text:
Chapter One – The Black Crystal (complete)
Dear Readers, Just for you ….I will give you an insight into a complete Chapter One of The Black Crystal
Foolish Acts
The young mage stumbled along scraggy pathway as it veered sharply towards the right. He brushed swiftly past a number of thickly thorned bushes as their savage design ripped into his clothes, drawing blood across the skin of his thighs. A high pitched shriek directly behind him signalled that the creature was close. He leapt past an old log that lay strewn across the pathway, almost losing his footing in the darkness as he scattered twigs and dirt as his feet skidded across the dried mud encrusted path.
His long, athletic legs moved swiftly, his breaths shallow and laboured as his lungs fought for air. He was not sure from where he had inherited his athletic abilities, as he had been raised an orphan, but they had so far saved his life. But he was tiring now. He knew that it would not be long before he must call upon the second gift of unknown birth afforded to him; his ability to use magic.
He silently cursed himself for being so foolish. It was due to his stupidity that he found himself in his current predicament. Just a two days ago, he had received his initial training from his Master of Spellcraft, to learn how to conjure forth spirits. But in his impatience to trial his newly gained skills on his own, he had forgotten to draw the glyph of entrapment that would keep the creature that held the creature caged and thus exposed himself to a terrible danger. As the creature sensed an opportunity to attack, in surprise, he had stepped outside of his protective pentagram, removing the very last vestige of protection that was available to him as the creature, which turned out to be a wraith, moved rapidly moved towards him.
The wraith was almost upon him, when he turned and ran towards the forest, swiftly losing sight of the pathway that he had used travel to the forest clearing. For a moment, the creature's shrieks sounded more distant, signalling that it had momentarily lost sight of him, but his hopes were soon dashed when a second, much louder shriek indicated that it had found his trail once again. It was much quicker and more agile than him and he knew that he did not have long before it found him.
He continued to run, leaping past jagged grey rocks and plants that were nestled beneath the pitch-black canopy of forest that hid the blackened sky above, as his body soon became soaked in a cold sweat of fear. His eyes frantically searched ahead of him, trying to pick out any glimpse of light that would signal that he was close to the village where his SpellMaster slept, who was currently blissfully unaware of the terrible danger that he had placed himself. Harapin would be furious to learn that he had attempted to use a spell of Conjuring on his own, but he was the only person who could save him now.
"Creator's Breath!" the young man cursed as his voice cracked in terror.
He was alone.
There were no lights ahead of him and there was no sign of the village or pathway that led to it. What was he thinking? Even if he reached the village alive, what would would he unleash upon it? How many people would die before Harapin would be able to stop it and then what would happen to him as a result of his stupidy? His mind raced. If he could only find a way to protect himself, if even for a brief time, then he stood a chance.
It was then that he remembered that towards the outskirts of the old cobbled road that led towards the village, that he and Hesparin had recently drawn a large pentagram into the grassland with salt. Although the drawing was not as inherently strong, as a stiff breeze would soon disperse it, if it still existed, he could enter it and remain safe.
He burst through the thick veil of bushes ahead of him and found himself in the open. Swiftly scanning his surroundings, he realised to his immense relief that he was only a short distance away now from where the pentagrams had been drawn. Almost whimpering with relief, he stumbled towards it general direction.
Then he saw it, the faint magical glow of a pentagram that still thrummed with magic, but at that very moment, the creature burst from out of the depths of the forest, its darkened cowl swiftly turning towards him as it caught sight of him as he gasped at it in horror.
Within moments the creature was upon him as he felt its shadowy claws rip through his clothing, reaching the skin of his right shoulder. He felt his heart shudder as he stumbled backwards, with a hideous cold sensation that made his body suddenly feel both cold and wet. Again the creature came, searing through the flesh and spirit of his body as the young man cried with terror.
But suddenly, the attacks stopped.
The creature remained motionless, its black cowl that covered its face shaking in anger as it clawed at the air, seemingly prevented from moving any further by an invisible barrier. The young mage realised that he had somehow managed to stumble inside the pentagram, its blessed glow now shining as brightly as a midnight star as the young, terrified mage lay sprawled inside it.
Standing at over eight feet in height, the dark shadow of the creature loomed over him, separated only by the invisible sphere of magic that now protected the young mage, as it began to shriek in rage at being prevented from reaching its prey.
"You vermin!" snarled the young man, his fear suddenly dissipating.
"And you're a fool," responded a deeper timbered voice of a much older man that he immediately recognised as belonging to his SpellMaster. The young mage turned to find the disapproving light grey eyes of his mentor, Harapin, that were narrowed at him with an expression of disapproval. Harapin;s iron-grey hair looked unkempt, and his robes looked dishevelled, indicating that he had awoken and quickly dressed himself.
"What can we–," began the young mage only to have his sentence cut short by a dismissive wave of Harapin's arm.
"I shall trap it and you shall then dismiss it," Harapin snapped at him, clearly in no mood to talk further.
The wraith watched the arrival of the new human with uncertainty, clearly unsettled by his apparent lack of fear.
Harapin, reached into a pale brown leather pouch that was attached to his belt and withdrew a handful of white granules. He swiftly moved his forefinger and thumb together to create a small opening from which the salt could fall, as he drew the image of a glyph upon the earth that would cause creature to become entrapped inside it. When he had finished, he looked up sharply at the young mage and gestured towards the pentagram, "Command it to move inside."
"But what if-," the young man began to speak.
"Just do it!" Harapin snapped at him in irritation.
The young mage felt his face flush crimson with embarrassment, "Reverto Tutitis," he commanded as he pointed the wraith towards the glyph that now glowed brightly against the darkened sky.
The wraith screamed.
It made a noise that he had not heard before. It was a pitiful sound as its, dark, wispy form was seemly dragged by an invisible force inside glyph. Within moments, it was trapped inside as its hideous form twisted and writhed in an effort to escape its imprisonment.
"Now you can choose to send it back to the Netherworld or to destroy it completely," Harapin remarked calmly.
"I can—kill it?"
Harapin nodded briefly, "You can end its existence forever if that is what you so choose. However, it being called here was not its fault, but yours."
"Would it not be more merciful to kill it?"
"That depends on what you believe. If you believe that it should continue to exist as it came here through no fault of its own, then you should let it return to the Netherworld unharmed. However, if you consider it to be a greater threat to the living, where another mage could call upon it to do their evil bidding, then you should destroy it."
There was a long silence that passed between them as the two men stared at one another. The young man frowned deeply as he rubbed his shoulder that still pained him. The memory of the creature's claws ripping inside his spirit made and the red burns upon his flesh made up his mind. Letting it exist, posed a greater threat.
"I shall destroy it," he replied.
Harapin nodded at him non-committally, "I will need to prepare the ground before we begin the ceremony," he removed the leather pouch that held the remainder of the salt and traced another image upon the earth "and after this is done, you and I need will need to talk."
The young mage nodded at him in embarrassment as a shaft of moonlight peeked out from behind the darkened clouds above, revealing the sharp features of Harapin as his light grey eyes stared at the young man with an intensity that made him feel uncomfortable.
"I realize that what I did was wrong," the young mage stated meekly.
"Yes it was," Harapin agreed as he swiftly moved away.
"How was it that you awoke and not the others inside the village?" the young mage asked him, keen to change the subject.
"Because I possess superb hearing," Harapin replied sarcastically as he pointed toward the mage's ring on his finger. The ring of bonding. It was given by each of the SpellMasters to each of their pupils, to ensure that a basic line of communication remained between them, should the need arise.
Moments later, Harapin was ready.
A diamond jewel, almost the size of a man's fist lay inside another pentagram traced in salt, close to the glyph that held the creature entrapped. The creature was now still but its cowled head seemed to follow every movement of Harapin. Suddenly, it lifted its head towards the dark skies above and wailed.
It was a pitiful sound that it immediately filled them both with a deep sense of dread as they realised now with a chilling certainty that the creature understand what was about to happen to it.
A number of windows suddenly lit in the distance, indicating that some of the nearby villagers had been awoken by the terrifying sound. Dark shapes appeared briefly at the windows, as its previously sleepy occupants attempted to identify the source of the hideous noise.
"Quickly now," Harapin barked at him, "we must get rid of this spirit before the villagers realise that we have brought danger to their doors!"
"Reverto Claustrum", the young mage commanded, pointing the wraith towards the clear white diamond that lay sparkling inside the glowing glyph, as if it was an enormous raindrop that lay frozen upon the ground.
A flash of bright light swiftly followed and the wraith was no more. Instead, the crystal remained upon the ground, but it was no longer clear, but now coloured as dark as night. With the heel of his boot, Harapin quickly smashed the crystal, splintering it into a thousand pieces as the spirit inside was destroyed for all eternity.
Harapin swiftly scattered the image of the glyphs within the grasses with the toe of his boot, scattering the salt into the dark grasses and hiding the last vestiges of proof that anything had occurred as their forms were broken the magical glow of magic was suddenly dissipated. Harapin then suddenly then grabbed hold of the surprised young man's collar and shoved him towards the direction of the village.
Before long, they had reached the village and entered the small, white stoned cottage that stood towards the Eastern edge of the village that they had been using while the young mage had been receiving his training. Inside, the long tapers flickered, sending the shadows wavering along the wallpapered walls that were festooned with images of red and pink roses, as the warmth of the hearth greeted them.
Harapin moved towards an old oak table that held a silvered jug of water and two silver cups as he poured himself a cup, gesturing towards him to enquire if he also wanted to partake of the water. The young mage nodded at him eagerly, suddenly aware that his throat felt terribly dry.
"You must always follow my instruction without question Alexon," Harapin admonished him, in between mouthfuls of water as he swiftly emptied his cup then poured himself another.
Outside the hoot of an owl signalled that the creatures of the night knew that the danger had passed. Inside the cottage there was an uncomfortable silence as Alexon waited to hear what his punishment would be. Harapin's gaze remained fixed upon him, his eyes burning an intensity that showed his anger, "I lost an apprentice once, to fire magic. He couldn't control it and he burned to death."
Alexon blinked.
"I had to scrape up what was left of the body with a shovel," Harapin continued almost conversationally as his gaze remained fixed upon that of the young mage, "and let me tell you, magical fire burns with such an intenstity there wasn't much shovelling required."
Alexon breathed in sharply, "I won't disobey you again."
Flickering shadows danced across the walls, as if they had been lent life by the flames of the hearth. Harapin sighed deeply as he moved towards one of the comfortable armchairs that stood close to the fireplace and slumped himself down, seemingly exhausted as he finally looked away.
Alexon set down his empty cup upon the table. His shoulder still burned where the creature's claws had touched him, but he daren't show his discomfort. Mumbling his apologies as he felt his eyelids turn heavy, he quickly retired to his room. Sleep was what he needed now. He knew that he had never been closer to death than he had been that night and he made an oath to himself that he would never let such a thing happen again.
As the few village lights that had been lit went out and peace settled upon the village of Elderast once more, a lone figure stood upon the edges of village, staring towards the small white cottage where the two mages dwelt. Somewhere a dog whimpered, sensing something indescribably evil as it quickly scampered away in fear into the darkness. The figure remained motionless for a time, pondering its next move. After a long pause, it slowly turned and headed back inside the forest. The owl had become silent once more.
Posted on July 9, 2015 July 10, 2015 Author Jake AdlerCategories Uncategorized
2 thoughts on "Chapter One – The Black Crystal (complete)"
hippovdm@gmail.com says:
Wow cannot wait!!!! Well done once again my dear friend. Kind regards. Elsie
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom – let your email find you!
Jake Adler says:
Many thanks! It will be quite a wait I'm afraid as it is a full length book, but you shall have first 'dibs' on it as before! Many thanks for your support and best wishes, it really is appreciated Elsie! 🙂
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


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Михаи́л Влади́мирович Сафро́нов (род. , , СССР) — российский сценарист и режиссер анимационного кино.

Биография
Михаил Сафронов родился в Ленинграде 12 июня 1980 года. В 2000 году окончил Санкт-Петербургский Институт Кино и Телевидения по специальности «Режиссёр театра и кино» (мастерская П.И. Журавлёва). В 2002 году окончил Санкт-Петербургский Государственный Университет Телекоммуникаций по специальности «Связи с общественностью». В 2005 году работал на анимационной студии «Мульт.ру», где принимал участие в создании сериала «Магазинчик Бо». В 2007 году работал аниматором на студии «Мельница» в составе команды над полнометражном фильмом «Про Федота-стрельца удалого молодца». В 2008 году стал одним из создателей анимационной студии «Да», проводящей регулярные анимационные занятия с детьми в трудных жизненных ситуациях. В 2012 году создал детский анимационный сериал «Летающие звери».

С 2014 по 2018 год являлся мастером курса «Художник мультипликационного фильма» на Факультете искусств Санкт-Петербургского Государственного Университета.

С 2013 года является руководителем анимационной мастерской в центре социальной абилитации для людей с аутизмом «Антон тут рядом».

С 2018 года является вместе с Константином Бронзитом мастером анимационной мастерской Санкт-петербургской Школы Нового Кино.

Фильмография

Режиссёр
 2006 — «Я люблю жизнь»
 2006—наст. время — «Лунтик и его друзья» (сериал)
 2009 — «Чуть-чуть»
 2012 — «Летающие звери» (сериал)
 2013 — «Мы летим» (анимационный клип с Чулпан Хаматовой, Андреем Макаревичем, Вячеславом Бутусовым, Сергеем Маковецким)
 2014 — «Малыши и летающие звери» (сериал)
 2014 — «За окно. Рассказы из жизни Хармса»
 2014 — «Всё хорошо» (анимационный клип с Данилой Козловским и Лизой Боярской)
 2015 — «Машинки» (сериал)
 2016 — «Бабушка с крокодилом» (киножурнал «Весёлая карусель» №44)
 2016 — «Петя Волк» (сериал)
 2017 — «Моя любимая нога» (анимационный клип с Евгением Фёдоровым, Светланой Бень, Марией Макаровой)
 2019 — «Ленинградская молитва»
 2019 — «Человечки» (сериал)

Художник-аниматор
 2004—2012 — «Смешарики»
 2008 — «Про Федота-стрельца, удалого молодца»

Работа в кукольном театре

 2015 — Лёгкий слон (Минский театр «Картонка»)
 2018 — Никита и кит (Санкт-Петербургский Большой Театр Кукол)
 2019 — Сашка один дома (Karlsson Haus, СПб)

Пьесы

 2015 — Легкий слон
 2018 — Никита и кит
 2018 — Волшебная смска

Книги

 2017 — Легкий слон (издательство «Поляндрия»)
 2018 — Вообразительное искусство (издательство «Сеанс»)
 2019 — Книга вопросов, или как написать сценарий мультфильма (издательство «Сеанс»)

Примечания

Писатели России

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


text:
Tufano (3 TDs) Steps Up, Leads Undefeated Berlin Past RHAM 41-35
By Shawn McFarland
| smcfarland@courant.com |
| Berlin
His head coach, Joe Aresimowicz, says he has the best hands on the team. His teammate, Zach Hrubiec, calls him the X-factor.
Whatever he is, or can do, Giancarlo Tufano was, and did, on Friday night at Sage Park. The senior caught six passes for 78 yards, three touchdowns, and went 5-for-6 on extra points as Berlin, the fourth-ranked team in The Courant's area rankings, beat CCC-rival RHAM, the No. 10 team, 41-35.
"He was a huge part of winning this football game, and all the credit to him," Hrubiec said of Tufano. "I hope some of these colleges see him, because he's a great player."
Tufano caught touchdown passes of 18, 6 and 13 yards. On the first score, he juked his defender and ran into the end zone uncovered where quarterback Kevin Dunn found him wide open to go up 21-7. The second was a quick slant from the 6-yard line to go up 28-14. The third was a ball Tufano pulled down in the end zone for a 41-21 lead, despite being triple-covered.
0:07, Q3 — Dunn connects with Tufano for the third time tonight, this time from 13 yards out.
Berlin 41, RHAM 21 #cthsfb. pic.twitter.com/PMzqnTQKQZ
— Shawn McFarland (@McFarland_Shawn) October 20, 2018
"Living next to each other, growing up together since we were zero, basically, we were always on the same page in the backyard playing football," Tufano said of Dunn. "He's always throwing to me, I'm throwing to him, we've always got that chemistry."
The most pivotal plays for Berlin, however, came early in the first quarter, before Tufano had even caught a pass. The Redcoats (6-0) stopped the Sachems (5-1) on their first three drives of the game — a pair of three-and-outs, and a turnover on downs.
Cromwell/Portland Receiver Nick Wright, In His First Season Of Football, Among The State's Best
Oct 18, 2018 | 11:55 AM
In what became a one score-game, Berlin's strong start, which saw it end the first quarter up 14-0 after a Larry St. Pierre 25-yard touchdown run and a Alex Halkias 37-yard touchdown reception, made all the difference.
"We knew we had to come out fast," Hrubiec, a defensive lineman and running back said. "Because obviously they're a good team and they don't quit. I'll give [RHAM quarterback] Cal Redman credit, he kept them in the game and everyone fed off of him, but it was good we came up to a fast start."
Redman, a 6-foot-4, 240-pound tight end disguised as a quarterback, accounted for four of RHAM's five touchdowns. He rushed for three, and threw a 21-yard touchdown to Kevin Clark.
Vote for the CT Varsity Athlete of the Week »
Berlin's early lead began to evaporate in the second half. With 5:05 left in the third quarter, Redman hit Clark for the score to pull RHAM to within a single touchdown, 28-21.
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On the ensuing kickoff, Marco Scarano returned the kick for a touchdown to regain a two-score lead, 34-21.
"It really comes down to the kids," Aresimowicz said. "We say 'Berlin football.' That's Berlin football. It's the next man up, execute, whatever is going wrong, they just seem to come through. We're blessed."
The Sachems fought until the final whistle. With just over a minute left in the fourth, trailing 41-28, Dylan Depersia recovered a fumble and returned it 85 yards for a touchdown, to pull within a score. Berlin recovered the ensuing onside kick to ice the game, but as RHAM coach Robert Rubin told his team in the post-game huddle, the team did what it had to do to win, but 48 minutes wasn't enough.
"I think we're right there, I think we've just got to make more plays and clean some things up," Rubin said. "Second half, there were some bad snaps by us, kind of stumbled our offense. Besides that, we were right there."
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Help me, I need a name!
Thank you! Its a girl.
That's cuz the kid takes after Jeff (can't see any of its parts! ahahahhaha just kidding).
I knew I could count on you! Thanks!
I still think Summer would be cute, even if it's a spring baby. There are lots of Aprils not born in April.


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>European Political Science Review
>Volume 4 Issue 2
>Freedom in mass values: egocentric, humanistic, or...
European Political Science Review
Freedom in mass values: egocentric, humanistic, or both? Using Isaiah Berlin to understand a contemporary debate
Published online by Cambridge University Press: 22 August 2011
Gina Gustavsson
Gina Gustavsson*
Department of Government, Uppsala University, Uppsala, Sweden
* E-mail: gina.gustavsson@statsvet.uu.se
Does an increasing emphasis on individual freedom in mass values erode or revitalize democratic societies? This paper offers a new approach to this debate by examining it through the lens of Isaiah Berlin, and his distinction between positive and negative freedom. I show that, contrary to the common assumption among scholars who study mass values regarding freedom, these do not consist of one dimension but two: negative and positive freedom. I also show that, while valuing negative liberty clearly leads a person to become more morally permissive and more condoning of non-compliance with legal norms, valuing positive liberty does not seem to have the same effects at all; in fact, it shows the very opposite relationship with respect to some of these attitudes. Thus, it matters what kind of freedom people value. The results rely on confirmatory factor and regression analyses on World Values Survey data from ten affluent Western countries in 2005–2006.
libertyself-expressionInglehartcivicnesspermissivenessCFA
European Political Science Review , Volume 4 , Issue 2 , 23 May 2012 , pp. 241 - 262
DOI: https://doi.org/10.1017/S1755773911000191[Opens in a new window]
Copyright © European Consortium for Political Research 2012
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This article has been cited by the following publications. This list is generated based on data provided by CrossRef.
Gustavsson, Gina 2014. The Psychological Dangers of Positive Liberty: Reconstructing a Neglected Undercurrent in Isaiah Berlin's "Two Concepts of Liberty". The Review of Politics, Vol. 76, Issue. 2, p. 267.
Malnes, Raino 2015. Political Theory: The Nordic Scene. Scandinavian Political Studies, Vol. 38, Issue. 4, p. 369.
Ben-Nun Bloom, Pazit and Bagno-Moldavsky, Olena 2015. The Conditional Effect of Network Diversity and Values on Tolerance. Political Behavior, Vol. 37, Issue. 3, p. 623.
Gustavsson, Gina van der Noll, Jolanda and Sundberg, Ralph 2016. Opposing the veil in the name of liberalism: popular attitudes to liberalism and Muslim veiling in the Netherlands. Ethnic and Racial Studies, Vol. 39, Issue. 10, p. 1719.
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Q: Bootstrap-Table in ajax partial view is not working I'm developing a web app with aspnet core and bootstrap and I need to sort a simple table hosted in a partial view named 'mytable.cshtml'. The partial view must be loaded dinamically after an Ajax call.
I'm using the bootstrap-table plugin to sort the table in the following way:

                column 1
                column 2

                aaa
                111

                bbb
                222

                ccc
                333

First I tested that all it's fine, loading the partial view in this way
@Html.Partial("mytable");

The view is loaded, the table is correcty formatted, column headers have icons for sorting, clicking on header the content is ordered.
Now I try to load the partial view with an Ajax call when a link is clicked :

//LoadMyTable() script omitted ...

as before the partial view is loaded correctly, the table is shown and formatted, but columns cannot be sorted: the sorting icon is not shown and clicking on column headers nothing happens
someone have experienced this behaviour and can suggest me some workaround?
as an alternative, could anyone who has faced a similar scenario to suggest me how to proceed - eventually using a different plugin ?
thankyou very much for any hint

A: You can use JavaScript. First make sure you added id="table" to your table tag, like

Second add JS at the end of your partial file (maybe this is not strict):

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


CMYK silkscreen printing is a method of printing that uses four process colors (Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and Black) to produce full-color images. As these four process colors are use to produce other colors, some colors such as green and orange are especially difficult to reproducing in the CMYK model. Thus, in order for these colors to be brighter & more saturated in the design, additional traditional silkscreen is required.


As part of the agreement, Kia Motors has provided the state government with three vehicles -- a Niro Hybrid, Niro Plug-in Hybrid and a Niro EV.
Automaker Kia Motors India said it has inked a pact with Andhra Pradesh government to lend its support in increasing the uptake of electric vehicles (EV) and the development of local infrastructure for such models. The memorandum of understanding (MoU) was signed in the presence of the Andhra Pradesh Chief Minister N Chandrababu Naidu and Kia Motors India Managing Director and CEO Kookhyun Shim, Kia Motors said in a statement. As part of the agreement, Kia Motors has provided the state government with three vehicles -- a Niro Hybrid, Niro Plug-in Hybrid and a Niro EV.
The company is also installing a vehicle charging station at Vijayawada for representatives from the regional government to charge their new environmentally-friendly fleet.
Andhra Pradesh government is developing 14 smart cities and Kia is working with the state government to design a new generation of transportation system that best serve the citizens in each of these cities.
"This new partnership with the Andhra Pradesh government highlights how we can support the growth of EV infrastructure and uptake of eco-friendly vehicles, bringing exciting new possibilities for future mobility in India," Shim said.
Kia Motors is building its first manufacturing facility in Anantapur district in Andhra Pradesh. The plant is expected to begin production in the second half of 2019 and produce around 3 lakh units per year.


The city of Baltimore's mayoral race is a crowded one that just received a high-profile addition. Current Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake chose not to run again after heavy criticism of she handled civil unrest, so a new mayor will soon take charge. Back in April 2015, Black Lives Matter demonstrators took to the streets following Freddie Gray's death from brutal injuries while in police custody. After Gray's funeral, mobs of protesters participated in violent clashes, and these riots and demonstrations exposed systemic inequalities of the city and its criminal justice system.
The Democratic victor of the primary on April 26 is almost assured of winning the general election for an office that the party has controlled for nearly half a century.
Mr. Mckesson, 30, has been something of a divisive figure. He rose to prominence in the movement that emerged after a white police officer fatally shot Michael Brown, an unarmed black 18-year-old, in Ferguson, Mo., in August 2014. Mr. Mckesson was quickly on the ground in Missouri, providing sharp, continuous Twitter missives challenging what he and many saw as a racist law enforcement regime that not only killed Mr. Brown, but was also engaging in violent clashes with protesters.
McKesson's bid for mayor lands in an already chock-full race, but his entry into the field stands as a symbolic gesture of taking the city back. Speaking to the Baltimore Sun, McKesson said the time for change is now: "Baltimore is a city of promise and possibility. We can't rely on traditional pathways to politics and the traditional politicians who walk those paths if we want transformational change." This news will make for an interesting few months before the April 26 primary election.


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Q: How to Support both index.html and "/" Servlet Mapping I have the below two servlets and an index.html page in the root of my Java web app.  The index.html page collects some data inserts it using the Insert servlet and then gives the user a URL to retrieve the data (i.e. http://localhost:8080/12345). I would like the user to be able to put http://localhost:8080/12345 in a browser and for the Retrieve servlet to get called.
What happens right now is when I enter in http://localhost:8080 or http://localhost:8080/ the Retrieve servlet gets called (it's mapped to "/" in the web.xml).  I would only like to call the Retrieve servlet when http://localhost:8080/some_data_here is requested.  Any ideas how to modify the servlet mappings to support these requirements?
index.html
<html>
   <body>
      <form action = "insert" method = "POST">
         Enter Data: <input type = "text" name = "data">
         <br />
         <input type = "submit" value = "Submit" />
      </form>
   </body>
</html>

WEB.XML
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1" ?>
<web-app xmlns="http://java.sun.com/xml/ns/j2ee"
    xmlns:xsi="http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema-instance"
    xsi:schemaLocation="http://java.sun.com/xml/ns/j2ee http://java.sun.com/xml/ns/j2ee/web-app_2_4.xsd"
    version="2.4">
    <servlet>
        <servlet-name>Insert</servlet-name>
        <servlet-class>com.servlets.Insert</servlet-class>
        <load-on-startup>-1</load-on-startup>
    </servlet>
    <servlet-mapping>
        <servlet-name>Insert</servlet-name>
        <url-pattern>/insert</url-pattern>
    </servlet-mapping>
     <servlet>
        <servlet-name>Retrieve</servlet-name>
        <servlet-class>com.servlets.Retrieve</servlet-class>
        <load-on-startup>-1</load-on-startup>
    </servlet>
    <servlet-mapping>
        <servlet-name>Retrieve</servlet-name>
        <url-pattern>/</url-pattern>
    </servlet-mapping>
    <welcome-file-list>
         <welcome-file>index.html</welcome-file>
    </welcome-file-list>
</web-app>

A: What about not mapping the Retrieve servlet to / but to /12345 as you said and then redirect the request after the Insert servlet to /12345.


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HomeBooksArts & Languages
Two on a Tower
British novelist, short story writer, and poet of the naturalist movement. He captured the epoch just before the railways and the industrial revolution changed the English countryside. His works are pessimistic and bitterly ironic, and his writing is rough but capable of immense power.
His first novel, The Poor Man and the Lady, finished by 1867, failed to find a publisher and Hardy destroyed the manuscript. Only parts of the novel remain. He was encouraged to try again by his mentor and friend, Victorian poet and novelist George Meredith. Desperate Remedies [1871] and Under the Greenwood Tree [1872] were published anonymously. In 1873 A Pair of Blue Eyes, a story drawing on Hardy's courtship of his first wife, was published under his own name.
In Far from the Madding Crowd [1874], his next (and first important) novel, Hardy introduced Wessex, the "partly-real, partly-dream" county named after the Anglo-Saxon kingdom that existed in the area. The landscape was modelled on the real counties of Berkshire, Devon, Dorset, Hampshire, Somerset and Wiltshire, with fictional places based on real locations.
Over the next twenty-five years Hardy produced ten more novels.
The Hardys moved from London to Yeovil and then to Sturminster Newton, where he wrote The Return of the Native [1878]. In 1885, they moved for a last time, to Max Gate, a house outside Dorchester designed by Hardy and built by his brother. There he wrote The Mayor of Casterbridge [1886], The Woodlanders [1887], and Tess of the d'Urbervilles [1891], the latter which attracted criticism for its sympathetic portrayal of a "fallen woman" and was initially refused publication. Jude the Obscure, published in 1895, was met with even stronger negative outcries by the Victorian public for its frank treatment of sex.
Despite this criticism, Hardy had become a celebrity in English literature by the 1900s, with several blockbuster novels under his belt, yet he was disgusted with the public reception of two of his greatest works. He gave up writing novels altogether
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Two on a Tower - Thomas Hardy
'Ah, my heart! her eyes and she
Have taught thee new astrology.
Howe'er Love's native hours were set,
Whatever starry synod met,
'Tis in the mercy of her eye,
If poor Love shall live or die.'
— CRASHAW: Love's Horoscope.
This slightly-built romance was the outcome of a wish to set the emotional history of two infinitesimal lives against the stupendous background of the stellar universe, and to impart to readers the sentiment that of these contrasting magnitudes the smaller might be the greater to them as men.
But, on the publication of the book people seemed to be less struck with these high aims of the author than with their own opinion, first, that the novel was an 'improper' one in its morals, and, secondly, that it was intended to be a satire on the Established Church of this country. I was made to suffer in consequence from several eminent pens.
That, however, was thirteen years ago, and, in respect of the first opinion, I venture to think that those who care to read the story now will be quite astonished at the scrupulous propriety observed therein on the relations of the sexes; for though there may be frivolous, and even grotesque touches on occasion, there is hardly a single caress in the book outside legal matrimony, or what was intended so to be.
As for the second opinion, it is sufficient to draw attention, as I did at the time, to the fact that the Bishop is every inch a gentleman, and that the parish priest who figures in the narrative is one of its most estimable characters.
However, the pages must speak for themselves. Some few readers, I trust — to take a serious view — will be reminded by this imperfect story, in a manner not unprofitable to the growth of the social sympathies, of the pathos, misery, long-suffering, and divine tenderness which in real life frequently accompany the passion of such a woman as Viviette for a lover several years her junior.
The scene of the action was suggested by two real spots in the part of the country specified, each of which has a column standing upon it. Certain surrounding peculiarities have been imported into the narrative from both sites.
T. H. July 1895.
On an early winter afternoon, clear but not cold, when the vegetable world was a weird multitude of skeletons through whose ribs the sun shone freely, a gleaming landau came to a pause on the crest of a hill in Wessex. The spot was where the old Melchester Road, which the carriage had hitherto followed, was joined by a drive that led round into a park at no great distance off.
The footman alighted, and went to the occupant of the carriage, a lady about eight — or nine-and-twenty. She was looking through the opening afforded by a field-gate at the undulating stretch of country beyond. In pursuance of some remark from her the servant looked in the same direction.
The central feature of the middle distance, as they beheld it, was a circular isolated hill, of no great elevation, which placed itself in strong chromatic contrast with a wide acreage of surrounding arable by being covered with fir-trees. The trees were all of one size and age, so that their tips assumed the precise curve of the hill they grew upon. This pine-clad protuberance was yet further marked out from the general landscape by having on its summit a tower in the form of a classical column, which, though partly immersed in the plantation, rose above the tree-tops to a considerable height. Upon this object the eyes of lady and servant were bent.
'Then there is no road leading near it?' she asked.
'Nothing nearer than where we are now, my lady.'
'Then drive home,' she said after a moment. And the carriage rolled on its way.
A few days later, the same lady, in the same carriage, passed that spot again. Her eyes, as before, turned to the distant tower.
'Nobbs,' she said to the coachman, 'could you find your way home through that field, so as to get near the outskirts of the plantation where the column is?'
The coachman regarded the field. 'Well, my lady,' he observed, 'in dry weather we might drive in there by inching and pinching, and so get across by Five-and-Twenty Acres, all being well. But the ground is so heavy after these rains that perhaps it would hardly be safe to try it now.'
'Perhaps not,' she assented indifferently. 'Remember it, will you, at a drier time?'
And again the carriage sped along the road, the lady's eyes resting on the segmental hill, the blue trees that muffled it, and the column that formed its apex, till they were out of sight.
A long time elapsed before that lady drove over the hill again. It was February; the soil was now unquestionably dry, the weather and scene being in other respects much as they had been before. The familiar shape of the column seemed to remind her that at last an opportunity for a close inspection had arrived. Giving her directions she saw the gate opened, and after a little manoeuvring the carriage swayed slowly into the uneven field.
Although the pillar stood upon the hereditary estate of her husband the lady had never visited it, owing to its insulation by this well-nigh impracticable ground. The drive to the base of the hill was tedious and jerky, and on reaching it she alighted, directing that the carriage should be driven back empty over the clods, to wait for her on the nearest edge of the field. She then ascended beneath the trees on foot.
The column now showed itself as a much more important erection than it had appeared from the road, or the park, or the windows of Welland House, her residence hard by, whence she had surveyed it hundreds of times without ever feeling a sufficient interest in its details to investigate them. The column had been erected in the last century, as a substantial memorial of her husband's great-grandfather, a respectable officer who had fallen in the American war, and the reason of her lack of interest was partly owing to her relations with this husband, of which more anon. It was little beyond the sheer desire for something to do — the chronic desire of her curiously lonely life — that had brought her here now. She was in a mood to welcome anything that would in some measure disperse an almost killing ennui. She would have welcomed even a misfortune. She had heard that from the summit of the pillar four counties could be seen. Whatever pleasurable effect was to be derived from looking into four counties she resolved to enjoy today.
The fir-shrouded hill-top was (according to some antiquaries) an old Roman camp — if it were not (as others insisted) an old British castle, or (as the rest swore) an old Saxon field of Witenagemote — with remains of an outer and an inner vallum, a winding path leading up between their overlapping ends by an easy ascent. The spikelets from the trees formed a soft carpet over the route, and occasionally a brake of brambles barred the interspaces of the trunks. Soon she stood immediately at the foot of the column.
It had been built in the Tuscan order of classic architecture, and was really a tower, being hollow with steps inside. The gloom and solitude which prevailed round the base were remarkable. The sob of the environing trees was here expressively manifest; and moved by the light breeze their thin straight stems rocked in seconds, like inverted pendulums; while some boughs and twigs rubbed the pillar's sides, or occasionally clicked in catching each other. Below the level of their summits the masonry was lichen-stained and mildewed, for the sun never pierced that moaning cloud of blue-black vegetation. Pads of moss grew in the joints of the stone-work, and here and there shade-loving insects had engraved on the mortar patterns of no human style or meaning; but curious and suggestive. Above the trees the case was different: the pillar rose into the sky a bright and cheerful thing, unimpeded, clean, and flushed with the sunlight.
The spot was seldom visited by a pedestrian, except perhaps in the shooting season. The rarity of human intrusion was evidenced by the mazes of rabbit-runs, the feathers of shy birds, the exuviae of reptiles; as also by the well-worn paths of squirrels down the sides of trunks, and thence horizontally away. The fact of the plantation being an island in the midst of an arable plain sufficiently accounted for this lack of visitors. Few unaccustomed to such places can be aware of the insulating effect of ploughed ground, when no necessity compels people to traverse it. This rotund hill of trees and brambles, standing in the centre of a ploughed field of some ninety or a hundred acres, was probably visited less frequently than a rock would have been visited in a lake of equal extent.
She walked round the column to the other side, where she found the door through which the interior was reached. The paint, if it had ever had any, was all washed from the wood, and down the decaying surface of the boards liquid rust from the nails and hinges had run in red stains. Over the door was a stone tablet, bearing, apparently, letters or words; but the inscription, whatever it was, had been smoothed over with a plaster of lichen.
Here stood this aspiring piece of masonry, erected as the most conspicuous and ineffaceable reminder of a man that could be thought of; and yet the whole aspect of the memorial betokened forgetfulness. Probably not a dozen people within the district knew the name of the person commemorated, while perhaps not a soul remembered whether the column were hollow or solid, whether with or without a tablet explaining its date and purpose. She herself had lived within a mile of it for the last five years, and had never come near it till now.
She hesitated to ascend alone, but finding that the door was not fastened she pushed it open with her foot, and entered. A scrap of writing-paper lay within, and arrested her attention by its freshness. Some human being, then, knew the spot, despite her surmises. But as the paper had nothing on it no clue was afforded; yet feeling herself the proprietor of the column and of all around it her self-assertiveness was sufficient to lead her on. The staircase was lighted by slits in the wall, and there was no difficulty in reaching the top, the steps being quite unworn. The trap-door leading on to the roof was open, and on looking through it an interesting spectacle met her eye.
A youth was sitting on a stool in the centre of the lead flat which formed the summit of the column, his eye being applied to the end of a large telescope that stood before him on a tripod. This sort of presence was unexpected, and the lady started back into the shade of the opening. The only effect produced upon him by her footfall was an impatient wave of the hand, which he did without removing his eye from the instrument, as if to forbid her to interrupt him.
Pausing where she stood the lady examined the aspect of the individual who thus made himself so completely at home on a building which she deemed her unquestioned property. He was a youth who might properly have been characterized by a word the judicious chronicler would not readily use in such a connexion, preferring to reserve it for raising images of the opposite sex. Whether because no deep felicity is likely to arise from the condition, or from any other reason, to say in these days that a youth is beautiful is not to award him that amount of credit which the expression would have carried with it if he had lived in the times of the Classical Dictionary. So much, indeed, is the reverse the case that the assertion creates an awkwardness in saying anything more about him. The beautiful youth usually verges so perilously on the incipient coxcomb, who is about to become the Lothario or Juan among the neighbouring maidens, that, for the due understanding of our present young man, his sublime innocence of any thought concerning his own material aspect, or that of others, is most fervently asserted, and must be as fervently believed.
Such as he was, there the lad sat. The sun shone full in his face, and on his head he wore a black velvet skull-cap, leaving to view below it a curly margin of very light shining hair, which accorded well with the flush upon his cheek.
He had such a complexion as that with which Raffaelle enriches the countenance of the youthful son of Zacharias — a complexion which, though clear, is far enough removed from virgin delicacy, and suggests plenty of sun and wind as its accompaniment. His features were sufficiently straight in the contours to correct the beholder's first impression that the head was the head of a girl. Beside him stood a little oak table, and in front was the telescope.
His visitor had ample time to make these observations; and she may have done so all the more keenly through being herself of a totally opposite type. Her hair was black as midnight, her eyes had no less deep a shade, and her complexion showed the richness demanded as a support to these decided features. As she continued to look at the pretty fellow before her, apparently so far abstracted into some speculative world as scarcely to know a real one, a warmer wave of her warm temperament glowed visibly through her, and a qualified observer might from this have hazarded a guess that there was Romance blood in her veins.
But even the interest attaching to the youth could not arrest her attention for ever, and as he made no further signs of moving his eye from the instrument she broke the silence with —
'What do you see? — something happening somewhere?'
'Yes, quite a catastrophe!' he automatically murmured, without moving round.
'What?'
'A cyclone in the sun.'
The lady paused, as if to consider the weight of that event in the scale of terrene life.
'Will it make any difference to us here?' she asked.
The young man by this time seemed to be awakened to the consciousness that somebody unusual was talking to him; he turned, and started.
'I beg your pardon,' he said. 'I thought it was my relative come to look after me! She often comes about this time.'
He continued to look at her and forget the sun, just such a reciprocity of influence as might have been expected between a dark lady and a flaxen-haired youth making itself apparent in the faces of each.
'Don't let me interrupt your observations,' said she.
'Ah, no,' said he, again applying his eye; whereupon his face lost the animation which her presence had lent it, and became immutable as that of a bust, though superadding to the serenity of repose the sensitiveness of life. The expression that settled on him was one of awe. Not unaptly might it have been said that he was worshipping the sun. Among the various intensities of that worship which have prevailed since the first intelligent being saw the luminary decline westward, as the young man now beheld it doing, his was not the weakest. He was engaged in what may be called a very chastened or schooled form of that first and most natural of adorations.
'But would you like to see it?' he recommenced. 'It is an event that is witnessed only about once in two or three years, though it may occur often enough.'
She assented, and looked through the shaded eyepiece, and saw a whirling mass, in the centre of which the blazing globe seemed to be laid bare to its core. It was a peep into a maelstrom of fire, taking place where nobody had ever been or ever would be.
'It is the strangest thing I ever beheld,' she said. Then he looked again; till wondering who her companion could be she asked, 'Are you often here?'
'Every night when it is not cloudy, and often in the day.'
'Ah, night, of course. The heavens must be beautiful from this point.'
'They are rather more than that.'
'Indeed! Have you entirely taken possession of this column?'
'Entirely.'
'But it is my column,' she said, with smiling asperity.
'Then are you Lady Constantine, wife of the absent Sir Blount Constantine?'
'I am Lady Constantine.'
'Ah, then I agree that it is your ladyship's. But will you allow me to rent it of you for a time, Lady Constantine?'
'You have taken it, whether I allow it or not. However, in the interests of science it is advisable that you continue your tenancy. Nobody knows you are here, I suppose?'
'Hardly anybody.'
He then took her down a few steps into the interior, and showed her some ingenious contrivances for stowing articles away.
'Nobody ever comes near the column — or, as it's called here, Rings-Hill Speer,' he continued; 'and when I first came up it nobody had been here for thirty or forty years. The staircase was choked with daws' nests and feathers, but I cleared them out.'
'I understood the column was always kept locked?'
'Yes, it has been so. When it was built, in 1782, the key was given to my great-grandfather, to keep by him in case visitors should happen to want it. He lived just down there where I live now.'
He denoted by a nod a little dell lying immediately beyond the ploughed land which environed them.
'He kept it in his bureau, and as the bureau descended to my grandfather, my mother, and myself, the key descended with it. After the first thirty or forty years, nobody ever asked for it. One day I saw it, lying rusty in its niche, and, finding that it belonged to this column, I took it and came up. I stayed here till it was dark, and the stars came out, and that night I resolved to be an astronomer. I came back here from school several months ago, and I mean to be an astronomer still.'
He lowered his voice, and added:
'I aim at nothing less than the dignity and office of Astronomer Royal, if I live. Perhaps I shall not live.'
'I don't see why you should suppose that,' said she. 'How long are you going to make this your observatory?'
'About a year longer — till I have obtained a practical familiarity with the heavens. Ah, if I only had a good equatorial!'
'What is that?'
'A proper instrument for my pursuit. But time is short, and science is infinite — how infinite only those who study astronomy fully realize — and perhaps I shall be worn out before I make my mark.'
She seemed to be greatly struck by the odd mixture in him of scientific earnestness and melancholy mistrust of all things human. Perhaps it was owing to the nature of his studies.
'You are often on this tower alone at night?' she said.
'Yes; at this time of the year particularly, and while there is no moon. I observe from seven or eight till about two in the morning, with a view to my great work on variable stars. But with such a telescope as this — well, I must put up with it!'
'Can you see Saturn's ring and Jupiter's moons?'
He said drily that he could manage to do that, not without some contempt for the state of her knowledge.
'I have never seen any planet or star through a telescope.'
'If you will come the first clear night, Lady Constantine, I will show you any number. I mean, at your express wish; not otherwise.'
'I should like to come, and possibly may at some time. These stars that vary so much — sometimes evening stars, sometimes morning stars, sometimes in the east, and sometimes in the west — have always interested me.'
'Ah — now there is a reason for your not coming. Your ignorance of the realities of astronomy is so satisfactory that I will not disturb it except at your serious request.'
'But I wish to be enlightened.'
'Let me caution you against it.'
'Is enlightenment on the subject, then, so terrible?'
'Yes, indeed.'
She laughingly declared that nothing could have so piqued her curiosity as his statement, and turned to descend. He helped her down the stairs and through the briers. He would have gone further and crossed the open corn-land with her, but she preferred to go alone. He then retraced his way to the top of the column, but, instead of looking longer at the sun, watched her diminishing towards the distant fence, behind which waited the carriage. When in the midst of the field, a dark spot on an area of brown, there crossed her path a moving figure, whom it was as difficult to distinguish from the earth he trod as the caterpillar from its leaf, by reason of the excellent match between his clothes and the clods. He was one of a dying-out generation who retained the principle, nearly unlearnt now, that a man's habiliments should be in harmony with his environment. Lady Constantine and this figure halted beside each other for some minutes; then they went on their several ways.
The brown person was a labouring man known to the world of Welland as Haymoss (the encrusted form of the word Amos, to adopt the phrase of philologists). The reason of the halt had been some inquiries addressed to him by Lady Constantine.
'Who is that — Amos Fry, I think?' she had asked.
'Yes my lady,' said Haymoss; 'a homely barley driller, born under the eaves of your ladyship's outbuildings, in a manner of speaking,- -though your ladyship was neither born nor 'tempted at that time.'
'Who lives in the old house behind the plantation?'
'Old Gammer Martin, my lady, and her grandson.'
'He has neither father nor mother, then?'
'Not a single one, my lady.'
'Where was he educated?'
'At Warborne — a place where they draw up young gam'sters' brains like rhubarb under a ninepenny pan, my lady, excusing my common way. They hit so much larning into en that 'a could talk like the day of Pentecost; which is a wonderful thing for a simple boy, and his mother only the plainest ciphering woman in the world. Warborne Grammar School — that's where 'twas 'a went to. His father, the reverent Pa'son St. Cleeve, made a terrible bruckle hit in 's marrying, in the sight of the high. He were the curate here, my lady, for a length o' time.'
'Oh, curate,' said Lady Constantine. 'It was before I knew the village.'
'Ay, long and merry ago! And he married Farmer Martin's daughter — Giles Martin, a limberish man, who used to go rather bad upon his lags, if you can mind. I knowed the man well enough; who should know en better! The maid was a poor windling thing, and, though a playward piece o' flesh when he married her, 'a socked and sighed, and went out like a snoff! Yes, my lady. Well, when Pa'son St. Cleeve married this homespun woman the toppermost folk wouldn't speak to his wife. Then he dropped a cuss or two, and said he'd no longer get his living by curing their twopenny souls o' such d —— nonsense as that (excusing my common way), and he took to farming straightway, and then 'a dropped down dead in a nor'-west thunderstorm; it being said — hee-hee! — that Master God was in tantrums wi'en for leaving his service — hee-hee! I give the story as I heard it, my lady, but be dazed if I believe in such trumpery about folks in the sky, nor anything else that's said on 'em, good or bad. Well, Swithin, the boy, was sent to the grammar school, as I say for; but what with having two stations of life in his blood he's good for nothing, my lady. He mopes about — sometimes here, and sometimes there; nobody troubles about en.'
Lady Constantine thanked her informant, and proceeded onward. To her, as a woman, the most curious feature in the afternoon's incident was that this lad, of striking beauty, scientific attainments, and cultivated bearing, should be linked, on the maternal side, with a local agricultural family through his father's matrimonial eccentricity. A more attractive feature in the case was that the same youth, so capable of being ruined by flattery, blandishment, pleasure, even gross prosperity, should be at present living on in a primitive Eden of unconsciousness, with aims towards whose accomplishment a Caliban shape would have been as effective as his own.
Swithin St. Cleeve lingered on at his post, until the more sanguine birds of the plantation, already recovering from their midwinter anxieties, piped a short evening hymn to the vanishing sun.
The landscape was gently concave; with the exception of tower and hill there were no points on which late rays might linger; and hence the dish-shaped ninety acres of tilled land assumed a uniform hue of shade quite suddenly. The one or two stars that appeared were quickly clouded over, and it was soon obvious that there would be no sweeping the heavens that night. After tying a piece of tarpaulin, which had once seen service on his maternal grandfather's farm, over all the apparatus around him, he went down the stairs in the dark, and locked the door.
With the key in his pocket he descended through the underwood on the side of the slope opposite to that trodden by Lady Constantine, and crossed the field in a line mathematically straight, and in a manner that left no traces, by keeping in the same furrow all the way on tiptoe. In a few minutes he reached a little dell, which occurred quite unexpectedly on the other side of the field-fence, and descended to a venerable thatched house, whose enormous roof, broken up by dormers as big as haycocks, could be seen even in the twilight. Over the white walls, built of chalk in the lump, outlines of creepers formed dark patterns, as if drawn in charcoal.
Inside the house his maternal grandmother was sitting by a wood fire. Before it stood a pipkin, in which something was evidently kept warm. An eight-legged oak table in the middle of the room was laid for a meal. This woman of eighty, in a large mob cap, under which she wore a little cap to keep the other clean, retained faculties but little blunted. She was gazing into the flames, with her hands upon her knees, quietly re-enacting in her brain certain of the long chain of episodes, pathetic, tragical, and humorous, which had constituted the parish history for the last sixty years. On Swithin's entry she looked up at him in a sideway direction.
'You should not have waited for me, granny,' he said.
''Tis of no account, my child. I've had a nap while sitting here. Yes, I've had a nap, and went straight up into my old country again, as usual. The place was as natural as when I left it — e'en just threescore years ago! All the folks and my old aunt were there, as when I was a child — yet I suppose if I were really to set out and go there, hardly a soul would be left alive to say to me, dog how art! But tell Hannah to stir her stumps and serve supper — though I'd fain do it myself, the poor old soul is getting so unhandy!'
Hannah revealed herself to be much nimbler and several years younger than granny, though of this the latter seemed to be oblivious. When the meal was nearly over Mrs. Martin produced the contents of the mysterious vessel by the fire, saying that she had caused it to be brought in from the back kitchen,