway.
Such questions were always a signal for an unlocking of tongues around the circle.
For all her dullness, it was a signal from Sally that saved Andrew.
Fear, as we understand it, was in itself a signal of advance.
It was too dark to see a signal if one had been placed for him in the usual manner.
It appeared as if the retirement of the two companies was the signal for their attack.
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If you visit the Sulcis in Iglesias area, you will find yourself in one of the oldest areas of Sardinia, on the land where the first Nuragic, Phoenician and Punic civilizations settled.
Mount Sirai is a true open-air archaeological museum. It was inhabited by the Nuraghic people from the first half of the second millennium BC, from the Neolithic era. In 750 a.C., the Phoenicians of ancient Lebanon, who were already living in Sulki, the current Sant’Antioco, settled in the territory of Mount Sirai and lived in their village. When the Phoenicians arrived, they probably found a nuraghe 14 meters high that connected all the nuraghi in the area.
The Phoenicians used it as a sacred area and around it they built the village and the tombs.
The town was used as a civil settlement and not a military one. It extended to more than 2 hectares of land and this aspect allows us to understand the importance that the town assumed over the years from a logistic point of view.
200 years after the arrival of the Phoenicians, the Carthaginian troops, also called Punic, arrived from North Africa. The Punic belonged to a colony of Phoenicians who colonized Carthage, the current Tunisia.
With the arrival of the Punic, most of the funerary customs changed. Since the cremation or cremation used by the Phoenicians, the dead were buried.
Twelve graves have been found. The one we went to visit is the most important and the largest. It is the only one that has a central pillar and, this element, suggests that it belonged to an important family of the Punic community.
Another very important element that gives this tomb a certain corporate importance is the symbol carved and found in the entrance, which represents a typical Carthaginian deity, Tanit, goddess of fertility, protector of Carthage, associated with Dido. Even more particular is the fact that the symbol of the goddess Tanit has been found upside down. It is the only example in which the goddess is represented in this way and archaeologists can not explain the reason.
Due to its peculiarity, the overturned symbol of Tanit has become the symbol of Mount Sirai.
Returning to the description of the tomb, along with the bones of the dead, were objects and amulets that belonged to the funeral tomb of the deceased and had the function of accompanying him during his eternal journey. The bodies were placed in the sarcophagi and then covered with wooden boards. All members of the family were buried laterally, then when the space on the sides was not enough, the other family members were buried in the center of the room in wooden sarcophagi.
Advancing, near a small hill, is Tophet.
The Tophet was a necropolis of children. It is located in an area separate from the other burial areas because the children who were buried were children who died almost immediately after birth or even were born dead. It was said that they were those who had not yet “entered society”, who had not had, therefore, time to enter society and be recognized civilly.
350 urns were found in this particular archaeological area, along with 150 small monuments called stelae that had the function of ex voto, that is, of the gratitude that men made to the gods for the graces received. So the Tofet assumes the burial place of the children, but it is also recognized as a sacred place where celebrations of thanksgiving to the gods were celebrated. In this sense, we recommend you visit the nearby Sant’Antioco. Even there, in addition to a beautiful archaeological museum, you can visit another very large Tofet that contains bottles of small urns, and many votive stelae that always had to do with fertility.
When you leave the sacred area of the burial sites, if you walk for a while you will reach the village.
The entrance to the town is characterized by a fairly narrow entrance, a square, a temple, three parallel streets and a series of terraced houses. The base of the houses in the town was rhyolite, that is, red traquita. The bricks were of clay and straw dried in the sun, what the Sardinians call “su ladiri” or “su ladri”.
The temple, of which only the base remains, is of trachyte or tufa. In addition to the red traquita, there is also white and yellow traquita. The rest of the temple was made of clay and straw bricks, and everything was plastered.
In one of the corridors of the temple was found a statue of the goddess Astarde, a Phoenician female deity whose original statue is preserved in the museum of Cagliari.
In addition to Astarde, there is also that of the god Bes, whose image was found in the form of a bone plate (probably a wooden furniture decoration.) The god Bes was an Egyptian deity to whom the Phoenicians continued to worship and protect the children The original statue of Bes was found in the archaeological site located near the city of Chia, the ancient Bitia, and even today it is kept in the museum of Cagliari.
The Punic people reorganized the village in the 3rd century BC.
We visited two houses: one excavated in the 1960s called Casa Fanthar in honor of one of the two Tunisian archaeologists who followed the excavations; and the other that was excavated in the nineties.
The curious feature of the Fanthar house is that it is represented by its interior patio, built around it, very similar to “sa lolla”, the typical interior courtyard of the houses of Campidanese (Sardinia). In addition, from the distribution of the rooms, it is assumed that in this house there could have been a higher floor.
The other two-story house was built in stone and wood. First of all we can see a channel for the water that was used in the home; the one that ends in the external part, on the other hand, was used to be collected in a tank.
An oven has been found inside the house, of which there is a copy on the outside. The oven was used for domestic use and for baking bread.
In another part of the house, deer antlers, iron scoria and stones were used to sharpen the blades. From the findings, it was thought that the house had belonged to a craftsman who produced knives.
Besides the interest in archeology that you may or may not like, I recommend visiting Mount Sirai: the landscape, characterized by the gentle hills, is very beautiful and relaxing; the open and very large spaces allow us to understand why it was chosen by the diverse populations described. Another aspect that caught my attention was knowing that the civilizations that settled one after the other did not make war, but coexisted peacefully for long periods. Nobody can know exactly how things went, but from small archaeological findings and historical testimonies, you have to think that this really happened and the curiosity to know the details of how they lived and handled everyday life, is already a lot! ?
Comment of the local: to get to Mount Sirai the road is signposted. From the main road that goes from Carbonia to Sant’Antioco, at a certain point you should turn right. The traffic signal where you should turn is not very visible, so I advise you to be careful not to pass it on.
If you have time to go further, or you have some extra days to devote to this area, we suggest you visit the archaeological museum of Sant’Antioco and visit the Chiara Vigo workshop, the Maesso del Bisso that we already presented. You can read about it in one of our articles that we remind you in this link: CHIARA VIGO, THE MASTER OF THE HILO DEL MAR – SANT’ANTIOCO
If you decide to visit during the summer, we always recommend bringing water and a hat to protect yourself from the sun. There are no areas of shade, but it is very hot. In addition, you can do the guided tour, the guides are very prepared.
Location: https://goo.gl/maps/Monte Sirai
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**New to Nina? Click here to start from the nuclear Lovecraft-ian beginning! Updated Monthly.**
Gelard 9 was a primitive world that existed snugly in its own time, cut off from the rest of the universe. The inhabitants of Gelard 9 only went outside in the large protective space suits of their forefathers, the original settlers of the planet. Their ways of space travel now long since forgotten, their ships used as cathedrals to pay homage to the stars from which they all knew they had come.
They believed in gods, and evils, and witches too. There was even a witch living among them out in the wild sands of the Droughtlands. They knew she was a witch because every once in a while a demoness would fall from the heavens and walk the Droughtlands to meet her. The demoness was tall, with long dark hair, and needed no suit to cross the sands as it kept itself suspended in a bright glowing magical bubble.
The kids of the outer villages were told warning parables about the demoness in the bubble, that if they wandered out after dark or were even up too late in their rooms she would snatch them up and take them with her back into the stars.
This terrified the children, many slept with their space helmets on just in case she did come and pull them from their beds.
Caligo, however, was not like the other children of his village. It wasn’t that he was a bad child, he just really loved the stars and offering a free magical trip as punishment for sneaking out to see them every night was quite honestly more than his little mind could ever hope for.
So it happened one night that as he was sitting out in his little space suit counting meteors on the hill while his mother and father slept soundly in their lead sheltering per the guidelines of the High Sect Elders, that Caligo spotted a falling star far brighter and greater than all the rest.
“The demon.” He whispered in awe. Caligo, while already aged to the looks of twelve cycles from too much time spent outside suit or not, was only just now past nine cycles and so he had not yet seen the demoness in his lifetime.
Excitement coursed through him as he ran into the desert. Very little grew on Gelard 9 as it was, all crops were harvested by the High Sect and kept in the church silo where it was prayed over for maximum distribution potential to all villagers and church keepers who were of forty cycles or younger. Resources were too scarce to be wasted on those over forty cycles as they were soon to die anyway to the Rot that took hold of most between their twenty-fifth and thirtieth cycle.
That was another reason the humans of Gelard 9 knew the woman to be a witch, not only was she have said to have lived at least eighty cycles with no signs of contracting the Rot, but nothing at all was known to grow in the Droughtlands that could sustain life. Many suspected that it was her unholy communion with this fallen celestial devil that sustained her where a natural life should have killed her.
Caligo lingered behind the rocks, now far out in the Droughtlands where he trailed the demoness. The Demoness of course was the quite human lady Nina Ajax and beneath the young Caligo’s feet were stores of green houses. The witch, a great chemical engineer and quantum physicist named Ellelia Bonton was no witch at all but rather a friend of Nina’s who had spent many cycles here studying the fascinating quantum riddles of Gelard 9.
Here sun, radiation, and unique multiple polarities found nowhere else in the universe aged this world in a way previously unseen. Bonton had spent many years studying world’s rotating pulsars that were similar in the aging but less sustaining. While forty cycles here was less than three on average human worlds beyond the Gelard System, it was still an entire lifetime here on Gelard 9. Bonton may have been on Gelard 9 for over eighty cycles but she conducted her experiments safely from a base atop one of the planets various poles in a lead valley. She then only need concern herself with basic lead maintenance including but not limited to filtering and processing all liquids thoroughly and keeping both herself and her plants out the sun of Gelard Sol 12 and its unique radiation.
Nina noted that Bonton looked barely more than a few years more than she should but she wasn’t surprised. Nina’s own people were bred over generations of space travel without solar time to age slow. Nina didn’t even bother to keep track of her own age as she hadn’t been on a planet for a full cycle since graduating the Academy. If she ever did pick a planet she would assume an age based off their aging cycle as to blend in and begin counting new cycles accordingly. Until them Nina had graduated at twenty-one cycles, the rest she left up to others to assume.
Caligo had never seen anyone so beautiful as the demoness, and was shocked to see the witch was also young and beautiful herself, not all the worn age someone of eighty cycles should be. Not that Caligo had any idea what eighty cycles should look like but he had seen forty and the blonde haired emerald eyed witch didn’t look even near that!
The demon turned, eying him in the darkness with her sharp hazel gaze and he gasped, hiding back behind the rock.
“Boo.” She whispered, laughing as he yelped and fell backwards, staring up at her with wide disbelieving eyes.
“You know.” Nina murmured, crossing her arms and smirking down on him. “I’ve flown to your planet easily thirteen times for Ellelia to fix my quantum weapons and gear and you are the first Gelardian to ever approach me in that entire time.”
She smiled with a sweetness only children ever got to see on the Demon Slayer’s face. “I’d say that makes you very brave.”
“What’s a Gelardian?” Caligo asked perplexed and Nina’s smile widened.
“And attentive.” She beamed, pausing thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know what other humans call your planet if you’ve only ever been on your planet.”
“You and me?” Nina began, pointing at each of them in turn. “Are humans. We are the same. The way you all live here, we live, out there.”
Caligo followed her finger as she pointed to various stars in the night sky before turning back to him and smiling. “The ground you are standing on belongs to a big rock that floats in the stars. Other humans live on other rocks and things out there in the stars and the rest of us humans call your rock Gelard 9, and the people who live on Gelard 9 are thus Gelardians.”
Caligo nodded and Nina smiled, clearly pleased with the boy’s ability to process such complex things without any previous context, this caused him to blush and strive on in an effort to fully prove himself.
“So then she.” He pointed at Bonton. “Is a human too?”
“Yes.” Nina smiled. “She is my friend. I am Nina, and she is Ellelia.”
“But how come neither of you look like the rest of us Gel-Gel…” He trailed off embarrassed, trying to enunciate this new and foreign word.
“Gelardians?” Nina replied kindly. “Because we know more about such things than you do as we were taught more.”
Caligo believed it, she could see it in his eyes. It was a risky thing to say, and Nina would’ve never bothered to say it to an adult but children understood by the nature of being children that there was always more to learn. She could see it there, a hunger for it in his eyes. That same hunger for knowledge that had driven him to follow her out into the darkness. That allowed him to stand here and try and learn from her rather than running away back to the safety and familiarity of his own world.
“What is your name?” She asked softly.
“Caligo.” He replied.
“Would you like to learn what we know, Caligo?” She asked, still just as softly.
Caligo nodded and Nina straightened up, holding out a small metal band between them. “This is a watch, my friend Ellelia made it special for me as a sort of test object as it has the power to rewrite time.”
“You see time, is made up of choices.” She explained. “Cause and effect. A person chooses to follow a person into the desert or a person chooses to stay home. Your choice to follow me has already re-written your future as you now know more than anyone on your planet about the truth of us and Gelard 9.”
“The High Sect Elders don’t even know it’s called.” He replied genuinely. “They refer to it as The Destination.”
“This watch lets me undo one choice.” Nina stated gravely. “Any choice in my entire life. The results of such an act is completely unprecedented and unpredictable. Do you know why Ellelia would put me in charge of testing such a thing?”
Caligo shook his head, he was only following the bare concept of this as it was.
“Because I think before I chose.” Nina said. “Every possible outcome of that decision, so if I were to undo a decision, I would think it all the way through in ways normal humans could never even comprehend.”
“So.” Nina asked. “Are you sure you want to know what we know?”
Caligo paused, things suddenly clicking. This would change his life. No one on Gelard 9 would even believe he’d followed Nina out here tonight, let alone any of the things he had learned. He would be laughed at, or worse brought before the High Sect and questioned, possibly even punished. They weren’t very tolerant to stories they didn’t like and Caligo had a feeling they wouldn’t like this one very much.
Caligo looked up, at those shimmering balls of light shinning down on them out here in the desert, almost like they too were waiting to see what he would choose. “Will I learn about the stars?”
Nina smiled gently. “Oh yes. You will learn about the stars.”
“Then I choose to learn.” He nodded bravely. “To learn about the stars, and if it costs me my home here, then I will use what I’ve learned to go to the stars.”
Nina nodded, wincing slightly as she pressed an injector gun just under her jaw, Bonton nodded pulling out a controller and navigating the nanites into position around the necessary centers of her brain.
Nina looked down at him, tapping her temple pointedly with the gun.
“Right now I am taking knowledge from my own brain.” She tapped his temple lightly, holding his wide deep blue gaze. “And preparing to shoot it into you where Ellelia will transfer it over to your brain.”
“Will it hurt?” Caligo asked nervously, already knowing the answer.
“There will be a little pinch, then a massive explosion of pain like you’ve never known.” She groaned, pressing the gun back under her jaw and extracting the nanites. “The pain will be so great and overwhelming it should knock you out, but when you wake up…”
Nina paused, pressing the gun under the boy’s trembling jaw. “You’ll know.”
It all happened just like she said it would and when he woke up days later, somehow back home in his own bed she was already gone, only her knowledge now left behind in his throbbing head.
Caligo wasn’t concerned though, he knew how to find her, and when the time was right…
Check out these two amazing new art pieces Aidan Casserly made for Nina!
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The Alexander Brown Memorial Fund
The Alexander Brown Memorial Fund was established by family and friends to honor Sandy's commitment to organ donation and transplantation to continue helping students who have been recipients of an organ transplant to pursue their advancement of their educational goals.
Alexander “Sandy” Brown was a fourth generation Denver native, born February 13, 1940. Sandy grew up in Denver’s Park Hill neighborhood spending his youth ice-skating on Denver’s City Park pond and playing football and baseball with his friends.
Sandy graduated from East High School, attended Mesa Junior College and served in the US Marine Corp. Self-described as an inventor and entrepreneur, he began his career in commercial real-estate at Fuller and Company. Later, Sandy joined his cousin, in the family business, Brown- Schrepferman Construction Company. Years later Sandy started and led two other successful companies, Absolute Management and Safe-T-Rail, Inc.
Sandy was an outgoing, determined individual, who believed in the importance hard-work and self-reliance. He lived with indomitable optimism, a can-do spirit and penchant for fun that attracted many friends to his larger than life personality. At the center of his life was always his family, four daughters and grandchildren.
When one of Sandy’s daughters became ill and had to undergo a kidney transplant, he and his wife became champions for organ and tissue donation. Sandy participated in a number of transplant-related causes including serving as Chairman of the the Mile-High Transplant Bank, now part of the Donor Alliance, and receiving honors for his work with the National Kidney Foundation and the American Council on Transplantation. His family’s personal struggle waiting for an organ transplant and navigating the healthcare system caused him to search for solutions to the organ donor shortage and advocate on behalf of organ donation.
Knowing the impact an education can have on an individual, Sandy always encouraged the younger generation to pursue higher education. He had a strong belief that a college degree was something, that once earned, could never be taken away. Sandy also recognized what the gift of life, an organ transplant, meant to his family and understood what a college degree could mean to someone who had already faced so many of life’s challenges. In that spirit and on his passing in 2018, Sandy’s friends created this memorial scholarship. The Alexander Brown Scholarship furthers two of Sandy’s interests: the importance of supporting others in their pursuit of higher education and the miracle of organ donation and transplantation.
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[Printable RTF version]
||Neutral Citation Number: EWCA Civ 1418
||Case No: A3/2005/0597
IN THE SUPREME COURT OF JUDICATURE
COURT OF APPEAL (CIVIL DIVISION)
ON APPEAL FROM THE HIGH COURT OF JUSTICE
QUEEN'S BENCH DIVISION
Mr Justice Andrew Smith
EWHC 221 (Comm)
Royal Courts of Justice
Strand, London, WC2A 2LL
||29 November 2005
B e f o r e :
LORD JUSTICE BROOKE
Vice-President, Court of Appeal (Civil Division)
LORD JUSTICE SEDLEY
LORD JUSTICE RICHARDS
|| (1) Datec Electronic Holdings Ltd
(2) Incoparts BV
||- and -
||United Parcels Service Limited
Matthew Reeve (instructed by Clyde & Co) for the Appellants
Julian Flaux QC and Charles Priday (instructed by Barlow Lyde & Gilbert) for the Respondent
Hearing dates : 18-19 October 2005
HTML VERSION OF JUDGMENT
Crown Copyright ©
Lord Justice Richards :
- This case concerns the loss of three packages of computer processors that were consigned to United Parcels Service Limited ("UPS") on 25 July 2002 for carriage from the United Kingdom to the Netherlands. The consignor was Datec Electronic Holdings Limited ("Datec") and the consignee was Incoparts BV ("Incoparts"), one of Datec's customers. Carriage was arranged by Tibbett and Britten Ltd. ("T&B"), Datec's distribution agents. The consignment was to be carried by road from Datec's warehouse at Bletchley to Luton, by air from Luton to Cologne, and by road from Cologne to UPS's premises in Amsterdam (referred to as UPS's "hub") and onward to the warehouse at Schipol of Incoparts' agent, L&A Freight BV ("L&A"). It was collected by a UPS driver from Datec's warehouse on 25 July for delivery in Schipol by 10.30 a.m. on 26 July. Datec and Incoparts alleged that it did not reach its destination, and they brought a claim for damages against UPS as carrier.
- The claimants contended that carriage of the goods on the international leg of the journey between Cologne and the Netherlands was subject to the Convention on the Contract for the International Carriage of Goods by Road ("the CMR"), as set out in the schedule to the Carriage of Goods by Road Act 1965. Article 17.1 of the CMR provides for the liability of the carrier for the loss of, or damage to, the goods. Article 23 sets a limit on compensation by reference to the weight of the consignment. By article 29, however, that limit does not apply in a case of wilful misconduct by the carrier's agents or servants acting within the scope of their employment.
- In this case the limit on compensation if article 23 applied was £657.73. The claimants contended, however, that the loss had been caused by wilful misconduct on the part of UPS's servants, in that the packages had been stolen by an employee or employees of UPS, so that the article 23 limit was disapplied by article 29. On that basis they sought to recover the full value of the goods, which was agreed to be £241,241.14.
- UPS disputed liability altogether. It did not accept that it had failed to deliver the consignment to L&A. It also relied on its terms and conditions of carriage for a series of arguments to the effect that there was no contract of carriage falling within the CMR at all or, if there was, it was on terms that excluded any liability in the circumstances of this case. Those matters were said to provide a complete defence to the claim.
- In a commendably clear and detailed judgment, Andrew Smith J found that the three packages had not been delivered to L&A but that the claimants had failed to prove that non-delivery was the result of theft by an employee or employees of UPS. Accordingly he held that the compensation recoverable under the CMR was subject to the limit in article 23. He rejected UPS's contention that the CMR did not apply at all and held that UPS could not rely on the relevant provisions of its terms and conditions of carriage since they derogated from the CMR and were rendered null and void by article 41 of the CMR. In the result he gave judgment in favour of the claimants in the sum of £657.73.
- The claimants appeal against the judge's finding that the compensation was subject to the limit in article 23. UPS cross-appeals against the judge's rejection of the defences advanced by reference to UPS's terms and conditions of carriage.
- I think it sensible to deal first with the issues raised by UPS's cross-appeal since they go to the question whether UPS is liable at all. If the cross-appeal fails, it will be necessary to consider the extent of UPS's liability as raised by the claimants' appeal.
UPS'S CROSS-APPEAL: DEFENCES TO LIABILITY
The applicability of UPS's terms
- UPS's case on its cross-appeal is based on the UPS terms and conditions of carriage which came into effect on 4 February 2002 ("the UPS terms"). As explained below, the UPS terms include a restriction in respect of packages with an individual value in excess of US $50,000. Each of the three packages that made up the 25 July 2002 consignment had a value considerably in excess of that sum. UPS contends that in those circumstances the UPS terms provide it with a defence.
- The UPS terms provide, in material part:
A. These terms and conditions ('terms') set out the basis on which United Parcel Service will transport packages, letters and freight ('packages'). These terms are supplemented by the service details in the current applicable UPS Service and Tariff Guide ('the Service and Tariff Guide') relating to the particular service the shipper has chosen. The Service and Tariff Guide contains important details about the services of UPS which the shipper should read and which form part of the agreement between UPS and the shipper.
B. … Notwithstanding any clause to the contrary, international carriage by road may be subject to the provisions of the Convention on the Contract for the International Carriage of Goods by Road ….
D. … In these terms, 'Waybill' shall mean a single UPS waybill/consignment note or the entries recorded against the same date, address and service level on a pick-up record ….
2. Scope of Service
Unless any special services are agreed, the service to be provided by UPS is limited to the pick-up, transportation, customs clearance where applicable and delivery of the shipment ….
3. Conditions of Carriage
This section sets out various restrictions and conditions which limit and govern the extent of the service UPS offers. It also explains what the consequences are of the shipper presenting packages for carriage which do not meet these requirements.
(a) Service Restrictions and Conditions
UPS does not offer carriage of packages which do not comply with the restrictions in paragraphs (i) to (iv) below.
(i) Packages must not weigh more than 70 kilograms (or 150lbs) or exceed 270 centimetres (or 108 inches) in length or a total of 330 centimetres (or 130 inches) in length and girth combined.
(ii) The value of any package may not exceed the local currency equivalent of USD 50,000. In addition the value of any jewellery, other than costume jewellery, in a package shall not exceed the local currency equivalent of USD 500.
(iii) Packages must not contain any of the prohibited articles listed in the Service and Tariff Guide including (but not limited to) articles of unusual value (such as works of art, antiques, precious stones, stamps, unique items, gold or silver), money or negotiable instruments (such as cheques, bills of exchange, bonds, savings books, share certificates or other securities) and dangerous goods.
(iv) Packages must not contain goods which might endanger human or animal life or any means of transportation, or which might otherwise taint or damage other goods being transported by UPS, or the carriage, export or import of which is prohibited by applicable law.
The shipper shall be responsible for the accuracy and completeness of the particulars inserted in the Waybill and for ensuring that all packages set out adequate contact details for the shipper and receiver of the package and that they are so packed, marked and labelled, their contents so described and classified and are accompanied by such documentation as may (in each case) be necessary to make them suitable for transportation and to comply with the requirements of the Service and Tariff guide and applicable law.
(b) Perishable and temperature sensitive goods will be transported provided that the shipper accepts that this is at its risk. UPS does not provide special handling for such packages.
(c) Refusal and Suspension of Carriage
(i) If it comes to the attention of UPS that any package does not meet any of the above restrictions or conditions or that any COD amount stated on a COD Waybill exceeds the limits specified in paragraph 8, UPS may refuse to transport the relevant package (or any shipment of which it is a part) and, if carriage is in progress, UPS may suspend carriage and hold the package or shipment to the shipper's order.
(ii) UPS may also suspend carriage if it cannot effect delivery at the third attempt, if the receiver refuses to accept delivery, if it is unable to effect delivery because of an incorrect address (having used all reasonable means to find the correct address) or because the correct address is found to be in another country from the set out on the package or Waybill or if it cannot collect amounts due from the receiver on delivery.
(iii) Where UPS is entitled to suspend carriage of a package or shipment, it is also entitled to return it to the shipper at its own discretion.
(d) The shipper will be responsible for the reasonable costs and expenses of UPS (including storage), for such losses, taxes and customs duties as UPS may suffer and for all claims made against UPS because a package does not meet any of the restrictions or conditions in paragraph (a) above or because of any refusal or suspension of carriage or return of a package or shipment by UPS which is allowed by these terms. In the case of the return of a package or shipment, the shipper will also be responsible for paying return transport charges calculated in accordance with the prevailing commercial rates of UPS.
(e) UPS will not meet any losses which the shipper may suffer arising out of UPS carrying packages which do not meet the restrictions or conditions set out in paragraph (a) above and, if UPS does suspend carriage for a reason allowed by these terms, the shipper shall not be entitled to any refund on the carriage charges it has paid.
(f) UPS reserves the right, but is not obliged, to open and inspect any package tendered to it for transportation at any time.
9.1 Where the Warsaw or CMR Conventions or any national laws implementing or adopting these conventions apply …, the liability of UPS is governed by and will be limited according to the applicable rules.
9.4 Subject to the provisions of paragraph 9.5, UPS operates a facility for the shipper to obtain for a shipment the benefit of a greater limit of liability … than is provided by Covnention Rules …. The shipper may use this facility by declaring a higher value on the Waybill and paying an additional charge as stated in the Service and Tariff Guide. The value of the goods concerned shall not in any event exceed the limits specified in paragraph 3(a)(ii)."
- The Service and Tariff Guide does not add materially to those terms, though it does serve to underline the restrictions in clause 3.
- The judge held that the UPS terms applied to the consignment in question. From time to time UPS and T&B had entered into an "umbrella" agreement which specified the services that UPS was to provide, the documentation required for shipments, when payment was to be made and what discounts were available to T&B. The umbrella agreement in force in July 2002 stated expressly that "All goods are carried subject to the UPS Terms and Conditions of Carriage effective at the date of shipment as amended by UPS from time to time". Moreover, the documentation for the consignment on 25 July 2002 was prepared by T&B on a "Worldship" computer system provided to T&B by UPS to create the shipping documents; and in order to operate the system T&B had to answer "yes" to a question whether it accepted the UPS terms. For those and other reasons the judge found (para 82):
"If necessary, I would hold that similarly the UPS terms were incorporated into the contract that they made with Datec on 25 July 2002, but it does not seem to me that UPS need resort to arguments of this kind: the contract of 25 July 2002 for the carriage of the three packages was made under, and governed by, the umbrella contract, which provided for the UPS terms."
- The judge also rejected an argument by the claimants that the parties' conduct of their business and exchanges before July 2002 evinced an intention that the US $50,000 restriction should not be incorporated into the contract of carriage made on 25 July 2002 or that UPS waived the restriction by its conduct or had precluded itself from relying upon it.
Was there a contract of carriage?
- The first submission by Mr Flaux QC for UPS is that the three packages were not the subject of a contract of carriage at all. By the UPS terms, in particular by clause 3(a), UPS made clear that it did not offer to carry packages with a value in excess of US $50,000. The value restriction had been the subject of discussion and was known to T&B. Had UPS known that the packages were over the value limit it would have refused to carry them. As it was, UPS believed that they were within the limit and had no reason to believe otherwise. In those circumstances, it is submitted, there was no sufficient consensus between the parties for a contract of carriage. There was at most a bailment of the goods.
- If that submission were correct, it would take the transaction outside the scope of the CMR, which applies by article 1 only to a "contract for the carriage of goods by road in vehicles for reward …".
- The judge rejected the submission, or a more elaborate version of it, stating:
"118. … I acknowledge that paragraph 3 of the UPS Terms refers to restrictions upon the service that UPS 'offers', and to a lawyer this terminology has connotations of the rules about contracts being concluded through an offer and acceptance, and of the need for them to correspond. However, the issue is about the meaning of the UPS terms in a commercial contract made between businessmen, and they are to be interpreted in that context. I consider that UPS's submission places too much weight upon the reference to what UPS 'offers', and, more importantly, the UPS terms expressly state that paragraph 3 explains the consequences of the shipper presenting packages that do not meet UPS's restrictions and conditions. The paragraph does not explain that there will be no contract of carriage if such a package is presented and accepted: on the contrary, sub-paragraph (c) provides that the effect of the shipper presenting a package that does not meet the restrictions is that UPS have the right to refuse to carry it or, if carriage is in progress, to suspend carriage. The implication is that unless and until UPS exercise their right, there is a contract that UPS will carry the package. …
119. I consider that this interpretation of the UPS terms is in accordance with commercial reality and the business expectations of the parties. After all, UPS's argument would, I think, apply by parity of reasoning even if the consignor and UPS were both unaware that the consignment contained a package worth more than US$50,000 and understood that the consignment complied with the UPS terms.
121. … The agreement between UPS and Datec made on 25 July 2002 was for the carriage of the packages accepted by the UPS driver. Their value does not mean that UPS did not agree to carry those packages. …"
- I agree entirely with the judge. In my view this was plainly a contract of carriage, concluded at the latest when the UPS driver accepted the goods. It may be that the UPS driver would have declined to take the goods had he known that they exceeded the value limit, but the fact remains that he accepted them. The UPS terms did not negative the existence of a contract. They governed the contract that was made, defining the rights and liabilities of UPS in relation to, inter alia, goods that did not comply with the restrictions in clause 3(a). The effect of the CMR on those contractual provisions is a separate question, to which I now turn.
Is UPS entitled to rely on clause 3 of the UPS terms as excluding its liability?
- Mr Flaux's alternative submission, and one on which he puts greater weight, is that, if there was a contract of carriage, clause 3 of the UPS terms was effective to exclude UPS's liability for the loss of the packages.
- One of the obstacles that UPS has to overcome in seeking to rely on clause 3 is article 41.1 of the CMR, which provides:
"Subject to the provisions of article 40 [which concerns agreements between carriers], any stipulation which would directly or indirectly derogate from the provisions of this Convention shall be null and void. The nullity of such a stipulation shall not involve the nullity of the other provisions of the contract."
- The judge held that article 41 defeated the various arguments advanced by UPS in reliance on clause 3 of the UPS terms. It was argued before him that by presenting the goods for carriage, Datec, through T&B, impliedly gave a warranty that the packages were within the scope of the service that UPS offered and, more specifically, that the value of the packages did not exceed the sterling equivalent of US $50,000; and that the loss was therefore caused by Datec's own wrong because, but for the breach of contract, the packages would not have come into UPS's possession and would not have been lost in transit. The judge held that no such warranty was to be implied. He also rejected an alternative argument that T&B made an implied representation about the value of the packages. He went on:
"124. I should add that the claimants submit, and I agree, that they have a further answer to this part of UPS's case in article 41 of the CMR: any such stipulation in the contract of carriage would be null and void in that it derogates from the provisions of the CMR. …
125. If I am right that the CMR applies to the contract for carriage of the consignment (so far as is relevant: that is to say from Cologne to L&A's premises), then UPS cannot protect themselves from liability by relying upon paragraph 3(e) of the UPS terms, nor can they rely upon paragraph 3(d) to argue that under it Datec, and not UPS, are to bear that loss. Those are stipulations that derogate from the provisions of the CMR, and so are null and void."
- The judge also rejected a more general argument to the effect that there is nothing in the CMR that prevents a carrier from limiting the scope of the service that he provides and that it would be surprising and unbusinesslike to conclude that the CMR effectively prevents carriers from choosing not to carry and be responsible for particular kinds of packages, in view of their value or for other reasons. In relation to that argument the judge observed:
"126. … The CMR regime does indeed allow carriers to define their obligations with regard to the extent of the service that they are to perform, in that, for example, they can stipulate that they are not obliged to load or to unload goods: the CMR does not settle who has responsibility for this. That is very different from saying that a carrier is free to define whether he is responsible for goods that he does accept for carriage under a contract to which the CMR applies. Here the scope for the parties to define or limit their duties, responsibilities and liability is governed by the CMR. For example, I have already referred to the articles of the CMR that contemplate that there should be a consignment note and that it might include a declaration of the value of the goods, so that the carrier can thereby protect himself from expenses, loss and damage if he accepts a package and the sender has given inaccurate particulars of its value. UPS did not avail themselves of this protection."
- It is that last, more general line of argument that Mr Flaux has developed before us in his submissions on this aspect of the case. He submits that it must be open for a carrier to say that he will not carry goods in a particular category and that he will not be liable if, unknown to him, goods within that category are consigned to him. The particular case concerns valuables, where there are good reasons (such as lesser security and lesser temptation for employees) why a carrier may wish to limit the value of packages carried; but the same principle applies to size, weight, dangerous content and so forth. The effect of clause 3, in making clear that UPS does not offer to carry packages which do not comply with the stated restrictions, is to define the scope of the contract service rather than the terms on which the contract service is to be performed. Thus the contract service is the carriage of goods complying with the clause 3 restrictions. The CMR does not define the scope of the service that a carrier may offer: there is nothing in the CMR that requires a carrier to take goods that he does not want to carry. Accordingly, clause 3 does not amount to a derogation from the CMR so as to fall foul of article 41.
- In support of that argument, Mr Flaux cites observations of Devlin J in Pyrene Co. Ld. V. Scindia Navigation Co. Ld. 2 QB 402 on the provision in article 3, rule 2 of the Hague Rules that "the carrier shall properly and carefully load … the goods carried":
"The phrase 'shall properly and carefully load' may mean that the carrier shall load and that he shall do it properly and carefully: or that he shall do whatever loading he does properly and carefully. The former interpretation perhaps fits the language more closely, but the latter may be more consistent with the object of the rules. Their object … is to define not the scope of the contract service but the terms on which that service is to be performed. … I see no reason why the rules should not leave the parties free to determine by their own contract the part which each has to play. On this view the whole contract of carriage is subject to the rules, but the extent to which loading and discharging are brought within the carrier's obligations is left to the parties themselves to decide."
- Mr Flaux submits that clause 3 applied in any event to the carriage of the packages as far as Cologne, since the CMR was engaged only by the international road haulage leg from Cologne. The CMR should not be held to deny a carrier all protection in circumstances where the carrier has made clear the limits of what he is willing to carry and the consignor, through its distribution agent, is aware of the restrictions yet ignores them. If, in those circumstances, the carrier unwittingly ends up carrying goods that do not comply with the restrictions, he should be able to say that he is under no liability in relation to them. Clause 3(e) is sufficiently wide to confer that protection.
- In my judgment that line of argument is fallacious. I accept, of course, that the CMR does not define the scope of the service that a carrier may offer, in the sense of compelling him to carry goods that he does not want to carry. But that is not what this case is about. The reality here is that UPS agreed to carry the three packages in question. As I have already held, it entered into a contract of carriage in respect of them. It was not compelled to do so, whether by the CMR or otherwise, but it did so. The contract service is one of carriage of the goods that it accepted for carriage. It is plain that clause 3 defines the terms on which that contract service is to be performed; and it follows that, by virtue of article 41, it is null and void in so far as it contains stipulations which would directly or indirectly derogate from the provisions of the CMR.
- The particular stipulation relied on in Mr Flaux's submissions to us was clause 3(e). There was some argument as to the precise meaning and effect of that provision, but I think it unnecessary to deal with the detail of that argument. It seems to me that, in so far as UPS relies on clause 3(e) as displacing the liability to which UPS would otherwise be subject under article 17.1 of the CMR (whether compensation is on the limited basis defined by article 23 or on the unlimited basis arising out of the application of article 29), it necessarily derogates from the provisions of the CMR and is to that extent null and void. It cannot lawfully operate as an exclusion of the liability to which UPS is otherwise subject under the CMR. The same applies to any other provision of clause 3 on which UPS may continue to rely as excluding its liability in the circumstances of this case. (Mr Reeve, for the claimants, contended that the entirety of clause 3, including for example the power to suspend carriage, derogated from the provisions of the CMR and was null and void. I see no need to rule on that wider contention. It is sufficient that any provisions of clause 3 that are relied on as excluding liability in the circumstances of this case must in my view yield to article 41.)
- Accordingly, I agree with the judge's conclusions on this issue.
- I do not consider that such an outcome leaves a carrier without protection or forces him to carry goods of a kind that he does not choose to carry. Much more could be done than UPS has sought to do by clause 3. At the simplest level, it is open to a carrier to require a consignor to sign a declaration that the goods comply with the restrictions laid down by the carrier: for example, to reflect clause 3(a)(ii) of the UPS terms, a carrier could require a consignor to sign a declaration that the value of any package did not exceed the local currency equivalent of US $50,000 or, in the case of jewellery other than costume jewellery, did not exceed the local currency equivalent of US $500. In the absence of such a declaration the carrier could refuse to accept the goods for carriage. If the carrier were induced to accept the goods by a false declaration of their value, he would in principle have remedies for misrepresentation that were not available on the facts of the present case.
- More particularly, however, reliance could be placed on the regime laid down by the CMR itself. As Andrew Smith J observed at para 27 of his judgment: "Had the parties, intending to have a contract of carriage that was to be subject to the CMR, used the system of documentation contemplated by the CMR, some of the disputes in this litigation might not have arisen." Thus:
(1) Article 4 provides that the contract of carriage shall be confirmed by the making out of a consignment note (though lack of a consignment note does not affect the validity of the contract of carriage). Article 5 requires the consignment note to be made out in three original copies signed by the sender and the carrier, and lays down certain other requirements. Article 6 deals with the particulars to be contained in a consignment note. Those referred to in paragraph 1 are mandatory. Paragraph 2 provides that "[w]here applicable, the consignment note shall also contain the following particulars: … (d) a declaration of the value of the goods". Paragraph 3 provides that "[t]he parties may enter in the consignment note any other particulars which they may deem useful". Thus it is open to a carrier to require that a declaration of value (or of maximum value) along the lines that I have indicated be included in the CMR consignment note.
(2) In the absence of a satisfactory declaration of value in the consignment note, it would be open to the carrier not to accept the goods for carriage.
(3) If there were a false declaration of value in the consignment note and the carrier could show that he would not have accepted the goods for carriage but for that declaration, article 7 would provide him with a strong counter-argument in the event of a claim by the consignor. Article 7 reads:
"The sender shall be responsible for all expenses, loss and damage sustained by the carrier by reason of the inaccuracy or inadequacy of:
(b) the particulars specified in article 6, paragraph 2;
(c) any other particulars … given by him to enable the consignment note to be made out …."
I accept that the application of article 7 would not be altogether free from doubt or difficulty. Mr Flaux drew attention to a not dissimilar issue that arose in the present case. UPS contended that the loss was caused by the "wrongful act" of the claimants, within the meaning of article 17.2, in sending packages in breach of the article 3 restrictions. In rejecting that contention, the judge held not only that it was not a "wrongful act" but also that UPS had failed to prove that any such act had caused the loss. His reasoning was that if the claimants had not sent three packages each worth more than US $50,000, they would probably have sent a consignment of smaller packages each worth less than US $50,000; and that UPS had failed to prove that the loss would not have occurred if there had been a larger number of smaller packages. Those were findings on the particular facts – findings which are not the subject of appeal. Mr Flaux was entitled to rely on them as an example of the kind of issue that can arise in practice, but I do not regard them as being of general application or as seriously undermining the protection that article 7 is capable of providing to a carrier who makes proper use of the consignment note provisions of the CMR.
(4) A false declaration would also strengthen the carrier's case that there had been a wrongful act by the consignor under article 17.2, though there would again be an issue of causation as considered in (3) above.
(5) It is true that the CMR applied only to one stage of the journey in this case and that another leg of the journey involved international carriage by air. But we have been shown nothing to suggest that compliance in this respect with the CMR regime would produce an inconsistency with other applicable rules or would otherwise be unworkable.
THE CLAIMANTS' APPEAL: WILFUL MISCONDUCT
- Having rejected UPS's arguments that it is not liable to the claimants at all for the loss of the goods, I must turn to consider the claimants' case as to the extent of UPS's liability. The sole issue on the claimants' appeal is whether the judge was correct to reject the claimants' contention that article 29 of the CMR applied to their claim and that the limit to compensation under article 23 was therefore disapplied.
- Article 29 reads:
"1. The carrier shall not be entitled to avail himself of the provisions of this chapter [which include article 23] which exclude or limit his liability … if the damage was caused by his wilful misconduct or by such default on his part as, in accordance with the law of the court or tribunal seized of the case, is considered as equivalent to wilful misconduct.
2. The same provision shall apply if the wilful misconduct was committed by the agents or servants of the carrier or by any other persons of whose services he makes use for the performance of the carriage, when such agents, servants or other persons are acting within the scope of their employment. …"
- The claimants' case was that the packages were stolen by one or more of UPS's employees and that the loss was therefore caused, within the meaning of article 29, by wilful misconduct of UPS's servants acting within the scope of their employment. Initially the claimants appeared to single out one driver, Mr Mouloud Kadim, to whom the relevant delivery from UPS's hub to Schipol was allocated and whom UPS itself at first suspected of theft of the packages. But the case as ultimately put was on a broader basis as to employee theft as the most likely cause of the loss. (References in this judgment to "employee theft" or to theft "by" employees are intended to include the involvement of employees as accomplices to theft.)
- In order to understand that case and the criticisms made of the judge's rejection of it, it is necessary to set out a considerable amount of factual detail. For that purpose I shall gratefully adopt extensive passages from Andrew Smith J's judgment, with the addition of some points made in the course of argument before us. The judgment makes reference to the evidence of Mr Tailor, Mr Worrall and Mr Appelman, all of whom were witnesses for the claimants. It also refers to the evidence of Mr van Beusekom, a security investigator employed by UPS, whose factual evidence was largely unchallenged and was accepted by the judge. I will need to deal separately, however, with certain opinion evidence of Mr van Beusekom, as well as the evidence of the parties' respective expert witnesses, Mr Holmes and Mr Heinrich-Jones, on the possible causes of the loss.
The consignment and its progress to the hub
- The judge described the consignment as follows:
"24. The consignment that is the subject of this claim comprised three packages, weighing 25kg, 25kg, and 17kg respectively. They were brown cardboard boxes, and they bore no Datec logo or other such indication that the goods were from Datec. The boxes had a transparent pouch on one side, and in the pouch of at least one of the boxes was a shipping document produced on UPS's 'Worldship' computer system; and the other two had either a similar document or at least an address label and a UPS tracking label. …"
- In addition to the substantial weight of each package, our attention has been drawn to their substantial size. Each was made up of a number of smaller boxes the dimensions of which were 38 cm x 33 cm x 12 cm. Two of the packages comprised three such boxes, the third package comprised two such boxes.
- The documentation that accompanied each package was the subject of more detailed discussion at paras 25-26 of the judge's judgment. He found that, whatever its precise form, it contained no more specific description of the goods than "electronic components" and gave no indication of their value. It is clear from a similar form that we have seen, and from other evidence, that the documentation included the shipper's address and the delivery address, together with a barcode which could be scanned so as to enable the progress of the packages to be tracked.
- The tracking system established that the packages all reached UPS's hub. As the judge stated:
"28. The progress of the consignment to the hub is not controversial. It was carried by road to Luton airport, where it was recorded at 7.24pm on 25 July 2002. It was taken by air from Luton to Cologne, Germany, where it was recorded at 1.59 am and 2.08am on 26 July 2002. It was then transported by road from Cologne to Amsterdam, and was recorded at the hub at 7.30am on 26 July 2002. These times are known because UPS scanned the bar codes of the tracking labels and so recorded the progress of the packages on their computer system. …"
- Before continuing with the judge's account, I shall turn to his description of the hub itself and of the procedures at the hub and for delivery from the hub.
The hub and UPS's procedures
- The judge's findings were as follows:
"14. The UPS warehouse is surrounded by a wire mesh fence of some 3 metres in height, through which there are two vehicular entrances and one pedestrian entrance. There is another warehouse building within the fenced area, but it was not being used in July 2002. Staff have 'Proximity' cards, which allow them access to the premises at permitted times. Vehicles delivering packages to the hub are reversed into off-loading gates at the side of the warehouse building, and Mr van Beusekom gave unchallenged evidence that it is virtually impossible to enter or leave the warehouse between the sides of the building and vehicles as they unload. Otherwise, all receiving, sorting and loading operations are done inside the building and behind closed doors.
15. On a typical morning in 2002 UPS would receive, sort and load some 5,000 packages at the hub. Vehicles arrived there from about 4.00am to 8.00am to deliver consignments, and workers called 'pre-loaders' unloaded them. (Packages were also handled in the evening between about 5.30pm and 10.00 or 11.00pm.) There would have been up to 15 members of staff handing packages in the warehouse at this time, and in addition there were, say, six administrative staff who worked flexible hours and might come in either before or after 8.00am. The pre-loaders place the packages on to conveyor belts that extend into the back of the trailers or vans. The belts carry packages from the off-loading bays into the building to the main conveyor belt, a distance of about 1.5 metres. The main conveyor belt then takes them to the delivery or despatch area of the building. As the packages are unloaded on to the main conveyor belt, the bar codes on their labels are scanned with hand-held scanners and the packages are recorded as being 'out for delivery'.
16. There are two spurs off the main conveyor belts, and as packages come down the main belt, a sorter directs them manually to the appropriate spur. Loaders, who might also work as drivers, pull the packages for his or her area from the spur belts, and load them in delivery vehicles, which have been parked beside the spurs. UPS usually have some 40 to 50 vehicles waiting to take goods to various parts of the Netherlands and each is allocated a delivery area.
17. Generally packages are loaded directly into the back of delivery vehicles, and are stowed on racks and, as far as practicable, grouped according to their delivery address. However, for various reasons a package might be stacked on the warehouse floor before being loaded: for example, larger packages might be put there so that the loader can later place them in the vehicle where they could be conveniently handled; or the racks of the vehicle might be too full to take a package, which might then have to be delivered by another vehicle; or a package might have been mis-sorted and have to be redirected to another point on the loading spurs.
18. Mr van Beusekom's evidence was that the speed and scale of the operation is such that staff in the hub have no time to ascertain what packages contain, and certainly are not in a position to assess their value. Indeed packages, at least if they are for delivery within the European Community, are not accompanied by documentation indicating their value. I accept Mr van Beusekom's evidence about this.
19. Thus, delivery vehicles are loaded inside the warehouse. Packages are not scanned at this state of the operation, and drivers are not provided with a list of what had been loaded on their vehicles. The vehicles leave through doors on the side of the warehouse, which are automatically operated by a 'Proximity' card, and which lead into a yard, and from there they leave the hub through a gate in the perimeter fence.
20. The vans do not lock automatically when their doors were closed, only the door between the driver's cabin and the body of the van having automatic locking. Drivers are instructed to lock the vehicles themselves when they make deliveries and also to secure the back doors with a padlock.
21. When UPS drivers deliver goods, they are supposed to obtain from the recipient a signature by way of a 'Proof of Delivery'. Each driver has a 'DIAD' board, a portable machine that enables him to make a record of the packages that he is carrying and the addresses that he visits on a delivery round. The DIAD system is also used to obtain a recipient's signature when a delivery is made. One signature should be obtained for each package, and so if a consignment comprises more than one package, several signatures are required. UPS should therefore have on the DIAD system a record of the number of packages delivered, and when they were delivered.
22. When he completes his round, the driver returns the DIAD recorder to a rack at UPS's premises, and the information from it, including any signatures obtained by way of proof of delivery, is loaded into UPS's mainframe computer system. If for any reason a driver does not deliver a package, he should bring it back to the hub. Upon return, it should be scanned and then placed in a locked cage area in the warehouse referred to as 'overgoods'. Any packages that arrive at the hub and cannot be delivered because of inadequate labelling are also placed in 'overgoods'. If after inquiries and investigation they can be neither delivered nor returned, these package are eventually sold at auction.
23. UPS have CCTV cameras at the hub covering both the inside of the building and the receiving and despatch yards outside. Inside the building there were in July 2002 nine cameras in operation, eight recording in colour and one recording in black and white. There was a further camera which was not recording at all because UPS's system could not accommodate another operational camera, but it was thought to deter wrongdoing because only the manager and a few others knew that it was not working. Mr van Beusekom was cross-examined about the precise extent of the CCTV coverage in the building. It suffices to say that he accepted that it was not complete for two reasons: first, although the cameras covered most of the inside of the building, they missed some areas; and secondly, the view of a camera might be obstructed, in particular by delivery vehicles."
The loss of the packages after they reached the hub
- I can now return to the judge's account of the progress of the consignment, from the point when the packages were scanned into the hub at 7.30 a.m. on 26 July:
"28. … The last scanning record of the consignment shows it 'out for delivery' at the hub at 7.31am on 26 July. However, Mr van Beusekom gave evidence that the Floor Supervisor, Mr Lofti Kharbouche, reported seeing the packages stacked behind a delivery vehicle and 'checking' them: one of his responsibilities was to check the details of packages stacked behind vehicles or under the belt because packages were put there when they were to be re-directed to other areas, and Mr Kharbouche wanted to make sure that the three packages had been sorted properly. Mr van Beusekom commented that it would have been 'not unusual' for packages as large as these to be stacked behind a delivery vehicle during loading. As I have explained, they might be put aside in order to stow them in an accessible part of the vehicle, or because there was no space on the racks, or in order for them to be loaded on to another vehicle. Mr van Beusekom also stated that Mr Kharbouche was not sure which vehicle was to carry these three packages. No doubt was cast upon the evidence about what Mr Kharbouche reported, and I accept it.
29. L&A premises were in UPS's Schipol South East delivery area. On 26 July 2002 UPS allocated Schipol South East to their driver Mr Mouloud Kadim. This was not Mr Kadim's usual assignment; indeed, he did not always drive a delivery vehicle for UPS, and he did not have a fixed delivery area when he did so. When his vehicle was parked for loading one of the loading spurs in the hub, there were five or more other vehicles loading at the same time by that spur. …
30. Mr Kadim, as well as being a driver, assisted in loading packages on to vehicles on 26 July 2002. There is, however, no evidence that he sorted and loaded the packages for the particular route and vehicle that he was to drive, and such evidence as there is suggests that he did not do so: when Mr Kadim was interviewed by the Dutch police about the missing packages, he said that he had not loaded his own vehicle, not by his own decision because 'the planning department' decided who loaded vans. He said that his vehicle had been loaded by 'Sebastian' and 'Rob', presumably referring to two employees called Sebastian Roux and Rob Wiegant. When Mr van Buesekom had earlier interviewed those two workers, they had told him that they did not know whether or not they had loaded the vehicle that Mr Kadim drove. There is no direct evidence whether the three Datec packages were in fact loaded on to any vehicle and if so whether they were loaded on to the vehicle that Mr Kadim drove. As I shall explain, Mr Kadim told the police that he was not the only UPS driver to carry parcels for the Schipol South East area that day."
- In a later passage of his judgment (at para 34) the judge found that Mr Kadim did deliver one package to L&A on 26 July 2002. Datec was not the consignor and Incoparts was not the consignee, but otherwise there was no evidence about the package. The finding was based on evidence from Mr van Beusekom about information printed out from the DIAD board used by Mr Kadim on that day.
The investigation into the missing packages
- The salient parts of the judge's account of the subsequent investigation into the missing packages are as follows:
"40. At the end of his round on 26 July 2002 Mr Kadim returned to the hub at about 1.00pm (or possibly a little earlier: he told the police he finished work at around 12.15 or 12.30 pm) and handed in his DIAD board. It had apparently not yet been reported to UPS that Datec packages were not delivered, and Mr Kadim was asked nothing about them. Later that day UPS learned that the three parcels were missing. Initially, as it appears from Mr Worrall's report, Mr Tailor was told that the three packages might have been loaded in error on to another delivery vehicle, but this was uncertain because some vehicles had not returned to the hub. The source of this information is unclear. However, UPS did, as appears from the documents, contact L&A. I infer from the evidence of Mr van Beusekom and from what Mr Kadim told the Dutch police that UPS later telephoned Mr Kadim at home to ask about the packages and that he responded that other drivers had carried parcels for delivery in the Schipol South East area, and suggested that enquiries be made of them.
41. On the following Monday, 29 July 2002, Mr Kadim did not come to work and did not contact UPS to explain his absence. As a result and in view of his work record, UPS dismissed him by letter sent that day. (He had been employed by UPS since 1 March 2002 and had been away from work on a number of occasions.)
42. On 30 July 2002 Mr van Beusekom learned of the loss of the three packages from, as he believes, Datec's insurers, and he began an investigation. … Mr van Beusekom viewed the CCTV footage recorded at the hub on the morning of 26 July 2002. It showed nobody in the warehouse who should not have been there, and nothing else of significance. It showed the front of Mr Kadim's van but there was no film showing the back of the van or the area behind it because the angle of the camera was obstructed by the vehicle itself.
43. Mr van Beusekom thought on the basis of the DIAD records that Mr Kadim had been the driver who had carried the Datec packages. He was not able to interview Mr Kadim, but he spoke to other employees, including loaders who had assisted in loading the delivery vehicles on 26 July 2002. Mr Kharbouche told him about seeing the packages and checking their delivery details. On 1 August 2002 he reported to the police that the three packages were lost and that he suspected that Mr Kadim might have stolen them: in the words of the agreed translation put before me, he told the police, 'I have good reason to suspect that [Mr Kadim] embezzled the parcels'. On 6 August 2002 Mr van Beusekom learned of the loss of the Axxis package, and he reported that loss to the police.
44. In the course of his investigation Mr van Beusekom spoke to Mr Appelman about the missing Datec packages, but, as appears from Mr Appelman's evidence, he did not suggest to L&A that the consignment had been delivered to them, and so L&A did not themselves investigate whether they might have received it, for example by viewing their CCTV security films.
46. On 30 September 2002, Mr Kadim went to the Dutch police. He explained that he had been absent from work on and after 29 July 2002 because late on Friday 26 July 2002 his mother had telephoned from Morocco to tell him that his father was seriously ill, and therefore he had gone to Morocco on Sunday 28 July 2002. He said that he did not contact UPS because he thought that his employment with UPS was going to be terminated anyway. He did not return to the Netherlands until 25 September 2002, and then, on learning that the police were looking for him, he went to the police station. He was arrested and interviewed, and he denied involvement in the loss of the packages. The police released Mr Kadim without charge on 1 October 2002, concluded their investigation and apparently took no further action over the loss.
47. In his interview with the police, Mr Kadim said that on 26 July 2004 he arrived at work at 4.00am and assisted in loading vehicles, and then he worked as a driver on a delivery round. As I have mentioned, he said that he had not loaded his own van, and he also said that he had not known before 26 July 2002 which route he was to drive. He was not familiar with the route for the Schipol South East area, and three other drivers, whom he did not know by name, took packages to assist him with deliveries there. According to Mr Kadim, none of the 'customers', (meaning, I infer, consignees) complained to him that day that he had not delivered all their goods."
The loss of the Axxis package
- In para 43 of his judgment, quoted above, the judge refers to "the loss of the Axxis package". The Axxis package is peripheral to the argument but is not without significance. On the same day as the Datec consignment, 26 July 2002, UPS was due to deliver to L&A a consignment of computer chips sent by Platinum Components in the United Kingdom to Axxis Hardware BV in Amsterdam. The value of that package was said to be US $141,696. UPS's records showed that it arrived at the hub in Amsterdam on 26 July and was "out for delivery" at 6.14 a.m. Axxis alleged, however, that it was not delivered to L&A; and, although UPS did not admit non-delivery, it was clear that no signature acknowledging delivery had been obtained from L&A.
- The loss of the Axxis package was the subject of proceedings by Axxis against UPS in the Netherlands. In a judgment dated 25 May 2005, UPS was held to be liable under the CMR for the full amount of Axxis's loss. The terms of that judgment do not assist. I mention it only as part of the history.
The case before the judge as to the possible causes of loss of the Datec packages
- As already stated, the claimants' case was that the probable cause of loss of the Datec packages was employee theft. Through the witness statement of Mr van Beusekom, UPS accepted that theft, whether by Mr Kadim or other employees, was a possible explanation for the loss. But Mr van Beusekom stated that on reflection it was at least as likely that Mr Kadim did not steal the packages. Only 18 packages had been lost from the hub as a result of theft (i.e. established theft) between 1998 and 2002, whereas 41 packages had been lost (i.e. without an established cause) in July 2002 alone. Mr van Beusekom put forward a number of other possible explanations for the loss of the three packages: theft by a third party from the delivery vehicle; delivery to the wrong address; delivery to L&A and theft within L&A; and placement of the packages in the "overgoods" area following a failed delivery.
- Although he expressed opinions about those possibilities and was an experienced security investigator for UPS, it is to be noted that Mr van Beusekom was strictly a witness of fact rather than an expert witness and he was not cross-examined on the opinions he expressed. In my view that was an appropriate course for the claimants' counsel to adopt, and I would attach no weight either to Mr van Beusekom's opinions as such or to the lack of cross-examination in relation to them. The possible causes identified by Mr van Beusekom did, however, provide a convenient structure for consideration of the issues, and Mr van Beusekom's factual evidence in respect of them was of course highly relevant.
- The reports, including a joint report, of the expert witnesses (Mr Holmes for the claimants and Mr Heinrich-Jones for UPS) provided a commentary on a number of possible causes of the loss. Those causes were broken down into a large number of headings: missorted, mislaid, damaged / thrown away / sold at auction, failed delivery / returned to hub, mis-delivered, delivered in error, delivered but no proof of delivery, over labelled, incorrectly labelled, incorrectly addressed, bar code problems, theft from hub by a third party, theft following forcible entry at hub, in transit theft from delivery vehicle, theft by unknown UPS employee, theft by UPS delivery driver, theft by deception. It seems to me, however, that the only substantive addition they made to the broad categories mentioned by Mr van Beusekom was that of third party theft from the hub itself. Some of the possible causes were considered by the experts to be less likely than others, but in their joint report they concluded:
"6.19 It was agreed that it was difficult to pinpoint the most likely cause of loss given the elapsed time and limited information. It was further agreed that the Court should decide the most likely cause of loss on the balance of probabilities.
6.20 It was further agreed that if the court decided that the loss was caused by theft then it would most probably be targeted theft by organised criminals."
- Both experts were cross-examined (day 3, in particular at pp. 75-101 and 104-129). In the course of cross-examination Mr Holmes accepted that he could not pinpoint as the single probable cause of the loss any one of the explanations given in the joint report (though he did appear, at the same time, to consider theft by Mr Kadim or another UPS employee to be more likely than the other possibilities). Mr Heinrich-Jones adhered to the position expressed in the joint report.
- Andrew Smith J evidently gained relatively little assistance from the evidence of either expert. At para 12 of his judgment, having said that both witnesses were qualified to give expert evidence and were seeking to assist, he continued:
"Their views were of interest, but their evidence was of limited value: inevitably they had formed their views on the basis of the material put before them and their own investigations, whereas I must assess the evidence presented at trial. Although their information apparently largely coincided with the evidence, it was not entirely the same and in these circumstances I hesitate to place great weight upon their opinions."
The finding that the Datec consignment was not delivered to L&A
- In its original pleading UPS admitted that the Datec packages were not delivered to L&A. It was only at trial that UPS amended its pleading to contend that the packages may have been duly delivered – a point that also emerged from Mr van Beusekom's reliance on delivery to L&A and theft within L&A as a possible explanation for the loss. The judge therefore had to make a finding on the issue of delivery to L&A. There was a dispute before him as to where the burden of proof lay. The judge was "inclined to think" that the burden lay on the claimants, but considered the debate to be "an arid one on the facts of this case", for these reasons:
"49. … UPS's procedures contemplate that they will obtain a proof of delivery: the Guide states (and at the relevant time stated), 'Proof of delivery is a service designed to put your mind at ease'. Furthermore, as I have found, UPS did obtain a recipient's signature for one package delivered to L&A on 26 July 2002, whereas it is common ground that UPS obtained no proof of delivery of the consignment that is the subject of this claim. This alone, in my judgment, establishes a strong prima facie case that the packages were not delivered, and on any view effectively places an evidential burden on UPS to produce evidence that the packages were delivered to L&A.
50. In saying this, I do not overlook the evidence of Mr van Beusekom about the UPS's electronic scanning procedures: he described them as 90% effective, explaining that in about 10% of cases the procedure fails for one reason or another – for example, because bar codes are damaged and illegible, or because a scanner fails to read the code, or because of human error. (Mr Delafuente had apparently found them to be more reliable than Mr van Beusekom had.) However, this is not a case about a single package. It seems to me improbable that all three labels were damaged (despite being in pouches) or that all three codes were illegible. The DIAD scanner did read the bar code of one package that Mr Kadim delivered, and it is therefore the less likely that it failed to record other packages delivered at the same time. As for human error, L&A's procedures were, as I shall explain, that their staff should provide a signature for each package that was delivered, and if Mr Kadim or another UPS driver did not ask them to acknowledge receipt, L&A would probably have reminded him.
51. I accept Mr Appelman's evidence in his second witness statement about L&A's operation in Schipol, and this too, it seems to me, makes it the less likely that the three packages were delivered to L&A and were later stolen or lost by them. L&A deal only with valuable computer parts, and their security arrangements are designed to protect such goods. Only L&A employees have access to their secure warehouse, an area of about 600 square metres, and they enter through a door controlled by a code lock. The exit door can be opened only from inside by a member of the warehouse staff. L&A have CCTV cameras covering the doors and the inside of the warehouse. When deliveries arrive from UPS or similar carriers, L&A's procedure is for the warehouse staff to meet the driver outside the warehouse, to sign for each consignment, to take the airway bill, and then, in the case of deliveries for Incoparts, to check the goods. A Mr Michaels was responsible for receiving goods for Incoparts: he was an experienced employee and, I infer, would have been familiar with these procedures. Goods are either sent out by L&A to their customer on the day that they are received, or, if the goods are held by them, checked daily. Mr Appelman considered that in view of these procedures it is inconceivable that three or four high value packages would have been delivered without being noticed, and in any case, any "loose parcels" would soon have been noticed.
52. Of course, no procedures are completely infallible, and, despite L&A's precautions, it would be unrealistic to think it impossible that the three packages were lost from their possession, either through criminal design or through accident. However, I accept Mr Appelman's evidence that L&A had proper procedures for safeguarding valuable goods, and consider that they reduce the chances that the goods were lost or stolen from them.
53. Both expert witnesses expressed the opinion that because UPS sometimes fail to record proof of delivery the packages could have been mislaid or stolen by "the consignee or their employees" (presumably referring to L&A: in view of Mr Appelman's evidence it is unrealistic to contemplate that the goods might have been received by Incoparts). However, Mr Holmes regarded this as a most unlikely possibility, and I agree with him. Wherever the legal burden of proof lies, I conclude that the three Datec packages were not delivered to L&A."
- There is no appeal against that finding.
The judge's findings on the issue of theft by UPS employees
- Having found that the three packages had not been delivered to L&A, the judge turned to consider the claimants' contention that they were stolen by Mr Kadim or some other employee or employees of UPS. He observed (at para 56) that the argument appeared to derive from the suspicion reported by Mr van Beusekom to the Dutch police that Mr Kadim had stolen the consignment; but that Mr van Beusekom had reported no more than a suspicion and his report was made before Mr Kadim had been interviewed by the police. There was no reason to suppose that Mr van Beusekom's suspicion was prompted by any evidence or consideration that had not been presented at the trial and which the judge was able to assess in the light of the rest of the evidence. The judge continued:
"57. Both expert witnesses agreed the paucity of evidence is such that it is difficult to say how the three packages came to be lost. Mr Heinrich-Jones concluded that, while it was possible that they were stolen by, or with the assistance of, an employee of UPS, it is impossible to conclude that that is the most likely cause of the loss. Mr Holmes thought it most likely that the packages were stolen by Mr Kadim or another UPS employee but his opinion was properly guarded: indeed, in cross-examination he acknowledged that he could not say that this was 'the probable cause of the loss'.
58. Mr van Beusekom gave evidence that from time to time packages do go missing otherwise, UPS believe, than through theft. In his witness statement he said that between 1998 and 2002 their Amsterdam operation had only 18 packages stolen, but 41 packages were lost for one reason or another in July 2002 alone. As I made clear during the trial and as Mr Priday readily accepted, I do not attach any importance to the precise figures that Mr van Beusekom gives, and I discouraged the parties from exploring them in detail. However, his evidence does confirm that experience shows that packages are sometimes lost inexplicably, as indeed would be expected when a large organisation like UPS is handling so many consignments.
59. The real question, it seems to me, is whether the claimants have shown that theft by a UPS employee is more likely than accidental loss. I accept if they were stolen, it is probable that an employee of UPS was responsible for the theft. It would have been difficult for an outsider to gain access to the hub without his presence being recorded by the CCTV cameras; there is no evidence of a forced entry into a UPS vehicle; and it seems to me improbable that a casual thief happened upon a delivery vehicle that Mr Kadim or another driver had accidentally left unlocked, and chanced to pick such valuable packages, choosing them rather than smaller packages that could more conveniently have been carried off.
60. Mr Reeve rightly emphasised that this is not a case of one package being lost. Three packages were, as I have found, lost from UPS's possession, and I am prepared to assume for the purposes of determining this question that the Axxis package was also lost before delivery to L&A. I accept that it is less likely that three or four packages were lost accidentally than that one was, and that therefore this consideration lends support to the claimants' case that they were stolen.
61. At least at one stage of these proceedings, it appeared to be the claimants' primary case that Mr Kadim stole the packages. Four considerations, taken together, seem to me to cast real doubt upon this contention. First, Mr Kadim went voluntarily to the Dutch police and there is no reason to doubt his account that he went to them promptly upon returning to Holland and learning that they wished to speak to him. If Mr Kadim had stolen these valuable goods, he would not have known the strength of the evidence against him, and it would have shown real bravado in these circumstances for him to have gone to the police. This at least goes a long way to answer any suggestion that in July 2002 he went to ground to avoid answering the suspicions against him.
62. Secondly, it was not obvious from the labelling of, and documents with, the packages that they were particularly valuable. They were, of course, addressed to L&A, but this would have been significant only to someone who knew that L&A handled only valuable consignments. While it is possible that Mr Kadim knew this, there is no evidence that he did so, and no reason has been suggested for me to doubt Mr Kadim's statement to the police that he was not familiar with the route that he was driving on 26 July 2002.
63. Next, Mr Kadim did make a delivery to L&A on 26 July 2002, and then returned to the hub to hand in his DIAD board. If he were intending to steal the packages, the more obvious course would have been to steal all their packages, rather than choose to deliver one package and risk L&A questioning him about other packages that they might have been expecting.
64. Fourthly, there is no convincing evidence that the missing packages were ever loaded on to Mr Kadim's vehicle. Mr van Beusekom said that Mr Kharbouche might have seen the packages behind the vehicle because they had been set aside to be delivered by another vehicle that had been allocated another delivery route. Mr Kadim told the police that he did not carry the packages in his vehicle, and this is consistent with what, as I have found, he told UPS when they telephoned him at home on 26 July 2002; and UPS did not then dismiss as improbable Mr Kadim's explanation that the packages were being carried by other drivers, but passed it on to T&B. Mr Kadim therefore denied from the start that he had had the missing packages, before he could have known that his denial would be corroborated to some extent by Mr Kharbouche's report of them being set apart for some reason from the other packages that were to be delivered in Schipol South East. I add that there is no evidence whether or not the Axxis package was loaded on Mr. Kadim's vehicle.
65. Once it is recognised that there are grounds to think that the packages might well not have been loaded in Mr Kadim's vehicle, but set aside with a view to being delivered by another driver, it seems to me that the claimants' argument that the packages were stolen by an employee of UPS loses much of its force. Of course, it is possible that they might have been stolen from the hub and never loaded on a delivery vehicle, but, although Mr Holmes described the hub as "fertile ground for potential thieves among the employees", it does not seem to me that it would have been at all easy to smuggle such large packages out of the hub building. Again, it is possible that another driver loaded the packages and stole them from his van, knowing that there would be no record that they were loaded on it, but there is no evidence indicating this. It would have been extraordinary risky for another driver to plan such a theft: to offer to carry the valuable parcels to assist Mr Kadim with a delivery in Schipol South East and then to steal them. If, on the other hand, another driver had the goods for delivery by chance and stole them opportunistically, he was remarkably lucky either to be able to infer their value from the L&A address or to happen upon such valuable goods.
66. Having considered how the goods might have disappeared as a result of theft to which an employee of UPS was party, it seems to me more likely that they were lost accidentally: that, for example, the packages were delivered to the wrong address by a driver other than Mr Kadim; or that they were put into the hub's 'overgoods' either because they were returned by a driver who had failed to deliver them and they went astray, or because they were for some reason never loaded in any delivery vehicle.
67. In summary, I conclude that it would be too speculative to hold that the goods were taken by or with the assistance of an employee of UPS. There is no sufficient evidence to support that theory. In Laceys Footwear (Wholesale) Ltd v Bowler International Freight Ltd. 2 Ll L R 369 at p.383 Brooke LJ emphasised that when applying the provisions of an international convention, the Court must not 'adopt anything other than a properly rigorous approach to such evidence as is available before it makes findings of fact on which a determination of wilful misconduct is based', and although Brooke LJ dissented from the majority of the Court on the facts of the case before them, there is, I think, no room to dispute that this is the proper approach to the evidence in such cases of this.
68. I therefore decide that the claimants have not discharged their burden of proving on the balance of probabilities (or preponderance of probability) that their loss results from theft to which an employee of UPS was party. I should add that I was properly reminded by counsel of the principle set out in such cases as In re H (minors) AC 563, where Lord Nicholls observed that 'Built into the preponderance of probability standard is a generous degree of flexibility in respect of the seriousness of the allegation' (at p.586F). However, Lord Nicholls explained that this simply means that the inherent probability or improbability of an event is itself to be taken into account when weighing the probabilities and deciding whether, on balance, the event occurred. Although in this case the allegation is one of theft from an employer, I do not regard this possibility as so improbable that there is a particularly heavy burden upon the claimants to prove their case. I have simply concluded that there is not proper evidence to support the claimants' allegation, and I therefore reject their contention that article 29 of the CMR applies to their claim."
- The judge did, however, reject an alternative contention by UPS that, if the consignment was stolen by a UPS employee, the claimants had not shown that it was stolen by him when he was acting in the scope of his employment. If he had decided that the consignment was stolen by an employee of UPS, he would have concluded that the employee was acting within the scope of his employment at the relevant time. That finding is not challenged before us.
The claimants' submissions on the appeal
- Mr Reeve makes no complaint about the judge's overall approach. He accepts that the judge was correct to treat the claimants as having the burden of proof, to the balance of probabilities. In the absence of direct evidence, it was necessary to consider the relative probability of employee theft against the probability of loss through other causes. In conducting that exercise, the judge was right, as he stated at para 67, to adopt "a properly rigorous approach to such evidence as is available", in accordance with the observations of Brooke LJ in Laceys Footwear (Wholesale) Ltd. v. Bowler International Freight Ltd. Ll L R 369. In para 68 the judge took proper account of what was said in Re H AC 563 about the burden of proof, though he was also right to conclude that an allegation of theft is not "so improbable that there is a particularly heavy burden upon the claimants to prove their case". Indeed, Mr van Beusekom had originally suspected theft and accepted in evidence that theft was a possible explanation.
- Mr Reeve submits further that the judge applied the above approach correctly in discounting two of the four other possible causes postulated by Mr van Beusekom. First, for the reasons given at paras 49-53 and irrespective or where the burden of proof lay, the judge held that the packages were not delivered to L&A. Closely linked with that finding was his view that it was "a most unlikely possibility" that the packages were mislaid or stolen at L&A (para 53). Secondly, for the reasons given at para 59, he considered it improbable that, if the packages were stolen, they were stolen by someone other than an employee of UPS.
- Accordingly, submits Mr Reeve, the judge asked himself the right question at para 59, namely "whether the claimants have shown that theft by a UPS employee is more likely than accidental loss".
- The claimants' case, however, is that the judge went wrong in answering the question he asked himself. The primary focus of the argument is on para 66 of the judgment, where the judge stated that "[h]aving considered how the goods might have disappeared as a result of theft to which an employee of UPS was party, it seems to me more likely that they were lost accidentally: for example, the packages were delivered to the wrong address by a driver other than Mr Kadim; or that they were put into the hub's 'overgoods' …". It is said that, although the judge considered how the goods might have disappeared as a result of employee theft, he did not consider how they might have disappeared as a result of either of the two accidental causes to which he referred. He made no attempt to analyse the series of steps required for either of those causes to have operated, or how his other findings and the undisputed evidence impacted on the likelihood of those steps having occurred. In fact, the cumulative improbability is such that neither cause can be regarded as plausible. The judge failed in this respect to take into account relevant factors. In addition, the judge was wrong in his assessment of the factors relevant to employee theft: he overestimated the extent to which they made it less likely and underestimated the extent to which they made it more likely. On any reasonably complete and balanced assessment, employee theft was more likely than any other cause and was proved on the balance of probabilities. The judge was therefore wrong to conclude in para 68 that it would be too speculative to hold that the goods were taken by or with the assistance of an employee of UPS, and to state in para 69 that there was not proper evidence to support the claimants' allegation.
- As regards misdelivery, the points made in support of the implausibility of such a hypothesis are these: (1) The driver would, mistakenly, have had to have taken the packages to the wrong address despite the fact that each package bore a typed label displaying the true consignee and a unique UPS barcode: the judge found it improbable that all three labels were damaged or that the barcodes on all three were illegible (para 50). There was no separate delivery plan and the drivers had to read the labels. (2) If the label was legible, the driver would have been forced to read it when deciding where and whether to deliver it. If the labels had been illegible, the packages would have been returned to the warehouse. (3) A coincidental mistake would also have to have been made in respect of the Axxis package which was due for delivery to L&A: the judge found that the package was scanned "out for delivery" at the hub soon before its loss and it is therefore highly unlikely that the label was defective. (4) The chances of such a mistake being made in respect of four separate packages in two separate consignments are even less than in respect of the claimants' three packages. (5) The recipients would have had to make a similarly unlikely series of mistakes in accepting the packages when they were not the consignees named on them and had no reason to expect delivery. (6) The driver would have had to make further and coincidental mistakes in failing, contrary to his training, to obtain proofs of delivery for any of the packages. (7) As UPS's expert witness, Mr Heinrich-Jones, accepted in cross-examination, recipients of misdelivered goods usually re-deliver them or require them to be collected by the carrier. It is therefore a further improbability that they would have held on to them. (8) UPS called none of its drivers at the trial to say that they had carried the packages, let alone that they had misdelivered them or made such mistakes. (9) As the judge found (at para 40), UPS was put on notice on the day of loss that the claimants' three packages were missing. The claimants were told that they might have been loaded in error onto another delivery vehicle, but this was uncertain because some vehicles had not returned to the hub. Mr Kadim also suggested the same day that inquiries be made of other drivers. It is to be inferred that UPS contacted the returning drivers while their memories were still fresh and that no-one could recall these packages having been delivered or misdelivered. The fact of early inquiry and investigation makes the hypothesis of misdelivery even more remote.
- As regards the overgoods area, Mr Reeve submits that there is uncertainty about the judge's precise hypothesis but that he was probably contemplating the possibility of loss from the overgoods area. In any event the points made in support of the implausibility of a hypothesis involving the overgoods area are these: (1) On the judge's findings and the undisputed evidence, the overgoods area is a secure area - "a locked cage" (para 22). It would be a non sequitur to suggest, without further analysis of how the security might have failed, that an accidental loss from the overgoods area was plausible. (2) As the judge held (also at para 22), goods placed in the overgoods area were the subject of inquiries and investigation to see if they could be delivered or returned; and it was only if they could be neither delivered nor returned that they were eventually sold at auction. In any event, goods sold at auction would have been accounted for. (3) UPS did not suggest, or call evidence to show, that there were any weaknesses in the system in respect of the overgoods area. (4) It was improbable that the packages went into the overgoods area in the first place. If the packages had been returned undelivered by one of the drivers, they would have been scanned on their return to the warehouse before they went into overgoods. There was no evidence of any such scans. (5) Furthermore, since UPS had been alerted before the drivers returned from their rounds on the day of the loss, it is implausible in the extreme that the three packages slipped into overgoods, past the staff whose responsibility it was to ensure the proper treatment of undelivered packages and despite the inquiries being made on that day. (6) The loss of the Axxis package as well as the claimants' three packages adds to the implausibility of the hypothesis of loss from the overgoods area.
- In relation to the above points, Mr Reeve also emphasises the weight and size of the claimants' packages. These were substantial packages and it would have required a conscious decision to move them.
- Mr Reeve relies on the following additional factors as providing positive support for a finding that the disappearance was the result of employee theft: (1) Mr van Beusekom reported the matter to the police because he considered there to be "good reason to suspect" employee theft (or, in another translation, that there was a "strong suspicion" of employee theft) and he regarded accidental loss as implausible. The information that the packages might have been carried by other drivers may have justified reconsidering Mr Kadim's own position, but did not alter the conclusion that the loss was likely to be the result of employee theft. (2) Mr Kadim's explanation for his subsequent absence from work was implausible: in particular, he told the police that the reason why he did not contact UPS was that he thought that his employment with UPS was not going to be extended; yet Mr van Beusekom's evidence was that the decision to dismiss him was taken after he had failed to call the company. (3) Mr Kadim's explanation for why he did not take the goods in his own delivery vehicle was also implausible: he took one package to L&A anyway, and there was no obvious reason why the three Datec packages should be given to another driver (whom he could not identify) for delivery to the same address. (4) None of the drivers or other UPS staff were called at trial to give evidence as to their handling of the Datec packages or to support Mr Kadim's explanation.
- Against those matters, it is submitted that the matters relied on by Andrew Smith J as disprobative of theft by Mr Kadim were minor points and were at best neutral in their effect.
UPS's submissions on the appeal
- Mr Flaux submits that the judge was right to hold that the claimants' case was too speculative. The judge's conclusion follows properly from his reasoned findings that theft by Mr Kadim was implausible and that theft by other UPS employees was even more unlikely. Mr van Beusekom and the independent experts identified numerous possible causes of the loss and none of them considered employee theft to be the most likely cause. Unexplained loss is just that; and the figures given by Mr van Beusekom show that there are many more cases of unexplained loss than of proven theft. The court should be slow to make a finding of wilful misconduct and should adopt a rigorous approach towards the evidence, as emphasised by Brooke LJ in Lacey's Footwear (Wholesale) Ltd. (see above). In this case there was no evidence to support a finding of wilful misconduct, and to find wilful misconduct in such circumstances would be to subvert the CMR regime.
- In Mr Flaux's submission the claimants' criticisms of para 66 of Andrew Smith J's judgment are unfounded. The judge was simply alluding in that paragraph to two other examples of possible causes. He did not have to set out an exhaustive list or go through each example in detail. The exercise in which he was engaged was not to establish the cause of loss, but to determine whether the claimants had proved their case that the loss was caused by employee theft and therefore wilful misconduct. He was right to find that the claimants had failed to discharge the burden of proof.
- Mr Flaux places substantial reliance on the decision of the House of Lords in The Popi M 2 Lloyds Rep.1. In that case a ship had sunk as a result of the entry of water through a large aperture in the shell plating of its hull. The plaintiff shipowners, upon whom the burden lay to prove that the loss had been caused by a peril of the sea, put forward a number of possible causes. After others had been eliminated, the only remaining possibility they could rely on was a collision with a submerged submarine, travelling in the same direction as the ship and at about the same speed. The defendant underwriters contended that the loss was caused by prolonged wear and tear of the ship's hull over many years, resulting in the shell plating opening up under the ordinary action of wind and wave. The trial judge, Bingham J, found the shipowners' submarine theory to be extremely improbable, but also found that the underwriters' particular wear and tear explanation was effectively ruled out on the evidence. Left with a choice between the submarine theory and the possibility that the casualty occurred as a result of wear and tear but by a mechanism which remained in doubt, he preferred the submarine theory. Lord Brandon, giving the leading speech in the House of Lords, disapproved that approach, stating (at page 6):
"My Lords, the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in his book 'The Sign of Four', describes his hero, Mr Sherlock Holmes, as saying to the latter's friend, Dr Watson: 'how often have I said that, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?' It is, no doubt, on the basis of this well-known but unjudicial dictum that Mr Justice Bingham decided to accept the shipowners' submarine theory, even though he regarded it, for seven cogent reasons, as extremely improbable.
In my view there are three reasons why it is inappropriate to apply the dictum of Mr Sherlock Holmes, to which I have just referred, to the process of fact-finding which a Judge of first instance has to perform at the conclusion of a case of the kind here concerned.
The first reason is one which I have already sought to emphasize as being of great importance, namely, that the Judge is not bound always to make a finding one way or the other with regard to the facts averred by the parties. He has open to him the third alternative of saying that the party on whom the burden of proof lies in relation to any averment made by him has failed to discharge that burden. No Judge likes to decide cases on burden of proof if he can legitimately avoid having to do so. There are cases, however, in which, owing to the unsatisfactory state of the evidence or otherwise, deciding on the burden of proof is the only just course for him to take.
The second reason is that the dictum can only apply when all relevant facts are known, so that all possible explanations, except a single extremely improbable one, can properly be eliminated. That state of affairs does not exist in the present case: to take but one example, the ship sank in such deep water that a diver's examination of the nature of the aperture, which might well have thrown light on its cause, could not be carried out.
The third reason is that the legal concept of proof of a case on a balance of probabilities must be applied with common sense. It requires a Judge of first instance, before he finds that a particular event occurred, to be satisfied on the evidence that it is more likely to have occurred than not. If such a Judge concludes, on a whole series of cogent grounds, that the occurrence of an event is extremely improbable, a finding by him that it is nevertheless more likely to have occurred than not, does not accord with common sense. This is especially so when it is open to the Judge to say simply that the evidence leaves him in doubt whether the event occurred or not, and that the party on whom the burden of proving that the event occurred has therefore failed to discharge such burden.
In my opinion, Mr Justice Bingham adopted an erroneous approach to this case by regarding himself as compelled to choose between two theories, both of which he regarded as extremely improbable, or one of which he regarded as extremely improbable and the other of which he regarded as virtually impossible. He should have borne in mind, and considered carefully in his judgment, the third alternative which was open to him, namely, that the evidence left him in doubt as to the cause of the aperture in the ship's hull, and that, in these circumstances, the shipowners had failed to discharge the burden of poof which was on them."
- It is submitted that the approach adopted by Andrew Smith J in the present case was fully in line with that laid down in Lord Brandon's speech. This was a case where the judge was entitled to find that the claimants failed on the burden of proof; not all the relevant facts were known; and the judge's finding accorded with the common sense of the matter.
- In UPS's skeleton argument, stress is placed on the fact that the judge's conclusion was based on his evaluation of the evidence and the facts, which is pre-eminently a matter for the trial judge and one in relation to which the Court of Appeal should be slow to interfere. Reference is made to the principles laid down in Assicurazioni Generali SpA v. Arab Insurance Group (Practice Note) EWCA Civ 1642, 1 WLR 577, and in the authorities there cited. It is submitted that Andrew Smith's conclusion could not possibly be said to be against the evidence or wrong, let alone plainly wrong or "exceeding the generous ambit within which reasonable disagreement about the conclusion to be drawn from the evidence is possible" (per Ward LJ in Assicurazioni Generali SpA at para 197).
Discussion and conclusions
- In my judgment the case advanced by the claimants has considerable force to it. There is sufficient evidence about the three Datec packages and the surrounding circumstances to enable the court to engage in an informed analysis of the possible causes of the loss and to reach a reasoned conclusion as to the probable cause. The fact that the experts were unable to reach a conclusion of their own does not preclude the court from reaching such a conclusion on the totality of the evidence and in the light of the findings of fact.
- I think it particularly important that the packages were recorded as reaching UPS's hub and as being "out for delivery" on 26 July, and that they were identified by the floor supervisor as being stacked behind a delivery vehicle. Those established facts greatly reduce the scope for uncertainty, and the inferences that can be drawn from them as to the condition of the packages and in particular as to their labelling assist in the assessment of the subsequent fate of the packages.
- I also think it important that there was detailed consideration at the trial of all possible explanations for the loss. It was not suggested that there might exist any realistic possibility that the experts had failed to canvass. The court was in a position to look closely at the evidence for and against each of the possible explanations. In practice that could be done largely by reference to the broad possibilities identified by UPS's Mr van Beusekom.
- In relation to those possibilities the judge gave compelling reasons for finding, first, that the packages had not been delivered to L&A (paras 49-53 of his judgment). That finding did not depend on where the burden of proof lay; and although the judge did not dismiss the possibility that the packages had been delivered to L&A and mislaid or stolen within L&A, he evidently and rightly considered it to be unlikely. His finding was firmly grounded on evidence not only about the Datec packages and UPS's delivery procedures, but also about L&A's own operation at Schipol.
- The judge also gave compelling reasons for finding that theft by a third party was improbable (para 59 of his judgment). He dealt only briefly with third party theft from the hub itself, concentrating on the difficulty of gaining access without being recorded by the CCTV cameras (as to which, see paras 23 and 42 of the judgment). I would add that the overall security arrangements at the hub, as summarised at para 14 of the judgment, also militate strongly against the possibility of a third party gaining access and removing the packages undetected. As to theft by a third party from a delivery vehicle, I agree with the judge that it is improbable - I would say highly improbable - that a casual thief would have found by chance a delivery vehicle left accidentally unlocked (there was no evidence of any vehicle being broken into), have picked out three packages of the weight and size of these packages, and have removed them without detection.
- The two examples of accidental loss mentioned by the judge at para 66 of his judgment were delivery to the wrong address (by a driver other than Mr Kadim) and placement of the packages in the overgoods area.
- In my view the hypothesis of misdelivery is highly implausible, for all the reasons given by Mr Reeve in his submissions (para 57 above). It would require a most improbable combination of events for the packages to have been lost in this way, involving multiple errors by the UPS driver, errors by the recipient and a subsequent failure by the recipient to return the packages when the mistake was detected. The fact that prompt inquiries within UPS about the whereabouts of the packages produced nothing to support this hypothesis is a further factor telling against it.
- The judge's second example, of placement of the packages in the overgoods area, provides an even less plausible explanation for the loss. Again I agree with the reasons advanced by Mr Reeve in his submissions (para 58 above). It is difficult to see how the packages might have got to the overgoods area in the first place, given the evidence that they had labelling sufficiently intact and legible to be scanned "out for delivery" and to be identified by the floor supervisor. But if they had got to the overgoods area, the strong probability is that they would have been identified and delivered or returned or that they would have been sold and accounted for. The system does not admit of any sensible possibility of their simply disappearing accidentally and without trace.
- Although the judge referred to those two possibilities of accidental loss as examples, there does not seem to me to be any other realistic way in which packages of this size and weight might have been lost accidentally, either from the floor of the hub or from one of the delivery vehicles.
- That leaves for consideration the possibility of theft by one or more UPS employees. It should be noted at the outset that there is nothing inherently implausible about such an explanation: far from it. Although there were only 18 cases of established theft from the Amsterdam operation between 1998 and 2002, there was a large number of losses the causes of which had not been established (41 in July 2002 alone); and it would need only a relatively small proportion of such losses to be attributable to employee theft for the total losses from employee theft to run into the 100s over the same period. There was also evidence to support the view that the Datec packages might be targeted for theft or identified as containing high value items. Although there was no direct information about their value on their labelling or accompanying documentation, the contents were described as "electronic components". Moreover, L&A was known to handle high value items of this sort, so that the delivery address would have been significant to anyone "in the know". The experts acknowledged the possibility of targeted theft by organised criminals and agreed that, if the packages were stolen, it was probably a case of targeted theft.
- I am inclined to agree with Mr Reeve's submissions (para 60 above) concerning Mr Kadim's subsequent conduct and explanations to the police, and to place less weight on them than the judge did. But the explanation of employee theft does not depend for its cogency on putting the blame specifically on Mr Kadim or on other otherwise identifying the responsible employee or employees. The explanation fits well with the known facts even though the employee or employees concerned cannot be identified.
- The three packages disappeared between the point at which they were seen stacked behind a delivery vehicle and the point at which they should have been delivered. Whilst there existed an opportunity for them to be stolen by an employee from the floor of the hub, I agree with the judge's comments (at para 65 of his judgment) about the difficulty of smuggling packages of this size out of the hub. There was a better opportunity, however, for the packages to be stolen without detection by the driver of a delivery vehicle, and that opportunity was enhanced in this case by a lack of transparency as to whether they had been loaded and, if so, on which vehicle. In the circumstances an entirely plausible mechanism for the loss is that the packages were loaded onto a delivery vehicle and were stolen by the driver of that vehicle. It remains a plausible mechanism irrespective of whether the situation that arose was the result of planning (by one or more employees) or of chance. Even if it did arise by chance, it was possible for a driver to infer from the description "electronic components" and/or from the delivery address that the packages were worth stealing.
- Looking at the matter overall, it seems to me that the judge did overstate the factors telling against employee theft and understate the factors telling in favour of it. I consider employee theft to be a much more likely explanation than the judge found it to be. Perhaps more importantly, I regard as implausible and improbable the explanations of accidental loss to which the judge referred when concluding that accidental loss was more likely than employee theft.
- If conducting the exercise of evaluation for myself, I would conclude that theft by one or more UPS employees was the probable cause of the loss and that the claimants' case had therefore been proved on the balance of probabilities. That conclusion would lead in turn to a finding of wilful misconduct within article 29 of the CMR and the consequential disapplication of the limit imposed by article 23 on UPS's liability. (I should mention, for the sake of clarity, that I agree with the approach of Andrew Smith J at para 68 of his judgment towards In re H (Minors) AC 563 and its application to the standard of proof in this case. In the circumstances the burden on the claimants to prove their case is not a particularly heavy one.)
- My conclusion does not depend on the separate loss of the Axxis package, but I accept the submissions by Mr Reeve that the loss of the Axxis package adds to the improbability of other possible causes and makes employee theft all the more probable.
- I have borne very much in mind the observations of Brooke LJ in Lacey's Footwear (Wholesale) Ltd.(see above), with which I am in respectful and total agreement, as to the need for a properly rigorous approach to the available evidence. It is the evidence, properly analysed, which in my view leads to the conclusion. That is also why I disagree with the judge's description of the claimants' case as "too speculative".
- Nor do I see any inconsistency between my approach and the observations of Lord Brandon in The Popi M. The conclusion that employee theft was the probable cause of the loss is not based on a process of elimination of the impossible, in application of the dictum of Sherlock Holmes. It does take into consideration the relative probabilities or improbabilities of various possible causes as part of the overall process of reasoning, but I do not read The Popi M as precluding such a course. Employee theft is, as I have said, a plausible explanation and is very far from being an extremely improbable event. A finding that employee theft is more likely than not to have been the cause of the loss accords perfectly well with common sense. Thus the various objections to the finding made by the trial judge in The Popi M simply do not bite on the facts of this case.
- There remains, however, the question whether it is right to interfere with the conclusion reached by the judge on this issue. An appellate court must exercise caution in such matters, for reasons discussed in Assicurazioni Generali SpA v. Arab Insurance Group (Practice Note) (see above), per Clarke LJ at paras 15-23 and Ward LJ at paras 195-197. The constraint applies with particular force where the conclusion is one of primary fact and where it depends to a significant extent on oral evidence and the view the judge formed of the witnesses. That, however, is not a material consideration in the present appeal, since there is no issue about the judge's findings of primary fact, including his acceptance of the factual evidence given by Mr van Beusekom. Moreover the judge's conclusion cannot have been significantly affected by the impression made by the expert witnesses, upon whose evidence he did not feel able to place great weight.
- The issue here depends on an evaluation of the primary facts and the inferences to be drawn from them. At para 16 of Assicuriazioni Generali SpA, Clarke LJ described such cases as closely analogous to the exercise of a discretion and expressed the view that appellate courts should approach them in a similar way. At para 197, Ward LJ stated:
"… I would pose the test for deciding whether a finding of fact was against the evidence to be whether that finding by the trial judge exceeded the generous ambit within which reasonable disagreement about the conclusion to be drawn from the evidence is possible. The difficulty or ease with which that test can be satisfied will depend on the nature of the finding under attack. If the challenge is to the finding of a primary fact, particularly if founded upon an assessment of the credibility of witnesses, then it will be a hard task to overthrow. Where the primary facts are not challenged and the judgment is made from the inferences drawn by the judge from the evidence before him, then the Court of Appeal, which has the power to draw any inference of fact it considers to be justified, may more readily interfere with an evaluation of those facts."
- In the present case, if Andrew Smith J had taken into account all relevant considerations when evaluating the facts and determining whether employee theft had been proved on the balance of probabilities, I would have been very reluctant to interfere with his conclusion and to substitute my own.
- That, however, does not seem to me to the position with which this court is faced. I regard it as highly material that the judge, in an otherwise admirable judgment, did not follow through his reference in para 66 to two examples of accidental loss and did not analyse what each would have involved and how plausible each might be. I accept Mr Reeve's submission that the judge thereby failed to take into account considerations relevant to his overall evaluation of the facts and his assessment of whether employee theft had been proved to be the probable cause of the loss. In my view that failure was sufficiently significant to entitle this court to look at the matter afresh and to form its own conclusion on the issue. For an example of a similar approach in a different context, see Chantrey Vellacott v. The Convergence Group plc EWCA Civ 290, at paras 115-117.
- Accordingly, on this issue I would give effect to the conclusion expressed above and would find, in the claimants' favour, that the loss was caused by employee theft amounting to wilful misconduct within article 29 of the CMR.
- I would allow the claimants' appeal and dismiss UPS's cross-appeal, holding that the claimants were entitled to recover from UPS, by way of damages under article 17 of the CMR, the full value of the three packages that were lost, namely £241,241.14.
Lord Justice Sedley :
- This is what Lord Brandon said in The Popi M 2 Ll.R.1 about the inferential explanation of events:
"My Lords, the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in his book 'The Sign of Four', describes his hero, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, as saying to the latter's friend, Dr. Watson: "how often have I said to you that, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" It is, no doubt, on the basis of this well known but unjudicial dictum that Mr. Justice Bingham decided to accept the shipowners' submarine theory, even though he regarded it, for seven cogent reasons, as extremely improbable.
In my view there are three reasons why it is inappropriate to apply the dictum of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, to which I have just referred, to the process of fact-finding which a judge of first instance has to perform at the conclusion of a case of the kind here concerned.
The first reason is one which I have already sought to emphasize as being of great importance, namely, that the judge is not bound always to make a finding one way of the other with regard to the facts averred by the parties. He has open to him the third alternative of saying that the party on whom the burden of proof lies in relation to any averment made by him has failed to discharge that burden. No judge likes to decide cases on burden of proof if he can legitimately avoid having to do so. There are cases, however, in which, owing to the unsatisfactory state of the evidence or otherwise, deciding on the burden of proof is the only just course for him to take.
The second reason is that the dictum can only apply when all relevant facts are known, so that all possible explanations, except a single extremely improbable one, can properly be eliminated. That state of affairs does not exists in the present case: to take but one example, the ship that sank in such deep water that a diver's examination of the nature of the aperture, which might well have thrown light on its cause, could not be carried out.
The third reason is that the legal concept of proof of a case on balance of probabilities must be applied with common sense. It requires a judge of first instance, before he finds that a particular event occurred, to be satisfied on the evidence that it is more likely to have occurred than not. If such a Judge concludes, on a whole series of cogent grounds, that the occurrence of an event is extremely improbable, a finding by him that it is nevertheless more likely to have occurred than not, does not accord with common sense. This is especially so when it is open to the judge to say simply that the evidence leaves him in doubt whether the event occurred or not, and that the party on whom the burden of proving that the event occurred lies has therefore failed to discharge such burden."
- The speech of Lord Brandon is not a mandate to judges who are called upon to choose between two more intrinsically improbable accounts to reject them all. It reflects, and was clearly designed to reflect, the fact that whichever account is the least improbable still has to be evaluated against the surrounding realities.
- Lord Brandon's first proposition draws attention to one such reality: the shipowners had failed to show that the vessel, which had sunk because of an aperture in her hull, had been seaworthy. In the result, as he pointed out, "all possible explanations of the ship's loss have to be approached on the basis that it is as likely that she was unseaworthy as that she was seaworthy". With this question (and possibly others as well) unresolved, Sherlock Holmes' theory of proof by elimination had no purchase, since one could not evaluate the possibility that, for example, the vessel had foundered because of neglect (or conceivably, I suppose, been scuttled). Hence Lord Brandon's second proposition – that the dictum, as he called it, could only apply when all relevant facts were known.
- That was not the case in The Popi M; but in my judgment it is the present case. This is not to say, of course, that it is ever possible to know all there is to know about an event, and Lord Brandon cannot have imagined that it was. What a court can often be confident of, and what I have no doubt Lord Brandon meant when he spoke of "all relevant facts", is that it has been able to make findings on all matters of fact which call for inquiry in resolving the issue before it.
- Andrew Smith J was, as Richards LJ has demonstrated, in this position. He had a comprehensive set of possible explanations of the loss of the goods. Nobody in this court has suggested any others. In this forensic – not empirical – sense he knew all the facts relevant to the choice he had to make. Lord Brandon's approach cannot demand more – for instance, that the precise mechanism of loss be known, for where that is the case, decision by choice of causes becomes otiose. Even if theft were highly improbable, which it was not, Lord Brandon's second proposition recognises that it was legitimate in the present case to proceed upon it as the least improbable cause of the loss.
- What remains puzzling, if I may say so with the utmost respect, is Lord Brandon's third proposition, upon which Mr Flaux has understandably fastened. On its face it is – if I may paraphrase it – that as a matter of common sense a high degree of improbability that an event will occur defeats an assertion that it has occurred. I cannot believe that Lord Brandon meant that judges either could or should disbelieve evidence that an event has occurred simply because its occurrence was highly improbable. The law, like life, is littered with highly improbable events, many of them defying common sense, which have nevertheless indubitably happened. What Lord Brandon was, in my respectful view, considering here was an occurrence which, albeit the least improbable of those canvassed, made little or no intrinsic sense. Such cases may fail for want of sufficient proof. To elevate the third of his propositions to anything higher than this would in my respectful view put it in conflict with his second proposition.
- In sum, The Popi M does not come to Mr Flaux's rescue. This is a case in which fully enough was known to entitle the court to identify and base its conclusions on the least improbable cause of the loss. For the reasons given in detail by Richards LJ, the least improbable cause, by quite a clear margin, was employee theft. I agree that, in an otherwise impeccable judgment, the judge erred in not so finding.
- I too would therefore allow the appeal. For the reasons given by Richards LJ I would dismiss the cross-appeal.
Lord Justice Brooke:
- I agree that this appeal should be allowed and the cross-appeal dismissed, for the reasons given by Richards LJ. So far as the cross-appeal is concerned I have no doubt that with the benefit of skilled advice the defendants could prepare contractual documents that could give them better protection in future, if prudently implemented, than the contractual documents that were before the court in this case. That is to say, I understand their anxieties about the consequences of inadvertently accepting high value packages, as expressed to us by leading counsel on their behalf, but I do not consider that the existence of those anxieties should deter us from holding that the judge was correct as a matter of law to rule as he did.
- So far as the appeal is concerned, I agree that it should be allowed, but I do so with a good deal of reluctance because the judge has marshalled the facts with conspicuous clarity and was very much closer to the evidence in the case than an appellate court could ever be. Paradoxically, however, it is the clarity of his exposition that makes it easier for us to reverse his conclusion.
- The leading decisions that relate to the ability of an appellate court to reverse a judgment at first instance when the sole question relates to the proper inference that can be drawn from specific facts are conveniently brought together in the Manual of Civil Appeals, Second Edition (2004), at paras 2.47 – 2.54. They are Montgomerie & Co v Wallace-James AC 73, 75; Benmax v Austin Motor Co Ltd AC 370, 373 and 376; In re Grayan Building Services Ltd Ch 241, 254; Biogen Inc v Medeva plc RPC 1, 45; Southern Cone Inc v Besant (t/a Reef) EWCA Civ 763; RPC 1; Assicurazioni-Generali SpA v Arab Insurance Group (BSC) EWCA Civ 1642 at ; 1 WLR 577; and E I Du Pont de Nemours & Co v S T Dupont EWCA Civ 1368 at .
- More recently, in giving the judgment of this court in Subesh v Secretary of State for the Home Department EWCA Civ 56; INLR 417, Laws LJ questioned what was meant by the word "error" (such as would entitle an appeal court to interfere), and furnished the following answer (at para 44):
"The answer is, we think, ultimately to be found in the reason why (as we have put it) the appeal process is not merely a re-run second time around of the first instance trial. It is because of the law's acknowledgement of an important public interest, namely that of finality in litigation. The would-be appellant does not approach the appeal court as if there had been no first decision, as if, so to speak, he and his opponent were to meet on virgin territory. The first instance decision is taken to be correct until the contrary is shown. As Lord Davey put it in Montgomerie [ AC 73, 82-3] … "[i]n every case the appellant assumes the burden of shewing that the judgment appealed from is wrong" (our emphasis). The burden so assumed is not the burden of proof normally carried by a claimant in first instance proceedings where there are factual disputes. An appellant, if he is to succeed, must persuade the appeal court or tribunal not merely that a different view of the facts from that taken below is reasonable and possible, but that there are objective grounds upon which the court ought to conclude that a different view is the right one. The divide between these positions is not caught by the supposed difference between a perceived error and a disagreement. In either case the appeal court disagrees with the court below, and, indeed, may express itself in such terms. The true distinction is between the case where the appeal court might prefer a different view (perhaps on marginal grounds) and one where it concludes that the process of reasoning, and the application of the relevant law, require it to adopt a different view. The burden which an appellant assumes is to show that the case falls within this latter category."
- In the present case the respondents chose not to appeal against the judge's finding that the consignment was not in fact delivered to L & A.
- As to the remaining ways in which the consignment went astray, the judge found all the witnesses of fact to be truthful, so that we are in as good a position as he was to evaluate the facts they described. For the reasons given by Richards LJ I am satisfied that we are required to adopt a different view from the judge and to conclude that the probabilities pointed to employee theft being the cause of the loss.
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pickets fall back upon the roads they were respectively posted upon toward McMinnville, to redouble his vigilance, be prepared to collect his pickets, and send the information to the Georgia pickets. In a few moments I received information that the chain picket had been pierced at two places and part of two posts captured; that a heavy force of cavalry, accompanied by artillery, was rapidly advancing upon the road to Jacksborough, and another force of cavalry advancing upon a country road nearly unused, and which led into my camp. My horses were nearly unfit for service, having been on constant service with very scant rations for several months. My instructions were to fall back, when compelled to retreat, in such a way as to protect the road to Chattanooga.
Upon receiving that information, I ordered Major [J. P.] Austin to move the regiment to the junction of the McMinnville and Woodbury and McMinnville and Jacksborough roads. I ordered Captain Hines to fall back rapidly nearer McMinnville than my camp, to prevent being cut off by any of the numerous roads that intercept the main road between Mrs. Galascock's and the tan-yard. I ordered Captain [W. P.] Roberts, with Company I, to scout the country toward, and, if possible, beyond, Jacksborough, and sent a small scout toward Short Mountain. Captain Hines had scarcely time to obey my order when my camp was entered in four directions. Indeed, the rear guard of Captain Hines' detachment was cut off, and but for the coolness of Captain [F. G.] Hill and the few men under him, they would have been captured. I in person collected together the pickets and the men out of camp upon various excuses, and a few with good horses, and re-enforced Captain Hines. The cavalry force of the enemy was so much larger than my own, the condition of my horses was so deplorable, that it was impossible for me to either check their advance but for a moment at a time or to send a scout around them. To prevent being cut off from the Chattanooga road, to give timely information to you and the Georgia pickets, and to protect my own regiment, were all I could hope to accomplish. The enemy advanced nearly to Mr. Hopkins', are there prepared an ambush for me. Captain Roberts returned, reporting no enemy at Jacksborough, and that force returning toward Woodbury. Before his return I left scouts in front and upon the left of the enemy, with orders to report every movement, and keep me well informed, while I feel back slowly to the regiment, to prevent the enemy from cutting my command in two. Had I been left without instructions to protect the Chattanooga road, I would have remained close to the enemy, and, when cut off from McMinnville, fallen back toward Smithville. The enemy received, by some Union citizens, information of some movement in his rear, and fell back in the early part of the night, followed by my scouts, who followed him closely to his encampment near Readyville. Whatever information I received, I reported, either in writing or in person or by my adjutant, to you.
I lost 6 prisoners, captured by reason of the poor condition of their horses. The enemy lost 1 killed and 6 wounded, besides several horses.
I need not say how chafed I was that the condition of my regiment prevented me from punishing this advance, as I might easily have done under other circumstances.
I have the honor to be, &c.,
WM. C. P. BRECKINRIDGE,
Colonel, Commanding Regiment.
Major E. S. BURFORD,
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Even in the Christian music industry, where the rules and practices are expected to be different from that of secular traditions, music groups are still a prominent part of the industry. While the secular music industry can boast of several notable groups from rock groups like U2, AC/DC, The Beatles to R&B groups like Westlife and Boys II Men, the Christian music industry holds it own with popular groups such as Hillsong Worship, Kari Jobe, Passion, Jesus Culture and Elevation Worship.
Elevation Worship, in particular, has been one of the leading Christian music groups in recent years which has released several chart-topping albums and songs. The group is the brainchild of Steven Furtick, who is the founder of the Elevation Church, out of which Elevation Worship manifested. Learn more about the group and its members below.
Elevation Worship Members – Who are They?
Elevation Worship consists of five primary members – Chris Joel Brown, Jonsal Barrientes, Jenna Winders Barrientes, Jane Williams, and Anna Sailors. The group used to consist of seven members, but Mack Brock and London Gatch left. Elevation Worship is also known to often collaborate with guest musicians and instrumentalists.
Chris Joel Brown – He has been a member of the group since its creation in 2007. He is considered the leader of the group. Chris has been a member of the Christian faith all his life as he was born to a pastor. His music talent and passion came from his mother who was a singer and a musician. He is married to Beth Brown and the couple have two children one of whom is Joah Adelaide. He was born on the 22nd of December, 1981 and also plays the guitar for the group.
Jonsal Barrientes – Another member of the group is Jonsal. Jonsal is one of the leading vocalists of the Elevation Worship group. He attended International School of the Americas before he joined Elevation Church and subsequently, Elevation Worship. He is married to Jenna Winders, who is also a member of the group. He was born on September 9, 1991.
Jenna Winders – She studied to become a nurse at The University of North Carolina but she instead dedicated her life to the gospel, serving through music with Elevation Worship. She is one of the group’s leading vocalists and was born on the 25th of December, 1988.
Jane Williams – Jane is married to Luke Williams, who is a manager of Architect Sports, a sports and physical therapy company. The two of them share two sons, Wyatt and Nolan. She has been a member of Elevation Worship since 2007 and is also one of the group’s vocalists.
London Gatch and Mack Brock – London Gatch was a former member of the group. She was one of the group’s vocalists but she has left to pursue a solo career. She now releases music under the banner of BEC Worship. His story is similar to that of Mack Brock who left the group for a solo career too. Brack has released his first single, ‘Greater Things’.
Here are Facts You Need to Know About Them
- Origin of Elevation Worship
Having been called to the ministry at the age of 16 and established Elevation Church in 2006, Steven Furtick, who was a music director at his former church, Christ Covenant Church, was inspired to create a music group that would minister in his church and to Christians outside of the church.
- First Members
Steven, together with Wade Joye and Chris Joel Brown, started Elevation Worship in 2007 in the Elevation Church. The group was completed with members – Jonsal Barrientes, Jenna Barrientes, Jane Williams, Anna Sailors, London Gatch, Mack Brock.
- Their Albums
At the early days of the group’s establishment, Elevation Worship released four independent albums. The albums, The Sound, We are Alive, God With Us, and Kingdom Come were released in 2007, 2008, 2009, and 2010 respectively. The band hit its first chart-topping production with Kingdom Come, with a song off the album, ‘Give Me Faith’ hitting the Billboard charts and peaking on the various categories – number 5 on Heatseekers, 17 on Christian Albums, and 42 on Independent Albums.
- Record Label Signing and First Studio Album
Seeing the potential of the group, they were signed to Essential Records an in continuation of their tradition of releasing an album every year, they released their fifth album, For The Honor, which was their first studio album on the 21st of November 2011. Backed by the marketing prowess of a regular music label, the album reached number 1 on Heatseekers, 19 on Christian Albums and 193 on the much-coveted Billboard 200.
- Subsequent Studio Album
The band has so far, released five more albums since they signed with Essential Records, with their most recent album being the release of Hallelujah Here Below in 2018, which debuted on the Billboard 200 chart at number 25 and US Christian Album chart at number 2. All their six albums have charted on the Billboard charts.
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“The cemetery spread along the area known as Devils Abode.”
The cemetery spread along the area know as Devils Abode. This was not encouraging to the residents of Sunny Hills Rest Home whose facility butted up against its boundary. They were reminded daily of their next destination after their time on earth was over.
Sunny Hills was located on part of the old site of the Dixmont Psychiatric Hospital. In the early days it had been a large facility to house the criminally insane of the state. The remaining patients had been moved to other facilities years ago, except for one.
In all the confusion of the last days he was forgotten. He had hidden out in the old coal storage building ever since. He still made his daily visit to the cemetery to see some of his old friends. His cold empty eyes gazed over to the cheerful grounds of Sunny Hills.
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LORD STANLEY'S MOTION FOR A COMMITTEE ON THE PETITIONS AGAINST THE OHDERS IN COUNCIL.
HC Deb 28 April 1812 vol 22 cc1092-112 1092
Lord Stanley on rising, expressed his regret that it had not fallen to the lot of an abler person than himself to bring the important subject on which he was about to address them before the consideration of the House. It was not his intention, however, to go at any great length into the general question of the policy of the Orders in Council, a subject so lucidly and eloquently treated on a recent occasion by his hon. and learned friend. He should limit him-self therefore to that view of those Orders which were connected with the immediate motion which he was about to submit. In the year 1806, the violent measures and decrees of the enemy induced the British government to take such steps as seemed best calculated by a counter operation to inflict upon the French government those commercial injuries with which it had endeavoured to assail us. Whatever might be the policy of the Order then issued, he must deny that the Decrees against which it was directed were constructed upon any novel or unprecedented principles. Simi- 1093 lar principles had been adopted in 1739, and 1756. They had been acted on during the American as well as the late wars. Never, however, had they been attended with those consequences which unfortunately now so distinctly depressed the trade and commerce of the country. Never had they been found to produce the practical result of destroying the manufactures, and annihilating the trading prosperity of the empire.—So far from their having been followed by any such effects, it was well known that until the present period, those manufactures continued to flourish more and more, and that prosperity progressively to increase. The measures therefore of 1739 and 1756 had been completely impotent in their effect on British commerce; and in his opinion there had been no reason to expect that the Decree of 1806 would have had a mere extensive operation upon it. Had Buonaparté any greater power than his predecessors in the government of France to enforce his hostile schemes against our commerce? Were his fleets so large, or his command over the ocean so entire as to enable him to do what the former rulers of his territories had never succeeded in accomplishing? But admitting his object to be the complete exclusion of commodities of British growth or manufacture, from all the ports of his dominion, what was this but acting on a policy which had been exercised by other continental powers as well as by the British government at various periods? What was it in short but adopting a principle of policy, and enforcing it with more than ordinary vigour, which every state had an inherent right to adopt, as a principle of mere municipal regulation? It remained for others to shew how any such regulations could affect the trade between neutral states and the belligerent, against whose interests they were directed. They had not operated in the present instance to raise the rate of insurance, and the remittances from Europe rose subsequent to their promulgation. What was the case after the system, the childish and impotent system of retaliation was adopted on our part? The face of things was at once changed.—The remittances fell in a short time in the ratio of 100 to 30; America, almost the only neutral nation, was disgusted; her ports were shut against us, all intercourse ceased, and not only the trade which we carried on directly with her, but that which we maintained circuitously through her means, and which it was beyond the power of the enemy to prohibit, before he was aided in his views by our own injurious and disastrous policy, were sacrificed together. But whether all the evils that were now so deeply felt, ought or ought not to be traced to the operation of the Orders in Council, it was undeniable that there was at present great and general distress, and as a member of parliament, and more particularly as the representative of part of one of the counties affected in a peculiar manner by that distress, he had deemed it his duty to call the attention of the House to the Petitions now lying on the table.—The distresses that at present existed no one could deny, whatever difference of opinion there might be with respect to the cause. In the Petitions with which their table was crowded, various remedies were suggested. It was thought, by some, that relief could be derived from the reduction or abolition of sinecure places, and the lessening of salaries, which were disproportioned to the services performed; but whatever might be his opinion upon the expediency of such a measure, he thought it would go a very short way towards the effectual relief of the country. Another suggestion was, the nonrenewal of the Charter of the East India Company, and the extension of the trade of that country and China to the merchants of the United Kingdom; but even that measure, great an effect as it appeared calculated to produce, could not take place for two years; and the distress of the country was such as could not wait the effect of an operation so distant.—He, therefore, was willing to hope, that something might be devised more likely to be efficacious. One of the Petitions complained of the insensibility which the petitioners declared a right hon. gentleman (Mr. Rose) had shewn to their sufferings. Whatever might have passed on the occasion alluded to, he was ready to acquit the right hon. gentleman and the government of any decided insensibility to the distresses of the country; but while he abstained from attributing any improper motive to the right hon. gentleman, (which he was sure was far from his mind): he thought, at the same time, that, standing as he did, in the capacity of a confidential adviser of the crown, he should have been a little more cautious in the language he made use of; and he should have recollected, that though what he said might seem to contain nothing extraordinary in its import, yet, its levity, on minds agitated by the feelings of distress, was calculated to produce the worst effects.—The Petitions on the table were unanimous in stating the distress of the country, and most of them ascribed that distress to the operation of the Orders in Council, of which the petitioners appeared to be likely to form an accurate judgment. As a reply to those allegations, he presumed that the late Declaration had been issued by the government of this country, which proceeded on the statement of the French minister to the Conservative Senate. This Declaration contained, in effect, most decidedly the precise purport and meaning of the expressions attributed to the right hon. gentleman; it stated in effect, though not in terms, that Great Britain and France were in the situation of two persons whose heads were immersed in a bucket, to try which could bear suffocation the longer. This document declared, that the government of Great Britain were determined to persevere, on the punctilio of priority in the Orders in Council; and that however great the distress of the people might be, there was no hope of relief, support, or redress, from their own government. But, in a more statesmanlike point of view, who were to be the judges of the continuance of the system? Was the option to be taken out of the hands of this government, and transferred to those of Buonaparté, whose strongest interest it was that we should continue a system so conducive to his advantage? What was this but surrendering our own free will, pledging ourselves to a particular policy, and resolving to make our own future measures, under any circumstances, dependent on those of the enemy? He could see no ground on which such a determination was to be defended. He had felt it his duty to enquire minutely into the extent and magnitude of those distresses, under which the manufacturing classes of the community were now labouring, and from every quarter he had received accounts, varying as to the particular degree in which they were felt in different places, but all agreeing as to their universal existence. From all parts there were statements of the want of employment, scantiness of food, and high price of provisions. The food of the manufacturers in that part of the kingdom which he had the honour to represent, was chiefly potatoes and oatmeal: two hundred and forty pounds weight of pota- 1096 toes could until lately be purchased for seven shillings; they were now advanced to seventeen shillings. The same quantity of oatmeal could until lately be purchased for forty two shillings; it was now advanced to sixty-seven shillings. The average wages of a manufacturer were from nine to eleven shillings a week; and how, out of that sum, an individual could support and clothe himself and family and pay his house rent, he was at a loss to conceive. In other parts they were rather higher, but they were obtained only by working over hours and beyond the usual habits. He then referred to some letters from different parts of the country, confirming these statements. A magistrate of one district, whose letter he held in his band, declared it was impossible in his neighbourhood, that a weaver, with a wife, and two or three children, even though they were in good health, could earn a subsistence, not so much from a depression of wages, which were rather higher than at the same time last year, but from the great increase in the price of provisions. Another letter from Liverpool, stated that the number of vessels in the docks was only 62, the number of carts employed 66, while 127 were idle, the number of ships in the graving docks 11, though they were capable of holding 27, and in the year 1810 were quite full, besides many waiting to go in, and many on the banks—not one-third of the sail makers were employed, and but 24 block makers, with a variety of other particulars, all showing the depression of commerce. The Petitions before the House, and the statements made by several gentlemen in the House, proved that the distress was not merely confined to the commercial and manufacturing towns, but extended to Leicester, Nottingham, Stafford, Birmingham, Kidderminster, Liverpool, &c. &c. and almost through the whole extent of that line of country. Under those circumstances, his lordship thought that there was but one course which presented it-self, namely, a committee to consider the Petitions which had been laid on the table. That appeared to be the only means to have a full, fair, and open view of the subject, and to obtain explicit information upon it. If the House should think it right to recommend to the government and to the Prince Regent, the repeal of the Orders in Council, which had been productive of so much distress, he would feel proud of having been, in any way, the 1097 humble instrument of bringing about so desirable an event. But if the House should decide otherwise, he would have the consolation of reflecting, that he had endeavoured to discharge his duly to his constituents and to the country. He might in that case regret the decision; but he should submit to it, and he hoped that others out of the House would submit also, and that there would be no repetition of those disturbances which had disgraced many parts of the country. But at the same time he could not help saying, that it was almost too much to expect a starving population, deprived of the possibility of getting employment, to submit, without a murmur, to an accumulation of distress. It were much to be wished, that the people should always proceed by the proper and constitutional mode of Petition; but he was not surprised at enormities committed by those who seemed to be influenced by no idea but that of their sufferings; and as he believed they acted entirely from the impulse of the moment, in consequence of the distress they laboured under, he thought that there was much to be overlooked in the misguided conduct of those persons. He would not take up the time of the House any further, but would proceed to move, "That the several Petitions which have been presented to this House, in this session of parliament against the Orders in Council, be referred to the consideration of a Committee of the whole House."
Mr. Rose expressed his satisfaction that the time was come when the subject could be fully discussed. From what had fallen from the noble lord, it appeared that he was wholly unacquainted with the real nature of the Berlin Decree. The noble lord bad described it merely as a municipal regulation, and that of a nature by no means novel. In May, 1806, in consequence of prior efforts of France to distress British commerce, the late government of this country issued orders to blockade ail the ports from Brest to the river Elbe. In the wisdom and justice of this order he perfectly concurred. At that period we had a naval power sufficient to enforce the blockade, and it was consistent with the law of nations to do so. The consequence was, however, the promulgation of the Berlin Decree. This Decree denied our right to take merchant ships at sea, who were endeavouring to violate the blockade. Was that not novel? It declared that a blockade could extend only to fortified 1098 places, actually besieged, a denial extended by a subsequent explanation on the part of the duke of Cadore, to places besieged by land as well as by sea. Was that not novel? It declared the British islands to be in a state of blockade, prohibited all continental intercourse with them, proclaimed all British subjects, wherever found, to be prisoners of war, and what was more extraordinary and unprecedented in the history of the world, all British merchandize, wherever found, to be forfeited. If British goods for instance were found on board of an American ship trading between America and China, by this Decree they were to be confiscated. Was all this not novel? Was it a municipal regulation? Nothing could be more unlike any former proceeding. He had often been told that the Berlin Decree was nugatory, and that our ships had traded after its promulgation as uninterruptedly as before it. He readily admitted, that from the time of its promulgation, in November, 1806, until after the peace of Tilsit, in July, 1807, the Berlin Decree did actually remain a dead letter; because, during that time, the enemy had no means of enforcing it. But what followed? Immediately that the peace of Tilsit placed his army at the disposal of the French emperor, he marched troops into all the ports of the continent, for the purpose of carrying the Berlin Decree into effect. This active operation of the Decree commenced in August, 1807, and it was well known that two months afterwards no less than 65 British vessels returned, heavily laden, from Heligoland, having been unable to get rid of their cargoes. In consequence of this interruption of British commerce, the Order in Council of 1807 was issued, which recited that the former Order had been found ineffectual, and declared all the ports of Europe in a, state of rigorous blockade. This was followed in the succeeding month by the Milan Decree, which enacted that a neutral of any nation, having touched at an English port, or having allowed herself to be searched by an English ship, should for that act be denationalized, deprived of the protection of her king, and treated as English property. These were the two Decrees which the noble lord had characterized as having nothing new in them, nothing that had not been common in former wars; which ought not to have put us on our defence, or led us to retaliate. In April, 1809, the Orders in Council of 1807 were so modified as to confine the prohi- 1099 bition which they were issued to announce to France, and the countries immediately under her domination. This was followed by the Decree of Rambouillet, which confiscated all the American property within the grasp of France. This was an act unexampled in the history of the world; but in answer to a representation made on the subject to the French government by general Armstrong the American minister, it had been stated by the duke de Cadore, "that the imperial decrees were conformable to the eternal principles of justice;" and on the complaint of general Armstrong that 100 American ships had been seized without any notice being previously given of their danger, he was told that the conduct of England had been such that it could only be regarded as a declaration of war against America, and that war was accordingly considered as declared between England and America from the day on which the English Order in Council was issued. He wished the conduct of France towards America to be compared with that of England.—Here, when a number of American vessels were brought in, to save the expences and delays attendant on the ordinary process, a commission had been immediately appointed to investigate the losses sustained by America, in consequence of which, no less a sum than 400,000l. had been paid to Americans. This was certainly a contrast to the conduct of the French government. An objection had been started as to the late declaration issued by government, that it was founded on nothing more than a newspaper statement. But what was the nature of that newspaper? The message inserted in it was as well intitled to be considered authentic as any thing published in the Gazette of this country. Why it was but the other day that the government were blamed for not acting on verbal authority. This last proceeding, on the part of France, was that of issuing a Senatus Consultum, in which it was declared, that till the British Orders in Council were rescinded, and the principles of the Treaty of Utrecht restored to full force, every neutral vessel touching at any British port, would be considered as denationalized, and the Berlin and Milan Decrees enforced accordingly. Much had been heard in that House of the Berlin and Milan Decrees having been actually repealed. He had on former occasions stated cases of American vessels being captured, which be conceived justified him in coming to a 1100 different conclusion; but now they had a positive authentic instrument to refer to, which confirmed those Decree, and which declared all nations to be denationalized who suffered their merchant ships to be searched. The right of searching merchant vessels had never before been questioned. The late declaration of the English government, which the noble lord appeared to view with much dissatisfaction, as he thought the rescinding of the Berlin and Milan Decrees ought not to be the measure on which the resumption of our commerce with America should depend, appeared to him (Mr. Rose) to be most satisfactory, as it declared our Orders in Council to be repealed whenever the Decrees of France should cease, and repealed retrospectively, so as to have effect from the very day on which those measures were actually at an end. Having thus shewn what were really the proceedings of France and England, with a view to correct what appeared to be a very general misunderstanding on the subject; he came to consider what would be the effect of the repeal of our Orders in Council. Would any man say, that if repealed tomorrow, America would open her ports to us? That it was certain she would do so he denied. She had repeatedly told England that that alone would not satisfy her, as she required that we should give up our present system of blockade—Why then we were to purchase our intercourse with America by giving up our maritime rights. These, he contended, by complying with her wishes, would be given up, and given up for, at best, but a precarious commercial advantage. From the moment at which these were given up we should suffer most severely in our trade. The instant these Orders in Council were repealed, the ports of almost all the world would be thrown open to France, to furnish her with raw materials necessary to carrying on her manufactures. The whole French manufactures of last year, of every kind whatever, amounted in value only to 54 millions of livres. This was entirely owing to their not being able to procure raw materials. It was well known that France had a very flourishing cotton, woollen and silk manufacture before the war. Now, if the ports of France were to be open, she would receive cotton from Brazil, and other parts of South America. It was true there was at present a duty on the importation of cotton into France almost amounting to a prohibition. This 1101 duty was continued, because the emperor of "France knew very well that cotton could now be manufactured only for home consumption, and he was careless what duty was laid on, as it would all be paid by his own subjects. But the moment the ports of France were opened, the French would be able to meet us on our own ground. America would be the carrier, and France would have the means of sending her manufactures to Brazil and ail South America—she would be easily enabled to do this from her large population. Now what would those who were so strenuous advocates for our trade say to this?—That the commodities of Birmingham, and other manufacturing towns, would find an immediate vent and a considerable market he did not deny, but it was necessary to consider what would be the consequence to our trade in other respects;—what effect it would have ultimately on our trade to other parts.—The trade at present carried on with the north of Europe, amounted in the last year to 18,500,000l. being 1,000,000l. more than its amount in 1806, and he had the satisfaction to state, that within the last eight weeks it had been increasing 100,000l. per week on what it was at the corresponding period in the last year. Was this then the time at which we should risk the whole of this trade? The exports to America had formerly amounted to about 12 millions annually. Of this about half had been carried on on account of foreign colonial settlements. The fair consumption of the United Slates might then be taken to have been six millions. In the last year our exports to the United States were 2 millions. In 1805, their amount was 11,500,000l. In 1800, and 1807, 12 millions. In 1808, they fell to 5,300,000l. His opinion had been, that as the trade fell off with the United States, it would increase with other parts of America; and this opinion had been borne out for three years, as the exports to other parts had increased from 11,000,000l. to 18,000,000l. in 1808. In 1809 they were nearly the same; and in 1810, they amounted to 17,000,000l. In the last year (1811), they had however again fallen to 11,803,000l. the exports of the United Slates being but 2,000,000l. So that if we could get over the great stumbling block, the Orders in Council, and the trade of America were again open to us, all we ought to expect was, that our exports to the United States would be raised from 2,000,000l. to 6,000,000l. 1102 annually. If, however, we suffered a loss of 4,000,000l. from the want of an open trade to America, what did America suffer herself?—From a paper which had been presented to congress by Mr. Gallatin, it appeared that her exports in 1810–1811 amounted to about 45,000,000 of dollars.—Of these 3,000,000 were to Prussia, 20,000,000 to England, 18,000,000 to Spain and Portugal, 1,190,000 to France, and to all other parts of the world between 2 and 300,000. Compare the importance of her customers. To France her exports were under 2,000,000, to England and her allies 38,000,000, out of 45,000,000, the total amount of her exports. This was the state of American commerce, and if the measures which she had thought proper to adopt were injurious to us, what were they less than ruinous to her? The whole revenue of America, with the exception of the post-office, amounting to about 60,000l. was raised on the imports. There were no internal taxes, they being all repealed a few years ago. America must, therefore, be suffering in her resources and revenue in every direction.
Much had been said of what we had suffered in our shipping; but a much larger part of it was employed in the continental trade, than in the trade with America. There was an account of all the shipping employed by Great Britain, on the table. It had been said, nothing but foreign shipping was employed in the carrying trade, and that not a ship of our own was to be seen at sea. The shipping of 1811, was higher than that of 1806. In 1811, there were 12,774. In l806, 12,239. In the last year he admitted there was a falling off of 300 British ships; but in 1810, there were 6,000 foreign ships employed, and this year they had fallen down to 3,000. It had been stated by the member for Hull, that government stores were frequently carried in neutral ships—but he could say, that the government had always acted sacredly on this principle, never to employ a neutral ship, when a British ship could be found to go. He proceeded to notice the state of the manufactures in this country, and adverted to the West India interests, which he contended, would suffer from an opening of the ports of France. With respect to the license system, it had its origin with the last government, but he thought it perfectly justifiable and necessary, to prevent the trade of the country being cramped. Many of the objectionable oaths had been 1103 now done away. The licensing system had been treated as if new in its nature, but the fact was, that it had always been had recourse to in former wars, in trading with the West India colonies. Notwithstanding what had been said of the unfavourable situation of the country, and all that the French emperor had done to injure us, he hart the satisfaction to state that the exchanges had risen since last April, 15½ per cent. with Hamburgh, 9¼ with Amsterdam, and 12 per cent. with Paris. He thought upon the whole, he had made it clear to the House, that notwithstanding all the power of the enemy, the trade to Europe was still carried on with considerable advantage, and that it would be great indiscretion in us, to give up a more extensive trade than that with America, for the uncertain advantages which might possibly result from opening the French ports, and renewing our intercourse with America.
Having said so much on the question, he hoped he might be excused for trespassing for a few moments on the attention of the House with respect to what concerned himself personally. There was a Petition on the table of the House, in which he was described as holding a large sinecure office, and totally insensible to the miseries of the country. The noble lord had said he had made use on a certain recent occasion, of very indecorous expressions. He owned if he could have been guilty of treating lightly the sufferings of any class of men, he deserved the severest reprehension. It was the first time in his life that such a charge had ever been brought against him—the first instance in a political life of 30 years;—and how far the gentleman who had made it, in the face of the country, could reconcile the declaration to his conscience, it did not belong to him to say. He thought he had not in the slightest degree, either in his words, or in the manner he uttered them, given occasion for offence of any sort. He was not at the period he alluded to, in the discharge of his official duty; but happened to call on his right hon. friend the Chancellor of the Exchequer for a very different purpose—he was literally an intruder there. Whatever words therefore might be uttered by him, surely ought not to be imputed as a charge against government. However inconsiderate they might be, surely to make them a matter of complaint in a Petition to that House, was without example in the history of the country. He certainly did say to the gentlemen from Birmingham something like this,—that it might happen that the distress they felt was very great, but still if the relief to them in particular was not consistent with the general good of the country, it could not be granted. If he could not accede to the Petition, his next duty was not to mislead gentlemen. It had happened to him to have more intercourse with the lower orders, than any man either in or out of the House. His doors were always open to all classes, and he never sent any away unanswered. He then produced and read extracts from several votes of thanks from the Spitalfields weavers and the committee of journeymen mechanics, for his kindness to them on several occasions, which instances he selected from a great many for the purpose of shewing, that he was a very unlikely man to treat the sufferings of any classes of the community with levity or disrespect.
Nothing short of an accusation of having committed some horrid crime, could be more revolting to his feelings, than what had been charged against him, and he denied that he had exhibited any such levity. The petitioners from Birmingham he believed to be honest, worthy people, and he was far from charging upon them the malignity of the accusation: but the mind that suggested it was certainly malignant.
With regard to the question immediately before them, there seemed to be a general delusion in the country as to the Orders in Council. "Repeal them, and all will be well: persist in them, and ruin must ensue." That was the general language held upon the subject. Hence, if the House should refuse to go into a committee, the people would think that their sufferings and representations were not attended to; and if the committee was granted, they would then conclude every thing would be accomplished, for parliament was at work in their behalf. He was disposed to admit, however, the propriety of going into a committee; yet he did not wish the people to be deluded by vain and extravagant expectations; he should therefore state it as his firm and unbiassed opinion, that if the Orders in Council were repealed, our trade would be infinitely worse than it then was. But it was due, he thought, to the wishes of the petitioners that their prayers should be taken into consideration; and therefore he should not oppose the motion of the noble lord.
Sir Charles Mordaunt represented the great increase which had taken place in the poor rates in Birmingham, in consequence of the depressed state of the manufactures of that town.
Mr. Dugdale, in answer to a question which was put in the course of the discussion yesterday, upon the subject of the Orders in Council, stated, that, from his recollection of the conversation between the manufacturers of Birmingham, and the President of the Board of Trade, the right hon. gentleman did assimilate the state of this country and France to two persons in a bucket of water. He did not recollect the exact words which had been used, but he certainly could bear testimony to the respect and attention with which the deputation was received. And he denied, therefore, that the right hon. gentleman had treated it with any thing like levity or insult.
Mr. Baring observed, that all the efforts which had been made on that side of the House to obtain a committee proved fruitless; but he was glad to see, that now petitions had arrived from almost every district in the country, that now the voice of the nation spoke aloud, government had so far yielded as to consent to enquiry. Such being the case, he should certainly not go into that length on the subject, which it was otherwise his intention to have done, but should confine himself to a few observations in reply to some part of the speech of the right hon. gentleman, which he thought calculated to deceive the House.
With regard to the expression which had been so often mentioned that evening, he would only say, that he could hardly be induced to believe on any evidence, that the right hon. gentleman would treat with levity and disrespect such respectable persons as those who composed the deputation from Birmingham; but if the right hon. gentleman had really wished to characterise the proceedings of government, he could not have done it more aptly than by those words. As to the matter before the House, the only part of it that was at all interesting, was not how the Orders in Council had originated, not what had been their progress, but whether the period had now arrived when an end ought to be put to them. And this view of the question had a particular reference to America. It had been certainly held out to America that we were ready to repeal our Orders in Council when the French government should substantially repeal its Berlin and Milan Decrees. Whether that repeal had really taken place in such a manner as to call upon us to revoke our Orders in Council, was another consideration; but it was maintained that America was so hostile in its government towards this country, that the mere repeal of our Orders in Council would not now satisfy the United States. He would admit, if that case could be proved, it would be a strong argument why the Orders in Council should not be repealed, supposing them to be beneficial to the country. The fact was not as stated however. Whoever would look into the correspondence between the American and British governments, would find it distinctly stated by the former, that upon the repeal of our Orders in Council, their non importation act should be rescinded. The repeal of those Orders, he contended, was the only thing America required; there was no difference with her—no question at issue, upon the principle of blockade asserted by this country. The correspondence would abundantly prove that; and the result which every person must draw from a perusal of that correspondence was, that the whole depended upon the repeal of our Orders in Council.
Another question was, whether the French Decrees had been actually repealed, and he was willing to admit that there were some circumstances which, in his mind, made him think that France had not acted up to her professions. The point, however, was whether, in connection with this subject, a hostile mind existed in the American government towards this country, which nothing could satisfy? He maintained, however, that at the time America declared that France had revoked her Decrees, she had fair grounds for saying so, and therefore just reasons for expecting us to follow up the commencement of conciliation on the part of France, by a revocation of our Orders in Council. What, he would ask, was the proper mode of communicating from one country to another an act of the government? "In the Moniteur, or the Gazette," said the right hon. gentleman—he, however, (Mr. Baring) thought a direct communication from one minister to another was just as legitimate, and that direct communication the American government had had. But, it was argued, the French government was not to be trusted. Was that language to be used from one country 1107 to another? Was it not a sentiment calculated-to destroy all confidence between nations, and to interpose an impassible barrier to conciliation; but whatever grounds we might have for disbelieving or for doubting the sincerity of the French declaration, America was bound to receive it, as she would the declaration of any other government. Under those circumstances, therefore, and at the period of time to which he was alluding, America was justified in demanding from us the repeal of our Orders in Council, and it was impossible to read the correspondence between Mr. Monro and Mr. Foster, without feeling that there was a strong anxiety on the part of the American government to repeal her commercial restrictions. He had dwelt upon these particulars with the more earnestness, because he was extremely solicitous to convince the House, that there had been nothing in the conduct of America towards this country, at all indicatory of a hostile disposition on the part of her government; and that the construction which America had put upon the declaration of France, that her Berlin and Milan Decrees were substantially repealed, was such as she was justified in putting. For a considerable time after that declaration, nothing occurred on the part of France to prove that her Decrees were not revoked; and when our minister in America maintained that they were not revoked, he was immediately required to shew that any capture of any American vessel had taken place, or any act of the French government, avowed, subsequently to the alleged revocation, which proved his assertion. This he could not do, and therefore at that time America had good grounds for believing in the revocation, and for requiring of us to fulfil our agreement, by repealing our Orders in Council. Nay, even to this day, he did not hear of any condemnation in the French courts of prize, of vessels taken under the provisions of the Berlin and Milan Decrees; captures he knew there had been, since their alleged revocation, but he was not aware of any condemnations.
There was another important question which the House had to consider. Admitting that France had completely put a stop to our commerce on the continent, what remedy did the Orders in Council offer to us? The right hon. gentleman said, that to them we owed the present prosperous state of our trade; if that were the case, if our trade were at this moment 1108 really prosperous, he should be satisfied of their utility and expediency; but was such the state of the trade; or rather, who would venture to maintain that it was, in defiance of all those Petitions, coming from almost every manufacturing district in the country? He would, therefore, say, that if the experiment could at all be justifiable, the state of our trade now justified it, and it was worth while to try the experiment of repealing those Orders in Council. We certainly had nothing to risk, but probably had much to gain; that must be the inference, if we looked practically at the state of things. But, it was said, if we repealed our Orders in Council France would then be able to obtain raw materials from America to carry on her trade. In answer to that, he would reply, that there was nothing in our Orders in Council as they now stood, which at all prevented France from receiving those raw materials to any extent she pleased into the Weser, the Elbe, and the Ems. He should not, however, go further into the general question, as ample opportunity would be afforded for that when the House resolved itself into the committee on the subject.
Lord Castlereagh said, the vote he should give was not an admission upon the merits of the question, but merely a concession to the wishes of the country, to go into enquiry on the subject. The Orders in Council were not mere commercial regulations, but measures of just retaliation against France; and as an effort against the enemy, they had been proved efficient. He thought too, that the country ought not to abandon such a system on account merely of any temporary pressures, which, however, had not been, in his judgment, at all as heavy as might, under all circumstances, have been reasonably expected. The Berlin and Milan Decrees, he contended, were in full force, and England was always prepared to say, that the Orders in Council should fall when those Decrees were withdrawn. The condition, however, declared on the other side, was, that their Decrees should fall with the surrender of our system of blockade. He trusted that if there was any hostile feeling in America towards us, the conduct of France would bring her back to more mild and favourable sentiments. We should not revoke our system in favour of one neutral to the manifest injury of all others. He would allow that Mr. Monroe did not contend against the principle of 1806, but there was a period in which America joined France, to call upon us for a revocation of those principles of blockade which we had hitherto maintained, and the adoption of the maritime rule of France. When such a demand was made, he hoped the House would not be inclined to look upon it as a mere commercial question. It was a question of great national right, and as such it ought to be looked at, and not as a mere calculation of imports and exports. America, he trusted, would not make our conduct a cause of war; but if she did, our duty would be to satisfy our own minds as to the justice of the case, and not to be deterred by our apprehension of war from the maintenance of what we knew to be our right. On the commercial part of the subject, however, he could not help observing, that there was a disposition in gentlemen greatly to exaggerate the difficulties experienced. To impute those difficulties to the Orders in Council, was neither logical nor fair. Looking to the documents on the table, they would find, that the whole state of the commerce during the present war, had experienced an increase rapid beyond example, extensive and unnatural in its degree. They would find that, at the present moment, the export of British manufactures within the year, exceeded the whole amount of the manufactures of France.—The amount of the latter for the last year was 54,000,000l. the amount of the former for the same period, 62,000,000l. for the year before, 66,000,000l. and the preceding year, 49,000,000l. Many of the present difficulties might be traced to this unnatural, and as he might call it, diseased and gigantic success, which recoiled back upon the merchants and manufacturers. There was something in the very prosperity of this country, which rendered it more liable to such difficulties, by rendering the individuals less willing to leave their own trades for others. The direct trade with the United States of America, he would allow, was diminished by the unfortunate commercial hostility; but the exports to the other parts of America had risen in proportion, so that the general trade across the Atlantic did not suffer. Notwithstanding the policy of the emperor of France, there was much of the trade of France now open to us, and even in the last year, when the pressure was the severest, we contrived to convey to the continent of Europe exports to the value 1110 of 18 millions sterling. He entreated that gentlemen would not throw out loose and general allusions upon this subject, calculated to embitter the feelings of those who suffered under difficulties which the remedy proposed must aggravate rather than diminish. He was glad that enquiry was to take place, but wished his assent to the motion to be considered not as any unwise disposition to surrender the rights of the country, but merely as a desire to shew the people that there was no intention to deceive them.
Mr. Brougham said, that nothing that had fallen from the noble lord should tempt him for a moment to deviate from his resolution of saying nothing upon the question till they had come out from the enquiry, which could alone, in his mind, render them competent to speak upon it. He deprecated, however, the exulting tone adopted by the noble lord in speaking of what the noble lord was pleased to term the prosperity of our commerce. As to the meaning put by the noble lord upon his own vote, it appeared rather inconsistent, that if that noble lord and his friends thought that the Orders in Council were not to be abandoned, they should vote to send those measures, as it were, to their trial, by voting to refer them to the consideration of a committee. It was, he thought, practising a gross delusion upon the public, to hold out to them a shew of relief if none whatever was ultimately intended. He could not divine the motives which had at length, after such a manifesto as they had lately issued, induced the ministers—to use no more invidious terms—induced the ministers to agree to the committee. He expressed a wish that the committee might be gone into tomorrow, and continue to sit from day to day, deferring all other less urgent business until the present was disposed of.
Mr. Stephen, in opposition to what had fallen from the hon. and learned gentleman, denied that it was the intention of ministers that the Orders in Council should be put on their trial in the committee. The question to be there examined was, whether any part of the commercial distress complained of, was owing to them, and not whether the policy which dictated them was founded upon right or wrong principles, notwithstanding the petitioners from Birmingham had ventured to decide the question, by asserting that the government had overturned the clearest principles of national law. After the wiss 1111 and strong declaration of ministers on the subject just published, it would indeed appear inconsistent if they were to assent to the motion without entering their protest against the supposition that they concurred, because they entertained the slightest doubt as to the propriety of persisting in the Orders in Council. It was a foul libel to assert, that the Orders in Council had been resorted to for the extension of the commerce of Great Britain. He expressed his conviction, derived from experience of the proceedings of a committee four years ago, that little or no benefits would result from the enquiry about to be commenced. He therefore rather assented to the appointment of a committee as a negative good, and to prevent misconstruction; and he trusted that the investigation would be conducted in a fair, temperate, and candid manner. In reply to the speech of another hon. gentleman (Mr. Baring) he maintained, that the government of the United States did insist strenuously not only on the repeal of the Orders in Council, but of the blockade of 1807. After noticing the impossibility that mechanics taken from their looms could be competent judges on a question of such vast magnitude, and asserting that the distresses of trade proceeded from the glut of 1809, and the disturbances from the high price of provisions, he concluded by staling his willingness to go into the committee, for the purpose of quieting the public mind. He reprobated the introduction of such topics as the riots in Nottinghamshire, and the scarcity, in a discussion on the present subject; nevertheless, if the yellow fever raged in the country, and it was the belief of many persons that it proceeded from the Orders in Council, he would consent that the subject should be examined, merely for the sake of removing the false impression.
Lord Stanley, in explanation, said he had not stated that the Berlin Decree was a mere municipal regulation. He wished to enquire whether, if it should appear that the Orders in Council constituted the principal cause of the present distress, his Majesty's government would give up the measure, or persevere in their former declaration?
The Chancellor of the Exchequer replied, that he did not feel it necessary in this stage of the business, before any enquiry had been made, to enter into any pledge or promise as to his future conduct. Supposing, however, that it were proved that 1112 the distresses complained of were in some degree, or altogether, occasioned by the Orders in Council, it would still remain a question for parliament to decide, whether, weighing the disadvantages against the benefits, they should be abandoned. He was fully persuaded that the result of the examinations would be, that the distresses now felt (in the only year out of the four in which the Orders in Council existed in which they had been complain-ed of) originated in causes completely distinct, connected with the excessive commerce previously carried on. He would, therefore, give no pledge as to his future determination.
Mr. Tierney thought that he could answer his noble friend's question, though the right hon. gentleman would not. The Chancellor of the Exchequer had been asked whether he would consent to the committee?—His answer was in the negative. Consulting his friends, however, he found among them such strong symptoms of disaffection as induced him to alter his determination. The Chancellor of the Exchequer was now asked if he would repeal the Orders in Council after the report of the committee had been made? His answer was, No. If the right hon. gentleman should discover, however, that desertion was likely to ensue, and he should be left in a minority, when the time arrived no doubt he would be as ready to repeal the Orders as he was to consent to the committee upon them.
The question was then put, and agreed to, and it was ordered that the committee on the Orders in Council should sit to-morrow, and be continued 'de die in diem.' Witnesses from Birmingham, Sheffield, Manchester, &c. were summoned to attend on the motion of Mr. Brougham.
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