What do you enjoy most about writing? Writing shows who you are as a person. When I started writing, I always felt I was the best. But after reading alot of greater works, I figured there’s more I need to learn. So, I can say, I unlocked my full student potential just by simply pouring […]
What do you enjoy most about writing? Writing shows…
The Three Brothers
August 21, 2023 by Ukrainian folktale
The nobleman then went on to the inn, and there he found the fool’s father. “Such a funny thing has happened to me,” said the nobleman. “I went and cut me out a flute from an elder-bush, and lo! it plays of its own accord!” Then the father took the flute and tried his hand at it, and it sang:
“Play, good daddy, play,
But don’t steal my heart away!
Me my brothers took and slew,
In the ditch my body threw,
For that hog shot down by me,
That rooted up the tree!”
The father was so astonished that he bought it, and took it home, and gave it to the mother for her to play upon it, and it sang:
“Play, good mammy, play,
But don’t steal my heart away!
Me my brothers took and slew,
In the ditch my body threw,
For that hog shot down by me,
That rooted up the tree!”
Then the father gave the flute to his brothers to play upon, but they wouldn’t. “Nay, but you must!” said their father. Then the younger brother took and played upon it:
“Play, my brother, play,
But don’t steal my heart away!
Me my brothers took and slew,
In the ditch my body threw,
For the hog shot down by me,
That rooted up the tree!”
Then the father gave the flute to the elder brother who had slain him, but he wouldn’t take it. “Take it and play upon it!” roared his father at him. Then he took it and played:
“Play, my brother, play,
But don’t steal my heart away!
’Twas thou who didst me slay,
And stowed my corpse away,
For the hog shot down by me,
That rooted up the tree!”
“Then it was thou who didst slay him?” cried the father. What could the elder brother do but confess it! Then they dug the dead man up, and buried him in the cemetery; but they tied the elder brother to a wild horse, which scattered his bones about the endless steppe.
But I was there, and drank wine and mead till my beard was wet.
There were, once upon a time, three brothers, and the third was a fool. And in their little garden grew golden apple-trees with golden apples, and not far off lived a hog that had taken a fancy to these apples. So the father sent his sons into the garden to guard the trees. The eldest went first, and sat and sat and watched and watched till he was tired of watching, and fell asleep. Then the hog crept in, and dug and dug till he had digged up an apple-tree, which he ate up, and then went his way. The father got up next morning and counted his apple-trees, and one of them was gone. The next night the father sent the second son to watch. He waited and watched till he also fell asleep, and the hog came again and dug up and ate another golden apple-tree and made off. The next morning the father got up again and counted his trees, and another was gone. Then the fool said, “Dad, let me go too!” But the father said, “Oh, fool, fool, wherefore shouldst thou go? Thy wise brethren have watched to no purpose, what canst thou do?”––“Hoity-toity!” said the fool; “give me a gun, and I’ll go all the same.” His father wouldn’t give him a gun, so he took it, and went to watch. He placed his gun across his knees and sat down. He sat and sat, but nothing came, nothing came; he got drowsy, was nodding off, when his gun fell off his knees, and he awoke with a start and watched more warily. At last he heard something––and there stood the hog. It began to dig up another tree, when he pulled the trigger and––bang! His brothers heard the sound, came running up, were quite amazed to see a dead boar lying there, and said, “What will become of us now?”––“Let us kill him,” said the eldest brother, “and bury him in that ditch, and say that we killed the hog.” So they took and slew him, and buried him in the ditch, and took the hog to their father, and said, “While we were watching, this hog came up and began digging, so we killed him and have brought him to you.”
One day a nobleman came by that way, and was surprised to see a beautiful elder-bush growing out of the ditch; so he went up to it, cut off a branch, made him a flute out of it, and began playing upon it. But the flute played of its own accord, and made this moan:
“Play, good master, play,
But steal not my heart away!
Me my brothers took and slew,
In the ditch my body threw,
For that hog shot down by me
That rooted up the tree.”
The nobleman then went on to the inn, and there he found the fool’s father. “Such a funny thing has happened to me,” said the nobleman. “I went and cut me out a flute from an elder-bush, and lo! it plays of its own accord!” Then the father took the flute and tried his hand at it, and it sang:
“Play, good daddy, play,
But don’t steal my heart away!
Me my brothers took and slew,
In the ditch my body threw,
For that hog shot down by me,
That rooted up the tree!”
The father was so astonished that he bought it, and took it home, and gave it to the mother for her to play upon it, and it sang:
“Play, good mammy, play,
But don’t steal my heart away!
Me my brothers took and slew,
In the ditch my body threw,
For that hog shot down by me,
That rooted up the tree!”
Then the father gave the flute to his brothers to play upon, but they wouldn’t. “Nay, but you must!” said their father. Then the younger brother took and played upon it:
“Play, my brother, play,
But don’t steal my heart away!
Me my brothers took and slew,
In the ditch my body threw,
For the hog shot down by me,
That rooted up the tree!”
Then the father gave the flute to the elder brother who had slain him, but he wouldn’t take it. “Take it and play upon it!” roared his father at him. Then he took it and played:
“Play, my brother, play,
But don’t steal my heart away!
’Twas thou who didst me slay,
And stowed my corpse away,
For the hog shot down by me,
That rooted up the tree!”
“Then it was thou who didst slay him?” cried the father. What could the elder brother do but confess it! Then they dug the dead man up, and buried him in the cemetery; but they tied the elder brother to a wild horse, which scattered his bones about the endless steppe.
But I was there, and drank wine and mead till my beard was wet.
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A Fair Penitent
August 20, 2023 by story page
Charles Pineau Duclos was a French writer of biographies and novels, who lived and worked during the first half of the eighteenth century. He prospered sufficiently well, as a literary man, to be made secretary to the French Academy, and to be allowed to succeed Voltaire in the office of historiographer of France. He has left behind him, in his own country, the reputation of a lively writer of the second class, who addressed the public of his day with fair success, and who, since his death, has not troubled posterity to take any particular notice of him.
Among the papers left by Duclos, two manuscripts were found, which he probably intended to turn to some literary account. The first was a brief Memoir, written by himself, of a Frenchwoman, named Mademoiselle Gautier, who began life as an actress and who ended it as a Carmelite nun. The second manuscript was the lady’s own account of the process of her conversion, and of the circumstances which attended her moral passage from the state of a sinner to the state of a saint. There are certain national peculiarities in the character of Mademoiselle Gautier and in the narrative of her conversion, which are perhaps interesting enough to be reproduced with some chance of pleasing the present day.
It appears, from the account given of her by Duclos, that Mademoiselle Gautier made her appearance on the stage of the Theatre Francois in the year seventeen hundred and sixteen. She is described as a handsome woman, with a fine figure, a fresh complexion, a lively disposition, and a violent temper. Besides possessing capacity as an actress, she could write very good verses, she was clever at painting in miniature, and, most remarkable quality of all, she was possessed of prodigious muscular strength. It is recorded of Mademoiselle, that she could roll up a silver plate with her hands, and that she covered herself with distinction in a trial of strength with no less a person than the famous soldier, Marshal Saxe.
Nobody who is at all acquainted with the social history of the eighteenth century in France, need be told that Mademoiselle Gautier had a long list of lovers,–for the most part, persons of quality, marshals, counts, and so forth. The only man, however, who really attached her to him, was an actor at the Theatre Francois, a famous player in his day, named Quinault Dufresne. Mademoiselle Gautier seems to have loved him with all the ardour of her naturally passionate disposition. At first, he returned her affection; but, as soon as she ventured to test the sincerity of his attachment by speaking of marriage, he cooled towards her immediately, and the connection between them was broken off. In all her former love-affairs, she had been noted for the high tone which she adopted towards her admirers, and for the despotic authority which she exercised over them even in her gayest moments. But the severance of her connection with Quinault Dufresne wounded her to her heart. She had loved the man so dearly, had made so many sacrifices for him, had counted so fondly on the devotion of her whole future life to him, that the first discovery of his coldness towards her broke her spirit at once and for ever. She fell into a condition of hopeless melancholy, looked back with remorse and horror at her past life, and abandoned the stage and the society in which she had lived, to end her days repentantly in the character of a Carmelite nun.
So far, her history is the history of hundreds of other women before her time and after it. The prominent interest of her life, for the student of human nature, lies in the story of her conversion, as told by herself. The greater part of the narrative–every page of which is more or less characteristic of the Frenchwoman of the eighteenth century–may be given, with certain suppressions and abridgments, in her own words. The reader will observe, at the outset, one curious fact. Mademoiselle Gautier does not so much as hint at the influence which the loss of her lover had in disposing her mind to reflect on serious subjects. She describes her conversion as if it had taken its rise in a sudden inspiration from Heaven.
Even the name of Quinault Dufresne is not once mentioned from one end of her narrative to the other.
On the twenty-fifth of April, seventeen hundred and twenty-two (writes Mademoiselle Gautier), while I was still leading a life of pleasure–according to the pernicious ideas of pleasure which pass current in the world–I happen to awake, contrary to my usual custom, between eight and nine o’clock in the morning. I remember that it is my birthday; I ring for my people; and my maid answers the bell, alarmed by the idea that I am ill. I tell her to dress me that I may go to mass. I go to the Church of the Cordeliers, followed by my footman, and taking with me a little orphan whom I had adopted. The first part of the mass is celebrated without attracting my attention; but, at the second part the accusing voice of my conscience suddenly begins to speak. “What brings you here?” it says. “Do you come to reward God for making you the attractive person that you are, by mortally transgressing His laws every day of your life?” I hear that question, and I am unspeakably overwhelmed by it. I quit the chair on which I have hitherto been leaning carelessly, and I prostrate myself in an agony of remorse on the pavement of the church.
The mass over, I send home the footman and the orphan, remaining behind myself, plunged in inconceivable perplexity. At last I rouse myself on a sudden; I go to the sacristy; I demand a mass for my own proper advantage every day; I determine to attend it regularly; and, after three hours of agitation, I return home, resolved to enter on the path that leads to justification.
Six months passed. Every morning I went to my mass: every evening I spent in my customary dissipations.
Some of my friends indulged in considerable merriment at my expense when they found out my constant attendance at mass. Accordingly, I disguised myself as a boy, when I went to church, to escape observation.
My disguise was found out, and the jokes against me were redoubled.
Upon this, I began to think of the words of the Gospel, which declare the impossibility of serving two masters. I determined to abandon the service of Mammon.
The first vanity I gave up was the vanity of keeping a maid. By way of further accustoming myself to the retreat from the world which I now began to meditate, I declined all invitations to parties under the pretext of indisposition. But the nearer the Easter time approached at which I had settled in my own mind definitely to turn my back on worldly temptations and pleasures, the more violent became my internal struggles with myself. My health suffered under them to such an extent that I was troubled with perpetual attacks of retching and sickness, which, however, did not prevent me from writing my general confession, addressed to the vicar of Saint Sulpice, the parish in which I lived.
Just Heaven! what did I not suffer some days afterwards, when I united around me at dinner, for the last time, all the friends who had been dearest to me in the days of my worldly life! What words can describe the tumult of my heart when one of my guests said to me, “You are giving us too good a dinner for a Wednesday in Passion Week;” and when another answered, jestingly, “You forget that this is her farewell dinner to her friends!” I felt ready to faint while they were talking, and rose from table pretexting as an excuse, that I had a payment to make that evening, which I could not in honour defer any longer. The company rose with me, and saw me to the door. I got into my carriage, and the company returned to table. My nerves were in such a state that I shrieked at the first crack of the coachman’s whip; and the company came running down again to know what was the matter. One of my servants cleverly stopped them from all hurrying out to the carriage together, by declaring that the scream proceeded from my adopted orphan. Upon this they returned quietly enough to their wine, and I drove off with my general confession to the vicar of Saint Sulpice.
My interview with the vicar lasted three hours. His joy at discovering that I was in a state of grace was extreme. My own emotions were quite indescribable. Late at night I returned to my own house, and found my guests all gone. I employed myself in writing farewell letters to the manager and company of the theatre, and in making the necessary arrangements for sending back my adopted orphan to his friends, with twenty pistoles. Finally, I directed the servants to say, if anybody enquired after me the next day, that I had gone out of town for some time; and after that, at five o’clock in the morning, I left my home in Paris never to return to it again.
By this time I had thoroughly recovered my tranquillity. I was as easy in my mind at leaving my house as I am now when I quit my cell to sing in the choir. Such already was the happy result of my perpetual masses, my general confession, and my three hours’ interview with the vicar of Saint Sulpice.
Before taking leave of the world, I went to Versailles to say good-bye to my worthy patrons, Cardinal Fleury and the Duke de Gesvres. From them,
I went to mass in the King’s Chapel; and after that, I called on a lady of Versailles whom I had mortally offended, for the purpose of making my peace with her. She received me angrily enough. I told her I had not come to justify myself, but to ask her pardon. If she granted it, she would send me away happy. If she declined to be reconciled, Providence would probably be satisfied with my submission, but certainly not with her refusal. She felt the force of this argument; and we made it up on the spot.
I left Versailles immediately afterwards, without taking anything to eat; the act of humility which I had just performed being as good as a meal to me.
Towards evening, I entered the house of the Community of Saint Perpetua at Paris. I had ordered a little room to be furnished there for me, until the inventory of my worldly effects was completed, and until I could conclude my arrangements for entering a convent. On first installing myself, I began to feel hungry at last, and begged the Superior of the Community to give me for supper anything that remained from the dinner of the house. They had nothing but a little stewed carp, of which I eat with an excellent appetite. Marvellous to relate, although I had been able to keep nothing on my stomach for the past three months, although I had been dreadfully sick after a little rice soup on the evening before, the stewed carp of the sisterhood of Saint Perpetua, with some nuts afterwards for dessert, agreed with me charmingly, and I slept all through the night afterwards as peacefully as a child!
When the news of my retirement became public, it occasioned great talk in Paris. Various people assigned various reasons for the strange course that I had taken. Nobody, however, believed that I had quitted the world in the prime of my life (I was then thirty-one years old), never to return to it again. Meanwhile, my inventory was finished and my goods were sold. One of my friends sent a letter, entreating me to reconsider my determination. My mind was made up, and I wrote to say so. When my goods had been all sold, I left Paris to go and live incognito as a parlour-boarder in the Convent of the Ursuline nuns of Pondevaux. Here I wished to try the mode of life for a little while before I assumed the serious responsibility of taking the veil. I knew my own character–I remembered my early horror of total seclusion, and my inveterate dislike to the company of women only; and, moved by these considerations, I resolved, now that I had taken the first important step, to proceed in the future with caution.
The nuns of Pondevaux received me among them with great kindness.
They gave me a large room, which I partitioned off into three small ones.
I assisted at all the pious exercises of the place. Deceived by my fashionable appearance and my plump figure, the good nuns treated me as if I was a person of high distinction. This afflicted me, and I undeceived them. When they knew who I really was, they only behaved towards me with still greater kindness. I passed my time in reading and praying, and led the quietest, sweetest life it is possible to conceive.
After ten months’ sojourn at Pondevaux, I went to Lyons, and entered (still as parlour-boarder only) the House of Anticaille, occupied by the nuns of the Order of Saint Mary. Here, I enjoyed the advantage of having for director of my conscience that holy man, Father Deveaux. He belonged to the Order of the Jesuits; and he was good enough, when I first asked him for advice, to suggest that I should get up at eleven o’clock at night to say my prayers, and should remain absorbed in devotion until midnight. In obedience to the directions of this saintly person, I kept myself awake as well as I could till eleven o’clock. I then got on my knees with great fervour, and I blush to confess it, immediately fell as fast asleep as a dormouse. This went on for several nights, when Father Deveaux finding that my midnight devotions were rather too much for me, was so obliging as to prescribe another species of pious exercise, in a letter which he wrote to me with his own hand. The holy father, after deeply regretting my inability to keep awake, informed me that he had a new act of penitence to suggest to me by the performance of which I might still hope to expiate my sins. He then, in the plainest terms, advised me to have recourse to the discipline of flagellation, every Friday, using the cat-o’-nine-tails on my bare shoulders for the length of time that it would take to repeat a Miserere. In conclusion, he informed me that the nuns of Anticaille would probably lend me the necessary instrument of flagellation; but, if they made any difficulty about it, he was benevolently ready to furnish me with a new and special cat-o’-nine-tails of his own making.
Never was woman more amazed or more angry than I, when I first read this letter. “What!” cried I to myself, “does this man seriously recommend me to lash my own shoulders? Just Heaven, what impertinence! And yet, is it not my duty to put up with it? Does not this apparent insolence proceed from the pen of a holy man? If he tells me to flog my wickedness out of me, is it not my bounden duty to lay on the scourge with all my might immediately? Sinner that I am! I am thinking remorsefully of my plump shoulders and the dimples on my back, when I ought to be thinking of nothing but the cat-o’-nine-tails and obedience to Father Deveaux?”
These reflections soon gave me the resolution which I had wanted at first.
I was ashamed to ask the nuns for an instrument of flagellation; so I made one for myself of stout cord, pitilessly knotted at very short intervals. This done, I shut myself up while the nuns were at prayer, uncovered my shoulders, and rained such a shower of lashes on them, in the first fervour of my newly-awakened zeal, that I fairly flogged myself down on the ground, flat on my nose, before I had repeated more of the Miserere than the first two or three lines.
I burst out crying, shedding tears of spite against myself when I ought to have been shedding tears of devotional gratitude for the kindness of Father Deveaux. All through the night I never closed my eyes, and in the morning I found my poor shoulders (once so generally admired for their whiteness) striped with all the colours of the rainbow. The sight threw me into a passion, and I profanely said to myself while I was dressing, “The next time I see Father Deveaux, I will give my tongue full swing, and make the hair of that holy man stand on end with terror!” A few hours afterwards, he came to the convent, and all my resolution melted away at the sight of him. His imposing exterior had such an effect on me that I could only humbly entreat him to excuse me from indicting a second flagellation on myself. He smiled, benignantly, and granted my request with a saintly amiability. “Give me the cat-o’-nine-tails,” he said, in conclusion, “and I will keep it for you till you ask me for it again. You are sure to ask for it again, dear child–to ask for it on your bended knees!”
Pious and prophetic man! Before many days had passed his words came true. If he had persisted severely in ordering me to flog myself, I might have opposed him for months together; but, as it was, who could resist the amiable indulgence he showed towards my weakness? The very next day after my interview, I began to feel ashamed of my own cowardice; and the day after that I went down on my knees, exactly as he had predicted, and said, “Father Deveaux, give me back my cat-o’-nine-tails.”
From that time I cheerfully underwent the discipline of flagellation, learning the regular method of practising it from the sisterhood, and feeling, in a spiritual point of view, immensely the better for it.
The nuns, finding that I cheerfully devoted myself to every act of self-sacrifice prescribed by the rules of their convent, wondered very much that I still hesitated about taking the veil. I begged them not to mention the subject to me till my mind was quite made up about it. They respected my wish, and said no more; but they lent me books to read which assisted in strengthening my wavering resolution. Among these books was the Life of Madame de Montmorenci, who, after the shocking death of her husband, entered the Order of St. Mary. The great example of this lady made me reflect seriously, and I communicated my thoughts, as a matter of course, to Father Deveaux. He assured me that the one last greatest sacrifice which remained for me to make was the sacrifice of my liberty. I had long known that this was my duty, and I now felt, for the first time, that I had courage and resolution enough boldly to face the idea of taking the veil.
While I was in this happy frame of mind, I happened to meet with the history of the famous Rance, founder, or rather reformer, of the Order of La Trappe. I found a strange similarity between my own worldly errors and those of this illustrious penitent. The discovery had such an effect on me, that I spurned all idea of entering a convent where the rules were comparatively easy, as was the case at Anticaille, and determined, when I did take the veil, to enter an Order whose discipline was as severe as the discipline of La Trappe itself. Father Deveaux informed me that I should find exactly what I wanted among the Carmelite nuns; and, by his advice, I immediately put myself in communication with the Archbishop of Villeroi. I opened my heart to this worthy prelate, convinced him of my sincerity, and gained from him a promise that he would get me admitted among the Carmelite nuns of Lyons. One thing I begged of him at parting, which was, that he would tell the whole truth about my former life and about the profession that I had exercised in the world. I was resolved to deceive nobody, and to enter no convent under false pretences of any sort.
My wishes were scrupulously fulfilled; and the nuns were dreadfully frightened when they heard that I had been an actress at Paris. But the Archbishop promising to answer for me, and to take all their scruples on his own conscience, they consented to receive me. I could not trust myself to take formal leave of the nuns of Anticaille, who had been so kind to me, and towards whom I felt so gratefully. So I wrote my farewell to them after privately leaving their house, telling them frankly the motives which animated me, and asking their pardon for separating myself from them in secret.
On the fourteenth of October, seventeen hundred and twenty-four, I entered the Carmelite convent at Lyons, eighteen months after my flight from the world, and my abandonment of my profession–to adopt which, I may say, in my own defence, that I was first led through sheer poverty.
At the age of seventeen years, and possessing (if I may credit report) remarkable personal charms, I was left perfectly destitute through the spendthrift habits of my father. I was easily persuaded to go on the stage, and soon tempted, with my youth and inexperience, to lead an irregular life. I do not wish to assert that dissipation necessarily follows the choice of the actress’s profession, for I have known many estimable women on the stage. I, unhappily, was not one of the number. I confess it to my shame, and, as the chief of sinners, I am only the more grateful to the mercy of Heaven which accomplished my conversion.
When I entered the convent, I entreated the prioress to let me live in perfect obscurity, without corresponding with my friends, or even with my relations. She declined to grant this last request, thinking that my zeal was leading me too far. On the other hand, she complied with my wish to be employed at once, without the slightest preparatory indulgence or consideration, on any menial labour which the discipline of the convent might require from me. On the first day of my admission a broom was put into my hands. I was appointed also to wash up the dishes, to scour the saucepans, to draw water from a deep well, to carry each sister’s pitcher to its proper place, and to scrub the tables in the refectory. From these occupations I got on in time to making rope shoes for the sisterhood, and to taking care of the great clock of the convent; this last employment requiring me to pull up three immensely heavy weights regularly every day. Seven years of my life passed in this hard work, and I can honestly say that I never murmured over it.
To return, however, to the period of my admission into the convent.
After three months of probation, I took the veil on the twentieth of January, seventeen hundred and twenty-five. The Archbishop did me the honour to preside at the ceremony; and, in spite of the rigour of the season, all Lyons poured into the church to see me take the vows. I was deeply affected; but I never faltered in my resolution. I pronounced the oaths with a firm voice, and with a tranquillity which astonished all the spectators,–a tranquillity which has never once failed me since that time.
Such is the story of my conversion. Providence sent me into the world with an excellent nature, with a true heart, with a remarkable susceptibility to the influence of estimable sentiments. My parents neglected my education, and left me in the world, destitute of everything but youth, beauty, and a lively temperament. I tried hard to be virtuous; I vowed, before I was out of my teens, and when I happened to be struck down by a serious illness, to leave the stage, and to keep my reputation unblemished, if anybody would only give me two hundred livres a year to live upon. Nobody came forward to help me, and I fell.
Heaven pardon the rich people of Paris who might have preserved my virtue at so small a cost! Heaven grant me courage to follow the better path into which its mercy has led me, and to persevere in a life of penitence and devotion to the end of my days!
So this singular confession ends. Besides the little vanities and levities which appear here and there on its surface, there is surely a strong under-current of sincerity and frankness which fit it to appeal in some degree to the sympathy as well as the curiosity of the reader. It is impossible to read the narrative without feeling that there must have been something really genuine and hearty in Mademoiselle Gautier’s nature; and it is a gratifying proof of the honest integrity of her purpose to know that she persevered to the last in the life of humility and seclusion which her conscience had convinced her was the best life that she could lead. Persons who knew her in the Carmelite convent, report that she lived and died in it, preserving to the last, all the better part of the youthful liveliness of her character. She always received visitors with pleasure, always talked to them with surprising cheerfulness, always assisted the poor, and always willingly wrote letters to her former patrons in Paris to help the interests of her needy friends. Towards the end of her life, she was afflicted with blindness; but she was a trouble to no one in consequence of this affliction, for she continued, in spite of it, to clean her own cell, to make her own bed, and to cook her own food just as usual.
One little characteristic vanity–harmless enough, surely?–remained with her to the last. She never forgot her own handsome face, which all. Paris had admired in the by-gone time; and she contrived to get a dispensation from the Pope which allowed her to receive visitors in the convent parlour without a veil.
The kingdomite
A young man wished to marry the farmer’s beautiful daughter. He went to the farmer to ask his permission. The farmer looked him over and said, “Son, go stand out in that field. I’m going to release three bulls, one at a time. If you can catch the tail of any one of the three bulls, you can marry my daughter.” The young man stood in the pasture awaiting the first bull. The barn door opened and out ran the biggest, meanest-looking bull he had ever seen. He decided that one of the next bulls had to be a better choice than this one, so he ran over to the side and let the bull pass through the pasture out the back gate. The barn door opened again. Unbelievable. He had never seen anything so big and fierce in his life. It stood pawing the ground, grunting and….Whatever the next bull was like, it had to be a better choice than this one. He ran to the fence and let the bull pass through the pasture, out the back gate. The door opened a third time. A smile came across his face. This was the weakest, scrawniest little bull he had ever seen. This one was his bull. As the bull came running by, he positioned himself just right and jumped at just the exact moment. He grabbed… but the bull had no tail! Life is full of opportunities. Some will be easy to take advantage of, some will be difficult. But once we let them pass, those opportunities may never again be available. So always grab the first opportunity.
The plea
March 24 by Charles Dickens
When the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared, to offer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not been at home many hours, when he presented himself. He was not improved in habits, or in looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of fidelity about him, which was new to the observation of Charles Darnay.
He watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, and of speaking to him when no one overheard.
“Mr. Darnay,” said Carton, “I wish we might be friends.”
“We are already friends, I hope.”
“You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, I don’t mean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be friends, I scarcely mean quite that, either.” Charles Darnay—as was natural asked him, in all good-humour and good-fellowship, what he did mean?
“Fashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is not so easy to me, as you represent it to be to you. I have by no means forgotten it, and a light answer does not help me to forget it.”
“If it was a light answer,” returned Darnay, “I beg your forgiveness for it. I had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to my surprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. I declare to you, on the faith of a gentleman, that I have long dismissed it from my mind. Good Heaven, what was there to dismiss! Have I had nothing more important to remember, in the great service you rendered me that day?”
“As to the great service,” said Carton, “I am bound to avow to you, when you speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap, I don’t know that I cared what became of you, when I rendered it.—Mind! I say when I rendered it; I am speaking of the past.”
“You make light of the obligation,” returned Darnay, “but I will not quarrel with your light answer.”
“Genuine truth, Mr. Darnay, trust me! I have gone aside from my purpose; I was speaking about our being friends. Now, you know me; you know I am incapable of all the higher and better flights of men. If you doubt it, ask Stryver, and he’ll tell you so.”
“I prefer to form my own opinion, without the aid of his.”
“Well! At any rate you know me as a dissolute dog, who has never done any good, and never will.”
“I don’t know that you ‘never will.'” “But I do, and you must take my word for it. Well! If you could endure to have such a worthless fellow, and a fellow of such indifferent reputation, coming and going at odd times, I should ask that I might be permitted to come and go as a privileged person here; that I might be regarded as an useless (and I would add, if it were not for the resemblance I detected between you and me, an unornamental) piece of furniture, tolerated for its old service, and taken no notice of. I doubt if I should abuse the permission. It is a hundred to one if I should avail myself of it four times in a year. It would satisfy me, I dare say, to know that I had it.”
“That is another way of saying that I am placed on the footing I have indicated. I thank you, Darnay. I may use that freedom with your name?”
“I think so, Carton, by this time.”
They shook hands upon it, and Sydney turned away. Within a minute afterwards, he was, to all outward appearance, as unsubstantial as ever.
When he was gone, and in the course of an evening passed with Miss Pross, the Doctor, and Mr. Lorry, Charles Darnay made some mention of this conversation in general terms, and spoke of Sydney Carton as a problem of carelessness and recklessness. He spoke of him, in short, not bitterly or meaning to bear hard upon him, but as anybody might who saw him as he showed himself.
He had no idea that this could dwell in the thoughts of his fair young wife; but, when he afterwards joined her in their own rooms, he found her waiting for him with the old pretty lifting of the forehead strongly marked.
What, indeed, with his hand putting aside the golden hair from the cheek, and his other hand against the heart that beat for him!
“I think, Charles, poor Mr. Carton deserves more consideration and respect than you expressed for him to-night.”
“Indeed, my own? Why so?”
“That is what you are not to ask me. But I think—I know—he does.”
“If you know it, it is enough. What would you have me do, my Life?”
“I would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him always, and very lenient on his faults when he is not by. I would ask you to believe that he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding.”
The supplication touched him home. “I will always remember it, dear Heart! I will remember it as long as I live.”
He bent over the golden head, and put the rosy lips to his, and folded her in his arms. If one forlorn wanderer then pacing the dark streets, could have heard her innocent disclosure, and could have seen the drops of pity kissed away by her husband from the soft blue eyes so loving of that husband, he might have cried to the night—and the words would not have parted from his lips for the first time—
“God bless her for her sweet compassion!”
The Raven
January 11, 2022
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber doorOnly this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost LenoreFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name LenoreNameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber doorSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery exploreLet my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber doorPerched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber doorPerched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shoreTell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he flutteredTill I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown beforeOn the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaste, Follow fast and followed faster till his songs one burden boreTill the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never- nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yoreWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchantedOn this home by Horror haunted- tell me truly, I imploreIs there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adoreTell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name LenoreClasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting-
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
The Moon’s Mysteries
January 4, 2022
The first step on the moon by astronaut Neil Armstrong was said to be “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” But for many of the twelve men who’ve been there, that “one small step” completely changed the way they saw the world. Some returned feeling as if they’d experienced enlightenment. Others spent the years following their lunar exploration depressed and hiding from the press. Some say that those quiet astronauts saw things the others hadn’t – secret things that they were asked to cover up.
After stepping on the moon, Buzz Aldrin’s life fell apart. He went into a deep depression. His marriage of 21 years ended. He remarried and was divorced again within two years. He became an alcoholic. Within a few years, the former astronaut found himself selling used cars to make a living. When approached by the press, he seemed agitated and reluctant to share details of his mission.
Neil Armstrong, the first man on the moon, is also said to have been reclusive and possibly withdrawn. He also frustrated interviewers with his refusals and extremely private nature.
Many people have wondered why they would struggle after such an achievement. Some believe it was because the entire moon landing was a hoax. Some think they saw proof of alien life but it was kept quiet. Buzz did say in one interview that he observed a light moving alongside the ship. Others think that Buzz was just jealous at being the second man on the moon and Neil had always been quiet. We may never know because NASA erased the original moon landing footage.
Whatever caused their depression, the truth is that there are many oddities about the moon. It has been a source of fascination since the dawn of humanity. Many ancient peoples worshipped it as a god or told legends about it. The Zulu tribe of Africa, for example, tells of two alien brothers who towed the moon into place and gave us the rhythms of the Earth.
Even today, its mysteries tantalize our minds. For example, the moon is 400 times smaller than the sun and 400 times closer to the Earth. Because of this mysterious coincidence, when the moon passes in front of the sun during an eclipse, the moon completely blocks the much bigger sun.
Yet scientists say that if the moon were not as it is, life may not have evolved past the sea. The moon affects the tides, and the tides made it possible for some sea creatures to reach land, where they eventually evolved into land animals.
Robotic landers sent by billionaires looking to mine the moon for gold and other resources are slated to begin as early as 2020. Perhaps some of its secrets will be revealed then.
Digital Heaven
December 18, 2021 by @StoryPage
If you had the opportunity to live forever, would you take it? The obstacles to keeping your body alive indefinitely still seem insurmountable, but some scientists think there is another possibility opened up by digital technology: creating a digital copy of your “self” and keeping that “alive” online long after your physical body has ceased to function.
In effect, the proposal is to clone a person electronically. Unlike the familiar physical clones – offspring that have identical features as their parents, but that are completely separate organisms with a separate conscious life – your electronic clone would believe itself to be you. How might this be possible? The first step would be to map the brain.
How? One plan relies on the development of nanotechnology. Ray Kurzweil – one of the prophets of artificial intelligence – predicts that within two or three decades we will have nanotransmitters that can be injected into the bloodstream. In the capillaries of the brain they would line up alongside the neurons and detect the details of the cerebral electronic activity. They would be able to transmit that information to a receiver inside a special helmet or cap, so there would be no need for any wires protruding from the scalp.
As a further step, Ray Kurzweil also envisages the nanotransmitters being able to connect you to a world of virtual reality on the internet, similar to what was depicted in the film ‘Matrix’. With the nanotransmitters in place, by thought alone, you could log on to the internet and instead of the pictures coming up on your screen they would play inside your mind. Rather than send your friends e-mails you would agree to meet up on some virtual tropical beach.
For Ray this would be, quite literally, heaven. Once you upload the brain onto the internet and log on to that virtual world the body can be left to rot while your virtual self carries on playing Counter Strike for ever.
Generations of Christians believed in Christ partly because his resurrection held out the promise that we too might be able to enjoy life after death. But why wait for the Second Coming when you can have a shot of nanobots and upload your brain onto the internet and live on as an immortal virtual surfer?
Who needs faith when you’ve got broadband?
(One snag: to exist on the net you will have to have your neural network parked on the computer of a web-hosting company. These companies want real money in real bank accounts every year or they will wipe your bit of the hard disc and sell the space to someone else. With your body six feet underground how will you pay? Here the anology with heaven really breaks down. God keeps heaven going for free, but the web is something you have to pay for.)
THE END
PUBS AND THEIR SIGNS
October 22, 2021 by @Hephzibah
The history of the pub goes back a long way — and of course much further than general literacy. It is only during the last century and a half that the majority of people in Britain have been able to read at least simple words; until then, any commerce wishing to identify itself, be it shop or tavern, had to make use of symbols or sign language. Yet while barbers’ shops in Britain were all identified by red and white striped poles, and chemists’ by large glass bottles of coloured water, the situation was diferent with pubs
In the olden days, many “inns” and “taverns”, the predecessors of today’s pubs, were catering for visitors and travellers, as well as local customers. The names they gave themselves, and the signs they hung up in the street outside their premises were not just for decoration, but served as publicity, and to clearly identify one pub or tavern from the other.
While many of today’s pubs are less than fifty years old, almost each one still has its own distinctive name, and in many cases a fine sign to go with it. The oldest named pub in Britain is the Trip to Jerusalemin Nottingham, an old inn beneath the castle, where mediaeval knights used to gather before setting out on the Crusades. Only a few English pubs, however, have names dating back more than three centuries. One of the more common names that does date back a long way is the Rose and Crown, a name first used just after the “Wars of the Roses” in the fifteenth century, when the House of Lancaster (emblem: a red rose) fought the House of York (emblem: a white rose) for the English crown. The name Rose and Crown has been a popular name for inns and pubs ever since.
A lot of older pubs have names reflecting local loyalties or loyalty to king and country. Inns situated near the homes of dukes and lords are frequently named after the duke’s or lord’s family name — especially when the duke or lord in question happened to own the inn, as was often the case. Thus a pub called the Norfolk Arms, whose sign shows a heraldic shield or the portrait of Duke, is likely to have been named after one of the Dukes of Norfolk (a title created in 1483).
As Britain’s population expanded in the nineteenth century, so did the number of pubs, many new pubs taking names to celebrate military victories or victorious commanders. Following the Battle of Waterloo, the Duke of Wellington became a popular pub name, and fine portraits of the “Iron Duke” still adorn many English pubs.
Britain’s status as an island nation is clearly illustrated by the large number of pubs called The Ship — not just in ports, but in inland towns as well. Each Ship has its own history; here the Ship was founded by a retired seaman, there it was an inn popular with seamen, and in other places just a nice name, though certainly not chosen without some justification. In some places, pubs are named after specific ships, or specific incidents related to the sea; two of the oldest pubs in England fall into this category, the Mermaid in Rye, named after the mythical figure half-fish, half-woman, about which sailors used to love “spining yarns”; and the Ship and Turtlein Chester, which seems to have been named after some mediaeval ancestor of today’s mutant ninja heroes!
Local industries or activities have given rise to many pub names. Many university towns boast a College Arms, catering principally for students and staff alike; and many villages contain pubs called the Plough or the Boar’s Head.
Not all pubs, however, have ancient names. A pub in Bristol which opened in the 1970’s, is called the Man in Space, and its sign depicts an American astronaut. In the small town of Boston, in the east of England, there is a pub called the Boston Blitz, with a sign showing a man playing American football; though the sign is new, the name of the pub reflects the history of this small town, from which settlers crossed the Atlantic four centuries ago, to found the city of Boston, Massachussetts.
Pub signs have been described as Britain’s finest free art collection, and that is not a bad description. Some, though not all, are real works of art, due to skilled artists and craftsmen. Stanley Chew, one of today’s most popular sign-artists, has produced about five hundred signs.
Some people are worried, however, about the future of pub signs; the big breweries, who own most of Britain’s pubs, have begun standardizing some of their outlets, and replacing the old names with standard ones, such as the Harvester, frequently with no pictorial sign. A minority of pubs have thus lost their identity, as they have been converted into mediocre mass products; yet the majority of English pubs still hold on to their distinctive names, and in many cases their fine signs. English pubs are a fine tradition, with imitations all over the world; and no self-respecting imitation would consider itself authentic without a painted sign!
WORDS
cater for: provide what is necessary for – premises: buildings – knight: soldier on horse – emblem: symbol – happened to own: by chance owned – shield: coat of arms – status: condition – boast: have – boar: wild pig – settler: person who establishes his home in a place – brewery: firm or building where beer is made – outlets: points of sale – to harvest: to bring in adricultural produce when it is ready.
Is It a monkey? October 12, 2021 by @StoryPage A woman got on a bus, holding a baby.The bus driver said, “That’s the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen.” In a huff, the woman slammed her fare into the fare box and took an aisle seat near the rear of the bus. The man seated next to her sensed that she was agitated and asked her what was wrong. “The bus driver insulted me,” she fumed. The man sympathized and said, “Why, he’s a public servant and shouldn’t say things to insult passengers.” “You’re right,” she said. “I think I’ll go back up there and give him a piece of my mind.” “That’s a good idea,” the man said. “Here, let me hold your monkey.” THE END
The story of the Bicycle
October 12, 2021 by @StoryPage
As people try to use less energy, and find alternatives to cars, more and more people are buying, and riding, bicycles. But where did the bicycle come from? Who invented this “velocipede”? .
You may be surprised to learn that the humble bicycle was invented several years later than the railway locomotive! But the two-wheeler has come a long way since the day it was invented by a Scottish blacksmith, Kirkpatrick MacMillan, back (it is said) in 1839.
MacMillan developed his bike from an older wheeled vehicle, called a “hobby horse”. This was a wooden horse with two wheels. The rider sat on the horse, and pushed the vehicle along with his feet. It was not a very fast or safe vehicle, since it had no steering and no brakes.
MacMillan, nicknamed Mad Pate, modified the hobby horse, by adding a system of articulatedbars. The rider could push the bars back and forwards with his feet, and make the back wheel go round. He could also steer the bike, as the front wheel could be turned.
To demonstrate his invention, he cycled 60 miles to Glasgow! It must have been a terrible journey, on the roads of the day! Pate’s bike did not have rubber tyres or springs.
Mad Pate was not recognised in his time, but other people became interested in bicycles. Twenty-five years later, a Frenchman called Pierre Lallemant designed and patented the first bicycle with rotary pedals; and in 1876, H.J.Lawson added another basic feature, “chain-drive”.
Other features, such as rubber tyres and gears, have appeared since then; but the basic bicycle has not changed.
Since then the bicycle has had a magnificent fortune. Today, it is probably the most common form of transport in the world, especially in the Third World; and non-polluting and easy to ride, it has a big future as the town vehicle of tomorrow. Thanks Pate!
WORDS :
blacksmith: a blacksmith makes things out of iron – steering: means of direction – brakes: brakes help a vehicle to stop – nicknamed: known familiarly as – articulated: with joints – steer : direct – – rubber: a slightly soft material used on the outside of car wheels – springs: springs make a vehicle more comfortable – to patent: to officially register an invention – drive: traction – features: aspects – gears: most modern bicycles have at least 10 gears
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The story of the skyscraper
October 12, 2021 by @StoryPage
Tall buildings, their tips sometimes hidden in the clouds, skyscapers have become the symbol of modern urban civilisation, and today they are found worldwide. But until the mid 20th century, they were very much a distinctive feature of the American city.
If you ask a person to describe an American city, the chances are that he will mention the word skyscraper. Tall buildings, their tips sometimes hidden in the clouds, have become the symbol of the American metropolis, a symbol of twenty-first century urban civilisation. American cities have not always had skyscrapers, but it is now almost a century and a half since the first skyscrapers began to distinguish their skylines.
For millions of people coming to America from Europe, the first proof that they had reached a new world was the moment when they first caught sight of the skyline of Manhattan. Surrealistic, superhuman, the skyline was like nothing they had ever seen in the old world — a concentration of tall buildings, their tops scraping the sky, hundreds of feet above the ground. These were New York’s famous skyscrapers! This was America!
The first skyscrapers, however, did not develop in New York, but in Chicago, in the late nineteenth century. Chicago at that time was the boom town of the United States — New York was just the front door. Chicago was at the centre of the new American adventure, and the new adventure was the West. Chicago was the point at which the West began.
In the year 1871, a large part of booming Chicago was destroyed as a major fire engulfed much of the downtown area. The fire, however, was a great stimulus to architects: not only did it show them the need to design modern buildings that would not be liable to burn very rapidly, but it also gave them plenty of opportunities to put their new theories into practice
By the late 1800’s architects and engineers had made great steps forwards. Until the nineteenth century, the height of buildings had been limited to a maximum of about ten stories as a result of the building materials used — wood, brick or stone. With the exception of churches and cathedrals, few earlier buildings went higher than this, because they could not do so. And even the great churches of mediaeval Europe had to respect basic mechanical constraints. The walls needed to be terribly thick at the bottom, and often supported by complicated systems of buttresses and flying buttresses, to stop them falling down.
In the nineteenth century, the Industrial Revolution resulted in the development of new techniques, notably the use of iron. This allowed the building of much bigger buildings, in particular railway stations, the “cathedrals of the Industrial Revolution”, and exhibition buildings. Opened in 1889, the nineteenth century’s most famous iron and steel structure reached unheard-of new heights. The Eiffel Tower, 1010 feet high, pointed the way to the future: upwards!
The reasons for building skyscrapers were clear, particularly in a city like New York, whose downtown district, Manhattan, could not expand very easily on a horizontal plane, limited as it was by the Hudson and East rivers. Apart from upwards, there were not many directions in which Manhattan could grow. And once the building techniques had been mastered, vertical expansion became the most desirable solution for the city’s businessmen.
Since those early days, and in particular since the Second World War, skyscrapers have mushroomed in all the world’s big cities; and they keep getting higher and higher. Before the First World War, New York’s “Woolworth Building” had reached 792 feet (241 metres) ; and by the Second World War, the Empire State Building —for many years the world’s tallest — had actually passed the Eiffel Tower. In the 1970s, the enormous twin towers of the World Trade Center, 107 stories high, went even further. But did they go too far? As bold icons of modern America, they became the target of terrorism when radical Islamic terrorists used passenger jets to destroy them, in the terrible events of 9/11 – the 11th of September 2001.
Architectural dreamers of a hundred years ago or more imagined cities in the sky, giant buildings where people lived thousands of feet above the ground, above the clouds, above the pollution. Today, although some people believe that modern skyscrapers are too high, they now characterise cities all over the world; and they keep getting higher. Fires in a few tall buildings, for instance in Dubai, have led to further questions being asked; but in spite of the occasional disaster, skyscrapers are here to stay — at least for offices and city hotels. Symbols of our civilisation, they are not likely to be replaced.
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Mini seasons: Cold Dew
Early October welcomes the mini season of Cold Dew. This season runs from October 8 until October 22. During this time the nights are getting progressively colder and the days are getting shorter. Frost can be expected in the mornings, but it usually disappears with the rising sun. Below is a haiku by Buson that seems to capture this time of year.
Miles of frost –
On the lake
The moon’s my own.
-Buson
The mini seasons were originally created by the ancient Chinese and then adapted by the Japanese in 1685. (1) When the Japanese adapted the calendar, they added the micro-seasons. The micro-seasons of this season include:
- The Geese Arrive (Oct 8-Oct 12)
- The Chrysanthemum Flowers (Oct 13- Oct 17)
- The Grasshopper Sings (Oct 18 – Oct 22)
This is perhaps where my location in New England and the Japanese climate begin to differ. For us, the geese have begun their migration south. So instead of geese arriving, we have geese leaving.
An interesting event that happens to birds just prior to migration is molting. Molting is the process where a bird changes out their damaged feathers for new feathers. Because feathers are similar in construction to human hair or nails, meaning that they are built of the protein keratin and not living tissue, they are unable to repair themselves. Molting takes a lot of energy so some birds “schedule” this process in between the breeding and migration seasons.
Molting Male Goldfinch, Photo Credit: Scott Martin
Many birds will take on a completely different appearance after the fall molting. An example of this is the male goldfinch who will shed their bright yellow feathers and replace them with duller olive color feathers.
The landscape is also changing at this time. As the days get shorter and the temperature a little colder, the trees stop making food in preparation for winter. The scientist at the SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry explains that leaves change color because, “The chlorophyll breaks down, the green color disappears, and the yellow to orange colors become visible and give the leaves part of their fall splendor.”(2) The are many variables that contribute to the intensity of the color of the leaves including rainfall, the first frost, and overall temperatures.
Right now, in northern Vermont, we are entering the moderate/peak foliage. This means that most of the trees are changing and there is the greatest amount of color visible on the landscape. The tourist activity that is brought into the State because of the foliage is so vital for the economy that there is even a webpage that will give you updated reports or where to find the best color.
Finally, as I contemplate the arrival of this new mini season and recognize all the changes that are happening, I am drawn to the poem “Fall, leaves, fall” by Emily Brontë (1818-1848).
Fall, leaves, fall by Emily Brontë
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
Photo by Valiphotos on Pexels.com
The beginning of autumn is such a wonderful time to observe the many changes that are happening around us. It is also that time where we intentionally prepare for the upcoming months of cold and hibernation. If you have time this week, go outside and see what is changing around you. Feel free to share your observations below.
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WHAT IS FRIENDSHIP?
What is friendship? It is the purest form of relationship between two individuals with no hidden agenda. As per the dictionary, it is the mutual affection between people. But, is it just a mutual affection? Not always, as in the case of best friends, it is far beyond that. Great friends share each other’s feelings or notions which bring a feeling of prosperity and mental fulfillment.
A friend is a person whom one can know deeply and trust for eternity. Rather than having some likeness in the idea of two people associated with the friendship, they have some extraordinary qualities yet they want to be with each other without changing their uniqueness. Friends spur each other without censuring, however at times great friends do affect you in a positive manner.
It is very important to have a friend in life. Each friend is vital and their significance is known to us when certain circumstances emerge which must be supported by our friends. One can never feel lonely in this world on the off chance that he or she is embraced by true friends. Then again, depression wins in the lives of the individuals who don’t have friends regardless of billions of individuals present on the planet. Friends are particularly vital amid times of emergency and hardships. On the off chance that you wind up experiencing a hard time, having a friend to help you through out can make the change simpler.
Having friends you can depend on, can help to boost up your confidence. Then again, an absence of friends can make you feel lonely and without help, which makes you powerless for different issues, for example, sadness and drug abuse. Having no less than one individual you can depend on, will formulate your confidence. Not all friends can instill the positivity in your life. There can be negative effects as well. It is very important to choose your friends with utmost wisdom. Picking the right friend is somewhat a troublesome task however it is extremely important. This is the reason behind why it is appropriate to settle on an appropriate decision with regards to making friends.
Genuine friendship is truly a gift delighted in by a couple of good friends. The individuals who have it ought to express gratitude towards God for having genuine pearls in their lives and the individuals who don’t have a couple of good friends ought to always take a stab at better approaches to anchor great friends. No organization is superior to having a friend close by in the midst of need. You will stay cheerful in your one-room flat on the off chance that you are surrounded by your friends; then again, you can’t discover satisfaction even in your estate in the event that you are far away from others.
There is variety everywhere, so why not in friends. We can see different types of friends during our journey of life. For instance, your best friend at school is someone with whom you just get along the most. That friend may just get annoyed even if you talk to another of your friend more than him/her. Such is the childish nature of such friendships that at times it is difficult for others to identify whether you are best friends or competitors.
Then there is another category of your siblings. No matter how much you deny, but your siblings or your elder brother and sisters are those friends of yours who stay on with you for your entire life. You have a different set of friendship with them as you find yourself fighting with them most of the times. However, in times of need, you shall see that they are first ones standing behind you, supporting you.
There is another category of friends called professional friends. You come across such friends only when you grow up and choose a profession for yourself. These friends are usually from the same organisation and prove to be helpful during your settling years. Some of them tend to stay on with you even when you change companies.
History has always taught us a lot. Examples of true friendship are not far behind. We have some famous example from Indian mythology which makes us realise the true value of friendship. The topmost of them is the friendship of Krishna and Sudama. We all must have read or heard as to how after becoming a king when Krishna met Sudama, his childhood friend, he treated him with honour even though Sudama was a poor person. It teaches us the friendship need not be between equals. It has to be between likeminded people.
Next example is of Karna and Duryodhana, again from the Mahabharat era. Despite knowing the fact that the Pandavas were his brothers, Karna went on to fight alongside Duryodhan as he is his best friend and even laid down his life for him. What more example of true friendship can one find? Again from the same era, Krishna and Arjun are also referred to as the best of the friends. Bhagavad Gita is an example of how a true friend can guide you towards positivity in life and make you follow the path of Dharma. Similarly, there are numerous examples from history which teach us the values of true friendship and the need to nourish such for own good.
Whether you accept or deny it, a friend plays an important role in your life. In fact, it is very important to have a friend. However, at the same time, it is extremely important to choose the friends wisely as they are the ones who can build you or destroy you. Nonetheless, a friend’s company is something which one enjoys all through life and friends should be treated as the best treasure a man can have.
Kingdomite Sept 21
HUMANITY IS THE BIGGEST RELIGION
Religion is a broad entity that should add some higher purpose to one’s life and keep you grounded. It is not just a set of rules and teachings that you must devote your life to. It’s what you take from any religion that’s important. All religions give the teachings of love, peace and unity. It should be something to believe in, and not just something to define our very actions and thoughts. The most important requirement is peace. Where there is peace there is abundance.
For me the most important religion is humanity – just being a good human being defines you everywhere. All that you need to work upon is being helpful to the needy at all times and every place. Being loving and caring towards all living beings even plants and animals, and above all to understand another person’s problem and realise the situations they are in and be considerate.
Humanity means caring for and helping others whenever and wherever possible. Humanity means helping others at times when they need that help the most, humanity means forgetting our selfish interests at times when others need our help. Humanity means extending unconditional love to each and every living being on Earth.
If eating and having fun is only what we are born to do then we should keep one thing in mind; even animals can do this. One does not need a hefty bank account to contribute towards humanitarian activities. Paying our domestic help fairly is also humanity. Lifting the heavy bag for an old woman is humanity, helping a disabled person to cross the road is humanity, helping your mum in chores is humanity; in fact helping anyone who is in need is humanity.
As soon as we understand the importance of humanity in day to day life, the purpose for which we are on Earth is automatically fulfilled.
The kingdomite 
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